(BBC) Libyan rebels have announced an amnesty for anyone within Col Muammar Gaddafi’s “inner circle” who captures or kills him, and a $1.7m (£1m) reward.
Col Gaddafi’s whereabouts are unknown, though rebels have said they think he is still in or around Tripoli.
Rebels fighters have fought running battles in the capital, where pockets of pro-Gaddafi resistance remain.
The fugitive leader has vowed in an audio message to fight until victory or martyrdom.
Deep inside a secret bunker, probably in Tripoli.
Moammar Qaddafi, his son Seif al-Islam al-Qaddafi, and Qaddafi’s loyal-ish translator, Omar are watching a satellite television news report. It reveals there is a $1.7 million bounty on Qaddafi. (Read Omar’s history here.)
“One point seven million? One point seven?” Qaddafi fumes. “That’s all I’m worth to them?”
Seif exhales. “Perhaps that’s not the part we should be focusing on, Dad.”
“The King of Kings - worth a measly $1.7 million?” Qaddafi starts to stride around the room.
“Has Hugo Chavez returned any of your phone calls yet, Dad?” Seif’s tone is impatient.
“What about Lockerbie? What about Libyan oil? They spend a $200 million a day in Afghanistan! And I’m only worth $1.7?”
“Dad – “
Qaddafi is ranting now. “I am the ‘Mad Dog’ of the Middle East! Reagan said so!”
Omar pipes up. “The bounty does not come from the American Satan. It’s from the rebels – the National Transitional Council. In Benghazi.”
Qaddafi stops mid-stride and stares at Omar. An uneasy silence falls over the room.
Seif turns to Omar. “You think the CIA has nothing to do with this?”
“Of course they do!” Omar quickly recovers. “I spit upon the them! You are the Glory that is Libya!”
The tension is broken when Qaddafi’s cellphone beeps. It’s a text message.
“Chavez?” Seif sounds hopeful.
“Mugabe.” Qaddafi sounds disappointed. “Zimbabwe would do anything to have the King of Kings live among them.”
“I am so not living in Zimbabwe,” Seif says. “It’s a basket-case. And Mugabe has a Hitler moustache.”
Seif looks caught in a day-dream. “Venezuela, on the other hand, is a nice oil state. With an anti-American dictator. You know – a guy you can trust.”
“You should be careful with a cellphone,” Omar pipes up. “The rebels could trace your locati –“
He stops short.
“What’s that?” Seif snaps out of his revelry.
“Nothing – nothing,” Omar says.
The cellphone beeps again with a text. “Mugabe – again!” Qaddafi fumes. “And I’ve heard nothing back from Castro!”
“Fidel or Raul?” Seif asks.
“Either.” Qaddafi is staring at his phone.
“May I send the reply to President Mugabe?” Omar ventures. He swallows hard. “I mean, if it’s too much trouble for Your Excellency.”
Qaddafi thrusts the phone at Omar. “One point seven million. I spend more on a single party . I spent more on my unit of female bodyguards.”
“I know, Dad. But maybe it’s time we call Chavez again. Our forces can only hold on to the airport for so long. ”
“There will be no spiderhole in my future!” Qaddafi yells. “I will not be in the Hague! I will die a martyr in Libya!”
“Dad! Remember what we discussed!” Seif is angry. “That’s only if Chavez doesn’t call!”
A cellphone rings. Qaddafi and Seif look up.
“Whoops!” Omar says. “I accidentally dialed my own number!”
“So now you have my father’s private number?” Seif looks suspicious.
“Oh! Do I? No problem! I’ll delete it!” Omar says, as a line of sweat appears on his brow. “Let me try ringing Mugabe.”
Seif looks at him through narrow eyes.
“Maybe I’ll try the call in another room,” Omar says, standing. “The signal in a secret bunker - umm, you know?”
“Well, hurry up,” Seif says. “We’re going to try back Chavez.”
“Maybe Syria would take us,” Qaddafi says. “Have we tried Assad?”
“He’s pretty busy this week too, Dad.”
A small voice can be heard up the hall. “Hello? I need a number for the National Transitional Council. In Benghazi.”
Omar glances up the hallway at Qaddafi and Seif.
“Yes, I’ll hold.”