Bob Woodward

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Bob Woodward Page 40

by State of Denial (lit)


  This is the most precious thing I ever got, the president said.

  In the two months before the presidential election, Bush would be campaigning almost nonstop. Rice decided that either she, Hadley or Bob Blackwill would travel with the president wherever he went.

  Since Rice was giving her own speeches around the country—a controversial role for a national security adviser—and Hadley was much more of the nuts-and-bolts NSC manager, the campaign travel duty often fell to Blackwill. He got up at 4:30 each morning so he could go over the President's Daily Brief with the CIA before Bush received it. Blackwill's focus was whether anything in the PDB could cause difficulty in the campaign. What was out there that might suddenly surface as an election issue? He gave special attention to intelligence reports on possible terrorist attacks in the U.S.

  The daily campaign routine began after Bush heard the PDB briefing—which took 20 to 25 minutes before 7 a.m. Then he and his entourage headed out to Andrews Air Force Base. There usually were six or seven events scheduled, in as many as three states, with helicopters flying Bush from one event to the next. The stops were often an hour or less. Bush landed, made his speech, and then was back in the air.

  Karen Hughes, Bush's longtime aide and communications adviser, spent the travel time writing Bush's remarks and rewriting his stump speech. Karl Rove would be pushing campaign strategy on the president, calibrating the impact of presidential visits in the key battleground states.

  If you go to this stop in Ohio you can catch the tip of West Virginia, Rove told Bush in one such instance.

  Blackwill was struck that there was never any real time to discuss policy. In between the stops or in the air, whenever Iraq came up, it was always through the prism of the campaign. What had the Democratic nominee, Massachusetts Senator John Kerry, said that day about Iraq? What had happened on the ground in Iraq that might impact the president's bid for reelection? As the NSC coordinator for Iraq, Blackwill probably knew as much about the war as anybody in the White House.

  He had spent months in Iraq with Bremer. But he was with the campaign only as part of the politics of reelection. Not once did Bush ask Blackwill what things were like in Iraq, what he had seen, or what should be done. Blackwill was astonished at the round-the-clock, all-consuming focus on winning the election. Nothing else came close.

  In the days and weeks just before election day, violence surged in Iraq. The classified figures showed that the number of insurgent attacks in Iraq had soared over the summer, going from 1,750 or so in June and July to more than 3,000 in August. In September there was some hope, as the number of attacks fell to just over 2,000, but in October they were back up to about 2,500.

  The violence was now 10 times worse than it had been when Bush landed on the aircraft carrier in May 2003 and declared that major combat was over. New Iraqi army and police units rolling out of training were being butchered. Insurgents were getting reliable intelligence and acting on it. In Diyala Province, about 100 miles northeast of Baghdad, insurgents dressed as Iraqi police set up a false checkpoint on October 23. They grabbed 49 new Iraqi soldiers off a bus, forced them to lie down, and executed them with bullets to the head. Between 30 and 50 percent of all trained Iraqi units melted away and went home.

  It was clear to Blackwill that things weren't going well. For over a year he had been baffled there was no military strategy. Again and again, Bush talked about Iraq strategy in his campaign speeches, but never gave specifics. He talked about goals, expressed his optimism and determination, and gave pep talks. We have a strategy that says to our commanders, adapt to the ways on the ground, Bush said in a September 23 speech in Bangor, Maine. The way to prevail, the way toward the successful conclusion we all want, the way to secure Iraq and bring our troops home is not to wilt or waver or send mixed signals to the enemy. We can grieve, but we will not waver.

  Blackwill had taught strategy at Harvard. Strategy involves a series of actions to achieve a goal and entails answering questions such as: What is going to be done? By whom? When? Where? How? The president, whom Blackwill liked and respected as a political leader, instead talked about winning and goals. But as Blackwill taught in his class, Aspirations aren't strategy. The administration had no real strategy, he concluded.

