Page 59 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

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The descent into Singapore puts the plane and the sinking sun at a steep angle. Depending on how Toby turns his head, he’s either fully encased by shadows or one of his eyes is blinded by the sun while his other can’t adjust to the lack of light.

He could shield his eyes.

Instead, he tilts closer to Mike and fully into the sun, watching the ground draw nearer. While Mike angles himself to provide Toby with a better view, he doesn’t retreat as far as he could.

Maybe they’ll make it through this op without either killing or jumping each other. The odds are mediocre, but as Toby’s still working on a more optimistic attitude to life, he’ll hold out hope until one of them ends up with a gun to the temple or his pants on the floor.

***

“All I’m saying” —Toby turns the key that opens the door to their temporary home— “is that there is something rather schizophrenic about a country welcoming you and tagging on a death threat in the same breath. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, anyone?”

Mike adjusts the weight of his own backpack and grabs Toby’s suitcase before Toby can do just that. He follows Toby into an apartment that is decorated in the typical style of people who believe that a subscription to House & Home replaces an individual touch, the fading daylight showing a lot of white mixed with strategically placed spots of color. It was sublet to the Agency by an American couple that got a nice, one-month luxury cruise in return, along with a hefty sum of money. The apartment’s most important feature is a kitchen window that grants a nice view over the offices of CTS Consulting.

“Can’t say that some old gothic novel is the first thing that comes to mind in relation to Singapore.” After setting Toby’s suitcase down on a thick, beige carpet, Mike glances around the living room, sparsely furnished, dominated by an enormous couch and a huge TV screen mounted on one of the walls. “Does this city even have bookshops still, or is it all holograms?”

“That is not the point.” Toby needs to choose partners that are less likely to challenge his views. Then again, he might get bored. “The point is that your first impression of the country is a form that says ‘Welcome to Singapore’ on one side and ‘We’ll kill you if we catch you with drugs’ on the other. Talk about mixed signals.”

“They’re just trying to send a message.” Mike has already moved further into the apartment, opening doors and peering inside. He has yet to set down his backpack, but Toby wouldn’t be surprised if it weighed close to nothing—if previous trips are any indication, Mike’s idea of necessities means a couple of white T-shirts, an extra pair of cargo pants, underwear, socks, a razor, a small sample of cologne, and weapons.

“What message?” Toby asks. “Hi, we enjoy killing tourists?”

“Don’t do drugs if you value your life.” Mike returns to the living room. Seeming to remember that he’s still carrying his backpack, he lets it slide off his shoulders and to the ground before he peers into the kitchen. The windows of CTS Consulting’s offices are brightly lit.

They retreat back into the hallway.

“How about I get some takeout while you set up surveillance?” Mike offers. “You don’t like me around that anyway.”

“You don’t understand my system.”

“That’s because you made some weird alterations that make it impossible for anyone else to set it up.”

“I’ll have you know that they’re not weird at all. They’re damn useful, and I’d patent them if it didn’t mean giving away the secret sauce.”

“Whatever you say.” Mike looks amused, maybe even fond. After that stretch of days when he barely acknowledged Toby’s presence, it sparks a strange, twisting warmth in Toby’s stomach.

This is not conducive to getting the job done.

“Keep that attitude up,” he tells Mike. “In fact, if you were to address me as ‘Your Highness’ from now on, it would make things a lot easier. Repeat after me: ‘Whatever you say, your Highness.’”

Mike gives him a blank look.

“And I had such high hopes for us.” It’s out before Toby catches the broader truth that will hopefully be lost on Mike. Quickly, Toby jumps onto a different track. “Now, get me some dinner, and not all will be lost. Something greasy, please. With ketchup. Or mayonnaise—even better: both.”

Mike chuckles, the stylish, dimmed lamplight painting him in soft hues. “You know that stuff is bad for you, right?”

“What happened to ‘Whatever you say’?”

“Just looking out for your arteries, princeling.”

“You and Haley can join forces. School is putting her through some sort of cooking class because apparently that’s become popular again.” Toby crouches down and unzips his suitcase, lifting the top layer off to retrieve the customized elements he squeezed into the second compartment—a lens that is supremely sensitive to brightness, for instance. Combined with the standard equipment they picked up at the airport, it should make for a nice set. “She’s been on my case ever since she learned how to spell vitamins.”

“We nag,” Mike says brightly, “because we care.”

“You nag because you’re a health nut seventy percent of the time, and a committed carnivore the rest of it,” Toby corrects. He doesn’t allow himself to read anything into Mike’s words; this easy back-and-forth is a temporary equilibrium that allows them to focus on a shared task.

“Your lack of belief wounds me.” Contrary to the claim, Mike sounds more cheerful than anyone ought to after an endless flight and a jerky cab ride.

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