Authors: James B. Stewart
Tags: #History, #United States, #General, #Law, #Ethics & Professional Responsibility
Tangled Webs (25 page)
Much to Cathie Martin’s frustration, this version of events–that the vice president sent Wilson on the mission and then ignored his findings–was becoming conventional wisdom. Reporters weren’t even bothering to call for comment. On June 19 the
New Republic
ran a cover story on the sixteen-words controversy, quoted the unnamed ambassador saying that administration officials “knew the Niger story was a flat-out lie,” and repeated that he had undertaken his mission at the request of the vice president. “This had just become sort of . . . you know, true in the press,” Martin recalled. “Just everyone that wrote the story just picked up on it, kept writing it. They didn’t call and ask me for comment.”
New Republic
ran a cover story on the sixteen-words controversy, quoted the unnamed ambassador saying that administration officials “knew the Niger story was a flat-out lie,” and repeated that he had undertaken his mission at the request of the vice president. “This had just become sort of . . . you know, true in the press,” Martin recalled. “Just everyone that wrote the story just picked up on it, kept writing it. They didn’t call and ask me for comment.”
After the
New Republic
article appeared, Eric Edelman, the deputy national security adviser to the vice president, phoned Libby and asked if the fact that Wilson’s wife worked at the CIA “should be shared with the press.” Libby said that would cause “complications” with the CIA and cautioned they shouldn’t discuss the matter further, because they were speaking on an unsecured phone line. Edelman took that to mean that the subject of Wilson’s wife was classified, and showed that Libby recognized then that her identity raised security issues. After all, exposing the identity of a CIA agent could have dire consequences . . . and might well violate federal law.
New Republic
article appeared, Eric Edelman, the deputy national security adviser to the vice president, phoned Libby and asked if the fact that Wilson’s wife worked at the CIA “should be shared with the press.” Libby said that would cause “complications” with the CIA and cautioned they shouldn’t discuss the matter further, because they were speaking on an unsecured phone line. Edelman took that to mean that the subject of Wilson’s wife was classified, and showed that Libby recognized then that her identity raised security issues. After all, exposing the identity of a CIA agent could have dire consequences . . . and might well violate federal law.
Afterward, Libby was on the phone with someone at the CIA, and told Cathie Martin, who was standing nearby, to get in touch with Bill Harlow, the press spokesman for the CIA, who might be able to help rebut the story. Her mounting frustration was evident in her subsequent conversation with Harlow:
“We didn’t send him. What are you saying? I mean, if we didn’t send him, you must have sent him. Who sent him? Who is the guy? What are you saying to the press? Because it keeps getting reported that we sent him. They are not taking my word for it [that we didn’t].”
“You know,” Harlow replied, “I didn’t know who he was either when they [the press] first called. They knew more about this guy than I did.” But then he added, “His name is Joe Wilson. He was a chargé [d’affaires] in Baghdad, and his wife works over here.”
Martin kept notes of the conversation (though she didn’t date them), and she deemed the information important enough that she immediately asked to see the vice president. When she went into his office, Libby was already there. Martin reported on her conversation with Harlow at the CIA, mentioning Wilson’s name and that his wife worked at the CIA. Of course, both already knew this, but Martin didn’t recall their saying anything.
L
ibby’s mounting frustrations about allegations the administration–and specifically the vice president–had ignored or manipulated intelligence on the uranium issue were in full view on June 23, when
New York Times
reporter Judith Miller visited Libby in his office in the Executive Office Building. Miller was fifty-five, a slender, attractive reporter whose specialty as a reporter for the
Times
had long been the Middle East, terrorism, and weapons of mass destruction. Over her twenty-six years at the
Times
, she’d evolved from a liberal antiwar activist into an equally vocal neoconservative. She was married to Jason Epstein, the longtime editorial director of Random House, and the pair circulated in high-level literary and political circles in Manhattan, Washington, and Sag Harbor, on Long Island just north of the Hamptons. Miller was determined, competitive, aggressive, and was also personally close to
Times
publisher Arthur Sulzberger Jr. (they’d once shared a summer house)–qualities that annoyed many of her colleagues but also landed many of her stories on the front page.
ibby’s mounting frustrations about allegations the administration–and specifically the vice president–had ignored or manipulated intelligence on the uranium issue were in full view on June 23, when
New York Times
reporter Judith Miller visited Libby in his office in the Executive Office Building. Miller was fifty-five, a slender, attractive reporter whose specialty as a reporter for the
Times
had long been the Middle East, terrorism, and weapons of mass destruction. Over her twenty-six years at the
Times
, she’d evolved from a liberal antiwar activist into an equally vocal neoconservative. She was married to Jason Epstein, the longtime editorial director of Random House, and the pair circulated in high-level literary and political circles in Manhattan, Washington, and Sag Harbor, on Long Island just north of the Hamptons. Miller was determined, competitive, aggressive, and was also personally close to
Times
publisher Arthur Sulzberger Jr. (they’d once shared a summer house)–qualities that annoyed many of her colleagues but also landed many of her stories on the front page.
