We have not yet found Saddam, but surely we can see him. The ageing tyrant is hunkered down in his bunker. His back aches from an old slipped disk, and it is getting worse without exercise. With American spy planes snooping overhead and bombs falling, he cannot now take his habitual long walks in his walled private estates, or swim in one of his many swimming pools. He is losing weight, as he always does in times of stress. The lobster and Mateus rosé are no longer flown in twice a week. Nothing flies in but the bombers. He never...