It's been well-documented that the security budget for these Games has doubled in size since the organizing committee presented initial estimates, back during the long bid process. Back in 2002, Salt Lake broke all such records with posting a $300 million (USD) total budget. That same year, proto-VANOC guessed at $175 million (CDN), figuring that after a festival that took place just five months after the September 11 terror attacks, a Vancouver Games in eight years would require about half of that. Solid logic, but the security market has changed a lot since then.

Eighteen months ago, Canadian officials admitted that the estimates were "drastically low", and that it would require upwards of $1 billion to secure the Games. Figures published by the Toronto Globe and Mail last August detail a $900 million outlay and the framework of an overall security plan, which includes 16,500 security officers from the RCMP, army, local and provincial police forces, and private security companies. And quite a few of them, I've learned this week, like coffee.

At the venues, one can see the heavy presence first hand. At any time, and I've tested this, there are security officers somewhere within one's line of sight, except when you're in the washroom. They usually work in pairs, and the duos are often oddly matched -- there's one from Toronto and one from Edmonton. There's a RCMP patrolman with a footsoldier from the department in Lethbridge, Alberta. All around Vancouver, Richmond, Cypress and Whistler, there are thousands of cop buddy movies playing themselves out during these 17 days.

As might be expected, there's some disconnect going on. Take this walked-by and overheard exchange at the biathlon venue on Day 7, for instance. The players are a bluejacket volunteer, a policeman from Quebec in a heavy green coat, and a local cop.

Volunteer: I'm trying to tell him something, but I don't speak French.

Local cop: I don't speak much either, sorry.

The uniforms are also a point of confusion. All the security officers are wearing their own clothes from back home, which are all different colors -- grey, light blue, green, navy. Some say "Security" or "Police" on the back. Or they might not have any markings at all, save for a shoulder patch which may or may not spell out its acronym. Some wear the traditional police hats, and some have ballcaps. Some don't wear any hats. It really is a police convention.

Having to mix security forces at the Olympics is nothing new. But in nearly every case I can remember -- and this hasn't been enough of an issue to even keep track of before -- those in charge of policing the Games have all worn armbands, usually blue ones. One of the most important Olympic functions is to communicate simply and effectively to a temporary Tower of Babel. Strong visual language is required, and procedural routines give people from all over the world the feeling of safety and security.

An Olympic security force should also be neutral -- they've been contracted to protect Olympia, after all. So say you were a German citizen enjoying the Games, and somebody in a Team Canada sweatshirt ran by and stole your wallet. If the nearest cop had a maple leaf flag sticking out of his pocket, would you be confident that justice would be accomplished?

And at two venue entrances over the past seven days, my bag searches and patdowns have been performed by bluejackets. Volunteers!

So I wasn't shocked when there was a second security breach at B.C. Place, which hosted the Opening Ceremony and is the location of nightly medal ceremonies and concerts. At the Opening, a man crafted a homemade credential and made it past two rings of security to get within speaking distance of U.S. Vice President Joe Biden. On Day 7, while I was watching skeleton up at Whistler Sliding Center, a man simply walked away from a screening station after being asked to submit to an additional bag check.

It was also reported on the evening of Day 7 that Vancouver Police is conducting two separate investigations into officer conduct. It was also revealed that seven officers have been sent home for breaching conduct codes. Only seven?

I don't know how many of my fellow Games-goers are stopping and pondering this, but the biggest and most expensive security force in the history of the Winter Olympics is easily the most confusing and disjointed, wearing a thousand different outfits. And if the RCMP is spearheading the Integrated Security Unit, these are questions they have to answer, not VANOC.