1. Washington Experience

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The Washington, D.C., Experience

By Everett M Triplett

WASHINGTON, D.C.

I penetrated the world’s most intense security gauntlet, in an effort to have a one-on-one meeting with President George W. Bush.

To begin with, it’s important to point out that I’m just an average American citizen. I’ve never been in the military, worked in law enforcement, or in any official capacity for the government.

Nevertheless, working as an individual on April 5, 2001, I managed to achieve what many people would not dare attempt, much less accomplish. I gained entrance and walked right into the United States Federal Government’s State Department Building in Washington D.C. I walked right past the State Department security guards and high-tech surveillance equipment on the day and at the time that the President of the
United States was there engaged in a ceremony with other foreign dignitaries.

People wonder how I achieved the seemingly impossible. Even the world’s best trained, highest paid security experts became baffled and bewildered.

They demanded to know how I managed to get inside their building, breaching the highest security in the world. They said that I had made them look like fools. I told them about the important, urgent message I carried for the President.

Well, I promise to reveal compelling, life-changing info about that message. And once you understand those details, they’re likely to grip you with fear–changing your life forever.

Before getting to that however, you’ll probably want to know the extent I went to reach the President of the United States, heralded as the world’s most powerful man.

I’m an average American in my mid-50s, a successful and prosperous building contractor, and a professional real estate sales broker in a small rural Nevada town.

I have discovered such important information so powerful that it affects the lives of every American and the entire world. In fact, your very survival—and the fate of your family—hinges on the urgent details revealed herein.

Determined to get this vital information to as many people as possible, especially powerful politicians, I traveled alone to our nation’s capital. I arrived in Washington, D.C., in the wee hours of the morning.

Driving down the freeway at two o’clock in the morning, the heavy truck traffic that night apparently blocked my view of the sign for the exit I needed to take.

As you’ll soon discover, some signs can be extremely important. An exhausted country boy unaccustomed to driving in urban areas, I continued on for what seemed like twenty miles, before realizing I had gone too far. Quickly turning around, upset with myself for not seeing the right sign, I thought to myself, “See how important signs are.” Not paying attention has just cost me at lot of time, fuel and badly needed rest. This is an important lesson. I was glad when I finally found my hotel.

After a few hours sleep, the first thing I did that morning was make a beeline to the United States Capitol Building. There, I was anxious to find some of the nation’s most powerful leaders, our senators and congressmen.

The moment I entered the Capitol Building, after going through its standard security screening, there was a crowd of people in the hall watching President Bush on TV addressing foreign diplomats at a live televised ceremony with lots of foreign flags.

I casually walked up and asked this guy, “Where is that at?”

He told me it was at the State Department Building on Constitution Avenue, several blocks from the Capitol. Immediately, I returned outside, down the steps out to the street and asked a taxi driver “Can you take me to the State Department?”

A few minutes later, the cab driver pulled over and said, “This is as far as I can go, sir,” as he pointed toward the huge building that covers an entire city block, “That’s it’s right there.”

Barricades were blocking the street, preventing him from getting any closer. I got out and walked along a sidewalk toward the State Department. I was then stopped by a police officer who told me, “Sir, you cannot pass this point. The President is in here.”

“Well, I have come to see him, even if I have to run over the top of you to do it,” I said, half serious, but not threateningly. I turned around and walked across the street.

Still, I resolved to try to get into the building. The lives of millions of people hinged on whether I could convey my message to the right people, and so I was dead-set on doing whatever was necessary to gain access into the State Department Building.

At the time, I used a cane to walk, limping as my left leg remained unhealed from a severe break suffered in an industrial accident. In my other hand, I carried a satchel filled with the vital info intended for the President and other politicians.

Driven by determination, guided by instinct and optimism, I walked around the corner and started down a side street. At the same time a woman came walking from across the street, going in the same direction as me. As we merged together on the sidewalk, I could tell she knew where she was going, carrying a full tray of coffee and donuts.

So, I followed immediately behind her, and she walked down the steps into a side entrance of the State Department Building. I held the door open for her, and we entered together. We walked straight across the entry room, ignoring a metal detector to our right and the security guards sitting at their desk.

They obviously knew her, and she probably went in and out daily to get coffee and donuts. Instinctively, I also ignored the security personnel and followed right behind.

Past the metal detector, she put her plastic ID card into a security gate. When it opened, and she went inside, I thought I could also slip through right behind her. But the bar closed, and locked in front of me as she continued on into the building.

Obviously, I found myself unable to proceed forward. So, I turned to the right. And it must have appeared to the security guard—because of my cane and my large satchel—that I was having difficulty passing though the narrow opening and needed help.

He motioned for me to come toward him as he held open a wide gate designed as access for disabled people. With a stern countenance and a serious demeanor I walked by as a man needing to be at an important place and with a nod of appreciation, I said, “Thanks.”

