They flew a hundred years ago, just about the time this flew into your in-box. The stern brothers with their celluloid collars, sons of the Bishop, eager to get home for the holidays. They flew through the experiment, both the brothers getting two hops in. When the kite flipped over after Wilbur’s longest flight, they packed up and went home..

I do rather like Santos-Dumont of the same period, the Brazilian who appeared luminous in the gilded fin de ceicle glitter of Paris. A year or so before the experiment at Kitty Hawk he moored his personal balloon from a light post outside his Paris apartment and motoring through the air to Maxim’s for his nightly repoast, handing of the lines to the doorman before sweeping in to the dining room. The Wrights had the Government in their sights as the first customer, and Orville once remarked as to the application of his invention. The Dayton man barely blinked. “War,” he said.

We are all in a hurry this time of year. The busiest mailing day of the year is behind us now. If plans were not already made and executed it is probably too late. One by one the destinations will become impossible. No guarantee of making Alaska today. Iraq is out of the question. The only thing I can send that will arrive in Europe before Christmas is an e-mail.

I thought I was on track last weekend, but of course I failed. I went on-line last night to polish off the list. I became lost in on-screen hell. I don’t know if the servers were overwhelmed by other last-ditch on-line shoppers, or if it was just aggressively hostile electronic order forms. I hope what they charged me for arrives in time, and I hope that my credit card information remains secure. The identity-theft commercials have been very effective, the little old lady lip-synching the words of the country low-life who cleaned out her bank accounts and was living high on the hog in some other state.

I began to think about what I had yet to accomplish while I was at the Nebraska Avenue Complex yesterday. I was supposed to rendezvous with some other folks from the company and make a call on one of the senior officials, show that the Company it there to help with the complex new Homeland Security Mission. Not having permanent credentials made this difficult, and since my cell phone and Blackberry were secured in the little locked cubby on the basement floor, there was no possibility of instant communication.

I left the watch center and attached myself to a party going by secure elevator to an upper floor in hopes of intercepting the meeting. When I got off on the second floor there was a serious young man with one of those earphones with the cord that snaked down into his jacket that means he was part of someone’s security detail. I waited for a challenge but it did not come.

I wandered down long corridors with adjacent cubicles. They were filled with earnest and busy people, mostly young and mostly attractive, all very busy. On the phone or in earnest discussion or hammering away at keyboards. This is a mission to believe in, this safeguarding of the Homeland, and predictably it attracts the young and idealistic. Being neither, I managed to find the modest office with the right desk, and looked at the detritus of a very busy executive. Stacks of paper. Computer monitor in the “rest” condition, abandoned in mid-keystroke. A Subway sandwich wrapper, some powdered beverage mix in a box haphazardly opened, a cup with the dregs of coffee unfinished. Not a secretary in sight. This is a bare bones operation still, for all the bustle.

Things are better than they were, but there is still a long way to go.

I gave up when I knew that I could not make the meeting without being late. The elevator worked for me going down, and in the basement I passed another security guy as I handed in my visitor’s badge and retrieved my Blackberry and cell phone. The office had sent me an e-mail saying that they were looking for me. That was not good. I walked past the guard, a courteous man standing on a rubber pad to ease the stress on his feet and went out into the courtyard between the buildings.

I saw why the security guys were positioned as they were as a big black Lincoln with extra lights on the bow and a small antenna field on its stern glided past, headed for the headquarters. It was followed by a big black SUV with some serious looking fellows looking out the lowered windows. I stopped and stayed out of their way so there would be no confusion.

I could see that something important was going on, a high level Movement was in progress, possibly the Secretary himself. I watched the small motorcade go past. I dialed my Boss and discovered that my ride had departed. I watched the official party disembark, sweeping toward the steel doors. The people were dressed in dark Washington suits, male and female, and they were earnest and energetic.

Being neither, I walked uphill to the gate, turned in the compound pass to the courteous guard, and started the long walk to the subway.

Copyright 2003 Vic Socotra