Page 36 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

Mike is blinking innocently at him from behind the windshield, pure as freshly fallen snow before someone inevitably steps on it. But Toby can see the grin just waiting to break through, hiding in the corners of Mike’s mouth. Whoever equipped him with a driver’s license needs to get their permit revoked.

“Who taught you how to drive?” Toby demands. “I need to have a word with them. On that note: physics. The laws of physics say that when you overtake a truck even though you can’t see what’s up ahead, and then you crash headfirst into oncoming traffic because you’re an idiot—it means that your speed and their speed add up, and my best fucking guess is that there are no working airbags in ninety percent of the vehicles around here.”

“We made it, didn’t we? In good time, too.” Mike gets out to stand next to Toby. His leisurely stretch makes his sweater ride up past the waistband of his pants, bunching just above his belly button, and the sliver of exposed skin distracts Toby long enough to miss his chance at a comeback.

“Anyway.” Mike studies their surroundings with an assessing gaze. “I say we have a look at the target and set up while it’s still light. Or...” His lips twitch. “I can go scouting, and you get us started on dinner.”

He’s baiting Toby. Of course he is, and Toby knows it. Doesn’t stop him from reacting.

“Okay. One.” He raises a finger, facing Mike. “I am not your cook. Two.” Second finger. “If you think I’ll let you creep around unsupervised, think again. And three. Three.” He pokes Mike’s stomach to make his point, except Mike stills Toby’s hand with both of his own, traps it flat against his own body.

“Three?” Mike asks quietly. His eyes are clear, stomach rising on a deep breath.

Three? Toby needs a moment before he remembers. He frees his hand, takes a step back. “Three: if you think I’ll let you creep around unsupervised with a bag of explosives? Think again. We’re in this together, you and me.”

Mike gives him a lazy look from underneath his lashes. “Are we?”

Still baiting, but, “Yes, we fucking are. I don’t know how you did this sort of thing before—whether you just always worked alone, whether you chained your partner to some tree while you ran off to have all the fun. That’s not going to work here. We do this together, explosives and all.”

“Agreed,” Mike says.

“No, seriously.” Toby raises his hands. “If I hang back, it’s not because I’m soft or whatever other bullshit idea may have crossed your mind, but because it’s the best way to get the job—” He cuts himself off as Mike’s previous comment finally registers, and takes in Mike’s smiling face. Right. “You were baiting me.”

“Yeah.” Mike lifts a shoulder, unrepentant. “I so enjoy hearing you talk about job dedication.”

“You’re an asshole,” Toby tells him, but it lacks heat. He rounds the truck to retrieve the duffle bag that contains their equipment.

“Weirdly enough” —Mike chuckles— “I suspect that insults are one way you show affection.”

He’s not wrong. That’s a little disconcerting.

Rather than lie, Toby lugs the bag around the car so he can heave it onto the hood. It lands with a heavy clunk. Mike comes up beside him as Toby unzips the bag. He’s standing a little too close, their shoulders overlapping, and Toby bans his awareness of the contact to the furthest corner of his mind.

Silently, they take stock of their supplies, surrounded by the sounds of the forest—melancholic bird calls, a frog croaking somewhere, thick leaves rustling in the breeze. Fine mist chills the air.

“I think,” Mike says, “this is enough to blow up a mid-sized ranch.”

“Don’t sound so delighted about it,” Toby chides. But when he turns his head and finds Mike grinning at him from up close, he finds that he can’t help but grin back, feeling silly and just a little weightless, just a little delighted himself.

There are crow’s-feet blooming in the corners of Mike’s eyes, and Toby wants to touch them. He picks up a gun instead.

***

The target is a hacienda from the seventeenth or eighteenth century. While other haciendas in the area have reinvented themselves as luxurious tourist lodgings, it’s clear that this one hasn’t seen a workman in decades: the stone walls are starting to disintegrate as moss is staging a hostile takeover, several roof tiles are chipped or missing in action.

Strategically speaking, it’s a suboptimal choice. While it easily accommodates a group of thirty, its vicinity to the forest and a sprawling layout with several side buildings are a gift to potential intruders. It was clearly picked by someone who is either not worried about opposition or lacks relevant experience.

If Toby had to bet, he’d say that between him and Mike, they could take down the entire group—pick people off one by one, until there’s no one left. It’s not why they’re here, though; all they’re meant to do is prepare the scene so that the Ecuadorian forces can swoop in without much risk, apprehend most of the terrorists and let one or two escape to send a message: stay out of Ecuador.

Toby identifies four promising routes to the main house in under two minutes. It’s not exactly a challenge; while there are guards, they are scattered at random, little more than decorative ornaments. In combat gear, paired with olive green rubber boots and bored expressions, they remind Toby of cartoon characters.

He and Mike retreat quietly.

Once they’re back at the truck, Mike drives it deeper into the forest until Toby is convinced that no one can possibly spot it from the dirt road. He hides the tire tracks, and while there isn’t much he can do about broken twigs, it shouldn’t be obvious unless you know what to look for.

When Toby catches up to the truck, Mike has already set up their tent and moved most of their things. Except for the bottles lined up on the hood, it looks like the campsite of two adventurous tourists who prefer wilderness to a hostel. With dusk settling amongst the trees and the gas cooker’s flame the brightest point in their immediate vicinity, it could be cozy if it wasn’t for the hacienda, about a mile away.

Mike deposits the second sleeping bag in their tent before he crouches down beside Toby. All he does is watch, yet his presence is distracting when Toby needs to focus on properly assembling the motion triggers.

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