Colonel Gaddafi...

... We walk along a white flagstone path.  Now there's something odd.  A sturdy rope is tied around a great iron peg hammered into the ground, and the rope leads off across the lawn not to a canvas, as you would expect, but loops around a reinforced concrete lintel stretching over the entrance to wherever we are going.  Then I understand.  It's a huge tent, a desert tent, set into a reinforced concrete underground bunker topped by a low, grassy mound.  We go through a door and there, in a flowing green robe, his dark hair glinting in the light of a lamp hanging from the peak of the tent, stands the one the Americans call The Demon Prince.

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