Deep State
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“I was just talking to Senator Grassley,” Trump said. “Boy, he’s no fan of yours.”
“I’m aware of that,” McCabe said, and mentioned, in what he thought was a lighthearted tone, the fourteen letters Grassley had sent to the Justice Department complaining about him.
McCabe’s irony was lost on the president. Trump launched into a long and detailed account of his electoral triumph in North Carolina. (Why, McCabe had no idea.) He returned to the theme that people in the FBI loved him: “Ninety percent love me.” (It had been 80 percent the last time.)
That gave McCabe an opening for something he’d wanted to say. He reminded Trump that he’d asked him whom he voted for, and “I didn’t give you a straight answer.” Trump indicated he should go on, and McCabe said, “I did not vote in the 2016 election. I have considered myself a Republican my whole life, and I have always voted for the Republican candidate for president, except in 2016.” Because of the ongoing investigations during the campaign, “I thought it would be inappropriate for me to cast a vote,” he explained.
Priebus and McGahn said nothing. The president narrowed his eyes, squinting, gazing at McCabe.
“So, we’re looking for a new director now, and here you are,” Trump finally said. “Isn’t that great? This is terrific for you. How do you feel about that?”
McCabe said he was honored and happy to be considered. He loved the FBI, and being director would be the ultimate way to serve. He mentioned Louis Freeh, the only former FBI agent to have served as director.
“Well, it’s great,” Trump went on. “I don’t know if you’re going to get it, but if you don’t, you’ll just go back to being a happy FBI guy, right?”
Trump rattled off the names of other people he was interviewing for the job. Then he ended the interview without having asked a question about how McCabe would run the bureau or what he perceived to be its biggest challenges. “This has been great,” Trump said dismissively. “And who knows? You might get it.”
One name Trump didn’t mention was Robert Mueller, although Mueller, too, was at the White House that day to meet with the president and McGahn. Mueller was there to “offer a perspective on the institution of the FBI,” Bannon recalled, and the White House had even thought of “beseeching” Mueller to return to head the FBI. But Mueller hadn’t shown any interest in his old job, and “he did not come in looking for the job,” Bannon said.
* * *
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MCCABE WENT STRAIGHT from his White House interview to Capitol Hill, stopping en route to pick up Page and Baker. Rosenstein and his entourage came in their own SUV. Rosenstein called McGahn from the vehicle to break the news he was appointing a special counsel. He knew it was the last thing Trump wanted, but he told McGahn the White House should welcome the news.
While McCabe and Rosenstein were waiting in a room in the basement of the Capitol, the House Intelligence Committee chair, Devin Nunes, came in, even though he’d recused himself from the Russia investigation in April amid allegations he’d leaked classified information to the White House. “He’s not supposed to be here,” McCabe said, and Rosenstein went over to talk to him. When he returned, Rosenstein said Nunes had insisted he was staying. “I can’t force him to leave,” Rosenstein said. So much for the confidentiality of what was supposed to be a top secret proceeding, McCabe thought.
The remaining members of the Gang of Eight filed in with their staff members. McCabe and Rosenstein sat at the head of a long table. Chuck Schumer and the Democrats sat on one side of the table to their left (Nancy Pelosi didn’t attend but sent a staff member); Mitch McConnell, Paul Ryan, and the Republicans faced them across the table. McCabe had an outline in front of him. He’d already gone over what he’d say with Rosenstein.
McCabe summarized Operation Crossfire Hurricane, reminding them of what Comey had already briefed them on, including the original four subjects, Carter Page, Papadopoulos, Flynn, and Manafort. No one had any questions or comments.
Then McCabe said the FBI had added two case files to Crossfire Hurricane, both counterintelligence investigations. One was President Trump. The other was Attorney General Sessions.
No one said anything. Some Democrats shook their heads; the Republicans cast their gaze downward at the table.
McCabe went on, explaining the predicate acts in both cases—the firing of Comey and its implications, for Trump; and the false statement about Russian contacts, for Sessions.
No one raised any objections. No one suggested the FBI was overstepping any bounds. There was some nodding of heads, as if the reasoning made perfect sense. The Republicans looked resigned to the inevitable.
Paul Ryan was the only one who asked a question, about whether a counterintelligence investigation was also a criminal investigation. Yes, McCabe answered. The FBI was investigating both collusion with the Russians and obstruction; either or both could result in criminal charges.
Then Rosenstein stepped in and announced he’d appointed a special counsel. Everyone at the table seemed surprised. Rosenstein fielded mostly procedural questions, including how a special counsel could be removed.
It was all over in little more than half an hour.
* * *
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ROSENSTEIN ISSUED A formal order that same day:
By virtue of the authority vested in me as Acting Attorney General, including 28 U.S.C. §§ 509, 510, and 515, in order to discharge my responsibility to provide supervision and management of the Department of Justice, and to ensure a full and thorough investigation of the Russian government’s efforts to interfere in the 2016 presidential election, I hereby order as follows: (a) Robert S. Mueller III is appointed to serve as Special Counsel for the United States Department of Justice. (b) The Special Counsel is authorized to conduct the investigation confirmed by then–FBI Director James B. Comey in testimony before the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence on March 20, 2017, including: (i) any links and/or coordination between the Russian government and individuals associated with the campaign of President Donald Trump; and (ii) any matters that arose or may arise directly from the investigation; and (iii) any other matters within the scope of 28 C.F.R. § 600.4(a). (c) If the Special Counsel believes it is necessary and appropriate, the Special Counsel is authorized to prosecute federal crimes arising from the investigation of these matters.
