Ibrahim Maghur nodded. “Only when the Prophet’s troops were strong enough did he break the pact, overrun the Khaybar rulers, and expel the infidels from Arabia.” His eyes flashed. “Are your troops strong enough?”

“With your help, and Allah’s, they will be.”

“You are a Caliph indeed,” said Colonel Maghur.

“When first we met, you told me that history was made by great men,” the Kagama said after a while.

“This is what I believe.”

“It would follow that history can also be unmade by great men. Men of power and prominence whose imperial ambitions masquerade as humanitarian compassion. Men who seek to outmaneuver righteous resistance through preachments of peace—who will do whatever they can to suppress the violence that ultimate justice requires.”

Maghur nodded slowly. “Your discernment as well as your tactical genius will guarantee your place in the history books, and the ultimate triumph of your struggles on behalf of ummah. I understand whom you speak of. He is indeed a true enemy of revolution. Alas, our attempts to strike at him have so far been futile.”

“I cannot forget that he was once my prisoner.”

“And yet he slipped from your clutches. He is as slippery as the serpent in the garden.”

Ahmad Tabari’s face tightened at the memory. All his reverses could be traced back to that humiliating blow. The jewel in his crown had been stolen by a thief in the night. Until then, nothing had marred Tabari’s aura of inexorable triumph and serene confidence: his followers believed that Allah had himself blessed the Caliph’s every move. Yet just a day shy of Id ul-Kebir came the shocking invasion of the Caliph’s newly claimed stronghold—and the seizure of his legendary captive. Nothing had gone smoothly since.

“The serpent must be hunted and killed before progress can resume,” Maghur said.

Tabari’s gaze was distant, but his mind was furiously engaged. A movement like his depended upon the sense that ultimate success was inevitable: the event had shaken that air of inevitability. The diminishment of morale was subsequently exploited by the incursions of the Republic of Anura’s troops—and every successful raid of theirs compounded the loss of confidence among the Caliph’s followers. It was a vicious circle. A bold act was essential to break out of it. The Libyan understood that. Now Tabari looked at him closely. “And you will provide support?”

“My position in my government is such that I must operate through many veils. Tripoli cannot be connected to your activities. There are others, however, whose hospitality can be turned to your advantage.”