Tiger's Curse (7 page)

Stifling another yawn, I made sure he had enough water, then turned off the lights, shut the door, and headed to bed.

The next morning, I got up early to check on the tiger. I opened the doors and headed down to his cage, but found the door was open. He wasn’t there!

“Ren? Where are you?”

I heard a noise behind me and turned around to find him lying on a pile of hay
outside
his cage.

“Ren! How on earth did you get out? Mr. Davis is going to kill me! I’m sure I locked your cage door last night!”

The tiger got up and shook himself, getting most of the hay off his fur, and walked lazily over to me. It was then I realized I was alone in a barn with an uncaged tiger. I was scared out of my mind, but it was too late to head back out of the barn. Mr. Davis taught me never to look away from big cats, so I stuck out my chin, put my hands on my hips, and sternly ordered him back to his cage. The odd thing was that he seemed to understand what I wanted him to do. He walked past me, rubbed his side against my leg, and . . . obeyed! He padded slowly over to the ramp, flicked his tail back and forth while watching me, and was up and through the door in two great leaps.

I hurried over to close the door and, when it finally shut, let out a long breath. After getting his water and food for the day, I set off in search of Mr. Davis to break the news.

Mr. Davis took it pretty well considering that a tiger was loose. He was surprised that I was more concerned for Ren’s safety than my own. He assured me that I’d done the right thing and was even impressed by how I’d handled it calmly. I told him that I would be more careful and make sure that the cage was always latched properly. Still, I was certain that I hadn’t inadvertently left the cage unlocked.

The next week sped by in a blur. Mr. Kadam didn’t reappear until the evening of Ren’s last performance. He approached and asked if he could meet with me after dinner.

“Sure, I’ll meet you at one of the tables over dessert,” I replied.

The mood was one of celebration. When I saw Mr. Kadam enter the building, I gathered up my paper, pencil, and two dishes of ice cream and then sat down across from him.

He began by spreading out various forms and documents for me to sign.

“We will be driving the tiger in a truck from here to the Portland airport. From there we will board a cargo plane, which will fly us to New York City, pass over the Atlantic Ocean, and continue on to Mumbai. When we arrive in Mumbai, I will be leaving Ren in your capable hands for a few days while I tend to some business in the city.

“I have arranged for a truck to meet us at the Mumbai airport. You and I will supervise the workers who will be loading Ren from the airplane into the truck. A driver has been assigned to take both of you all the way to the reserve. Preparations have also been made for you to stay at the reserve for a few days. Then, you may return to Mumbai at your convenience in preparation for your trip home. I will be providing you traveling money, more than enough for any emergency.”

I took notes in a frenzy, trying to copy down all of his instructions.

“Mr. Davis will help prepare Ren and will also load him onto the truck tomorrow morning. I suggest that you pack a bag for yourself that includes any personal items that you might wish to bring along. I will be sleeping here tonight, so you may borrow my rental car and go home to gather your things, as long as you return here by early morning. Do you have any immediate questions?”

“Well, I have about a billion of them, but most of them can wait until tomorrow. I guess I’d better go home and get packed.”

He smiled warmly and placed his car keys in my hand. “Thank you once again, Miss Kelsey. I look forward to our journey together. I will see you in the morning.”

I smiled back and said goodnight. I went back to my tent to gather my things and visited briefly with Matt, Cathleen, Mr. Davis, and Mr. Maurizio. I had only spent a short amount of time at the circus, but I had already grown fond of them.

After wishing them luck and saying good-bye, I stopped by Ren’s cage to say goodnight. He was sleeping already, so I left him alone and walked out to the parking lot.

There was only one car parked—a beautiful silver convertible. I looked at the key fob and read “Bentley
GTC
Convertible.”

Holy cow. You have got to be kidding me. This car must be worth a fortune! Mr. Kadam trusts me to drive this?

I approached the car timidly and clicked the unlock button on the key chain. The car’s headlights blinked at me. I opened the door, slid into the soft, buttery leather seats, and ran my hand over the elegant, pronounced stitching. The dashboard looked ultramodern, with handsome instrument controls and displays in a silvery metallic color. It was the most luxurious car I’d ever seen.

