Page 6 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“Philosophical question, though.” Mike’s grin widens, turning real. “Can one truly be too young for vampire movies?”

The fact that Mike doesn’t pursue the personal thread that Toby opened up—Toby appreciates it. He rests his hands on the table and mirrors Mike’s grin. “How old were you when you watched Bram Stoker’s Dracula? Five, six?”

“Two,” Mike says seriously. “Didn’t sleep for a week after, and when I did, I dreamt of top hats.”

Toby nods with all the gravity the conversation warrants. “The worst kind of dreams.” He glances around for a waiter, waits to catch the eye of one before he turns back to face Mike. “Speaking of vampires, when did you last eat? It’s a little-known fact, but humans need food, and I can’t have my partner collapsing in the middle of a mission.”

“Surprisingly, your partner has made it to adulthood without constant supervision.” Mike is still grinning though, lacing his fingers behind his head as he sends Toby a look from beneath lowered lashes. “And long flights always dampen my appetite. Think it might be the plane coffee. Worse than at that coffee shop near your office, believe it or not.”

“Impossible,” Toby says, deadpan.

“Well, at least the service on the flight was better.” Mike slides lower in his chair, casual clothes and a camera slung around his neck, just a normal tourist out for a good time—except for the way he’s surreptitiously scanning their surroundings. Maybe they’d blend in even more if they’d donned the brightly colored, gleaming shirts street vendors are peddling outside. The surrounding crowd suggests an abundance of willing victims. Too bad that most colors clash with Toby’s current ginger state.

“It’s a real-life tragedy that no amount of money will buy you good coffee on a plane,” he informs Mike just as the waiter snakes his way towards them.

“Truly it is,” Mike agrees, his tone grave and his eyes bright. Toby’s last two partners were sharp as tacks, but they’d come without a sense of humor, so this is a nice change.

Maybe Liu was onto something after all. Not that Toby will tell him.

***

The operation goes down in less than thirty minutes.

Mike enters the building like a ghost, no trace of him in the security feeds even though Toby, camped out in a sound-proof van some blocks away, is specifically looking. Using their communication link, he directs Mike to the computer in Madhur’s office; the glimpse that Toby caught during his tour was enough to establish that it’s a classic desktop PC, which allows Mike to insert a USB stick into the back of the tower that will give Toby access to everything stored on Madhur’s computer on the next boot. The addition should go unnoticed until Madhur runs out of USB slots at the front.

After that, Mike pries a window open and slithers into the second production hall, curiously omitted from Toby’s tour. Mike’s whispered descriptions of his findings confirm their suspicions.

“Pictures,” Toby tells him. “Get me pictures. Lots of them. And don’t forget about the addresses on the shipments.”

“What do you take me for—a beginner?” Mike’s low chuckle, deceptively close, makes heat pool in Toby’s belly. “I know what I’m doing, Brown.”

“Prove it, then.” Toby’s voice sounds normal, thank God. And his acting coach back in high school, maybe.

“Bossy,” Mike mutters.

Toby’s response dries up when he catches movement on the screen. “Two guards coming your way,” he says. In the last few days, he’s seen them peek into the hall just once, but you never know. “Will be at the entrance in a minute. Likely just passing; I’ll let you know. Window route is clear.”

A near-inaudible, “Copy that,” then silence. Smart guy, Mike.

The guards are chatting, one of them having a smoke as they amble along. They pass by the hall without slowing their steps. Good. Move along, fellas, nothing to see here.

Toby waits until they disappear from one feed, a few seconds before another camera picks them up. He relaxes, and notices that he instinctively reached for the gun strapped to his hip—for all the good it would do him in this van. He releases his hold.

“All right,” he says coolly. “You’re clear. Next patrol should be in about ten minutes. How much longer do you need?”

“Another five, give or take.” Even though Mike is whispering, his delight carries through the connection. “Just found a pile of fake AK47s, decent imitations. Wonder how they measure up.”

“Do not” —Toby laces his voice with steel— “even think about it. They’d notice if one went missing.”

Mike’s sigh is more of a drawn-out exhalation.

Even though Mike isn’t in his view, Toby leans closer to the screen. “You hear me? We do not want them knowing someone was there. Repeat, please: pictures are all I will take.”

“Fine.” Mike mutters something under his breath that Toby doesn’t quite catch, but he can launch an educated guess.

“I’m sorry—what was that?”

“Nothing.”

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