Laszlo had decided upon consideration to give Dinah some room. She was well and truly pissed at him and she needed time to get over it. She'd also, unfortunately, stumbled upon someone who at least had her curious, if not downright interested. Hell, he had him interested, too, though for totally different reasons. So until the storm rolled in he'd let her alone, keeping an occasional eye on her mood, ready to intervene if he needed to, and amused himself playing poker with the off duty teams, making sure he didn't win so much that they tossed him out on his ear. There wasn't much else to entertain him and he hated being bored.  If he could manage it, he wasn't leaving until she did.

When the storm started all that changed. Dinah hated storms, they terrified her and this one was clearly getting set to be special. So he folded on a winning hand, scooped up his money and went looking for her. He found her, finally, huddled in a chair in the library trying, unsuccessfully, to convince whoever saw her she was really reading, not quivering in her thong every time the thunder sounded.

He stood for a moment and watched, knowing she was oblivious to everything but the storm and her fear, gauging her mood under the fear, trying to determine the best way to help her. As he watched, the thunder smashed, sounding like the world was ending and she jumped and huddled tighter, moaning softly while a tear started down her check, followed by several more.

He was across the floor and lifting her, unresisting, into his arms when the next one came. She turned into his chest, fisting her hands in his shirt and tried to make herself disappear. He juggled her a bit and sat down in the chair while she shivered against him. He drew her close and said nothing, his hand making soothing circles on her back, quite content to do it all night if he needed to.

He sensed rather than knew and was rolling with her to the floor, protecting her with his body when the windows blew out, her scream muffled against his chest and she started sobbing from the fear. He kept her under him, from instinct, and was glad when the blast came and the books started tumbling off the shelves while she screamed again at the sound, sobbing harder.

When he'd decided it was safe he lifted her against him and between one breath and the next they were in her room, fortunately largely spared the effects of the storm. He chose the armchair rather than the bed, sitting there holding her, with her still trying to become one with his chest. Gradually, while he traced circles on her back, murmuring soothing sounds against her hair, her sobs slowed and stopped and her trembling ceased. He held her while she gradually relaxed against him, eased into sleep by his soothing and the warmth of his chest.

When he was sure she was asleep he laid her gently on the bed, removed her shoes, covered her and left. When she woke up, she probably wouldn't remember at thing.

He needed a drink, he needed several drinks. He needed to someday find her father and castrate him. He needed her. But the drink was the only one he had any control over.

The next day Laszlo hung up the phone after a coded and excessively cryptic conversation with Paul. Unfortunately it would soon be time to deal with the morons who'd tried to either kill him or kidnap him in Malta. He was going to have to leave Dinah here without him for several days while he went to South Africa. He would make them pay for that as well.

He considered his alternatives. He was certain she had no idea how he felt about her, though she knew he was attracted to her; they certainly did their share of flirting. She assumed, and he'd let her, understanding she was relationship shy and thinking it a better approach, that he was interested in a fling, or a casual relationship. A strategic mistake, he acknowledged to himself, in light of current events.

He was not inclined to think seducing her now would help. He was not sure what would. He would have liked to remove her from here completely, but he couldn't. This was the safest place for her right now, whether she liked it or not...whether he liked it or not. Any other action, romantic or otherwise would just send her flying behind her defenses.

Laszlo was not unaware of the humor of the situation. He was thirty- eight years old and had successfully fended off dozens of women who had orange blossoms on their mind and babies in their dreams, indulging when he'd wanted and leaving when he was ready. Then he'd met Dinah, wounded, fragile and proud as the devil himself, determined to do it all herself. He'd taken one look and that was it. He'd spent the time in between slowly advancing his cause… extremely slowly. He hadn't needed Stephen to tell him that she was finally over Mac. He'd known. And he'd planned accordingly. But now...Oh yes, the bozos in South Africa would pay...in spades.

He left his suite and went looking for her. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. He found her in the kitchen helping bake bread. She had flour on her face and her clothes, her face was alight with laughter, she was relaxed and at ease. She'd never looked more beautiful to him.

It took him some time and some wrangling but he detached her from her dough and taking her arm led her outside and into the gardens enjoying the suspicious glances she kept sending his way.