Miller had called Libby sometime after the September 11 attacks, and they’d met for the first time in his office. Libby told her he admired the book she’d coauthored on bioterrorism,
Germs
, and she promised to send him a signed copy. He also liked her reporting on weapons of mass destruction and the threat of terrorism. He agreed they could meet periodically, as long as his name never appeared as a source and he was referred to only as an administration official or a senior administration official. In short, he found her a rare kindred spirit in the press.
Germs
, and she promised to send him a signed copy. He also liked her reporting on weapons of mass destruction and the threat of terrorism. He agreed they could meet periodically, as long as his name never appeared as a source and he was referred to only as an administration official or a senior administration official. In short, he found her a rare kindred spirit in the press.
Now Miller was researching a story as part of a team of reporters asked to find out why no weapons of mass destruction had been found in Iraq. Miller had been embedded in a military unit looking for WMD and reported from Iraq during the war. She was also the foremost reporter on the threat Iraq posed before the war, writing or reporting dozens of stories about Iraq’s weapons capabilities, including groundbreaking stories on the purported mobile bioterrorism labs and Iraq’s procuring metal tubes for nuclear enrichment–two of the factual foundations for war against Iraq that now looked increasingly dubious. Miller’s journalistic reputation was plummeting as she faced allegations she was little more than a mouthpiece for the Bush administration and, like the administration itself, had deliberately ignored or manipulated evidence that undercut her conviction that Iraq posed a serious threat. In this regard she and Libby had much in common.
Miller was surprised that the normally “low-key and controlled” Libby seemed “agitated and frustrated and angry.” He was especially angry with the CIA. He was convinced that the agency, which was responsible for the intelligence that went into the State of the Union address, was trying to distance itself and blame the White House through what he called a “perverted war of leaks.” He said, “Nobody ever came to the White House from the CIA and said, ‘Mr. President, this is not correct. This is not right.’ ” If the CIA had such doubts, “they should have shared them with the president.”
Libby went into considerable detail with Miller about Wilson’s mission to Niger, indicating that his efforts through Grossman and others had yielded a good deal of intelligence. At first he referred to the former ambassador as a “clandestine guy,” but quickly referred to him by name, Joe Wilson, which Miller wrote in her notes. Libby also indicated that the vice president had been involved, unwittingly, in sending Wilson because he had asked the CIA, in 2002, for more information about a report from Congress that Iraq had been seeking uranium in Africa. But the CIA had “taken it upon themselves” to send Wilson, and the vice president never knew about the mission or its results.
Almost as an aside, Libby added that “his wife works at the bureau.” Miller thought for a moment he meant the FBI, but quickly realized it was the CIA. She was taking notes, and put the the comment in parentheses. Wittingly or not, Libby had just exposed the identity of a CIA agent to a reporter.
Libby continued fuming about the CIA and its tactics. The issue wasn’t Wilson, who was being used as a “ruse.” He was an “irrelevancy.”
When the interview ended, Miller still hadn’t had a chance to ask Libby about her assignment, which was to write about the failure to discover WMD.
O
n July 6, 2003, Robert Novak walked into the greenroom at NBC’s studios in northwest Washington, DC, nodded to his fellow guests on that week’s
Meet the Press
, and looked for a seat. There weren’t any available, so he remained standing and picked up one of the thick summaries of the Sunday papers and newsweeklies prepared by the
Meet the Press
staff for its guests.
n July 6, 2003, Robert Novak walked into the greenroom at NBC’s studios in northwest Washington, DC, nodded to his fellow guests on that week’s
Meet the Press
, and looked for a seat. There weren’t any available, so he remained standing and picked up one of the thick summaries of the Sunday papers and newsweeklies prepared by the
Meet the Press
staff for its guests.
Novak was at the studio for a roundtable discussion on gay marriage–to which the conservative Novak was implacably opposed. He didn’t like to waste his time on small talk while waiting to go on air, nor, in his experience, did other participants. But this morning someone in the room, only vaguely familiar to Novak, was loudly holding forth, boasting about his work for the Clinton administration’s National Security Council and its superiority to President Bush’s.
What an asshole, Novak thought.
Novak had been on
Meet the Press
many times–236, to be precise. He kept careful track of such things. A ubiquitous presence on TV, he had become one of the nation’s best-known and most readily identifiable political columnists, one of the first to recognize the power of television to advance his career in print. In addition to
Meet the Press
(known to regulars like Novak simply as
Meet
), he was a regular on CNN, both on his own interview show and on
The McLaughlin Group
and
The Capital Gang
. Novak, with his dark looks, furrowed brow, and three-piece suits, was neither telegenic nor charming. But his combative style, glowering visage, and willingness to interrupt and confront his fellow guests made him a natural for television talk shows, which thrived on conflict.
Meet the Press
many times–236, to be precise. He kept careful track of such things. A ubiquitous presence on TV, he had become one of the nation’s best-known and most readily identifiable political columnists, one of the first to recognize the power of television to advance his career in print. In addition to
Meet the Press
(known to regulars like Novak simply as
Meet
), he was a regular on CNN, both on his own interview show and on
The McLaughlin Group
and
The Capital Gang
. Novak, with his dark looks, furrowed brow, and three-piece suits, was neither telegenic nor charming. But his combative style, glowering visage, and willingness to interrupt and confront his fellow guests made him a natural for television talk shows, which thrived on conflict.
