Bob Woodward

by State of Denial (lit)

  The president put down the phone and started to cry, a deep, convulsive cry. As he tried to compose himself, he went around and hugged each of the people in the room with him—Rove, Hughes, Bartlett, Card and Gerson.

  Congratulations, Rove mumbled. He teared up and couldn't say anything more. Gerson cried also.

  This is a wonderful gift you've given your dad, Card told the president.

  Bush then led them out of the Oval Office and down the corridor to Cheney's office. But the vice president was in the Situation Room, so Gerson called him to say the president had news.

  Cheney came up and they met in the hallway, where Bush told him about Kerry's call.

  I know you're not the hugging kind, Bush said. He shook his vice president's hand.

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  bush met with his cabinet the next morning, Thursday, November 4.

  This election was not won by country club Republicans, he said. I don't know if they exist. There are only country club Democrats. This election was won by people that carry lunch pails to work. I think that if it had just been policemen and firemen voting in this election, I would have won most—you know 90 percent of the vote.

  Bush had tapped into a new group of lower- and middle-class voters concerned about security. After 9/11, he believed, many more people were primarily worried about terrorism, afraid of the next attack. Before the invasion of Iraq, Bush had used the fear to the fullest, intimating that Iraq might launch a nuclear strike. We cannot wait for the final proof— the smoking gun—that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud, Bush had warned. At other times he had talked of an attack by Iraq that could kill untold thousands, and bring a day of horror like none we have ever known.

  In the campaign, the Bush reelection team had dramatically framed the issues to make the voters' fear of terrorism as palpable as possible. The starkest, most direct suggestion that reelecting Bush would save America but electing Kerry would lead to the country's utter demise had come from Cheney on September 7. It's absolutely essential that eight weeks from today, on November 2nd, we make the right choice, Cheney warned. Because if we make the wrong choice, then the danger is that we'll get hit again, that we'll be hit in a way that will be devastating from the standpoint of the United States.

  The Bush campaign had marched purposefully up to the line of fear mongering, and the record showed that they had crossed it. The election results showed that it had worked.

  two days after election day, Bush and the first lady flew to Camp David. Card, his wife, Kathi, and Rice went along.

  As chief of staff for a newly reelected president, some of the reflected glory of the triumph fell on Card. He was in a powerful position. After all, something had gone right.

  But Card knew other things had gone wrong, seriously wrong. The intelligence showing that Saddam Hussein had stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction had been wildly off the mark. He had sat in the Oval Office three months before the invasion and listened to the CIA's presentation on Iraqi WMD. It was weak and unconvincing, and he had worried that there might be no there there. But then he had been comforted by Tenet's assurance that the WMD case was a slam dunk. Card wondered if he had done enough. He prided himself on the quality of the information flow to the president but this information had been flat wrong.

  The president had already talked to Card about making a lot of changes for the second term—some new cabinet officers, some new senior White House staff. Change was good, Bush had indicated, although Card knew that change ran counter to Bush's gut. The president liked old, comfortable shoes. His staff had become comfortable shoes.

  Bush and Card went into the president's office at Camp David.

  You want to make a lot of changes, Card began. The best way to signal that you are serious about making changes is to change your chief of staff. If you don't change your chief of staff, everybody else will presume there's no change.

  Are you planning to leave? the president asked.

  That's the wrong question, Card replied. That's not the right question. The question is: What do you need to accomplish what you need to accomplish in the second term? And I may not be what you need.

  Card knew better than most that such offers to resign almost always were insincere. The offer was often a way of asking, Do you still love me? Given the stakes, Card felt he had to get beyond the personal.

  When you married Laura, Card added, it was for better or worse. With me it's only for better. If it isn't better, I'm out of here.

  I want you to stay, Bush said.

  You shouldn't, Card said. You should not ask me to stay. It's a mistake to ask me to stay.

  The president was dismissive. He said he wanted to come to closure quickly, and also to relax and play a little bit. Card felt the reelection campaign had been an emotional burden for Bush.

  Please listen, Card said. There are lots of good choices out there. And there shouldn't be a presumption that I would stay, especially if you're talking about you wanting to make changes.

  Card produced an 8½-by-ll-inch spiral notebook, a half-inch thick with a blue cover. He called it his hit-by-the-bus book. On separate pages he had lists of possible replacements for all the major administration posts, including his own. The names were listed in no particular order. Card kept the notebook in his desk at the White House and periodically added or deleted names. He had intentionally used a student notebook, something he had bought himself, so it wouldn't be considered a government document or a presidential record that might someday be opened to history. It was private and personal.

  He had a list of 54 replacements for himself as White House chief of staff, divided into three categories reflecting different styles and approaches.

  Bush started to get up.

  No, no, no, sit down, Card said gently. He knew this might be a conversation designed more to satisfy himself, not Bush. Please, listen as I go through these categories and I go through these names.

  The first type of White House chief of staff was a micromanager— tight control, someone who would pronounce that no person, no piece of paper could go to the president without the chief knowing and approving. They both knew that the model for this type was former New Hampshire Governor John Sununu, the well-known imperial, blustery chief of staff in Bush senior's first three years as president.

  The second type was a prime minister type—a Hill operator, deal-cutter, negotiator and policy person who could handle the Congress, the media and the world.

  The third and final type would be a facilitator—doing what the president wanted, keeping the cabinet and staff focused on the president's agenda. That was Card's type.