Finally she dug in her heels and stopped. "What exactly are you playing at?" she demanded.

"Just taking a walk sweetheart; enjoying the cool of the morning. It'll be mighty hot later, don't you think?"

"Who knows; who cares. That's not why you brought me out here."

He took her arm again and drew her on towards a bench. When she was settled he said, "You're right. It's not. I have to take care of some business and I'll be leaving, probably day after tomorrow or the next day."

"Ok, well have a good trip, send postcards and don't get killed."

Laszlo mugged a stricken expression. "That's all you can say? I am wounded, wounded to the core…crushed by your cruelty. I thought you cared."

She couldn't repress a smile. "I care. But hell, Laz, it's not like we're married. You go, and I'll stay and like that…I'm sure you're relieved I'm not running off unprotected."

Laszlo smiled, crookedly, "We could be," he said, keeping his voice light, teasing. He picked up her hand and began playing with her fingers. "If you want."

She laughed then. "You, married? It'll never happen. Besides," she said, sobering, "We'd kill each other. But I shall cherish the thought."

"Yes, well…" he said, releasing her hand and lifting up her chin towards him, "I'd like you to do more than cherish the thought." And he kissed her, lightly and let her go. "Who knows, maybe someday, you'll feel differently." He smiled again, crookedly and drew her up beside him and headed back to the house.

The next morning Laszlo listened as Paul updated him on South Africa, swearing to himself. “OK,” he said when Paul finished. “Here’s the plan. I’ll catch a flight out of Dulles into Johannesburg…there’s nothing direct to Cape Town, I already checked…but I can get to Johannesburg in about sixteen hours, flying time. As soon as I have an arrival time I’ll let you know. I want you to meet me there and have a pilot and plane standing by to take us out to the mines. Bring my stuff with you, I’ve got nothing here. You should have time to retrieve the gear we sent ahead, load it and get it checked. Then I want a chopper standing by at the air strip to take us out at the mine…a car’s too slow. I have no time to fuck around with these bozos so we’re gonna do an aerial arrival.”

“Anyone else you want with us,” was the only question Paul had. It’s why he loved him for these kinds of jobs. “Yeah, two others if you can, otherwise we’ll handle it ourselves. But we aren’t waiting for anyone. I want to be back here in forty-eight hours or less.”

“Right. See you in Africa, mate.”

Laszlo hung up the phone and immediately dialed another number he knew by heart. When he was finished he had a reservation for South Africa and not much time to make the flight. Then he went to find Dinah…again.

He found her in her room writing letters. “May I come in for a moment?”

“Sure,” she said, standing back to give him room. “What’s up?”

“I’m getting ready to leave and I wanted to say good bye,” he said, reaching out for her hand and pulling her hard against him. Then he kissed her, in way and at a length that told her everything she needed to know, if she was paying attention. He released her enough to get a look at her face. Enjoying her surprised and utterly bemused look, he said, “Be here when I get back. I don’t want to have to go looking for you.” He kissed her again, in the same way and for a longer length of time, delighting in her growing and, he could tell, what was on her part an unexpected and certainly unwilled response. He let her go, reluctantly, and left. He was done with games.

Dinah watched him leave on auto-pilot, shutting the door behind him from habit. Then she just stood there, wondering what the hell she was going to do now.

Laszlo got off the plane in Johannesburg and cleared customs with ease, using a British passport that wasn’t forged. He headed straight for the air cargo terminal where Paul was waiting for him, with a Lear jet fueled and ready to taxi.

He took his seat, buckled the belt and gave the pilot the signal to go. Then he listened while Paul brought him up to date. It would be just them against four guys known to be light weights. As soon as they were airborne he and Paul spread out the maps of the layout of the mines and began to decide on a plan.

They had just finished moving the gear they were going to need to the chopper when the pilot transferred a call back to Paul.

“That was our contact there. The boys just headed out of Molander’s office. We should be there in a few minutes. Here…here’s where it is on the map.”

“Got it,” Laszlo shouted over the roar of the blades, giving the pilot the signal to go. They were over the office block and about to land when the first explosion came. Laszlo gripped the pilot’s shoulder to get his attention and motioned him to pull up and head for the blast.

