“We’re going to have a great eight years together, as we say,” Trump began. “And again, the inauguration was such a success, and such a safety success. And we want to thank you all because it was really a very very special experience.”
He singled out John Kelly, just sworn in as director of homeland security, “and your very beautiful wife.” He asked Joe Clancy, director of the Secret Service, to step forward. “Stay up here with us,” he said. “So let’s, uh . . .” His eyes lit on Comey. “Oh and there’s James. He’s become more famous than me! Let’s take some pictures and say hello to each other, okay? Where’s a good spot? Right here?”
The cameras rolled as Comey walked the length of the blue carpet, thinking, “This is a complete disaster,” and contemplating ways to avoid hugging the president or making any other gesture that might suggest fealty.
Once he was within range, Trump gripped Comey’s hand and leaned in close to his ear. “I’m really looking forward to working with you,” he said in a stage whisper.
When Comey described the encounter to his friend Benjamin Wittes, he said he was “disgusted.” The way Trump had leaned in made it look like a kiss. Comey “regarded the episode as a physical attempt to show closeness and warmth in a fashion calculated to compromise him, especially before Democrats who already mistrusted him,” Wittes recalled.
In the Mafia, a kiss signifies something more ominous: the imminent murder of the recipient.
* * *
—
THE NEXT DAY, in Sean Spicer’s first press briefing as White House press secretary, he again claimed that Flynn hadn’t discussed sanctions with the Russian ambassador. Now that Trump was president and Flynn his national security adviser, the threat that Russia might exert leverage over Flynn was no longer an abstraction. Comey and McCabe decided that it was time to act.
The next day, January 24, at 12:30 p.m., McCabe called Flynn at the White House on a secure phone line to say he had a “sensitive matter” to discuss. He said the media coverage of Flynn’s contacts with Russian representatives had spawned some questions.
“You know what I said, because you guys were probably listening,” Flynn said.
McCabe let that pass without comment, but as a national security expert Flynn probably did know that the Russian embassy was likely to be tapped.
Flynn professed amazement that so much confidential information had found its way into the media and asked McCabe if he thought it had been leaked. McCabe said the FBI was indeed concerned about recent “significant” leaks. But in the meantime, he was hoping Flynn would sit down with two FBI agents as “quickly, quietly and discreetly as possible.” Flynn readily agreed, saying he was available that day. They settled on 2:30 p.m., less than two hours later, at Flynn’s new White House office.
McCabe also said he felt the “quickest way” to get the interview done was to have Flynn meet alone with the agents. It was okay if he wanted someone from the White House counsel’s office to be there, but then McCabe would have to get the Justice Department involved.
“It’s fine, just send your guys down here,” Flynn responded.
McCabe tapped Strzok and a more junior agent, Joe Pientka, for the mission, and they mapped out their strategy: to maintain a relaxed, congenial atmosphere, they wouldn’t explicitly warn Flynn that any false statement to an FBI agent is a crime. (Flynn surely knew that.) If Flynn did deny something they knew had been said, they wouldn’t argue or contradict him, but would ask the question using the exact words from the phone transcript in an effort to jog his memory.
The two agents arrived early, and Flynn gave them a brief tour of the West Wing. Strzok had never been in the White House by daylight and was struck by all the activity. Movers were carting boxes and moving art into the Oval Office, where Trump himself was supervising its placement. Flynn didn’t introduce them, but praised the president’s “knack” for interior design.
Once they settled into Flynn’s office, Flynn seemed “relaxed and jocular,” as Strzok later described him. He seemed “unguarded” and “clearly saw the FBI agents as allies,” like fellow members of the administration who were going to help clear up the annoying press accounts. He seemed oblivious that they might be investigating him, despite McCabe’s call.