It was hard to conceal how ecstatic I felt as I tried not to hurry down the hall and into the heart of the State Department. Now, I knew for sure that God had helped me get in, and I was supposed to be there. After all, they had even held open the gate for me!

Without question, my day had started out great, and it kept getting better. My intentions remained peaceful: to meet with President Bush and talk to him for a few minutes.

Now that I had penetrated the initial layer of security, I had to remain cool, calm, and collected in order to achieve success. I proceeded down the long halls like I knew where I was going. I didn’t want to look lost – even though I was – that would surely draw attention to me, and people would ask if I needed help.

As I explored various corridors, I came upon a group of people standing in a hallway intersection outside the cafeteria watching the same ceremony of the President on a monitor. An excited woman among them said, “My hand just shook the hand of the President. I’m never going to wash it again.”

I held out my hand to her and asked, “Can I shake the hand of the hand that shook the President’s?”

Without hesitation, the woman eagerly shook my hand as I thought, “If she could get that close,so could I.” Then, I asked them, “Where is that ceremony at?”

Someone said, “It’s on the Eighth Floor in the Franklin Room.” So I immediately set out to find an elevator, with a serious and stern countenance–like an official on a grave mission.

Since I didn’t know how long the ceremony would last, time remained of the essence. The first elevator I found only went to the seventh floor.

Arriving there, I stepped out into an area crowded with people. But there was no sign of the President. I asked, “How do you get to the Eighth Floor?” Several people pointed to another elevator, telling me, “That’s the one that goes there.”

As I walked over to that elevator, three Secret Service agents stood in front of it. I boldly tried to step past them.

“This elevator is closed,” one of them said.

“Oh,” I said, and without making an issue of it, I turned and walked down the hallway. Although somewhat stymied, I continued down the hallway with unwavering determination. Then I spotted a freight elevator, and I entered it at the same time as a janitor. He asked me, “What floor, sir?”

“I want to go to the eighth floor.”

“Well, this elevator doesn’t go there, and the only elevator to the eight floor is temporarily closed,” he said. “But I can show you a door to the stairway that goes there.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later as we stepped out on the first floor, he said, “There’s the door,” pointing to the stairway. He went on his way, and I began climbing up the eight flights of stairs.

I remained in good shape for a forty-eight-year-old man. In spite of the pain in my half-healed broken leg, with determination I finally reached the eighth floor.

Just as I opened the stairwell door to that floor where no one from the public was supposed to venture, I startled a security guard standing there.

“Excuse me,” I said, continuing right past him like I was headed somewhere important.

“Just a minute, sir,” he said. “Do you work here?”

“Well, waduya think?” I responded in a tone of disgust, trying to imply would I be here if they weren’t paying me? Like he was asking a ridiculous question, as I continued walking. I did not want to lie to him. But my answer failed to satisfy the guard, and he began to follow behind me “Well just exactly where do you work?” he asked.

I stopped and confessed, “I’m a visitor,” I responded truthfully.

“Hey, you don’t have an ID badge!” the guard suddenly noticed.

By this point I had been in the building nearly one hour, and until now no one had noticed that I even lacked such a badge–required to be worn by virtually every person in the entire building–employees and visitors alike.

“I don’t have one,” I told the guard.

“Well, you have to have one. Come with me, and I’ll take you to the front desk and show you where to get one.”

I was co-operative and grateful, but then he realized he was supposed to be at his post so he asked another guard to accompany me downstairs to the lobby. At the front desk, the receptionist who issues visitor ID passes asked me, “Who are you here to see?”

“Colin Powell.”

I knew Powell, Secretary of State at the time, would be an excellent initial contact. He enjoyed full access to communication with the President.

The receptionist asked me if I had an appointment. When I told her “no,” she directed me to the in-house phone in the lobby and gave me the extension number to Powell’s office.

I spoke to Powell’s personal secretary, who asked me to hold the line. While on hold, I noticed a man standing behind me, and then a few more gathered around me. At first I figured they were waiting to use the phone, but then it became clear they wanted to talk to me.

“We’d like to have a word with you, sir,” one of the men said. “Could you come with us for a minute?”

“Certainly,” I said, fully cooperative.

INTERROGATIONS

They escorted me to a nearby conference room, and asked if I would like something to drink–coffee or soda.

“We’re interested in what you’re doing here, and what your purpose is.” one of them said. “You’ve successfully breached our security by entering our building without proper authorization.”

I cooperated completely and honestly. I had nothing to hide and I wanted as many people as possible to learn of plans to destroy the United States.

“We want to know how you got into our building. You’ve made us look like fools,” the obviously distressed official said. “We’re a highly trained security force, the best in the world, and you’ve violated our security. This building is among the most secure buildings in the whole world. Absolutely no one is supposed to be able to penetrate it.”
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