I started the engine and jumped as it roared to life. Even I, someone with no real knowledge of cars, could tell that this car was fast. I sighed in pleasure as I realized that it also included heated massage seats. I arrived home in just a few short minutes, groaning in disappointment that I lived so close to the fairgrounds.

Mike insisted that a Bentley needed to be parked in the garage. He eagerly moved his old sedan out to the street and parked it next to the garbage cans. The poor reliable car was thrust out the door like an old house cat while the brand new kitten got a soft pillow on the bed.

Mike ended up spending several hours in the garage that night cooing over and petting the convertible. I, on the other hand, spent my evening figuring out what to bring to India. I did my laundry, packed a large bag, and spent some time hanging out with my foster family. The two kids, Rebecca and Sammy, wanted to hear all about my two weeks at the circus. We also talked about the exciting things I might see and do in India.

They were good people, a good family, and they cared about me. Saying good-bye was hard, even though it was only temporary. Technically, I was an adult, but I was still nervous about traveling so far alone. I hugged and kissed the two kids. Mike soberly shook my hand and gave me a half hug for a long minute. Then I turned to Sarah, who pulled me into a tight embrace. We were both teary-eyed afterward, but she assured me that they would always be just a phone call away.

That night, I quickly slipped into a deep sleep and dreamed of a handsome Indian prince who happened to have a pet tiger.

t
he next morning, I awoke with great energy and felt positive and enthusiastic about the trip. After showering and a quick breakfast, I grabbed my bag, hugged Sarah again because she was the only one awake, and ran out to the garage. Sliding into the Bentley, I found it as delicious as I remembered.

I pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot and stopped next to a medium-sized cargo truck. The vehicle had a thick windshield, very big wheels, and tiny doors that required climbing a step to reach them. It looked like a monster truck past its prime, but, instead of being put out to pasture, it had been recruited into the cargo business. Behind the cab was a flatbed with a boxy steel frame draped with gray canvas.

The ramp was down in the back: Mr. Davis was already loading Ren into the cage. Ren wore a thick collar around his neck, which was firmly attached to a long chain that Mr. Davis and Matt both gripped tightly. The tiger seemed very calm and unruffled despite the chaos going on around him. In fact, he watched me while waiting patiently for the men to prepare the truck. Finally, they were ready, and with a command from Mr. Davis, Ren quickly catapulted up into the crate.

Mr. Kadam took my bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He asked, “Miss Kelsey, would you like to ride in the truck with the driver or would you like to accompany me in the convertible?”

I looked at the monster cargo truck and quickly made my decision, “With you. I’d never pick a monster flatbed over a sleek convertible.”

He laughed in agreement before placing my bag in the trunk of the Bentley. Knowing it was time to go, I waved good-bye to Mr. Davis and Matt, climbed back into the convertible, and buckled my seatbelt. Before I knew it, we were cruising along I-5 behind the truck.

Talking was difficult over the wind, so I just leaned my head back against the soft, warm leather and watched the scenery go by. We were actually driving at a leisurely pace—fifty-five mph, about ten miles per hour under the speed limit. Curious onlookers slowed their cars to stare at our little convoy. The traffic became heavier near Wilsonville where we quickly caught up to the morning commuters who’d passed us earlier.

The airport was about twenty miles farther on Highway 205, a small highway that sat like a teacup handle on I-5. The truck in front of us turned onto Airport Drive and then pulled off on a side street and stopped behind some large hangars. Several cargo planes were lined up and being loaded. Mr. Kadam wove between people and equipment and came to a halt near a private plane. The name on the side read Flying Tiger Airlines, and it sported the image of a running tiger.

I turned to Mr. Kadam, nodded my head toward the plane, and said, “Flying Tiger, huh?”

He grinned. “It’s a long story, Miss Kelsey, and I will tell you all about it on the plane.” Pulling my bag out of the trunk, he handed the keys to a man standing by who promptly got into the gorgeous car and drove it off the tarmac.

