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The arrival time didn’t matter at all to Muhammad Bin Salaam. He’d been in the air almost continuously for thirty hours. Well in the air or in an airport transit lounge. Algiers to Madrid to Lagos to Cape Town to Bloemfontein to Pretoria to Victoria. All to arrive in Durban before the shipment of nuclear material from Bandar Abbas in two days.The men from the Team of the Prophet would be arriving tomorrow.Bin Salaam took a taxi to Durban, dressed like any other businessman – he even carried a briefcase, filled with the shipping papers. He checked in to the Albany Hotel, in the center of Durban’s busy downtown. He retrieved a suitcase that had been left for him yesterday by a delivery van registered to a shell company in Shalcross, a small town some twelve kilometers to the west.In the suitcase were clothes that would turn Bin Salaam from a terrorist masquerading as a Middle-Eastern businessman into a South African worker fronting for a merchant. He scanned the internet directory for. She kicked over the coffee cup with one of her three-toed feet, the contents spilling over the carpet, and she didn’t even seem to notice.“Do you fantasize about me overpowering you and doing terrible things to you? Blurring the lines between pleasure and pain? And here I thought that we had a more professional relationship than that...”“Listen,” I pleaded, moving to my right as she closed in and hopping over my bed to put a barrier between us. She kept her eyes fixed on me, beginning to circle around the obstruction in order to reach me. “It was just a thought! The viewers really like you, why is that such a bad thing? Why do you hate that so much?”“Because I’m here for you, my little sugar dumpling,” she cooed. It was saccharine, insincere, the nickname intended to mock rather than to endear. “I’m your muse, and nobody else’s. I don’t want to be shared, I only want to be adored by one person, feared by one person...”“I understand! I won’t draw you in the streams anymore, I won’t.
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Looking curiously around, she was quite startled when a tall handsome man in dark peasant’s garb seemed to materialize out of the woods. Heart pounding, mouth dry with the sudden fright, she realized that his clothing had allowed him to blend in with the woods. ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling gently, hands held out so that she could see he held nothing. ‘Hello,’ she replied softly, her hands clutching at the bouquet of flowers she had picked, pressed tightly against her stomach where butterflies were still fluttering. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, still smiling, his deep brown eyes looking into her amber ones, running one hand though his longish dark brown hair, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, you just looked so pretty and happy running around… I couldn’t help but watch you.’ A delicate flush infused Gwendolyn’s cheeks as he complimented her, she was used to the courtly compliments paid by visiting knights and Lords, but this was different. He really meant it otherwise he wouldn’t have said it,.

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