"Where are we?"

  Two uniformed drivers changed places.  An Officer stepped out of a backseat.  Sandy swivel of boots on street.  Regional commanders huddled on a street corner acknowledged. 

  "Did your coffee stay level when he drove?" The female driver asked the Officer.  A slight nod.  "Not sure I can top that," she said. 

  "Mind if I smoke?" A slight (i)no(i) to the "shirts" that had approached. 

  Another vehicle pulled in slow and almost silently.  An imposingly tall man got out and backed his butt against the fender.  The commanders came closer.  One asked, "What's the supposed (i)problem(i) on the wire chatter?" 

  The tall man shifted the weight on his knees sighed.  "Apparently COBRA has been compromised.  Infiltrated actually.  But the cultural attachè here has word from D.C. on this." 

  A woman in a trenchcoat got out of the passenger side of the vehicle.  Hands on the top of it.  "It's just a program," she recited the message from D.C. 

  "But it's not," someone said. 

  "But (i)it is(i)," someone else said. 

  "Of course it is," another someone said.