In the dim light of Senator Percy Canfield’s office; the Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee is going over images from a recent intelligence report he has received on Iran. The Senator is a 60 year old Georgia fat boy who likes to think that he is in charge of the world. He presses his intercom and instructs his secretary, then glances down at the Top Secret document from Centcom. 
     “Maggie, get me the CIA director on his secure mobile phone.” 
     Moments later… 
     “Adams.” 
     The Senator drawls into the phone. 
     “Ross this is Senator Canfield. I just am reviewing the document from Centcom, and I have several thoughts on this issue.” 
     A beat… 
     “I hope your boys over there don’t do anything provocative to put us into another stupid showdown with those guys. You can’t seem to quite get it clear on how to  disarm that situation. It seems to me that diplomacy would reach farther with radicals then cannon fire and missiles. 
     Adams fires back. 
     “No Senator I don’t quite agree with that. I think at some point it is necessary to pull your pants up and aim a swift kick at their retreating ass!…good day Senator.” 
     The line goes dead. The Senator is fuming. 
     “Why that arrogant asshole….who the hell does he think he is!” 
     The Senator slams the phone down, and presses his intercom again. 
     “Maggie come in here I want you to take a letter….and bring me a double scotch on ice.” 
     The Senator snarls an epitaph. 
     “That son of a bitch!” 
      He swivels his chair and glances out the window at the night sky.  The God damn CIA has gotten to damn powerful! There has to be a way to shut them down. Same damn thing happened with Hoover at the FBI.  Hell you couldn’t move sideways in those days. He had the whole congress by the balls. Everyone was afraid to cut a quick night on the town with a French whore. Jesus. That was a scary time. Sure as hell, hope they don’t have a bug in these offices….! 
     Maggie delivers the scotch…and with pen and pad she waits. He dismisses her.  She leaves.  This is normal behavior for this Georgia boy.   He continues his rant.  Maybe squeeze their budget a little? No, that would just piss them off. Maybe take it up with the President before  he gets too bent over in this skirmish with Iran. He sips the last of his scotch. The Washington Monument looms out of the darkness. Goddamn CIA…the bastards probably are eavesdropping…. 
     He grabs his jacket, glances around the office as if hoping to pinpoint the CIA bug…nothing there…another epitaph. 
     “God damn CIA.” 
     He turns and waddles out the door into the night.