  Rice had made it clear that her authority did not extend to Rumsfeld or the military, so Blackwill never forced the issue with her. Still, he wondered why the president never challenged the military. Why didn't he say to General Abizaid at the end of one of his secure video briefings, John, let's have another of these on Thursday and what I really want from you is please explain to me, let's take an hour and a half, your military strategy for victory.

  Lack of a strategy in Iraq and the worsening situation on the ground never quite grabbed hold in the campaign. Part of that had to do with skillful politics. The public learned of specific, spectacular violence through news reports. But the real evidence of just how badly things were going—the data and trends on the violence, the number and the effectiveness of the enemy-initiated attacks—was all kept classified, hidden away from the voting public.

  31

  november 2, 2004, was one of the most important days of Bush's life. His comments, interactions and behavior on election day were well documented internally in the White House by aides, friends and note-takers. The day shows how Bush processed information, made decisions and responded to both bad news and good news.

  Bush cast his vote early that day at the Crawford Fire Station, Precinct 80, near his ranch in Texas. He grabbed a cell phone to call his chief strategist and pollster, Matthew Dowd.

  Matty, what do you think will happen?

  Mr. President, I think you will win by two to three percentage points.

  Really, Bush said. 'As you know, I'm a five-point man. The latest polls had Bush and the Democratic nominee, Senator Kerry, dead even, at 48 percent each. But Bush had been saying he wanted to win by 5 percent. It was his gut sense.

  Yeah, I know, Dowd said. I like your optimism, but I don't think that's going to happen.

  Well, we'll see, Bush said, ending the call.

  On the surface, John Kerry had looked like a formidable opponent. A four-term senator from Massachusetts, two years older than Bush, he had won the Silver Star and three Purple Hearts in combat, commanding a small Navy Swift Boat in Vietnam in 1968 and 1969. But the group called Swift Boat Veterans for Truth had challenged Kerry's heroism and published a book, Unfit for Command, that rocketed to number one on the best-seller lists. Kerry and his campaign had failed to respond forcefully. As a senator, Kerry had voted to authorize the war in Iraq, and during the campaign he had not found a way to criticize it effectively. Overall, Kerry appeared uncertain and indecisive, while Bush succeeded in presenting himself in the campaign as consistent and tough.

  After voting in Crawford, Bush okayed a final election day stop in Ohio before Air Force One headed back to Washington in mid-afternoon. On the presidential plane, Karl Rove took a call from Dowd around 3 p.m. as the plane descended through the clouds on its final approach to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. The connection broke up but was soon reestablished on Rove's cell phone.

  It doesn't look good, Dowd told Rove, reeling off numbers from the first wave of exit polls—a sampling of voters leaving key precincts. Rove cradled the phone in his neck and tried to scribble on a piece of paper balanced on his knee.

  In Mississippi, a linchpin of the solid Republican South, Bush was up by only one percentage point, according to the exit polling. Pennsylvania and New Hampshire were worse. Bush was down 17 and 19 points respectively, where pre-election polling had shown him down by a point or two at most. Other exit numbers put Bush up by a single point in the heavily Republican state of Virginia, and said the race was too close to call in Colorado and Nevada.

  God damn, Rove said. How can this happen?

  Dowd was trying to answer that question himself. It's one of two things, he said. Either these things are totally screwed up, or we fun
damentally misunderstood the electorate, and I don't want to say it's the second because that would say that we really didn't know what we were doing. They would be legends, guilty of campaign malpractice.

  Rice, who had traveled with Bush for the last four days of the campaign, saw that the exits had her home state of Alabama listed as plus-1 for Bush. Alabama was one of the most reliable Republican states, and Bush was up by only one point? Polls had put him ahead comfortably by double digits in Alabama. She walked out of Bush's cabin so she wouldn't have to see the president, and headed toward the back of the plane.

  I didn't want to be in the same room with the president at that moment, she later told colleagues. I just didn't.

  Rove walked in the opposite direction, toward the front cabin, as Air Force One touched down.

  I've got numbers, Rove told Bush, and they don't look good. He read them off. He was being factual and careful, but then he added, hedging, Some of them just don't make sense.

