I am discombobulated this morning. Not only is Dan Damon doing a bit on the resurgence of canabalism, made possible by the internet, but I have to be at the guardshack at Nebraska Avenue at 0645. I am late before I begin this morning. The Internet! What an astonishing means to link the darkest desires of the human heart in perfect anonymity. Those who desire to dine, and those who desire to be dined upon.

I think Annie Lennox had a song about that. But I do not have enough time to process all this. I will have time later, when I assume my position.

The sticky bit is that I do not know how long it will take to get there. Traffic and timing are everything here. My task is clear enough. I need to cross the Key Brdige, that graceful structure of mighty arches over the Potomoc, and then a left turn onto Canal Road that paralells the old C&O canal. The massive brick Car Barn will pass on the right hand and the overgrown right-of-way from the abandoned street railway and the gray towers of Georgetown UNiversity.

The road branches and heads up a long hill into the heart of Northwest. I will pass the ultra-modern Embassy of Germany with the heroic view of the City and the fabulous homes of the Ambassadors and the Attaches. Lovely, they are, a world away from the slums that stretch from Capitol Hill toward Maryland to the District line. Presently I will arrive at one of the campuses of American Univeristy and turn onto Nebraska Avenue and proceded through the traffic circle at Massachusetts. Just on the east side of the circle is a campus of what was a girl’s school and a convent until 1943.

In those dark days after Pearl Harbor the Navy Department dispatched a couple officers in long black Bridge Coats and they harumphed and confiscated the place in the interest of National Security. “For the duration,” as they used to say, meaning that when the war was over they would get things back to normal. The Sisters and the girls left, and the Navy is still there, the duration of the crisis being a little longer than they had anticipated.

The highlands of the District were ideal for radio transmitters, and that really was why the Navy wanted it. They used it as a communications installation and the mighty tower is still there, a clear landmark for miles around. But it was also where the Navy Cryptologists, the code-breakers, were housed. And so the little brick campus that held the gigles of little girls and the swish of stern black habits and heavily starched cowls became a nest of spies, a hotbed of activity through the years of the Cold War. The Soviet Embassy, also chosen for the vantage over the imperial city is not far away.

The technology has changed. The Havy has gone to satellite communications and the high ground no longer matters quite so much. The little base is hard to get to, deep in the District as it is, and Fort Meade was calling all the spooks home. So the Navy had a pleasant little campus that was becoming vacant. Just in time for the arrival ofthe Department of Homeland Security, which needed a home. Nebraska Avenue was just about perfect for their needs.

There had been talk of building a new campus out on the farmlands of Norhtern Viriginia but the Secretary put his foot down. A location far away from the White House meant that he would be marginalized. He wanted a footprint in the District and that is what he got. The DHS is expanding into the old Navy buildings, occupying the cafeteria (now a Subway) and spreading from building to building. When Navy Intenrational Programs finds a new home they will take the headquarters, and they are already modifying the other parts of campus to their needs.

The Navy left their artwork on the walls, the prints of ghostly destroyers and tall ships under sail. I will be destined for the first building seized by DHS, located in theheart of the campus on Cryptologic Way. I will pass through a metal detector and present my credentials to the guard behind his plexiglass barrier. I will place my Blackberry and cell phone in a little cubby on a wall of cubbies, certify that I have no two-way communications devices and be buzzzed through a steel door. Down the corridor and to the right is the Homeland Security Operations Center. I will walk down the far wall past a row of middle-aged representatives of the Departments and Agencies who have an interest in this new business area and talk to the fellow who is sitting at the desk representing the Office fo State and Local Coordination.

He will show me the overnight logs, the e-mails to be sent and the warnings that have been issued overnight, if any. Coming up will be the eight o’clock meeting with retired General Pat, who I have served before, and then the big ten o’clock watch turnover meeting and then I will send e-mail, read messages and watch CNN with the rest of the room.

I am on shift until three this afternoon, and I intend to go straight home after that.

It is going to be an ecxiting day, defending the homeland. Feel safe. I will be on watch. For the duration.

Copyright 2003 Vic Socotra