With a trench coat over his space suit, wearing a trilby and dark glasses, Spook Hamzter landed on the helicopter pad on top of CIA headquarters. He quickly entered the director's office through the air conditioning system.

    "What do you want?" the director barked.

    "I'm on a mission for Impossible Hamzter."

    "You must have an identity badge before you enter this building."

    "Us, secret agent Hamzters, don't wear badges. We're secret."

    The director swallowed a handful of pink pills.

    "We have information on the Iraqi underground and the location of Saddam Hussein. For ten million shmackos and ten tons of peanut butter, the info is yours."

    The director frowned. "For your enlightenment we're no longer collecting information from outside sources not previously cleared by the Pentagon and the final recipient. So hamster--

    "Space Hamzter from planet Z."

    "Tell that to the INS people, they deal with aliens. Or the Department of Orwelian Security. I mean Homeland Security . . .It's all very confusing-- Just tell someone else." The director gestured in dismissal. "If it doesn't come from the White House, we're not interested."

    Spook Hamzter lit a Havana given to him by Saddam. "I thought you collected foreign intelligence."

    "How much more foreign than the White House can you get?"

    Spook Hamzter stretched on the floor and blew smoke rings into the ceiling. "So what do you do with the info you get from the White House? One of my clients, Mr. Putin, could be interested."

    "We approve it and send it back to the White House. That is what we call the CCIGD system."

    "What does it stand for?"

    "Closed circuit intelligence gathering and dissemination."

    "Sounds advanced."

    "Of course. In these perilous times we no longer rely on dubious sources. All our information now originates from people with top secret clearance. Grade AAA stuff."

    Spook Hamzter thought for a moment. He had hoped selling Saddam for ten mil would be easy. Postponing the purchase of a bigger exercise wheel was a severe blow to his ego. "How about the war on terrorism, would you be interested in Osama Bin Ladin's location? I was trout fishing with him a few days ago."

    "War on terrorism? You better get up to date, Hamzter. Our wise president eliminated it in his masterful operation Iraqi Freedom."

    "But they haven't found any terrorists in Iraq."

    "Who cares--they're no longer in the news."

    A smoke ring drifted from the ceiling and hovered over the Director of Intelligence like a halo. Spook Hamzter smiled and took a picture with the camera imbedded in his buck teeth.

    "But they're planning to shoot down airliners and paralyze US air commerce." Spook Hamzter tried to build a case for eliciting at least ten tons of peanut butter.

    "Oh, we'll solve that problem easily, produce a grand spectacle called Department of Homeland Security II, the next generation. Then start another war."

    "Aha, you will finally tackle terrorism."

    "Yes, we'll bomb London, plenty of terrorists hiding there. And they do have a nuclear weapons program." The Director chuckled. "That'll take care of that bloody Blair who put me in the soup."