  I don't believe it, Bush said. What do you make of it? he asked when he'd caught his breath.

  I don't know, Rove replied, adding that he had not gone through the exit poll data in detail. I've got to wait until we get to the White House and look at the numbers. It's the first wave. They are generally unreliable but something's—either we're going to get blown out or something's fundamentally flawed with these numbers.

  Well, Bush said coolly, let's see what happens. We've been through this before. He didn't have to mention the 36 days of turmoil after the 2000 campaign, before the Supreme Court settled the election in his favor. Victory in Florida had been by only 537 of 6,138,765 votes cast in 2000. I'm going to tell Laura and the girls, the president said.

  One of his twin daughters burst into tears when he told her the news.

  Look, I want you to have faith, the president said to his family. Let's everybody get a smile on their face. The night's not over.

  As they flew by helicopter from Andrews to the White House, Bush realized the media had seen the same exit poll data. The cameras would be looking for the live action shot of faces betraying anguish or defeat— the killer photo or film telegraphing the raw emotions of bad news.

  Everybody put their game face on, the president directed.

  At the White House, Chief of Staff Card had also seen the same exit poll data, and he and a few other staffers were waiting to go out and greet the president as he got off the helicopter.

  There are smiles on all our faces, Card told the others as they stepped outside.

  Great to see you, Card said to the president. Card had the biggest, most over-the-top smile on his face. Great day. What a great day!

  Did you see the numbers? Bush asked as they went inside.

  Yes, he said, I've seen the numbers. I don't believe the numbers. And not only that, you don't believe the numbers. So we are well positioned.

  What's going on? Bush asked. What's going on?

  Card and Rove went off to huddle, and the president followed. Card said again he didn't think the numbers were credible.

  Don't worry about it, Card told Bush. They would try to learn more. Don't get your mind in this game. It'll be all right.

  The president said he didn't want people around. I'm going upstairs, he said, meaning the White House residence. He and Laura had invited a dozen friends and family members to spend the night at the White House. Blair House, the auxiliary guesthouse across Pennsylvania Avenue, was filled with other friends. Local hotels were stuffed. He didn't want to see them all yet. I'm not ready, he said. I'm not ready.

  Rice went straight from the helicopter to her West Wing office suite. Hadley was shocked at her appearance. He had seen Rice about 20 times a day, almost every day for four years, through 9/11, the Afghanistan War, the Iraq War. Through good times and bad times, she had always seemed to live up to the nickname her staff had given her—the Princess Warrior—and always seemed to have it all together. But now Rice looked as bad as Hadley had ever seen her. She even had a slight break in her normally near-perfect posture. Hadley, who was marvelously clueless about political Washington and had few media contacts, didn't know about the exit polls. He followed Rice into her office and closed the door.

  Condi, what's wrong? he blurted.

  We just saw the early polls, and they're not good, she said. They were really alarming, in fact, pointing toward a blowout win for Senator Kerry.

  The president's parents, former President Bush and First Lady Barbara Bush, were among those staying at the White House for the night. One of the longtime Bush family friends found Barbara Bush.

  Look, we are so thrilled to be here, the friend said, but I know the kind of tension this night is. They need their privacy.

  Barbara Bush seemed to agree. She reported that her husband, the former president, now 80, was so nervous his stomach was flaring up.

  At 5:10 p.m., the elder Bush dropped by to see Rove. What was happening? he wanted to know.

  Rove said the exits did not seem right at all. The exit poll firms were polling a greater percentage of women than were actually voting, Rove said, and they were accounting for more late deciders than there actually were. At 5:18, the president called Rove, interrupting his briefing.

  Rove repeated his conclusions.

  Well, Bush said, we'll see soon enough.

  No, no, no, thought Rove. Everything, every argument and analysis he could make told him these numbers had to be wrong, really wrong. But no matter how methodical his thoughts, he couldn't quite stamp out the doubt. It made no sense to him, but who could know? The numbers could be right. He realized if he was ever in his life going to have a heart attack, it would probably come in the next few hours.

