Page 13 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“I still have one,” the terrorist barks out, but when Toby peeks around the corner, it’s just in time to see the guy removing his arm from around Nathan’s throat, pushing him towards Mike with a hard shove. Mike catches Nathan, only to twist around and put himself physically in front of the hostages, arms spread wide like he’s hoping to shield two grown men all by himself. He can’t. Of course he can’t.

“Easy,” Mike repeats.

“You are who?” The guy’s hands are trembling a little, but he keeps the rifle pointed straight at Mike’s chest, one unsteady finger on the trigger. It won’t take much to startle him.

Nathan’s eyes flick to Toby. Now. Now.

A second later, Toby’s shot finds its target.

The force of the blow propels the terrorist’s body towards Mike, but he doesn’t make it far, slumping to the ground with a muted gasp, still clutching his rifle.

“Check him,” Toby bites out, already whirling towards the front room. Number Five must have heard the shot.

Number Five did, indeed. He also must have found the bodies—to the opposite effect of his dead companion: just as Toby dashes out of the house, the van starts up, rear doors still open, swerving to avoid a collision with the neighboring house. For good measure, Toby fires a shot at one red taillight that rings clear in the night; the light goes dark. Maybe it’ll buy them some time before the guy returns with reinforcements.

It isn’t until Toby lowers his pistol that his hand starts shaking.

One misstep, and he could have been the only one to make it out alive. Fuck.

III. Chapter Two

O n the bright side, Paul and Nathan won’t plan another birthday trip that involves traipsing through dangerous territory as a homage to their younger, wilder days—not if the way they’re huddling in the backseat is any indication. Whenever Toby glances in the rearview mirror, it’s to find them staring into the night with wide, scared eyes, flinching at each passing car.

They’ll have to hold out just a little longer. Since the official permit for this mission wasn’t processed in time by the Mauritanian Powers That Be, this remains a secret operation until everyone’s safely left the country.

Toby tips his head against the backrest and stares blindly out into the night. Each time he blinks, he’s right back to watching Mike shield the hostages with his own body, standing tall and unafraid, as if a shot to the head won’t kill him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Nouakchott’s center embraces them with its bright lights, with people out on the streets, their truck just one of many vehicles on the road. Normalcy, right. That’s what it looks like. Toby’s head is still spinning, a knot of sick pressure sitting right behind his sternum.

At least Paul and Nathan seem to calm down slightly at the familiar sight of everyday life, Paul sitting up a little straighter, both of them relaxing their tight holds on their duffle bags, blissfully unaware that Mike takes several detours to ensure that no one’s following them. Mike’s grip around the wheel never loosens.

They leave the truck in a parking lot some blocks away from the hotel. While Mike switches the license plates with those of another car, Toby wraps the weapons back up and stores them in the plastic bags from before—reduce, reuse, recycle. Wordlessly, he joins Paul and Nathan. They look exhausted to the point of collapse, and Toby knows what that’s like—when the adrenaline subsides and all you can do is stay on your feet.

His heart is still beating too fast.

They’re not safe yet. They won’t be entirely safe until the flights take off, and even then, it’ll take touching down in whatever friendly country they can get to first for Toby to truly relax.

Mike straightens, slips his army knife into the pocket of his khaki pants, and joins them. “Let’s go.”

He leads the way, shoulders tense and back rigid. Toby brings up the rear with Nathan and Paul between them, meekly trailing along, kept upright by the promise of safety and a soft bed. Almost there.

They’re far enough from the heart of the city that they don’t encounter anyone, the sand-covered roads dark and empty. Broken bits of seashells crunch under their shoes, evidence of the beach’s quest to invade the city. When a car approaches, Mike hisses for Nathan and Paul to duck into the narrow space between two dark houses, Toby following suit in case Number Five caught a glimpse of him.

There’s a chance, a very good chance, that Number Five is all that remains of that particular cell. Assuming they followed the normal operating mode, their contact to the rest of the network would have been limited, enough so that he might not even know where to turn for support.

Still. Better safe than sorry.

The car passes without slowing down. Toby steps back onto the road to find Mike reclined against a house wall, fiddling with his cell phone, a poster boy for not-a-care-in-the-world if it wasn’t for the strain around his mouth. The glow of the display illuminates his face.

He could have died today.

Toby swallows and looks away.

“Clear,” he calls out to Paul and Nathan. “Let’s get going.”

They proceed carefully towards the hotel. The tall building, no beauty by anyone’s measure, shines like a beacon of hope in the night, and Toby notices their charges staring at it with the reverent air of those who’ve seen the light.

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