I went to a diner near Route 66 today to watch and listen for scheming Middle Eastern types. If Eunice Stone can catch a virtual bevy of wrong-thinking Middle East-types in Georgia/Florida I figure if I hang out near an Interstate I could too! I want to heed the call of Attorney General Ashcroft to be the eyes and ears of the anti-terrorist police. I want to do something other than watch football games on TV. Afterall, the University of Oklahoma's game is not on free TV today. The turquoise and pink sign in front of the diner said "God Bless America!" I entered and asked the waitress to seat me in the non-smoking Arab section. "We don't have an Ay-rab section honey", she said as if she were weary of the question. "Do you have any dark people with mustaches I could sit near", I countered.

She seated me in a booth next to a man and woman who appeared, at least on the surface, to be Hispanic. I listened for some minutes but they were speaking in a foreign tongue - I think it was a Spanish-like language - perhaps Mexican or Cuban. Cuban! None of the pundits have thought of this angle yet. Not even Ashley Banfield has put her finger on the Castro - Osama connection yet. I had suspected the likelihood of a Cuba connection and had been chagrined when President Bush had omitted Havana from the Axis of Evil. Surely Jeb has filled him in? Now was my chance to close the loop by exposing Castro's involvement.

Peering over my menu and waving the meddlesome waitress away for the second time I spied what appeared to be a Cohiba-like tube protruding from the brown man's denim shirt pocket. He caught my eye. Whispering something in Cuban to the female agent accompanying him he shoved his fork into a slab of white gravy on his Melamar plate. She pulled a child agent in the booth closer to her and glanced nervously in my direction. They continued whispering to each other. By listening carefully I caught a few words. "...muy rara....bombachos.....terregosto...." "Bombachos!" I thought to myself. That sound like a bomb! I cursed myself for not taking a foreign language in highschool. As I leaned forward to try to hear better the child agent began to cry and point at me. "Darn!" "What am I gonna do now?", I thought. I bolted for the pay phone. "I've got to call the authorities before they get away." But before I could explain to the police operator the significance of the threat, I saw the Cuban agents scoot out the diner door. I hung up and followed them out. They got into a 1975 El Camino with a rust problem and drove off toward the East Coast. But not before I got their Texas license plate number and called the police back. Now I'm watching Fox News to see if they caught the Cubans on their way through Arkansas.