Rage

by Bob Woodward

  The White House denied the story but acknowledged there was such a one-on-one dinner.

  Rosenstein saw more than a ring of truth in the story. Trump was known to demand loyalty of those in his circle. It was clearly an inside story and had specifics. Trump, according to the account, eventually asked for “honest loyalty.” Comey answered, “You will have that.”

  Rosenstein could plainly see that Comey was fighting back, getting his version out. Rosenstein started asking around, trying to get to the bottom of what might have happened at the dinner.

  McCabe knew about the conversation, and had seen a detailed three-and-a-half-page memo recounting the one-hour-and-20-minute dinner that Comey had prepared and shown him. Setting the scene, Comey wrote that he and Trump had sat at a small oval table in the middle of the White House Green Room.

  The conversation was “chaotic,” Comey had written, “conversation-as-jigsaw-puzzle in a way, with pieces picked up, then discarded, then returned to.”

  Comey said he told Trump that he realized he could be fired by Trump at any time but he wanted to stay. “I explained that he could count on me to always tell him the truth. I said I don’t do sneaky things. I don’t leak. I don’t do weasel moves.”

  But McCabe was not forthcoming about the existence of the memo to Rosenstein.

  What the hell is going on? Rosenstein asked, feeling alone and cut out. “I was on an island,” he said later.

  * * *

  After a regular intelligence briefing the next day, Friday, May 12—McCabe’s first as acting director—he asked Rosenstein if he would stay behind to talk. When they were alone, McCabe said the Senate Intelligence Committee was trying to interview people for their Russia investigation the FBI wanted to interview first. He wanted Rosenstein to protect the FBI process.

  Rosenstein readily agreed. The more the Justice Department and the FBI had the upper hand in the investigation, the more they could control it. The congressional intelligence committees could be demanding and leaky.

  Rosenstein confided to McCabe that he was shocked that the White House was trying to make it appear that firing Comey had been his idea, laying out a story line with him at the center. He had only written the memo at Trump’s direction. In an interview with NBC television anchor Lester Holt the day before, Trump had said he was going to fire Comey no matter what Sessions and Rosenstein recommended—but Rosenstein still felt vulnerable and twisting in the wind, alone.

  McCabe thought Rosenstein looked a little glassy-eyed. Are you sleeping at night? McCabe asked his nominal supervisor.

  I’m working 16 to 18 hours a day and not getting enough sleep, Rosenstein said, and the news trucks were camped outside his home. It was nerve-racking, unpleasant and personal evidence of the media and political frenzy. There was no one at the department he felt he could trust except his own team, a small circle of career lawyers.

  Then Rosenstein dropped the headline: I have been thinking about appointing a special counsel to oversee the Russia investigation.

  That would help the credibility of the investigation, McCabe said, agreeing completely.

  * * *

  For Rosenstein, the question of a special counsel had been percolating for days. He saw pluses and minuses. Over the decades, independent investigations had operated with great latitude—Nixon’s Watergate in the 1970s, Reagan’s Iran-contra in the 1980s and Clinton’s Whitewater and Monica Lewinsky in the 1990s. They did not report to the Justice Department and were not monitored. That was not the case now, Rosenstein knew. The law and the rules had changed significantly. Under the current regulations, a special counsel was just another employee of the Justice Department with no more authority than the 93 U.S. attorneys who were subject and accountable to the attorney general. Because Sessions was recused, a special counsel would be under Rosenstein’s supervision.

  A special counsel would have the aura of independence. But paradoxically, appointing a special counsel could give Rosenstein more control. The special counsel would report to him and he would monitor the office closely.

  Rosenstein had been a young attorney working for Whitewater independent counsel Ken Starr in the 1990s. He had been appalled by how Starr had asked for and obtained authority to expand his mandate beyond his original authority to investigate the Clintons’ property deals in the Whitewater Development Corporation. He was soon conducting a dragnet. Whitewater became a full, unlimited open-ended investigation of the Clintons. It led to the discovery of President Clinton’s affair with White House intern Monica Lewinsky, and to Clinton’s subsequent impeachment.

