5 Minutes to Die by R.J. Patterson

Author:R.J. Patterson [Patterson, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo

Erica Everhart strode through the N’djili International Airport, head held high, eyes scanning behind her aviator sunglasses. She’d been to third world countries before and was all too familiar with the bombardment she was sure to endure. Teenaged boys and young men hustled up to her, offering their services for a tip. One of the teens tried to yank her suitcase out of her hand and pull it for her. But Erica pulled back, catching him off guard and knocking him off balance. He toppled to the ground, drawing a chorus of laughter from his competitors.

Erica, realizing this swarm of enterprising beggars wasn’t going away, stamped her foot and removed her sunglass, narrowing her eyes as she scanned her captive audience.

“No!” she barked. “I can do it myself.”

With her forceful response, the crowd scattered in search of a new target.

Moments later, she found baggage claim and located her bag. Then she searched among the men holding small signs with the names of their passengers plastered on it. But she wasn’t looking for her name.

A man wearing a pair of jeans and a lime green linen shirt hoisted a sign above his head that caught her eye: “Thomas Quinn.”

She marched over to the man and introduced herself.

“I’m afraid my colleague had to cancel at the last minute,” she said. “But he sent me in his place.”

“You are Thomas Quinn?” the man asked.

She shook her head, frustrated at the man’s inability to grasp the English language.

“Thomas Quinn is my friend,” she said slowly, hoping the pacing of her speech might help the man understand more clearly. “He didn’t fly here. But I did. He wanted me to take his place.”

The man shrugged and then gestured for her to follow him. She wasn’t sure he understood that she was his replacement. But Erica didn’t care. As long as she could convince the man to take her to the same place as Quinn had scheduled the driver to take him, it wouldn’t matter.

“Is your name Thomas Quinn?” the man asked.

“No,” she said. “It’s Erica. But he couldn’t make it and sent me in his place.”

The man squinted as he looked at her.

“Mr. Quinn isn’t coming?”

She shook her head. “But he still wanted me to go.”

The man paused for a moment, looked around the baggage claim area, and then tucked the sign under his armpit.

“It’s a pre-paid trip. Need help with your luggage?” he asked, offering his hand.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “Just take me to your car.”

A few minutes later, Erica was in the backseat of a Toyota RAV-4, humming along Congo’s sterling N1 highway, something she learned all about from her driver, Jacques.

For the next eight hours, Erica listened to Jacques’ discuss the important of the N1 highway to the Congolese people. He shared how in the past, he required tires with mud grips to navigate the boggy section of the roads. But not today. The weather no longer mattered. He could make it across the country without having to stop for weeks at a time due to the rainy season.

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