29 July 2009
Crystal City
(Crystal City in Perspective)
The thing about “pouches” is that they shout out the wrong message. Mine is a non-descript brown canvas contraption, nothing flashy, and no corporate logos. Someone in the government had to specify the requirements, and I suspect a long time ago.
“Security bag, Document, Model A-1; lockable.”
They are very Cold War in detail, which is to say that the security they provide is one of deterrence only if you think of it that way. They are not constructed of Kevlar, and are sliced open easily enough if you happen to lose the key.
It is only a pouch because that is what we call them. It is not exactly a briefcase, though it does have two brown plastic handles that permit the pouch to be gripped tightly as one walks with busy purpose through the bewildering underground of Crystal City.
I always get lost when I venture over there, which is more often than I would like. It isn’t surprising, really. The squared-away troopies who give the Pentagon tours, walking backwards, now have to say that the Pentagon is just the “world’s largest government office building,” rather that the grander title of the biggest office building in the world.
Since Crystal City is actually connected by tunnel to the five-sided wind tunnel, in my mind, it is still the largest- it just now includes the office towers of the Boeings and General Dynamics and Lockheeds that make up the military industrial complex of the last superpower.
Even my little company has a couple places there. On is an anonymous suite in an anonymous tower that is locked in the dark-wood paneling of the 1970s- and locked within that, Chinese-puzzle style, is another locked door that conceals a GSA-approved safe, and the contents that were transferred to he pouch that dangled from my left hand.
Crystal City was rising in 1963, precisely the time that Big Pink began to thrust out of the fertile Virginia soil. Prior to development by the Charles E. Smith Co., the area was mostly composed of industrial sites, junkyards, and low rent motels.
As far as I know, the Americana Motel is the last of those left, and the overpass from the Jefferson Davis Highway now runs right by the second-floor windows. Ah, the tales those raty sliding glass patio doors could tell! There are some secrets at the Americans.
The Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac railroad tracks are on the other side of Jeff Davis. They were moved closer to National Airport, and the great Potomac Yards marshalling complex and its toxic dump were going to be the last big stretch of vacant land on this side of the River.
The name "Crystal City" came from the first building, which was called Crystal House and had an elaborate crystal chandelier in the lobby and a speckled gray faux modern exterior. Every subsequent building took on the Crystal name (i.e., Crystal Gateway, Crystal Towers, Cystal Plaza 1, 2, 3. You get the idea. Eventually every building in the neighborhood had essentially the same name and address, which provides a delightful sense of disorientation and confusion.
The underground mall was added in the 1970s, and just about anything you might care for is down there somewhere.
I’m sure some people go outside; they must. But when the summer heat shimmers from the asphalt it is just easier to stay sealed up in the air conditioning. There are Trogs who live there in the towers that protrude from the asphalt and concrete. The residents can travel by elevator to the subterranean passages, and thence to the office towers that adjoin the residential complexes, or exit the neighborhood by the Metro tunnels, never seeing the light of day.
I swung the pouch, which had the heft of a solid proposal contained within, and a couple compact discs with all the data of our carefully-crafted business plan.
The key was getting it from one vault to another, and that is why the sweat was running down the back of my Brooks Brothers suit.
I should be the last one to complain about the process. The intrinsic difficulty of dealing with the Government and its secrets is what keeps me employed, after all. It is so difficult to be compliant with all the requirements that entire companies exist to serve its needs.
Like the pouch. Zipped on the horizontal and vertical axes, there is a clever chrome lock that secures the haft of the pull tab when pressed down. Remove the key and the locking device is protected by an upright fabric collar. The data within is then completely secure.
Which is ridiculous, of course. Like I said, you can slice the things open in a heartbeat, and just carrying a pouch shouts out to the watchers that the bearer has something of value attached to the end of the arm. It is a like wearing a “kick me hard” sign.
Of course the thieves are too sophisticated here to bother you. The idea that a bureaucrat or a contractor would actually have something of value in a pouch would strike them as absurd.
The only thing in our pouches are sheaves of government secrets, and if you just hang on for a minute, it will all be in the paper anyway.
Copyright 2009 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com