  * * *

  On May 16, McCabe called Rosenstein. “I think you should know that Comey wrote memos about his discussions with President Trump,” McCabe said. “They are under lock and key.”

  Not entirely. About two hours later, The New York Times published a blockbuster story about the contents of one Comey memo. In an Oval Office meeting on February 14, Trump had said of the investigation into former national security adviser Michael Flynn: “I hope you can see your way clear to letting this go, to letting Flynn go. He is a good guy. I hope you can let this go.”

  Pretty unsavory of Trump, Rosenstein thought. Former prosecutors like Comey wrote such contemporaneous memos about people they suspected of possible crimes.

  To Rosenstein, it was pretty clear that the FBI leadership thought a group of Russian sympathizers had taken over the United States government.

  Rosenstein should have been told about the memos. The FBI clearly didn’t trust the Justice Department, or him. He thought the bureau was operating like J. Edgar Hoover—a power unto itself.

  “I don’t understand why The New York Times has these,” he said to McCabe, “and I don’t have them, and my prosecutors don’t have them.”

  Outraged, Rosenstein sent one of his deputies to the FBI to get copies of the Comey memos. He felt sandbagged. This was clearly bad faith. He had been set up.

  Soon he also learned that McCabe and his staff were discussing whether the president was under investigation. But McCabe also did not include Rosenstein in these discussions. Clearly he should have been.

  The topper came when Rosenstein learned that McCabe—on his own—had made President Trump himself a subject of the investigation. A subject is someone whose conduct is within the scope of a grand jury’s investigation, but who is neither a target of the criminal investigation nor simply a witness.

  Rosenstein was shocked and asked his deputies if McCabe had this power.

  The answer was yes. What extraordinary power resided with the FBI.

  * * *

  Rosenstein felt caught between Trump and the FBI. He was suspicious of both. Was there a way to navigate between the two—to ensure an old-style, aggressive, nonpartisan investigation based only on credible evidence, but ensure the inquiry was not a broad, out-of-control fishing expedition like Ken Starr had conducted of Clinton?

  He did not like the partisan atmosphere in Washington. The Fox News network, especially opinion broadcaster Sean Hannity, had a Svengali-like influence on Trump that Rosenstein privately labeled “malicious.” Too many right-wing nuts had influence. He also found no comfort or credibility with mainstream media reporters, who he believed were prisoners of their partisan sources.

  Rosenstein wanted to find a middle course. For practical purposes, appointing a special counsel would amount to a strategy of riding both horses—an intense, hands-off investigation, but one that was scrupulously fair. And appointing a special counsel under the new rules would give Rosenstein firm control of that investigation.

  * * *

  Rosenstein had met Robert Mueller, then the acting U.S. attorney for Massachusetts, in 1989 as a 24-year-old Harvard Law student working as an intern in Mueller’s office.

  Mueller’s career had been exemplary, especially his 12-year tenure as FBI director. Rosenstein was struck by Mueller’s rectitude.

  After much debate and internal, personal turmoil, Rosenstein decided to pull the
trigger and appoint a special counsel for the Russia investigation.

  Mueller was literally the only person for the task. The Russia investigation was intelligence heavy. Mueller knew the intelligence world of the CIA and the National Security Agency as well as anyone. Mueller, a former Marine, would make the investigation better and faster, not worse and slower.

  Rosenstein approached Mueller about the job, saying that he would have to give up his private law practice as a partner in the Washington law firm of WilmerHale. This has to be full-time. Ken Starr had not given up his position at Kirkland & Ellis, a private law firm, while serving as independent counsel.

  Would you be available if I wanted a special counsel?

  No, Mueller said.

  If I decided we needed you, would you do it? Rosenstein asked, more directed.

  No, Mueller said again.

  But the next Monday, Mueller sent word through one of Rosenstein’s deputies that he had changed his mind and would be willing to do it.