In this atmosphere, Flynn seemed in no hurry, ranging from a discussion of hotels where he’d stayed, to his long work hours, to Islamic terrorism, which seemed to be a singular preoccupation. Strzok’s occasional reminder “I’m sure you’re busy and have other things to do” had no apparent effect, and Strzok was surprised that Flynn seemed to have so much time on his hands. Flynn struck Strzok as out of his depth and unsophisticated, such a contrast to the worldly, poised people surrounding Clinton and the White House officials he’d met during the Obama administration.
When the discussion finally turned to Russia, Flynn described his friendly relationship with Ambassador Kislyak and volunteered that his phone calls were to commiserate over the recent assassination of the Russian ambassador to Turkey (“and that was all”) and the crash of a Russian military plane. Strzok knew, of course, that both statements were false.
Strzok got more specific: Had Flynn discussed the expulsion of the Russian diplomats? Flynn said he hadn’t, and reiterated what he’d said before about condolences. Did Flynn ask Kislyak not to “escalate” the situation or engage in a “tit for tat”—the exact words from the intercepted call. “Not really; I don’t recall; it wasn’t, ‘don’t do anything,’” Flynn replied.
Both Strzok and Pientka knew what was in the intercept, and it wasn’t what Flynn said. But after they left, Pientka said, “For the life of me, it sure didn’t look like he was lying.”
Strzok agreed that Flynn’s demeanor had betrayed none of the usual signs of deception. Flynn had hedged only one of his answers (“I don’t recall”). He hadn’t fidgeted, hesitated, or avoided eye contact. If he was consciously lying, he’d done a remarkable job.
Back at FBI headquarters, Strzok and Pientka briefed Comey and McCabe, calling attention to Flynn’s confident demeanor. It was all the more baffling to McCabe, who pointed out that Flynn had indicated that he knew the conversation had been intercepted. But it didn’t change the fact that, as McCabe put it, Flynn’s statement “was in absolute, direct conflict” with the truth.
Comey had alerted Yates to the interview just before the agents went to the White House and briefed her on the outcome. She was “not happy” that once again the FBI had gone off on its own in a highly sensitive manner. But now Flynn was not only vulnerable to Russian influence; he had just committed multiple crimes by repeatedly lying to FBI agents. His position in the upper ranks of the Trump administration was clearly untenable. Before the investigation proceeded any further, the White House needed to be told.
Yates and a colleague met with the White House counsel, Don McGahn, at the White House two days later. The mild-mannered, anodyne McGahn, a longtime Republican operative who’d been the Trump campaign’s general counsel, was a welcome contrast to some of the outsize personalities now in the White House. His specialty was the minutiae of campaign finance law—he’d served for five years as a George W. Bush appointee on the Federal Election Commission—but he knew less about foreign policy or criminal law.
At the meeting, Yates summarized the Flynn situation and expressed her concern that he might be compromised because the Russians would know Flynn had lied to, among others, the vice president. She said Flynn had been interviewed by the FBI two days before—surprisingly, something McGahn seemed to know nothing about. While Yates wouldn’t say that Flynn lied to the FBI, too, she implied as much by saying he’d told the FBI the same things he had apparently told Pence and Priebus.
Yates got the impression McGahn realized it was serious, asking if the administration needed to fire Flynn. That seemed obvious, but Yates didn’t feel it was her place to make that call.
For h
is part, McGahn got the impression the FBI hadn’t really “pinned Flynn down” in a lie.
McGahn told Trump about Yates’s visit that evening and had to explain Title 18, Section 1001 of the U.S. Code, which makes false statements to a government official a crime, as well as the Logan Act. Trump didn’t want to fire Flynn; he thought doing so just weeks into his term would be terrible publicity. Still, Trump seemed angry and annoyed with Flynn. “Not again, this guy, this stuff,” he said.