The chopper was setting them down near the mine itself when the next series of explosions came. Laszlo and Paul, armed like this was the movies in camouflage to match, but without the make-up, began quartering the mine area, keeping low and moving from cover to cover, heading slowly but surely towards the last blast where the staccato sound of intermittent automatic weapons fire could be heard.

Laz put himself flat against a wall and slowly looked around the corner. He drew back and motioned to Paul…two guys on his hit list…one dead, one injured and no threat...they could come back for him. They moved out, past them and were racing across the open compound towards the shed when the next explosion sent them flying to the ground. Laszlo was up again and moving, Paul behind him as soon as the noise faded.

The air was thick with dust and the stink of cordite; the din of the sirens overlaying everything. Small fires were taking hold from the explosions, sending smoke into the air.

Laszlo turned a corner cautiously…three guards dead and a trail of blood. He was heading in the right direction.

Laszlo crossed the next open space and reached the shed he’d been aiming for, behind which he’d placed the explosion and flattened himself against it, waiting for Paul to catch up again.

He cautiously approached the edge of the building and peered around the corner…two guys, both alive, both on his hit list. He pulled a grenade off his belt, pulled the pin and threw it along the ground around the corner, ducking as he let go.

After the explosion he peered again….one in pieces only a mother could love and the other running, blood streaming from his shoulder like a spigot opened full blast where his arm was now dangling, apparently attached by only a few shredded pieces of stringy skin. It had to hurt.

Three down and one to go was what he was thinking when he heard an automatic weapon being discharged behind him.

Paul was behind him, shooting at a couple of security guards, not to kill them but to keep them down, out of the way. He stepped out from the wall to fire another round when one of them, bolder and stupider than the others, let off another burst, hitting him in the shoulder and knocking him backwards into the wall of the shed. Simultaneously another explosion rocked the compound, sustained and more powerful that any of the last.

Laszlo considered his options. Two were dead, two were injured, one seriously enough that he might not live. The other was wounded and out of commission for the foreseeable future. Not a bad day’s work. He lifted the mic clipped to his collar and told the pilot to start his engine.

He pulled Paul upright by his good arm, put him behind him and moved out, spraying fire across the compound as he crossed it, in short, controlled, sweeping bursts, keeping the guards down and the way clear. Once away from them he headed straight back to the chopper.

Laszlo, occupied with Paul’s shoulder for the first few minutes after they took off, found himself wondering how good the insurance carried by the Pumalonga Mining Company was. They were going to be out of business for sometime to come.

By the time they reached the jet and were airborne again Paul had passed out and Laszlo had determined the bullet was still in there. He found the first aid kit and went to work, reflecting as he poured scotch on the wound before probing for the bullet, that this whole bloody thing was turning into something out of a 1940’s war flick and it would be just his bloody luck if he didn’t get the girl when it ended.

If that happened he was going to be pissed. He was going to be worse than pissed. He might even have to be noble…naw he thought …he wasn’t the noble type…he was the type stupid enough to wait around for a second chance, though, being annoying and making an ass out of himself in the process…hoping she’d get over it.

He just knew, he thought, extracting the bullet with a practiced twist of his wrist, he shouldn’t have left her there without him.

Ignoring the ruin he was making of the carpet, he doused the wound again with the scotch, took a swig himself and then packed the wound tight with antiseptic gauze before strapping the arm to Paul’s chest, immobilizing it. Then he gave him an injection of penicillin and morphine.

Until they reached Johannesburg, there was nothing else he could do about Paul. Until he got back to the states, there was even less he could do about Dinah. And with Paul hurt it would be a bit more than the planned forty-eight hours before he got back…it would probably be close to a week…if he was lucky and Paul kind enough to refrain from having any complications.

He took a swig and headed forward to the cockpit. He needed a car with a driver waiting at the airport and a number called where a specific message was left that would direct the recipient to have a doctor waiting with the car.

He returned to the cabin and sat down. He took another swig of scotch and leaned back, relaxing. There wasn’t anything he could do now except wait. But, god damn it, he thought, he shouldn’t have left her there without him.