  At 5:20, the older Bush left to wander about his former residence and offices. Six minutes later, Rice popped in.

  Bad, bad, bad! Rove exclaimed. I'm so pissed off I can't see straight.

  Michael Gerson, the president's speechwriter, was sending e-mails to some of the top people in the Bush campaign at around 6:30 p.m., asking what had happened. Gerson, a 40-year-old evangelical Christian who had majored in theology at evangelist Billy Graham's alma mater, Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois, had written all of Bush's memorable post-9/11 speeches, including the one he gave at Washington's National Cathedral on September 14, 2001— This conflict has begun on the timing and terms of others. It will end in a way, and at an hour of our choosing —as well as his remarks before a joint session of Congress on September 20, 2001: Americans should not expect one battle but a lengthy campaign. Gerson had written Bush's 2002 State of the Union speech identifying Iraq, Iran and North Korea as an Axis of Evil connecting terrorism with weapons of mass destruction, and had also come up with the intellectual and historical roots for Bush's preemption doctrine speech, delivered at West Point in June 2002— The war on terror will not be won on the defensive. He knew it was his duty not only to have Bush's victory speech ready, but also to have ready what he called the second speech. The contingency concession to John Kerry was designed to be gracious. Gerson was very proud of the first line in his draft. Bush was to say, I just received a call from my opponent who is no longer my opponent. He is president-elect of the United States.

  At 7:35 p.m., with the polls beginning to close in the East, Rove moved to the high-tech campaign War Room set up in the Old Family Dining Room on the first floor of the White House residence. Five large flat-screen TVs dominated one wall. Rove installed himself at the end of a large table in the center of the room. He had a large map of the United States on his computer screen. All he had to do was hit a state and up would pop the latest Bush and Kerry numbers. Next a map of that state would appear. He could hit any county in that state and retrieve the numbers flowing from campaign aides and local Republican officials in county courthouses and election centers throughout the country.

  Bush senior arrived in the War Room at 9:14 p.m. He was nervous.

  We're leading in Ohio and Florida, Rove reported. He'd just been on the phone with
Florida Governor Jeb Bush, who reported they were beating their targets in his state. With the polls closed everywhere but six Western states, Rove surfed on his computer, tapping into the key counties around the major cities. Rice was there, working as a kind of clerk, consulting Rove's book of goals and the 2000 performance in the counties as he called them out.

  Time to spin, Rove declared. He called various key TV reporters about Ohio. We're outperforming the percentage of vote in every city from 2000, and they're underperforming, Rove said.

  The president came down, and Rove took him through the numbers in the main counties that showed he was winning Ohio. Bush left, but at 9:50 p.m. Rove called him again.

  We're going to win Ohio, Rove reported confidently.

  Keep looking at it, Bush ordered.

  About an hour later, just before 11 p.m., Card phoned Kerry's campaign manager, Mary Beth Cahill, to see if he could give the Kerry campaign a nudge.

  I don't know what your numbers are showing, but our numbers are showing that we're going to win. And if your numbers are showing that, we should probably think about scheduling a phone call. Do your numbers show that?

  No, Cahill said politely. She made clear the Kerry campaign's numbers didn't show that.

  Okay, I am not pushing, Card said. I am not pushing. That's it.

  At 11:29 p.m., the president, wearing slacks and a shirt without a necktie, came back into the War Room.

  The election that will never end, Bush said. He said he was so tired, and he looked it. The night lacked the kind of hard-count clarity he wanted. The network performance was particularly outrageous, he said. No one had called Florida for him even with 95 percent of the precincts reporting. Almost unbelievable.

  At 11:40 p.m., ABC News called Florida for Bush. Rove's War Room erupted with cheers.

  At 12:29 a.m., Bush's anxiety flared. When will it end? he asked Rove. He wanted to go to the Reagan Building, where his supporters were gathered, and declare victory. When could he go?

 

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