Page 40 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

Like Toby would trust Mike to do that. He’d probably cause a diplomatic incident of some sort just because he couldn’t care less about sugarcoating and choosing his words with care. Toby’s been handling it so far, and he’s not about to stop now—not that he’ll let Mike know that, of course.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he says instead.

Mike squints at him. “You don’t seem particularly averse.”

“It’s a deal,” Toby tells him, before Mike can attach further conditions. “You want to start on the second detonator?”

“Sure.” Mike shifts one of the backpacks over so he can sit down beside Toby, cross-legged, his knee resting lightly against Toby’s thigh. While Toby adjusts his position so they can both work comfortably in the beam of the torch light, he doesn’t move away. Mike doesn’t, either.

***

The bombs are set to detonate at 4:00 a.m.

At 3:27 a.m., Toby and Mike emerge from the shadows and take down the two men guarding the cars before they can utter so much as a sigh. While Mike moves the bodies out of sight, Toby pours a mixture of sugar and rice into the cars’ tanks.

At 3:36 a.m., the guard in front of the food cottage dies silently. Toby and Mike retreat back into the forest, taking the long way around to approach the barn from behind. As Mike wins a quick game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Toby lets him take care of the first guard and sprints past while the man is still upright, Mike’s grip preventing all sound as the body slides to the ground. Toby catches the second guard just as unprepared. As Mike passes, he pauses just long enough to whisper, “Last one’s mine,” before he moves on.

“But I get to handle the bombs,” Toby mutters into his microphone.

The only reply he gets is a barely audible slithering sound, cloth dragging over cloth. He straightens and follows at a slower pace, finding another dead man around the corner. When Toby catches up, Mike has already opened the barn doors and is looking quite pleased with himself. Next to the entrance sits the lone guard who would have been doing the rounds, peacefully asleep but for a dark splotch that spreads from his chest.

“Just so we’re clear…” Toby turns on his heels to retrieve the bag they left some short distance away, quiet conversation continued through the comm link. “This is not a competition. You don’t get points for each guard you take down, especially not when I graciously let you go first so you can feed your adrenaline addiction.”

Mike’s laugh is just loud enough to be picked up by the microphone. “I am perfectly harmless.”

“…said the lion to the mouse.” Ah, shit. Toby should switch on his brain before giving Mike an easy opening like this. He picks the bag up and turns back to the barn.

“You know, little mouse,” —Mike sounds comfortably loose, like a frat boy three beers in at some house party— “I’ve got ten different ways to respond to that. Do you prefer alphabetical, or by theme?”

“Call me little mouse again, and I will shove one of those bombs right up your ass.”

Maybe also not Toby’s best line. He’s on a roll; why quit while he’s ahead?

Fortunately, Mike leaves it at a quiet snicker and doesn’t reply. When Toby enters the barn, he finds Mike bent over a small basket with grenades—somebody didn’t read the ‘safe storage’ section in the manual—and wow, this should make for a nice display of fireworks. Shame they’ll have to miss the show.

Mike moves aside to let Toby place one bomb amongst the grenades. The second one joins a pile of ammunition, everything ready for the main event.

They don’t bother hiding the bodies before they hurry off; if one of their companions happens to be in the mood for a middle-of-the-night stroll and comes across them, he’d have to make his escape on foot. Even if the bombs are discovered, there won’t be time to dismantle them.

At 4:00 a.m., Mike is maneuvering their truck back onto the dirt road that will take them to the Pan-American Highway. Behind them, there’s a sharp bang, much like a plane breaking through the sound barrier. Mike twists behind the wheel to catch at least a glimpse of the mischief they caused. Thick smoke, lit from below, is all they can see.

Police sirens start blaring as soon as the echo fades.

“Well then.” Toby leans back in the passenger seat, taking the chance to admire Mike’s profile while Mike is watching the road. Mike is attractive; it’s not a problem. “Back to Quito it is. Maybe there’s time to pick up a gift for Haley. I’ll take my chances with the airport tourist traps.”

“Will you actually give it to her this time?” Mike follows it up with a quick smirk, like he knows. Toby’s heart performs some silly quick-jump thing—a belated reaction to the excitement of the op, or possibly a side-effect of the adrenaline just wearing off.

“I’m saving the snow globe,” he says evenly. “For her birthday.”

“Sure you are.” Mike is still smirking, sending Toby a bright look across the dark interior of the car.

“Eyes on the road,” Toby tells him. “Especially when it’s a road with potholes that could swallow us whole. I’m too fucking young to die, Mike.”

While Mike snorts, he does turn back to face the road. Off to the side, the jungle is lit up by flashing blue lights.

After a moment of silence, Toby slides deeper in his seat and lets his head fall back, a comfortable weight settling in his limbs. Yawning, he gives Mike another quick sideways glance, eyes lingering for just a second before he lets his lids drift shut.

***

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