Jake and I were in the Hubrismobile yesterday, watching the gunmetal sky over the gunmetal hood framed by the slick swooping windshield over the business-like German dashboard.

We were barreling down I-95 just south of Springfield and outside the Capital Beltway. Jake was eating his tuna sandwich out of the foil wrapper fresh from the Korean take-out place on the ground floor. There was no time to dine; we had an appointment, and he was just back from meetings in the corporate Head Shed up Glebe road.

That is the tower with the big corporate logo plastered on the side. People coming to meetings at our place are always mistaking the proud tower for us, because the company name is on the side. We try to maintain a much lower profile, safe and anonymous in an anonymous glass building block.

We have a lot to be anonymous about in our building. I rode up in the elevator one time with the notorious autocrat of Blackwater Security, Eric Prince, who maintained a couple suites in our building. That was before his contractual excesses caused him to flee the country. He was with a spectacular brunette, and I was at some pains to mind my own business.

That is a good policy in our building. No press releases.

That was not true about the campus we were headed for. We were bound for the old Fort Belvoir Proving Grounds and a VIP tour of a really big new building. On the way, we passed another huge building going up at Seminary road, just off the highway. “God knows who is going in there,” I said. “But it is going to completely hamburger the traffic around here.”

“Washington Headquarters Services,” said Jake. “And you know what that could mean. Just about anything.”

There was no time for the tour in the business day. There never is, what with the controversy over the Federal budget, or lack of it, or the calls for the imposition of a no-fly zone over Libya or the flap over the summary dismissal of the CEO of National Public Media.

I had been working up a chart with the Libyan Air Force Air Order of Battle at home, before the business day started, but that was just going to have to wait. This tour had been scheduled weeks before, and schedules for other Flag officers coordinated, and it would have taken more time to take it off the schedule than it would to simply execute the mission.

Jake told me to swerve off the interstate at Exit 166B, and as we arced off the big road and onto the security perimeter drive I looked up in amazement. I knew the place was big, but I had no idea.

The white dome of the atrium roof soared into the low clouds, covering the space between the bulk of two towers with footprints the size of aircraft carriers.

“Supposed to be the third largest Federal Office Building in the world,” said Jake, laconically. “Only the Pentagon and the Reagan Complex downtown are bigger.”

“Jeeze,” I said. “This is huge.”

I have been around the subject of federal real estate as a condition of employment for a while. I have found if you hang around long enough, you wind up knowing the people who are actually in charge of these vast enterprises. Jake had one of the Big Three as a Director; our pal Tish is the first woman to head a Combat Support Agency, the one that is throwing this building up against the sky.

It was from a discussion in the Parking Structure of the new headquarters that the invitation had been extended in a roundabout fashion stemming from her Change of Command. Tish relieved Bob, who was a shipmate long ago, who in turn had relieved Jim, who I worked for twenty years ago, who had been responsible for approving the bold design submitted by the behemoth Clark Construction Company.
I had been a minor cog in the process that contributed to all this, which was Jim’s decision to consolidate all East Coast Operations of the National Imagery and Mapping Agency into one place. The Base Relocation and Closure round for 2005 was the vehicle, and I was a newly retired contract player in the discussion about what to do with the Intelligence Community as the War on Terror began to sprawl across the globe.

I was interested. When I was a minor functionary on the budget staff we programmed the budget that completed the big complex at Bolling Air Force Base, a $500 million project. It was endlessly fascinating to watch the money slosh across the program years. This project was the result of Jim’s decision to re-cast the mission of his agency into what he called The National Geospatial Intelligence Agency, or NGA.

Three letters are important in this town, and that, despite the four or five words, is what it was.

I wheeled the Hubrismobile into the visitor’s lot in front of the brand spanking new visitors center that serves as the gateguard for the massive complex. The parking garage loomed to the right, and the soaring towers dominated the gray sky.

We divested ourselves of cellphones, pagers, electronic media and coats and walked up to the glass doors.

In the lobby, we were joined by Tom, who was the 54th Director of Naval Intelligence. He and Jake were the VIPS, and I was content to be a horse-holder. In fact, my attention was drawn to the Protocol Officer, who was wearing a set of denim leggings that she must have known when she sprayed them on that morning constituted a weapon of mass distraction.

When the party was assembled, the Government side had two senior functionaries from NGA, Art the architect, Mylan the government project manager, a security honcho and an unidentified minder in addition to the astonishing woman from Protocol.

Art was the tour guide. He directed us to done hard-hats, safety glasses and orange safety vests for our protection on the job site. He started out on message. “As part of the larger Pentagon base realignment program, this site will consolidate local employees from about a half-dozen locations, including facilities in Bethesda, Reston, Fort Belvoir and the Washington Navy Yard. “

“I remember the first time I got to visit Building 213,” I said to Tom. “The civil war-era building was home to the beginning of satellite imagery. Is there anything here that recalls the Wild West days in SE DC?”

“We are trying,” he responded. “But first thing is to account for about nine thousand employees, who will move into the building in 35 separate moving increments. We are on round 18 right now.”

“About a third of NGA’s workers are based in St. Louis,” said Mylan. “they will not be affected by this.”

“The original concept for the campus had ten separate buildings, but the General liked the idea of having a single main building to unite the organization.”

As we trudged through the vast parking structure, controversy was already apparent and the government guys joked about parking places. The garage is only built to accommodate about five thousand cars, so having a designated parking place was clearly going to be a sign of prestige and influence.

“What did all cost?” asked Tom. There was some back and forth in response.

“On time and on budget,” said Mylan firmly.
“There are a couple numbers. A good one might be $1.7 billion,” said Art. Thoughtfully.

“Though with site prep, the visitor’s center, the data storage complex and the fire department, utility plant and remote delivery screening facility, it might run $2.4 billion,” added Mylan.

“Holy crap,” I said to Jake, sotto vocce, as we tried to access the card readers at the entrance. He smiled back.

Art said we would be taking the tunnel though the floor of the Atrium to the elevators and start the tour with the Wow Factor and work our way down again. “This is all temporary. We are in the process of getting approval from the Fairfax County’s Building Inspector to open up the space. When we do, this will be all ripped out and open to the roof eight floors above.” Gesturing us to follow a gaggle of employees unencumbered with hard hats, glasses or vests, Art waved his hands expressively. “The first two floors will be the GeoInt College.”

I was impressed already, but I had no idea about the Wow Factor, which is something one doesn’t normally associate with government projects, except maybe health care reform or the Wall Street bailout.

I will have to get to that tomorrow. This was something else.

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com