Meet the Press
was then hosted by NBC Washington bureau chief Tim Russert. Few realized how close Russert was to Novak: both were devout Roman Catholics (Novak having converted from Judaism) and Russert had often and anonymously fed Novak material for his columns.
was then hosted by NBC Washington bureau chief Tim Russert. Few realized how close Russert was to Novak: both were devout Roman Catholics (Novak having converted from Judaism) and Russert had often and anonymously fed Novak material for his columns.
Novak’s four-times-a-week column, “Inside Report,” initially written with coauthor Rowland Evans, was the country’s longest-running syndicated political column, running in as many as 150 newspapers, including the influential
Washington Post
. Novak blended scoops with a conservative editorial spin, emerging as one of the earliest of the newspaper pundits who came to dominate television news. He seemed to know everyone in Washington, was a fixture at media and political social events, and had pursued his craft with a singular and relentless energy. His conservative, often pessimistic political views had earned him the nickname “Prince of Darkness” among his colleagues, a name he relished and later used as the title for his autobiography.
Washington Post
. Novak blended scoops with a conservative editorial spin, emerging as one of the earliest of the newspaper pundits who came to dominate television news. He seemed to know everyone in Washington, was a fixture at media and political social events, and had pursued his craft with a singular and relentless energy. His conservative, often pessimistic political views had earned him the nickname “Prince of Darkness” among his colleagues, a name he relished and later used as the title for his autobiography.
To his detractors, Novak was little more than a Republican lapdog, his “scoops” self-serving leaks from members of the Republican inner circle. But despite his conservative credentials and support for George W. Bush’s campaign, he wasn’t a party hack. Novak had broken with the party faithful by opposing the invasion of Iraq. As a result, many of the party faithful and the White House inner circle shunned him. Still, he had influential contacts, especially top Bush adviser and political strategist Karl Rove. They spoke on the phone two or three times a month, and Rove always returned Novak’s calls.
In the makeup room, Novak learned that the guest he found so annoying was Joseph C. Wilson IV, a fifty-four-year-old retired diplomat who, in 2002, at the request of the CIA, had gone to Niger to investigate reports that Saddam Hussein was trying to procure yellowcake uranium in an effort to develop a nuclear weapon. Wilson had grown up in California, attended the University of California at Santa Barbara, and spent several years surfing and playing beach volleyball before returning to school and embarking on a diplomatic career. He’d led a glamorous diplomatic life and had married three times. He was posted to both Niger and Iraq, where he was deputy chief of mission at the time of the first Gulf War. His successful effort to evacuate Americans and others led President George H. Bush to praise him as a “true American hero.” He was subsequently named U.S. ambassador to the African nation of Gabon, and in his last assignment he worked as a special assistant to President Bill Clinton, specializing in African affairs. Wilson retired from the State Department in 1998 and became a consultant on foreign business issues.
Despite his CIA-sponsored trip, a mission he described as “discreet but by no means secret,” Wilson had gone public that weekend with an op-ed piece in the
New York Times
, “What I Didn’t Find in Africa.” Novak started reading it while his makeup was being applied.
New York Times
, “What I Didn’t Find in Africa.” Novak started reading it while his makeup was being applied.
Did the Bush administration manipulate intelligence about Saddam Hussein’s weapons programs to justify an invasion of Iraq?
In Wilson’s view, the answer was “yes.” Wilson wrote that the CIA told him that Vice President Cheney’s office had asked about Iraq’s alleged activities in Niger. His piece went on to describe his arrival in Niger (“Seasonal winds had clogged the air with dust and sand”), his attempts to determine if Iraq had obtained uranium from Niger, and his eight days “drinking sweet mint tea and meeting with dozens of people. . . . It did not take long to conclude that it was highly doubtful that any such transaction had ever taken place.”
Wilson hadn’t prepared a written report, but had delivered a briefing to CIA officials upon his return. He assumed that the agency reported his findings to the vice president’s office, either orally or in writing.
The vice president’s office asked a serious question. . . . I have every confidence that the answer I provided was circulated to the appropriate officials within our government. . . . If, however, the information was ignored because it did not fit certain preconceptions about Iraq, then a legitimate argument can be made that we went to war under false pretenses.
When Novak got back to the greenroom, he looked for Wilson, but he’d already left for his interview with NBC correspondent Andrea Mitchell, who was sitting in for Russert that Sunday while Russert watched the Wimbledon tennis matches (Russert always took time off for Wimbledon and the U.S. Open). Novak watched the program on the monitor. Wilson looked good on TV; he still had the tan, slightly weathered good looks of a former surfer.
“Let’s put this in context for our viewers,” Mitchell said, and showed a clip of President Bush’s State of the Union address, with Bush speaking the now controversial sixteen words. “What did you think when you first saw the president making that comment in the State of the Union?” Mitchell asked.
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