2.

In a remote, mountain region of Afghanistan, in the early 90’s, Steven made another daring rescue attempt. He’d been riding on his motorcycle through the Hindu Kush Mountains when the earthquake hit. A small tribe had been camping out beside a small river in the Bololo canyon. A young woman, dressed in a burka, had been gathering firewood at the foot of the mountain and was struggling to maintain her balance when the shaking ground upended her. Worse, the earth was splitting open. Steven had spied her from his motorcycle and had fought the shaking ground until he found that he couldn’t any longer and was thrown from his bike. Undaunted, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the woman, just as she was pitching forward into a growing chasm. When he pulled her back to safety, Mother Nature’s fury hurled him into the chasm.

When he wakened, he found himself lying on a bed roll by an open fire, under a star-filled night, being nursed back to health by the tribal elders. He saw and heard things in the days and nights that followed. There were guns, a lot of them, and big crates brought in by trucks. These tribesmen were secretive, fierce warriors, but they were renowned for their loyalty, and they paid Steven much honour in the time that he was with them.

The girl who had been saved had an uncle who was very grateful to Steven. His name was Osama. Steven told me that it would be better not to ask the man’s full name.

When Steven’s broken bones were healed, he bowed silently to the men around the fire, and then he disappeared into the cold Afghani darkness on his bike ...