The invitation to the holiday office party wasn't that unusual. Cream-colored stationery with fancy red script and some green and gold splashes.

But it didn't come from my office. It came from the office of CIA Director Michael V. Hayden, a native of Pittsburgh, and the party was at the George Bush Center for Intelligence -- otherwise known as the headquarters for the Central Intelligence Agency -- in McLean, Va.

"Business attire. R.S.V.P. ... Please provide Social Security Number."

The invitation was a bit of a surprise. I had interviewed Gen. Hayden when he returned to his alma mater, Duquesne University, to deliver the spring 2007 commencement address. I guess he liked the story.

It's hard to imagine driving more than four hours to attend a two-hour party where I didn't know anybody, but I figured this one might be fun.

I'm not the best mingler at these things. I'm more of a people-watcher. And the CIA holiday party would be my chance to watch the people who watch people for a living.

Apparently, I was a little too eager. Even with the handy directions, I thought I might have trouble finding the place, so I gave myself plenty of time. But the building is very easy to find. There are even highway signs to direct you: "CIA Headquarters, Next Left." I expected the place to have a lower profile.

The young officer at the security desk informed me that I was the first person to arrive and that I might want to spend the next half hour in the CIA Museum, just down the hallway.

The museum isn't very big, but it's cool. There are all kinds of displays showing what the CIA -- and its foreign counterparts -- have done through the years. One glass case contains a woman's brooch that is really a camera, a man's pipe that is really a radio transmitter and a hollowed-out walnut that was used to transport messages.

But, honestly, if you met someone carrying a walnut across the border, wouldn't you be suspicious?

The party began at 5 p.m. and one of the first things I noticed was the number of security agents on duty. Imagine having to stand around grim-faced, with an earpiece wired to your head, watching your co-workers having fun.

At first I thought, "Why so much security for an office party?" Terrorists don't burst into holiday parties. But then I remembered the movie "Die Hard."

I was among the first to go through Gen. Hayden's receiving line.

I thanked him and his wife for inviting me, and I told him that I couldn't stay long because I had to get back to Pittsburgh to see the Steelers' game. (Nothing breaks the ice with a fellow Pittsburgher like some Steelers chatter.)

The director lit up like a Christmas tree. We talked for a moment about the Steelers' chances this season, and then I moved on.

I was thinking about asking him whether he thought President-elect Barack Obama would keep him in his role as CIA director, but it's so rude to ask your host, "So, you think you're gonna get fired next month?"

A press liaison told me that of the 300 invited guests, about 30 were journalists from Washington whose beats included the CIA. (She said Andrea Mitchell was there, but I didn't see her.) I did see some faces that I recognized from network newscasts.

The other people, I was told, were diplomats, ambassadors and top-level CIA folks. I asked her to point out some spies to me, but she said that most of the "field agents" were not attending. This party was for the office management types.

Still, you never know when a CIA person is telling you the truth. So I started circulating, trying to pick out the spooks and the moles.

The first thing that I noticed was how much the CIA Christmas party looked like a normal Christmas party. Men with bad hair talking too closely to women in flashy holiday outfits. Guys laughing too hard at each other's stories and never wandering too far from the food tables.

Speaking of the food tables, they were amazing. Each one was themed to a different region of America. There was wild boar from the Southwest, lamb chops from the Midwest and salmon from the Northwest. And, of course, an open bar.

The four-piece band that was set off to one side played everything from "Greensleeves" to a very nice rendition of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." But no one danced.

As I walked around, snooping for snoops, I noticed a few things. Some of the women had wrapped napkins around the stems of their champagne glasses. (Obviously to prevent leaving fingerprints.) The man with the walking stick didn't appear to have any discernible limp. And there was no way that the tall man with the bowtie could be trusted.

There were only two trenchcoats, and one of them was a god-awful green.

Although I was warned that all conversations were to be "off the record," I couldn't help but note a few of them. I overheard one man, speaking to a group of about six others, ask, "Who was supposed to be guarding him?" (I doubt they were discussing basketball.)

Suddenly, I detected something wrong. Some people were talking into their radios and moving with a sense of urgency. I began to get nervous, wondering whether a string of black SUVs was going to start rolling.

Fortunately, it was just a power outage at the Northeast food table, and some oysters in Ritz cracker crumbs were getting cool. A crack team of specialists had the problem solved in a matter of moments.

Before long, things started to wind down and the crowd began to thin. The only ones hanging around looked like hard-core partiers, such as former CIA Director George Tenet, who is clearly the life of any party.

I wanted to thank the host before leaving, but he was engaged with a small group, so I said my good-byes and thank-yous to the press officers.

I hope they passed them up the chain of command.