We both watched as several burly men lifted the tiger’s crate with a motorized pallet jack and expertly transferred him into the plane’s large, custom cage.

Satisfied that the tiger was secure and comfortable, we climbed up the plane’s portable staircase and stepped inside.

I was amazed at the opulence of the interior. The plane was decorated in black, white, and chrome, which made it look sleek and modern. The black leather seats were exceptionally cozy looking, a far cry from the cabin seats on commercial jets,
and
they fully reclined!

An attractive Indian flight attendant with long, dark hair gestured to a chair and introduced herself. “My name is Nilima. Please, go ahead and take your seat, Miss Kelsey.” She had an accent similar to Mr. Kadam’s.

I asked, “Are you from India too?”

Nilima nodded and smiled at me as she fluffed a pillow behind my head. Next, she brought me a blanket and a variety of magazines. Mr. Kadam sat in the roomy chair across from me. He waved away the attendant and strapped himself in, foregoing the pillow and blanket.

I had flown in a plane only a couple of times before on vacations with my family. During the actual flight, I was usually pretty relaxed, but the takeoffs and landings made me anxious and tense. The sound of the engines probably bothered me the most—the ominous roar as they came to life—and the pushed-back-in-your-chair feeling as the plane left the earth always made me queasy. The landings weren’t fun either, but I was usually so excited to get off the plane and move around that I just wanted to be done with it.

This plane was definitely different. It was luxurious, wide open, and had plenty of legroom and comfy leather reclining chairs. It was so much nicer than flying coach. Comparing this to a regular plane was like comparing a soggy, stale French fry you find under a car seat with a giant baked potato with salt rubbed into the skin and topped with sour cream, crumbled bacon, butter, shredded cheese, and sprinkled with fresh-cracked black pepper.
Yep, this plane was loaded.

All this luxury, coupled with the beautiful convertible car, made me wonder about Mr. Kadam’s employer. He must be someone
very
rich and powerful in India. I tried to think of who it might be, but I couldn’t even fathom a guess.

Maybe he’s one of those Bollywood actors. I wonder how much money they make. No, that can’t be it. Mr. Kadam has been working for him a long time, so he’s probably a very old man now.

The plane had built up speed and taken off while I was pondering Mr. Kadam’s mystery employer. I hadn’t even noticed! Maybe it was because my chair was so soft that I just sank back into it when the plane ascended, or maybe it was because the pilot did an exceptional job. Perhaps it was a little of both. I looked out the window and watched the Columbia River grow smaller and smaller until we passed through the cloud cover and I couldn’t see land anymore.

After about an hour and a half, I’d read a magazine cover to cover and finished the Sudoku puzzle as well as the crossword. I set down my magazine and looked at Mr. Kadam. I didn’t want to pester him, but I had tons of questions.

I cleared my throat. He responded by smiling at me over his news magazine. Of course, the first thing that came out of my mouth was the question I cared the least about. “So, Mr. Kadam, tell me all about Flying Tiger Airlines.”

He closed his magazine before setting it down on the table. “Hmm. Where to begin? My employer used to own, and I used to run, a cargo airline company called Flying Tiger Airlines Freight and Cargo or Flying Tiger Airlines for short. It was the largest major trans-Atlantic charter company in the 1940s and 1950s. We provided service to almost every continent in the world.”

“Where did the name Flying Tiger come from?”

He shifted slightly in his seat. “You already know that my employer has a fondness for tigers, so it was that, coupled with the fact that a few of the original pilots had flown ‘tiger’ planes during
WWII
. You might remember that they were painted like tiger sharks to look fierce in battle.

“In the late ’80s, my employer decided to sell the company. But he kept one plane, this one, for personal use.”

“What is your employer’s name? Will I get to meet him?”

His eyes twinkled. “Most assuredly. He will introduce himself when you land in India. I am certain he would like to converse with you.” He shifted his gaze to the back of the plane for a moment and then back to me. Smiling with an encouraging expression, he added, “Are there any other questions?”

“So you’re kind of like his vice president?”

The Indian gentleman laughed. “Suffice it to say, he is a very wealthy man who trusts me completely to handle all of his business dealings.”