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morning, before the helicopter attack, and although he did not eat very much when he did, priding himself on his ability to operate for days without sustenance, it was also a rule of soldiering to take food when the opportunity presented itself. One never knew when the next meal would come. ‘Yes,’ he said.
    Sena bowed slightly and left the room.
    Durrani looked around the cramped space. It was no larger than the one he was given to use by the mullah in a run-down house on the outskirts of the city on the Jalalabad road. He preferred sleeping outside under the stars, except during the rains and when it was exceptionally cold. But when staying in the city he opted for the better security. This room was more comfortable. It had a stone floor whereas his own dwelling’s was earthen and always dusty. There were no windows, though; a naked bulb hung from the centre of the ceiling provided the only light.
    Durrani crouched by the cooker to light it and make himself a cup of tea. He wondered why the mullah had asked him to wait but did not trouble himself with the question for long. Durrani took life very much day by day, hour by hour, and was as content sitting back and doing nothing as he was taking part in a battle. It seemed that while he was involved in one he looked forward to the other.
    Sena soon returned with a metal plate of rice and chunks of succulent lamb placed on a large thin folded sheet of unleavened bread. After Durrani had eaten it he lay back on the rug, his head resting on a cushion, and within minutes had dozed off.
    Durrani did not know how long he had been asleep when he heard the door open and saw Sena looking down at him. The servant immediately apologised for disturbing Durrani but explained that the mullah wanted to see him.
    As Durrani followed Sena back down the corridor, stepping over the now sleeping guards and heading towards the staircase, he checked his watch to discover that it had stopped. Durrani shook it but the second hand did not move. He was dismayed and the malfunction was all he could think of as he followed Sena down the stairs. He tapped the timepiece several times and, as they reached the door, to his delight the second hand started to move again. He decided he should sell the watch at the first opportunity.
    The door to the office was open and Sena stepped to one side to let Durrani in. The mullah was seated at his desk with another man leaning over it. They were talking in low voices as they inspected the device that was back out of its box and resting on a white china plate between them.The stranger, who looked the intelligent, well-educated type, was dressed in clean traditional Afghan garb made of expensive cloth. He was immaculate, his beard neatly cropped, and Durrani could smell his strong perfume even through the tobacco smoke.
    As Durrani entered the room the man looked up at him through a pair of delicate wire-rimmed glasses. He said something to the mullah who glanced at Durrani, then back at him.
    ‘I need you to do it here, in this office,’ the mullah insisted.
    The man’s expression remained one of reluctance but he argued no further.
    ‘Durrani,’ the mullah barked as he got to his feet, studying his most trusted fighter as if making a final confirmation of a decision he had come to. ‘You have been chosen for a special task. A most important task.’
    Durrani looked at the stranger who was staring at him as if measuring him.
    ‘This man is a doctor,’ the mullah went on.‘He needs to examine you.’
    Durrani could not begin to fathom what this was all about. A special and important task preceded by a medical examination was a bizarre combination, unlike any experience he’d ever had previously. ‘I don’t understand. ’
    ‘You will,’ the mullah said confidently.
    ‘Remove your robe,’ the doctor said.
    Durrani looked at him quizzically. He’d never had a medical examination before in his life and removing his clothing in front of a stranger like