  Rosenstein would monitor all Mueller’s work, setting up some face-to-face meetings with the special counsel. He would arrange for his top Justice Department deputies to have biweekly meetings with Mueller or his top deputies.

  “Let me know if you find anything that shows coordination or conspiracy with Russia,” Rosenstein instructed. That was the core mission.

  On May 17, 2017 in a one-page order, Rosenstein appointed Mueller as special counsel to investigate “Russian interference with the 2016 presidential election” and to “prosecute federal crimes arising from the investigation.”

  His personal assessment of his decision was that it would serve three purposes: restore public trust in the investigation, get McCabe out of the investigation, and put the investigation in the hands of someone trustworthy.

  After appointing Mueller, Rosenstein spoke with McGahn at the White House. The president should be encouraged, he said. Mueller’s going to expedite this. Rosenstein wanted to find out whether Trump aides had coordinated with Russia, not to get Trump. A special counsel investigation would be best for everyone.

  When Trump was informed, he said, “This is the end of my presidency. I’m fucked!”

  In line with Rosenstein’s assurances, the official White House statement from Trump released at 7:30 p.m. that evening said: “As I have stated many times, a thorough investigation will confirm what we already know—there was no collusion between my campaign and any foreign entity. I look forward to this matter concluding quickly. In the meantime, I will never stop fighting for the people and the issues that matter most to the future of our country.”

  The conciliatory tone was the opposite of Trump’s mood.

  On Thursday morning shortly after 10:00 a.m., Trump tweeted angrily that he wondered why there had been no special counsel for “all of the illegal acts” of Hillary Clinton and the Obama administration. The Russia investigation is, he said, “the single greatest witch hunt of a politician in American history.”

  In some respects that day, May 18, was the worst day so far in the Oval Office. Trump’s anger, more than any previously seen by his inner circle, was uncontrollable. He oscillated—stormed—between the Oval Office and his private dining room. “We barely got by,” said Rob Porter, then the White House staff secretary.

  Trump is a large man—around 6-foot-3 and about 240 pounds, almost the size of a football linebacker. On the move and in a rage, he is frightening. Why Mueller? “I didn’t hire him for the FBI.” Trump had interviewed Mueller for perhaps another tour as FBI director and rejected him. “Of course he’s got an axe to grind. Everybody’s trying to get me.” Impeachment talk was on the TV.

  What power does a special counsel have? Trump asked.

  Virtually unlimited, Porter, a lawyer, explained.

  “They’re going to spend years digging through my whole life and finances,” Trump said. “They’re out to get me. It’s all Jeff Sessions’ fault. Rod Rosenstein doesn’t know what the hell he is doing. He’s a Democrat. He’s from Maryland.” Rosenstein was a lifelong Republican.

  “Rosenstein was one of the people who said to fire Comey and wrote me this letter. How could he possibly be supervising this investigation?”

  Trump stayed mostly on his feet, continuing to move between the Oval Office and the dining room. “I have to be fighting,” he said in a frenzy. “I am the president. I can fire anybody I want. They can’t be investigating me for firing Comey. And Comey deserved to be fired! Everybody hated him. He was awful.”

  * * *

  The next Sunday, Rosenstein called both Mueller and McCabe in. “I don’t want Andy participating in the investigation,” Rosenstein said.

  McCabe protested emphatically, saying, “I have no conflict.”

  Rosenstein said that for appearances’ sake, McCabe should not be involved.

  After McCabe left the room, Rosenstein worked out a chain of command on the Russia investigation with Mueller that would ensure that McCabe would not get information from it.

  * * *

  Later, during a House Judiciary Committee hearing on June 28, 2018, Republican representative from Florida Ron DeSantis, who would later become governor of that state, remarked to Rosenstein, “They talk about the Mueller investigation—it’s really the Rosenstein investigation. You appointed Mueller. You’re supervising Mueller.”