But the person he was really annoyed with might well have been Comey, whose seeming obsession with Russia had led to the salacious dossier and had now ensnared one of Trump’s top advisers. When he dined later that evening with Dan Coats, his director of national intelligence, and other advisers, Trump was clearly preoccupied and troubled by Comey. He asked everyone at the dinner what they thought of the FBI director. While no one went so far as to suggest Trump fire him, their views were generally unfavorable: he was self-righteous, a grandstander. But Coats maintained Comey was a good director and suggested Trump spend more time with him before making any decision about his future.
Trump didn’t waste any time. The next day, Comey was lunching at his desk when Trump himself called and asked, “Can you come over for dinner tonight?”
Comey said he could, not mentioning that he and his wife had dinner plans.
“Will 6:00 work?” Trump asked. “I was going to invite your whole family but we’ll do it next time. Is that a good time?”
“Sir, whatever works for you.”
“How about 6:30?”
Comey agreed, but the request made him “deeply uncomfortable,” as he put it, given his mounting concern about Trump’s respect for the independence of the bureau. But surely others would be there as well, serving as a buffer. Comey felt he had little choice but to accept a personal invitation from the new president. He canceled the date with his wife.
Trump was determined that it would be dinner for just the two of them. Priebus and Bannon had both tried to insinuate themselves, without success. Trump seemed oblivious that it might be inappropriate, or that he might want a witness to the conversation. “Don’t talk about Russia, whatever you do,” Priebus warned.
As Trump entered the Green Room that evening, he complimented Comey on being early. “I like people who are on time,” he said. “I think a leader should always be on time.” To Comey’s dismay, he saw the table was set for just two. His name was written in calligraphy on a place card.
As plates of shrimp scampi were served, Trump asked, “So what do you want to do?”
Comey wasn’t sure what he meant.
As Trump continued, it became clear he was asking if Comey wanted to continue as FBI director, although Comey had already assured him that he did. At various points, Trump said he’d heard good things about Comey and knew that people at the FBI thought highly of him; that he’d nonetheless understand if Comey wanted to “walk away” from the job given all he’d been through; and that Trump could make a change in FBI leadership if he wished but wanted to hear what Comey had to say.
It was obvious that Trump had invited him to dinner “and decided my job security was on the menu.”
Comey had the distinct impression Trump wanted something in return for keeping him as FBI director—that Trump saw the director’s position as a form of patronage.
Comey said he loved his job, thought he performed it well, and wanted to serve out his term.
That didn’t seem to be enough. So Comey told Trump he could count on him to be “reliable.” By that he meant he’d always tell him the truth, wouldn’t leak, and wouldn’t do any “sneaky things” or “weasel moves.” But Comey said he wasn’t political by nature; he wasn’t on “anybody’s side.” That neutrality was in the president’s—and the nation’s—best interest, because it gave the FBI credibility. The public could trust it to resolve even the most politically charged investigations based on the facts and law, not ideology or power. It was the essence of the rule of law rather than survival of the strongest.
That seemed to make no impression on Trump.
Looking grave, Trump said, “I need loyalty. I expect loyalty.”
Comey said nothing, his gaze locked with the president’s. The silence continued.
An inner voice spoke to Comey: “Don’t do anything. Don’t you dare move.”
Trump finally broke the deadlock, looking down at his plate and launching into a rambling monologue. He boasted about the size of the crowds at his inauguration; the massive amount of free media he’d generated; how vicious the campaign was. He praised his interior design talent, gesturing about the room and comparing the White House favorably to Mar-a-Lago. “This is luxury,” he said. “And I know luxury.” He again denied that he’d grabbed a porn star or groped a woman on an airplane.
And he offered a succinct analysis of the Clinton email investigation: “Comey 1,” in which Comey had “saved her”; “Comey 2,” in which he’d done what he had to do by notifying Congress; and “Comey 3,” when he’d “saved Hillary again” but she “totally misplayed” that.
Two different times Trump brought up McCabe, asking if “your guy” has “a problem with me,” because “I was pretty rough on him and his wife during the campaign.”
