I really shouldn’t be telling you about this. It’s probably top secret--But since it’s probably some other government’s secret, I guess it will be OK. You know where the Donkey Hotel* is? That place where old donkeys go to eat grass and live out their retirement years in peace? That’s where it started, almost a month ago. Bob Livingston* was taking the donkeys out to pasture that Sunday morning, when a black limo appeared, a black horse trailer in tow. I say ‘appeared’ because Bob didn’t hear it drive up. He was forking hay or something, looked down for a while, and when he looked up, there it was. The trailer had some sort of gold emblem on the front. Bob couldn’t quite make it out, and was squinting at it when he noticed three men in dark suits and sunglasses, standing a couple of meters away from him. How they got there without him noticing, he couldn’t say, but there they were, just looking at him with their han...