Ben Akbar obeyed. Stifling a sigh of relief, Ali slipped five paces to one side and turned so that he was again facing the dalul. There had been a certain unavoidable rattling of pebbles and other small noises when Ben Akbar knelt, but no sound of a camel leaving the scene. If Allah were kind, The Jackal would know that Ben Akbar remained where he had been and would expect to find Ali with him. Rushing in from an unexpected quarter at the right moment, Ali would have the advantage of surprise and some hope of victory, in spite of two to one odds.
Ali thought, but very fleetingly, of calling out an offer to negotiate. He'd go his way and maintain his silence, if the pair would promise no interference. But The Jackal had come too far and risked too much to incur the further risk of a knowing head and a possibly loose tongue; he'd never accept the offer. Nor could Ali really have brought himself to make it.
Even though he had failed to find the assured spiritual awakening he'd earnestly hoped to discover in Mecca, he could not be disloyal to a Faith he'd voluntarily accepted. Even though he himself failed to appreciate the significance of The Black Stone, as a good Moslem, he could not see it defiled.
Dagger in hand, Ali stood very quietly in the darkness. Though he was looking toward Ben Akbar and the dalul was only a few paces away, the darkness was so intense that he could barely discern the camel's outline. He neither saw nor heard anything else. It was as though Ali and Ben Akbar were the only inhabitants of a world suddenly turned black.
Ali battled the illusion, for the very silence and the feeling that he was alone were sufficient evidence that he faced deadly danger. The Jackal was no amateur who would seek to cow his enemy by hissed threats, mislead him by thrown stones or other ruses, or indulge in any other melodrama. He compared favorably with the tawny-maned lion who lays his ambush at a water hole where gazelles drink. Having decided that killing was in order, The Jackal would kill with a maximum of speed and efficiency, brought about by a lifetime of experience.
Ben Akbar did not even move. He would remain exactly as he was and where he was until Ali himself gave permission to get up or until circumstances beyond his friend's control forced him to arise. A lump rose in Ali's throat. Ben Akbar was far more than just a magnificent dalul. He was Ali's other self, a true brother and to be loved as such. Ali renewed his vow that, so long as Allah saw fit to spare him, just so long would he and Ben Akbar face the same winds, traveling side by side.
Suddenly, seeing his pilgrimage in an entirely new light, it was no longer a disappointment but more than rewarding. Perhaps, in His infinite wisdom, Allah bestowed different gifts upon different pilgrims, according to their true intentions. Ali knew that he was contented now, for, because of his pilgrimage, he had Ben Akbar. He would no longer stand alone against the world.
Presently, Ali became aware of great and immediate danger.
It was no sudden perception accompanied by sudden shock, but a complete and whole revelation, the ripening of each separate incident since The Jackal and Ahmet had appeared. Unless he did something about it, Ali's senses told him, he would be dead very shortly. At the same time, so clear was the light that bathed his mind, he was instantly able to understand exactly how this had come about.
He had underestimated The Jackal. Hearing Ben Akbar grunt, the man had identified him instantly. But he had also identified the tiny sounds made by a camel kneeling and he'd known why Ben Akbar was made to kneel. The Jackal, had decided, not only that Ali would not await directly beside Ben Akbar, but also exactly where he would be found. It was what The Jackal himself might have done under similar circumstances. Now, dagger poised, he stood directly behind Ali and needed only one more silent step to carry him into a striking position.