... 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.
Home...