“We got ‘m!” , squealed the US viceroy, Paul Bremer, in a very triumphalist manner. And so they had. And there he was, in all his blackness. In the great depth of his dirt. They said that he was being co-operative and talking. They’d given him a ‘medical’. Examined his ass. And they were making sure that they checked his head for lice in public; that is, with the full scrutiny of the world’s tv audience focused on his head. This was supposed to demean him, and they said that he looked crushed. But he didn’t. He just looked as though he’d gone back forty years. Back to jail. And he knew that he had to deal with them. And he knew how to. And he’d already begun. They said that he’d lost his dignity. But he hadn’t. There was a moment when he looked at the camera with all the old arrogance. And anyone seeing that knew that he was still playing hardball. The bad cop from Tikrit.