Sessions was still in the Oval Office after interviewing candidates for FBI director when Rosenstein called. Trump, McGahn, and Sessions’s chief of staff, Jody Hunt, who was taking notes, waited while Sessions stepped out to take the call.
He came back in and broke the news.
The president looked stricken. He slumped back in his chair. “Oh my God. This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I’m fucked.”
In Trump’s view, this was all Sessions’s fault. “How could you let this happen, Jeff?” he angrily asked. The post of attorney general was his most important appointment, and Sessions had “let him down.” He again compared Sessions unfavorably to Bobby Kennedy and Eric Holder. “You were supposed to protect me.”
Instead, “Everyone tells me if you get one of these independent counsels it ruins your presidency. It takes years and years and I won’t be able to do anything. This is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
Sessions should resign, Trump said. Sessions said he would, and left, as did Hunt and McGahn.
Hope Hicks, still sitting at her desk outside the office, described Trump as “extremely upset.” She’d seen him in such a state only once before, which was after the Access Hollywood tape was released.
* * *
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AS HE LEFT the Capitol that evening, McCabe felt a great sense of relief and satisfaction. Now that Rosenstein had appointed a special counsel, he felt he’d fulfilled his most important and urgent mission as acting director. Now that the case was officially open, FBI agents de
livered a notice requiring the White House to preserve all documents related to Comey’s dismissal, and McGahn told the staff not to send out any burn bags while he sorted things out.
McCabe went home, opened a can of beer, and drank it standing by the kitchen island, reflecting on the dizzying events of the past week.
Comey had been fired, and McCabe thrust into a leadership role. The FBI had opened a formal investigation of the president, with the knowledge and approval of both the Justice Department and Congress. No one had raised any objections. The Russia investigation was on solid ground. It didn’t matter now if Trump fired him, or Rosenstein or Sessions, for that matter. There was no way Trump could stop the investigation or shut it down without the world knowing.
McCabe felt he’d been sprinting toward some kind of finish line all week. Now it felt as if he’d crossed it. He could stop running.
* * *
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WITTINGLY OR NOT, Rosenstein could not have found a special counsel more closely aligned with the values espoused by Comey, whom Rosenstein had just helped fire.
Any hopes of Rosenstein that Trump might “welcome” the appointment of a special counsel, especially one of Mueller’s unblemished reputation and stature, were quickly dashed. Early the next morning Trump tweeted, “This is the single greatest witch hunt of a politician in American history!”
And Trump was already suspicious of Mueller, whom he accused of conflicts of interest, especially what he called a “nasty” dispute the two had had over Mueller’s onetime membership in the Trump National Golf Club in Potomac Falls, Virginia.
But Trump’s was a solitary voice among elected officials. Democrats were predictably elated, but even Republican allies of the president praised Rosenstein’s decision to name a special counsel and his choice of Mueller.
Senator Grassley, the head of the Judiciary Committee who’d been so critical of Comey and McCabe, issued a statement saying he had “a great deal of confidence” in Rosenstein “and I respect his decision.” “Mueller has a strong reputation for independence, and comes with the right credentials for this job,” Grassley said.
The Republican Susan Collins of Maine, a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee, said Mueller “has sterling credentials and is above reproach. He is well respected on both sides of the aisle and will inspire public confidence in the investigation.”
The mainstream media lavished praise on Rosenstein’s decision. “If President Trump thought that by sacking the FBI director, James Comey, he could kill off the investigation into his associates’ ties to the Russian government and its attempt to deliver him the White House, he was wrong,” The New York Times editorialized. “The investigation will go on, now under the leadership of a former FBI director—and this one the president can’t fire on his own.” Rosenstein “has done the nation a service in choosing Mr. Mueller, one of the few people with the experience, stature and reputation to see the job through.”
In a dissenting view, the Wall Street Journal columnist Kimberley Strassel warned that Mueller was “part of the brotherhood of prosecutors” who “see themselves as a legal elite, charged with a noble purpose.” Worse, he was “a longtime colleague of none other than James Comey.” Still, what Strassel saw as defects could as easily be seen as virtues.
None of the praise for Mueller made any impact on Trump, who continued to fume about Mueller’s appointment and Sessions’s treachery. If anything, it only heightened his anger and resentment: the more praise for Mueller, the harder it would be to demonize him.
Later that day, Sessions returned to the White House to submit his resignation, as the president had demanded during his humiliating dressing-down the evening before. He handed it to Trump. “Pursuant to our conversation of yesterday, and at your request, I hereby offer my resignation,” the letter began.
