going anywhere faster than the rest of us,” a bespectacled man cried as I bumped into him.
“Miss,” a flight attendant called. “Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking for someone?”
Several passengers craned their necks. One of the flight attendants began trailing me. She probably thought I was deranged or a new breed of terrorist.
I spotted the man who’d stolen my stuff as he hurdled into the middle seat, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. I leaned over the heavyset man occupying the aisle seat and held out my hand.
“You have something that’s mine. Give it up.”
The thief opened his eyes and grunted something in a foreign language.
“What’s going on?” the other occupant, a woman who was clearly terrified, asked, clutching her chest.
I had no time for explanations. My wallet had been there when I boarded the plane. I’d produced my driver’s license at the gate. My passport and plane ticket had been put back into my backpack after I’d checked in. I needed my money and I needed my ID, simple as that.
“Give me back my wallet,” I said, reaching across the obese man and grabbing a handful of the thief’s shirt. His eyes bugged out of his head and his neck jerked forward as I began to shake him.
“Turn it over, now.”
I’d garnered pretty much all of the attention of the passengers in the surrounding areas.
The pickpocket’s mouth worked. He made a gargling sound. The woman seated next to him’s left eye ticked. Petrified, she pressed her bony body against the wall.
I straddled the male passenger and stood in front of the thief, hemming him in. Behind me, bedlam broke out. I felt a hand tapping my shoulder.
“Miss, you need to calm down.”
Audible gasps followed as the surrounding people watched me shove a finger into the hollow of my accoster’s throat. His entire body jerked as he gasped for air and made a gurgling sound.
“I’ll stick my knee in your groin next,” I said, patting him down with my free hand. “Hand over my wallet.”
I felt a bulky object at his waistband. Victorious, I reached into his pants and retrieved my goods then waved my wallet above his head.
“As I suspected, you took something that’s not yours.”
“Take it easy, little lady,” a Southern voice growled from behind me. “You keep this up and we’ll need to restrain you.”
I glanced over my shoulder, spotting one of the pilots. I eased the pressure on the pickpocket’s windpipe.
“This man’s a thief. He stole my wallet,” I explained.
The thief held his throat, rasping. Guttural words came out in the strange foreign language.
“Is that so,” the pilot said, sounding as if he didn’t quite believe me.
I held up my wallet, doing a quick check to make sure that my money, credit cards, driver’s license and social security card were still in their respective compartments.
The pilot attempted to interrogate the man but the passenger didn’t respond. Orders were given to find a crew member proficient in Chinese.
“I want to press charges,” I said, as yet another flight attendant came racing up the aisle to the pilot’s assistance.
“We’ll call ahead and have the authorities meet the flight. These things take time, so you’ll probably miss your connection if you have one,” she answered.
I couldn’t afford to be delayed. Timing on this project was everything. I’d promised to have Maitreya, if that’s who the statue was, restored before Buddha’s Enlightenment Day. That festival drew every pilgrim from the far ends of the earth. It also helped fuel the Tibetan economy.
So although it went against everything I believed in to let the crook go free, what choice did I have? I didn’t have time for questions or filling out tedious paperwork. I could not afford to miss my connection. I had a deadline to meet. Missing my connection would cost me money.
And possibly my father’s sanity and his name.
But why had the pickpocket chosen me of all people to come after? I was dressed in cargo pants and hiking boots, not exactly an outfit that was a fashion statement or said I had money to burn.
Grumbling, I flounced by the still-gawking passengers. Their loud whispers followed me back to my row. A few even had the gumption to cheer.
“Way to go!”
“You’re some gutsy female.”
I grunted something and sank into my seat and quickly clamped on my headphones. Music would soothe the soul and make me forget how ravenous I was.
My pickpocket disappeared in Frankfurt and we finally made it to Lhasa, Tibet, without further incident.
After enduring immigration we collected our checked luggage and cleared customs. When we finally exited the Gonkar terminal, I looked around for our driver. Several Asian men held placards with names that were barely legible. There was no sign of a driver retained for just the Sutherland group.
“Xiong Jing, our project manager, said he’d arranged transportation for our group,” I said out loud. “But there doesn’t seem to be anyone here to meet us.”
I was tired, edgy and wound up from the ridiculous incident. I hadn’t gotten much sleep on the flight, not folded like a pretzel in those uncomfortable seats.
“I don’t see anyone waiting,” Damon said, coming up behind me.
“Could be he’s late. I’ll see what we can do about getting us to the hotel.”
“I’ll get a taxi.” Damon hurried off.
“I’m finding rickshaws,” I announced. “They’re cheaper and a whole lot more fun.” I stomped off in the other direction, my trusty Althea, her dreads secured by a rubber band, next to me.
“I hope the luggage and equipment fit into those rickety pedicabs,” Damon said as he returned loud enough for me to hear. “Betcha anything Phoenix will make that luggage fit.”
I decided to let it go.
A weathered-looking man of indeterminate age stepped in front of me. “Madam Sutherland?” he queried in a singsongy voice with foreign intonations.
“I am. And you are?”
“Your driver. Your manager, Xiong Jing, asked me to meet you. I’m sorry I was detained. Is that all of your luggage?”
My manager? I waved a hand indicating the group and their bags. “Yes, thank you for coming to get us.”
Everyone had been instructed to travel light. We were restricted to clothing and personal effects, enough
