Colonel Gaddafi...
	... They go through a door into the tent and there, in a flowing green robe, his dark hair glinting in the light of a row of lamps hanging from the peak of the tent, stands the one some call the Demon Prince. He turns to face them. Tall, gaunt, a face etched with the burdens of office, intelligent, tense, even stressed, but a certain graciousness. His hand crosses his heart in a greeting of peace. He extends a courteous, strong, not overwhelming handshake. Long fingers, lean hand, a lean man... Home...