Trump took the letter and put it in his inside jacket pocket. Then he asked Sessions if he wanted to stay on as attorney general. Sessions equivocated. Trump asked him again, and then again, almost as if Trump wanted to see Sessions beg for the job. Finally Sessions said he wanted to stay, but added the decision was up to the president.
With Sessions’s humiliation complete, Trump shook his hand and didn’t accept his resignation. But he kept the letter.
* * *
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ROBERT MUELLER DIDN’T waste any time. On May 18, the day after he was named special counsel, he and two close associates he’d already named to his team, Aaron Zebley, his former chief of staff at the FBI, and James Quarles, one of his law partners, arrived at FBI headquarters for a briefing on progress in the Russia case. McCabe, Page, Strzok, and Moffa all attended, and Moffa led the briefing. As usual, Page freely offered her observations and opinions.
Afterward, Mueller asked McCabe, “Who was that woman in there? At the end of the table. I want her for my team.”
When McCabe told her the news, Page resisted. She was trying to spend more time with her young children and husband. She knew Mueller’s reputation and that working for him would be a full-time, seven-day-a-week commitment. She didn’t want to abandon McCabe just as he was stepping into his role as acting director.
“You don’t say ‘no’ to Bob Mueller,” McCabe cautioned. “For better or worse, I never said ‘no’ to Bob Mueller.”
Page got the message: If the acting director of the FBI never turned down a request from Mueller, then what right did she have?
The next day, she sat down alone with Mueller. “I’m unbelievably honored and grateful” to be asked, she said, but wanted him to know she had two young children.
“Well, family comes first,” Mueller said, though she doubted he (or any other men of his generation) really knew what that meant. If something blew up at 5:00 p.m. on a Friday, no one was going to leave the office.
But Page agreed to sign on for forty-five days, long enough for his team to get up and running.
Not long after, Mueller asked Strzok to join as well (unaware, of course, of his relationship with Page). “You’d be very good,” Mueller said.
Strzok, too, had doubts, though not because of family commitments. Leaving his job at FBI headquarters for a special counsel investigation, no matter how important or prestigious, was not a standard path for advancement at the FBI. He was in line to be a special agent in charge for a major city, and then a top headquarters job. Going with Mueller might be no more than a path to early retirement.
Page urged Strzok not to take up Mueller on his offer, both for those reasons and because, under the circumstances of their prior affair, she didn’t think the two of them should be working so closely together.
On the other hand, Strzok, too, was reluctant to say no to Mueller. And it was a chance to work on what could be the case of a lifetime.
The two debated the issue that week in an exchange of text messages.
“A case which will be in the history books,” Strzok said. “A million people sit in AD [assistant director] and staff jobs. This is a chance to DO. In maybe the most important case of our lives.”
“No way, dude. I really don’t think you should do it,” Page answered. She also expressed doubts about her own abilities in such a high-powered group, but a friend encouraged her because “I lean in and have a stronger work ethic than anyone she knows.”
Strzok was quick to bolster her confidence: “You have passion and curiosity, which is more than half of the battle anyway.”
As for himself, “I personally have a sense of unfinished business,” and “Now I need to fix it and finish it.”
“You shouldn’t take this on,” Page persisted. “I promise you, I would tell you if you should.” She continued, “We can’t work closely on another case again,” but “I want you to do what is right for you.”
“Sigh. Yeah, I suppose that’s right. But god we’re a good team. Is that playing into your decision/your advice to me?”
“You and I both know the odds are nothing,” Strzok responded. “If I thought it was likely, I’d be there no question. I hesitate in part because of my gut sense and concern there’s no there there.”*
Given the evidence he’d seen so far, Strzok was dubious that there was some kind of massive conspiracy with Trump at the center in the role of Mafia don. He thought it more likely that “it was a bunch of corrupt incompetents with individual agendas engaged in unethical and illegal activity,” as he put it.
Still, the possibility remained that Trump was working in a clandestine manner with a foreign power to win the presidency of the United States. As Strzok later said, “People were desperate to work on this. It was like parents volunteering their firstborn children for the war, because everyone understood the gravity and how important an endeavor it was.”
In the end, Strzok, too, said yes.
Mueller was able to assemble a highly accomplished and experienced team of prosecutors. Some, like Zebley (whose nickname was the “energizer bunny”), he brought with him from his law firm, WilmerHale. Others filled niches of expertise. Most Mueller had known for years, and they were devoted to him.
Federal law barred Mueller from asking anyone’s political affiliation. (In the heavily Democratic District of Columbia, where the primary usually decides the outcome in local elections, many voters register as Democrats, even if they vote for Republican presidential candidates.) Nonetheless, every applicant’s record was scoured for partisan political activism—conservative or liberal—which was disqualifying.
Within the team the issue of political affiliation never surfaced; no one knew or cared, so long as it had no impact on their work. That didn’t stop the topic from being one of obsessive interest to Trump and his supporters, especially after The Wall Street Journal reported that Andrew Weissmann had attended Hillary Clinton’s election night party in New York. That did prompt some discussion within the Mueller team, but no one thought it disqualified him. Weissmann primarily worked on the Manafort case, not on the Trump case.