Comey explained that, on the contrary, McCabe was “a true professional” and that “FBI people, whatever their personal views, they strip them away when they step into their bureau roles.”
All in all, Trump seemed to be enjoying himself. But Comey noticed he never laughed, which made an impression.
Eventually, Trump again turned to the incident involving the Moscow prostitutes—the “golden showers thing,” in Trump’s words—and said he was thinking of asking the FBI to investigate the allegation and prove it was a lie. It upset him, he said, that his wife, Melania, might think there was “even a one percent chance” it was true.
Comey said it was up to the president, but that proving a falsehood was often difficult, and it would also suggest Trump himself was being investigated.
“Maybe you’re right,” Trump said, but asked Comey to think about it.
Trump said he was happy Comey wanted to stay on as director and repeated what good things he’d heard about him. Comey began to think he might escape relatively unscathed.
But Trump was nothing if not tenacious. “I need loyalty,” he said again.
This time Comey couldn’t just ignore him. “You will always get honesty from me,” he said.
There was a pause. That wasn’t what he’d asked for.
“That’s what I want, honest loyalty,” Trump finally said.
It was some kind of compromise. “You will get that from me,” Comey promised.
As waiters arrived with vanilla ice cream, Trump broached the topic of Flynn, expressing irritation that he hadn’t told him about a call from Britain’s prime minister, Theresa May, for six days. Trump pointed to his head. “The guy has serious judgment issues.”
But Trump said nothing about Flynn’s recent interview with FBI agents. Perhaps no one had told him. Comey scrupulously avoided the subject, saying nothing about the FBI’s ongoing probe.
The dinner had lasted about eighty minutes. As they rose from the table, Trump suggested Comey and his family come back for dinner sometime.
Comey froze.
“Or a tour,” Trump said awkwardly. “Whatever you think.”
EIGHT
“WHERE’S MY ROY COHN?”
Comey called McCabe from his SUV on the way home from the White House. McCabe was as shocked as Comey, especially about the request for “loyalty.” It was blatantly inappropriate in any circumstances, but especially so when the director of an independent law enforcement agency was, at that very moment, investigating matters of grave national importance that touched on the president himself and many of his close associates.
As soon as he got
home, Comey started typing a memo summarizing the conversation. He initialed and dated the four-page, single-spaced document when he finished typing it the next day. He’d never done such a thing after meeting with Obama or Bush, but he never felt the need to. Comey simply didn’t trust Trump to tell the truth. And he had the sense he might need such a record someday, to protect both himself and the FBI as an institution. He made two copies. He kept one at home and took the other to the office, where he distributed it to his senior leadership team. He made it a practice to document every conversation he had alone with Trump.
* * *
—
THE SAME DAY as Comey’s dinner with Trump, McGahn asked Sally Yates to return to the White House to continue the Flynn discussion. He said his staff had been examining the situation, concluding that Flynn had not violated the Logan Act, which had never been prosecuted in any event. But the administration didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with any ongoing investigation of Flynn, such as firing him. As McGahn put it in a subsequent memo, “Yates was unwilling to confirm or deny that there was an ongoing investigation but did indicate that the Department of Justice would not object to the White House taking action against Flynn.”
For her part, she couldn’t understand what was taking so long. She agreed to provide the White House by the following Monday morning with the evidence that Flynn had lied. Afterward, she headed to the airport for a flight to Atlanta. She was still in the car when Axelrod called to tell her that Trump had just issued an executive order banning travelers from seven predominantly Muslim countries from entering the United States. Yates could hardly believe it; she had just been with McGahn, and he hadn’t given her any warning.
Yates spent a hectic weekend overseeing legal research and staff meetings about the travel ban. She concluded the order was unconstitutional, motivated by discrimination against Muslims, a fundamental violation of the First Amendment guarantee of freedom of religion. After flying back to Washington, on Monday afternoon Yates issued a statement to all Justice Department personnel:
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