  NINE

  In Trump’s orbit, the president’s 36-year-old son-in-law, Jared Kushner, occupied a unique, central role. He was officially listed on the White House roster as senior adviser, but acted as a de facto chief of staff—he would come to outstay three actual ones—and was deeply involved in presidential business. Kushner graduated from Harvard in 2003 and had a combined JD/MBA degree from New York University. Intelligent, organized, self-confident and arrogant, Kushner was often deployed personally by Trump as an out-of-channels special project officer.

  In the first months of his administration in 2017, Trump asked Kushner to take on some of the most important and sensitive parts of the foreign policy portfolio, including acting as his liaison with Saudi Arabia and with both Mexico and China on trade issues. He also assigned Kushner the job of resolving the eternal conflict between the Israelis and Palestinians. This immediately sidelined Secretary of State Rex Tillerson, and interfered with his and Mattis’s plans to guide—or control—Trump on foreign policy.

  If Kushner could not find a Middle East peace plan, “nobody can,” Trump said.

  Kushner didn’t. He presented four or five versions of his plans to Tillerson, who increasingly voiced skepticism.

  On one version Kushner proposed Israel take the Jordan Valley, a 65-mile-long tract of land along the border between Jordan to the east and Israel—including much of the West Bank—to the west.

  “That’ll never fly,” Tillerson told him.

  So out it came, only to go back in the plan later.

  Tillerson thought Kushner relied too much on economic development and ignored all the hard issues between Israel and Palestine.

  “If you make the economic benefits big enough,” Kushner argued, “people will say yes.” Money was the key, just pump money. Trump talked that way also.

  Tillerson told Kushner he did not understand the history. “These people are not going to care about your money,” he said. “Or they’ll take your money and five years from now, you’ll be right back where you are today. That’s not going to buy you peace.”

  Kushner strongly disputes this and believes he developed an original, balanced plan for peace between Israel and the Palestinians. He concluded Tillerson was not up to the job of being secretary of state and resented Kushner’s 20-year relationship with Israeli prime minister Netanyahu.

  For his part, Tillerson thought Kushner’s dealings with Netanyahu were “nauseating to watch. It was stomach churning.”

  * * *

  On Monday, May 22, 2017, Trump was in Tel Aviv, meeting with Netanyahu at the King David Hotel. It was the second stop, after Saudi Arabia, on Trump’s
first international trip as president. Jared Kushner ran out to grab Tillerson.

  “You’ve got to go in there,” an aide said. “They’re showing the president this video. It’s awful. The president’s just exploding. You’ve got to go in there and calm the president down.”

  By this point there was enough distrust between Tillerson and the White House that Tillerson didn’t know whether Kushner was playacting, or even setting him up. But he went into the Trump-Netanyahu meeting.

  “Watch this,” Trump said. “This is unbelievable! You’ve got to see this.”

  They played the video again for Tillerson. It showed a series of spliced-together comments from Palestinian Authority president Mahmoud Abbas, who was supposed to be Israel’s partner in the peace deal that Kushner was trying to put together. It sounded like Abbas was ordering the murder of children. Tillerson believed it was faked or manipulated, taking words and sentences out of context and stringing them together.

  “And that’s the guy you want to help?” Netanyahu said.

  Tillerson studied the video, a crude effort of short snippets that had no context.

  After Netanyahu left, Tillerson said to Trump, “Mr. President, you realize that that whole thing was fabricated?”

  “Well,” Trump said, “it’s not fabricated. They got the guy on tape saying it.”

  Trump had always supported Israel but had recently began expressing doubts about Netanyahu and wondering aloud if the Israeli prime minister might be the real problem. Trump had even earlier said to Netanyahu on a Washington visit that he believed he was the obstacle to peace, not Abbas.

  It was Tillerson’s view that Netanyahu had manufactured the tape to counter any pro-Palestinian sentiments that were surfacing.

  The next morning Trump met privately with Abbas and his people in Bethlehem and unloaded in a tirade. “Murderer!” Trump said to Abbas. “Liar!” I thought you were this grandfatherly figure that I could trust. “Now, I realize you’re nothing but a murderer. You tricked me!”