Page 8 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

He does take note of the fact that there are only two flights leaving within the next hour from where Mike is heading: Frankfurt and Chicago. Which isn’t to say that’d be Mike’s final destination.

Fortunately, Toby’s return flight is on time and will take him straight to Newark—eighteen hours, and he’ll be back in his apartment. He decides to allow himself three days to unpack, regroup and wrap up the mission before he starts looking for a new place.

Picking up his suitcase, he strolls off in the opposite direction of where Mike disappeared.

III. Nouakchott, Mauritania

III. Chapter One

H alf past six is a time that barely exists in Toby’s vocabulary. It is, frankly, indecent.

Somehow, he’s still on his way to Liu’s office, just thirty minutes after an unscheduled wake-up call. He’s dressed. His belt matches his shoes. He’s a fucking professional, that’s what he is.

His plan foresees taking the most direct path to Liu’s office with only a brief coffee stop on the way. Jesy’s, “Hey, Toby, wait a minute!” sabotages that. Best laid plans and all.

He likes Jesy. He really, really does, and he’s willing to eat a tub of hair dye if her recent placement behind the reception desk isn’t part of her training as an agent—always good to learn about the inner workings of a security system before trying to take one apart from the outside. The urgency in Liu’s voice conveyed an unspoken order to avoid delays, though.

Toby doesn’t slow his stride as he gives her a passing shrug. “Sorry, J! Got to hurry.”

“Who’d have guessed.” A crooked grin twists her mouth. “Travel department dropped off an envelope for you; sounded urgent.” Despite the curiosity in her voice, they both know she can’t ask, and he can’t answer. Not that he’d have anything to share even if he wanted to.

“Thanks!” He turns on his heels, hastily packed suitcase swinging with the abrupt change in direction, and snags the envelope offered to him before he continues on his merry way.

“Your tie is crooked!” Jesy calls after him.

While moving through the access control routine, he gives her a two-fingered salute and a half-stifled yawn. Jesus, he hates mornings, and early ones in particular. There’s a special place in hell reserved for the person who first decided to take a perfectly good clock and equip it with an alarm. One more step towards machine dictatorship, that’s what it is.

Once the elevator doors close behind him, he slits the envelope open. Not unexpectedly, it’s a flight ticket. Nouakchott International Airport, via Paris-Charles de Gaulle. The flight departs in less than three hours.

All right, then. Time for the mental checklist.

Essentials packed: check. Three complete sets of passport and matching credit card: check. Flight ticket: check. Briefing from Liu: incoming. Message to Matt that Toby won’t be able to watch Haley this weekend: to do.

Fuck, he hates it when last-minute orders make him a bad uncle—small consolation that it’s easier to lie on voicemail than it is to lie to his brother’s face or, worse, to Haley’s. It easily tops the list of what Toby hates most about his job.

***

The kidnapping of two American tourists by Islamist terrorists has yet to leak to the press. That’s the good news.

The bad news is that there is a kidnapping of two American tourists by Islamist terrorists. Also: it’s in Mauritania. And another thing: their suspicion that the hostages might be held in a building situated near Nouakchott’s industrial port was founded on shaky information, and even if they’re right, the kidnappers will make a move sooner rather than later, possibly across the border into the north of Mali. Furthermore, the local infrastructure won’t be of much use to them, and Toby has to limit all technical equipment to whatever fits into his suitcase and won’t be seized by customs.

On the bright side, acquiring weapons won’t be a problem, and this is what Toby trained for. He suspects the same is true for Mike, who’ll be touching down in Nouakchott just before Toby.

When Jada left, one of her parting shots accused Toby of a persistent negative attitude. To prove that he’s evolved, he puts the chances of recovering the hostages at an optimistic fifty.

***

The situation leaves no time to rest after the flight, so Toby swallows enough sleeping pills to spend most of the journey blissfully conked out. An apologetic stewardess rouses him in time for the landing. She shows no traces of spending six hours on her feet, make-up and smile flawless. By comparison, Toby feels crumpled.

He sets his seat upright and watches Nouakchott draw closer. All he sees is sand of a dusky pink color, sharply confined by the ocean on one side. They land with a bone-shuddering thud that jerks him fully awake—who needs caffeine?

The moment he steps out onto the gangway, hot, dry wind spits sand into his face. Moving with the flow, he proceeds into a small terminal that’s separated from the main area by a row of white screens, and passes through the typical set of airport controls without any problems.

In the arrival hall, he is accosted by loud, insistent offers of cab rides and rooms for rent. No, thank you. Places to be, hostages to save.

In spite of the glaring heat, he breathes more freely once he’s back out in the open. Shielding his eyes against the sun—sunglasses, dammit; there’s always something he forgets—he needs several seconds to adjust to the brightness. Only then does he spot Mike, leaning against the side of a beat-up rental truck and seemingly unaffected by the chaos raging around him. He’s just as attractive as Toby remembers.

They exchange a short greeting before Toby hops in on the passenger side, happy to leave the driving to Mike. It gives him time to arrive mentally as well as physically.

---