Oh my God, thought Priebus.
“Andrew,” he said to the FBI deputy, “I’m getting killed.”
The story about Russia and election meddling seemed to be running 24/7 on cable news, driving Trump bananas and therefore driving Priebus bananas.
“This is crazy,” Trump had told Priebus. “We’ve got to stop it. We need to end the story.”
McCabe had just walked in with a big gift, a Valentine’s Day present. I’m going to be the hero of this entire West Wing, Priebus thought.
“Can you help me?” Priebus asked. “Could this knockdown of the story be made public?”
“Call me in a couple of hours,” McCabe said. “I will ask around and I’ll let you know. I’ll see what I can do.”
Priebus practically ran to report to Trump the good news that the FBI would soon be shooting down the Times story.
Two hours passed and no call from McCabe. Priebus called him.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” McCabe said. “There’s nothing I can do about it. I tried, but if we start issuing comments on individual stories, we’ll be doing statements every three days.” The FBI could not become a clearinghouse for the accuracy of news stories. If the FBI tried to debunk certain stories, a failure to comment could be seen as a confirmation.
“Andrew, you’re the one that came to my office to tell me this is a BS story, and now you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do?”
McCabe said that was his position.
“This is insanity,” Priebus said. “What am I supposed to do? Just suffer, bleed out?”
“Give me a couple more hours.”
Nothing happened. No call from the FBI. Priebus tried to explain to Trump, who was waiting for a recanting. It was another reason for Trump to distrust and hate the FBI, a pernicious tease that left them dangling.
About a week later on February 24 CNN reported an exclusive: “FBI Refused White House Request to Knock Down Recent Trump-Russia Story.” Priebus was cast as trying to manipulate the FBI for political purposes.
The White House tried and failed to correct the story and show that McCabe had initiated the matter.
Four months later on June 8, Comey testified under oath publicly that the original New York Times story on the Trump campaign aides’ contacts with senior Russian intelligence officials “in the main was not true.”
CHAPTER
11
Trump needed a new national security adviser, and he wanted to act fast. He said he was getting killed in the media and was convinced a new person would erase the Flynn debacle.
Another general, perhaps? Bannon believed the media was Trump’s main concern. Everything was through the eyes of, “Does he look the part?” Everything was movies. Dunford and Mattis struck him as Marines because they were men of few words. They got to the point.
High on the list was Army Lieutenant General H. R. McMaster—5-foot-9, bald, green-eyed, barrel-chested, ramrod-straight posture—who was the rare combination of war hero and scholar. He had written Dereliction of Duty: Lyndon Johnson, Robert McNamara, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the Lies That Led to Vietnam. It was a groundbreaking work that indicted military leaders for failing to confront their civilian leaders. McMaster was considered a renegade and an outsider in the Army club, but no one doubted his bona fides.
General McMaster was going to get two hours with Trump. Bannon met with him at Mar-a-Lago and offered his usual advice: Don’t lecture Trump. He doesn’t like professors. He doesn’t like intellectuals. Trump was a guy who “never went to class. Never got the syllabus. Never took a note. Never went to a lecture. The night before the final, he comes in at midnight from the fraternity house, puts on a pot of coffee, takes your notes, memorizes as much as he can, walks in at 8 in the morning and gets a C. And that’s good enough. He’s going to be a billionaire.”
Final advice: “Show up in your uniform.”
McMaster wore a suit.
“Told you to show up in your uniform,” Bannon said.
“I called around,” McMaster replied, “and they said it wouldn’t be appropriate because I’ve got my retirement papers in.” If he was selected, he would retire and serve as national security adviser as a civilian.
“I got you up here because you’re an active duty general,” Bannon reminded him.
The meeting with Trump did not go well. McMaster talked too much and the interview was short.
Bannon, who sat in on it, later reported, “McMaster ran his fucking mouth for all of 20 minutes giving his theories of the world. A fucking Petraeus book guy.” In 2007, McMaster had been part of a “Baghdad brains trust” advising General David Petraeus on the Iraq War.
After McMaster left, Trump asked, “Who was that guy? He wrote a book didn’t he? It said bad things about people. I thought you told me he was in the Army.”
“He is in the Army.”
“He’s dressed like a beer salesman,” the president said.
Bannon, noted for his terrible wardrobe, agreed. He thought McMaster’s suit looked like it cost only $200, or maybe only $100.
Next to be interviewed was John Bolton, a far-right former U.N. ambassador. He was a summa cum laude graduate from Yale who supported the Iraq War and promoted regime change in Iran and North Korea. He was a regular on Fox News—he reported an income of $567,000 in 2017, just from Fox. His answers were fine, but Trump did not like his big, bushy mustache. He didn’t look the part.
* * *
Lieutenant General Robert Caslen, the superintendent of West Point, was next up.
Before he entered, Trump turned to General Kellogg, the NSC chief of staff, who was sitting in on the interviews.
“General, what do you think of this guy?”
“Bobby Caslen’s the best gunfighter in the Army,” Kellogg said.
Caslen, who had big ears and wore medals on his uniform up to the top of his shoulder, gave short answers, mostly “Yes, sir” or “No, sir.” He was like Clint Eastwood. Trump started pitching him, telling him stories from the campaign.
Bannon thought Trump was selling this guy. He thought Caslen was in.
That night Kushner said that all the media loved McMaster—combat veteran, thinker, author.
“But Trump’s got no chemistry with this guy,” Bannon reminded him. The chemistry had been there with Caslen, but he was a field general with no Washington experience except a short tour on the Joint Staff in a junior position. “We’ll get lit up,” Bannon noted.
They agreed that McMaster and Bolton should have another round the next day, and to invite Caslen to the White House later for a one-on-one lunch.
* * *
The next day Bolton came in. He was fine, the same, but still had the mustache.
McMaster arrived in his uniform. He looked better—high and tight. There was better chemistry, though not great.
Bannon and Kushner told Bolton and McMaster to wait; there would be a decision in the next couple of days. McMaster hung around Mar-a-Lago.
“You know, we’re getting killed with bad stories on the Flynn thing,” Trump said. “Let’s just make a decision.”
“I don’t think we can just make a decision,” Bannon said. “Caslen and McMaster are two serving Army officers. I don’t think they’ve run the traps on this.” They had to inform their Army superiors. The Army chief of staff, General Mark Milley, said that Caslen would be the best possible pick. “They’ve got jobs. So there’s a process.”
“No, no, no,” Trump said. “We’re getting killed. Bad stories.”
“The media loves McMaster,” Jared said.
“Because he’s a fucking liberal,” Bannon said. “No offense, he has not been that impressive in this thing. You guys don’t have great chemistry.”
“Yeah, but you know,” the president said. “Get him over here.”
Bannon retrieved McMaster. “The president wants to talk to you. Come on over.”
What do you think is going to happen? McMaster asked.
“I think the president may offer you the job.”