Homeland insecurity: Vossler
One of the strangest experiences of my life — if not the strangest — occurred in Washington, D.C., a couple of years after 9/11. Also very unsettling.
After sightseeing down the long blocks and visiting the National Museum of the American Indian with its fascinating old pottery, dresses and artwork, and the National Art Gallery with paintings I’d not seen previously in real life, we emerged from the subway and were walking toward our hotel a few blocks away.
As we were passing an obviously new building that appeared to be of government vintage, judging by the large black Mercedes vehicles at the curb, with very low license plate numbers, we noticed the building was not identified. Nothing on the lawn or the building itself. Odd in a town where everything was so well-marked.
The double glass doors were locked, so we peered in. On a large thick and round rug we could make out “Homeland Security” stitched around the edge in large white letters. We made some comments, and turned away. Then I remember the license plates, government 001 and 002, so I bent and shot pictures of them.
A moment later an official-looking agent walked around the corner holding a squawking walkie-talkie in his hand. A voice from it said, “watch for a guy in a blue t-shirt taking pictures of our license plates.”
The agent was 10 feet away. I held up my camera and said, “that would be me,” and walked on. We talked about the situation, which made me uneasy. Why would anybody care if their license-pates were photographed? I guess I should have asked.
At our suite at the hotel I transferred that day’s photos onto Baby, as we call our laptop computer, and talked to our friend Steve, who was still in bed, struggling with severe neck pain, and had not been with us.
We decided to go our for supper if we promised to bring food back. When we returned I noticed immediately that my laptop was on the couch instead of the table where I had left it, and upside down. Obviously someone had been tampering with it. A small door on the bottom of the machine had been unscrewed, and not replaced properly, with one screw missing. Couldn’t believe it. Who would do that, and why? Certainly not Steve, or me.
Then I remembered Homeland Security.
Steve said after we left a number of maids had come in, and had been in both of our rooms, saying they had to clean up, which seemed odd considering it was evening. One man, too, he added.
I turned the computer on, and checked the photos I’d taken that afternoon. And lo! And behold! The license-plate pictures were all gone. Again, obvious. Photo numbers ending in 355 through 360 were missing.
We wondered if removing those pictures was perhaps a training exercise for a young agent who came into our suite room, doubtless with the cooperation of the hotel management, to find and remove those pictures.
But why the mess? Perhaps the thief got the word that we were returning, and had leave immediately before we came and caught him, and hadn‘t time to replace things properly.
Or was it a warning? Don‘t mess with Homeland Security.
What else had been stolen from our computer? Or had malware been added? Was Homeland Security now watching me?
And why such a botched job? Perhaps the door was left open intentionally as a warning to me to not take any more “official” pictures while we were in D.C.
To this day, I don’t know — and still feel uneasy when I think about it.
— This is the opinion of Bill Vossler of Rockville, author of 15 books including the book "Nature's Way: Essays on Loving the Wild." He can be reached at bvossler0@outlook.com.
This article originally appeared on St. Cloud Times: Homeland insecurity: Vossler