  Bush really didn't want to go through this exercise.

  Josh Bolten, Card continued. Bolten, a 49-year-old bachelor and organization man, had been Card's deputy the first several years of the administration. Now he was director of the Office of Management and Budget. He had impressed everyone with his capacity for hard work.

  Bolten was a possible choice, Bush indicated.

  Don Evans, Card read.

  No, Bush said. Commerce Secretary Evans was Bush's best Texas friend in Washington. Card agreed the president shouldn't choose his best friend.

  Al Gonzales, Card read, the White House counsel.

  Bush seemed to have other plans for Gonzales.

  Card read on, not getting any particular reaction from Bush: Harriet Miers, the deputy White House counsel and a Bush favorite, and Scooter Libby, Cheney's chief of staff.

  Larry Thompson, Card suggested. Thompson was a former deputy attorney general, who had resigned in August 2003. Bush seemed intrigued by that possibility.

  What about Roland Betts? Card suggested. Betts was Bush's Yale classmate and a big New York investor who had been part of Bush's group that had owned the Texas Rangers baseball team.

  No.

  Jim Francis, Card suggested.

  No.

  Ed Gillespie, Card read. Gillespie was the chairman of the Republican National Committee.r />
  Bush again seemed intrigued, but no name so far had created much excitement. He seemed to like one idea, picking a current or former Republican governor. George Pataki, the New York governor, Frank Keating, the former Oklahoma governor, and John Engler, the former Michigan governor were among the names Card suggested.

  Karen Hughes, Card tried.

  Not possible, Bush indicated.

  Karl Rove.

  Couldn't be a chief of staff.

  Condi Rice.

  Bush had other plans for her.

  Card read some former members of Congress: Chris Cox of California, Vin Weber, Bill Paxon. He also suggested former Senator Fred Thompson of Tennessee, then starring in the television series Law Order.

  Would you stay? Bush finally asked.

  You've got a lot that you want to get accomplished in the second term, Card answered. If you think I can help you accomplish that, I would stay. He reminded the president that his wife, Kathi, was his partner. If my wife is not a partner in this process, I will not stay, Card said.

  I will talk to Kathi, Bush said.

  A second-term president does become a lame duck, Card said. The question is when, and what are the consequences? Bush had to make sure he controlled that as much as possible.

  Bush was intent on having a big agenda for the second term.

  Recognize that it will be less about your perspective because it is not as relevant anymore, Card said. The media would have a perspective, but that too would be less relevant. It was more about the audience that would have to respond to his call: the Congress, the public and his supporters, his base. The chief of staff would have to make sure those audiences responded. There was some breathing space, Card said. Now reelected with no way to seek reelection again, he would be defined as a statesman for an undeterminable period.

  It was about 5 p.m. when they wrapped up their discussion. Soon, people were gathering for dinner. Bush took Kathi Card aside. Afterward, Bush approached his chief of staff.

  Kathi is comfortable, he said.

  Trust but verify. Card went over to his wife.

  If this is what you want to do, she said, and the president wants you, it's okay.

  So she was comfortable and okay, far short of an endorsement.

  Bush had noticed the Cards talking. As his chief of staff walked into the room where they were to have dinner, the president was standing in the doorway.

  We'll do it, the president said slapping Card on the back. We'll do it!

  Card was soon wondering if he would look back on that day at Camp David and conclude that it may have been an even bigger mistake for the president to ask him to stay, and for him to accept, than he had initially thought. Could a holdover chief of staff be an agent for change?

  It was not long before Card was directly asking the president. How much change was needed? Not change just in personnel, but in policies, and the larger question of where the Bush presidency was going. What decisions needed to be revisited? Was Card too much a part of the past to be part of a changed future? Of course, the biggest part of that past was the Iraq War, the 18 months of follow-on decisions. Who else might be too associated with those past decisions to be part of a changed future?

  The next day, Friday, Bush met with Rice in the afternoon. He said he had thought a lot about his second term, and he wanted her to take Powell's place as secretary of state.

  I'm honored that you would think of me in those terms, Rice replied, adding all the right things about the importance of his vote of confidence and trust. She then shifted to what was on her mind. Mr. President, I really think I ought to go home.

  No, Bush said. Look at all they needed to do. The amount of unfinished business was staggering.

  Iraq—their war. A Middle East peace—their hope.

  Well, she asked, are you saying that you're committed to trying to get a Palestinian state in this period of time? It was one of her favorite topics.

  Bush said he was committed, and he drew her into a substantive discussion of other worries and opportunities.

  It was late afternoon, and the sun was going down over the Catoctin Mountains. Rice had not planned for such a talk, and she was still exhausted from the campaign. No matter what she decided to do, she said, she thought Steve Hadley was the natural person to succeed her as national security adviser.

  Bush didn't say whether he agreed.

  I don't know anybody who is more balanced and dedicated and smarter and more of a problem-solver than Steve, Rice continued. She noted that the president obviously trusted Hadley, and without that trust the president might get the Reagan effect—six national security advisers over two terms.

  You know, Mr. President, you probably need new people, Rice continued. And you know, not just to move them around. You need new people because we've been through a terrorist attack, the worst terrorist attack in American history. We've been through two wars. You know, maybe you need a new team who can serve you.

  Don't tell me what I need, Bush replied.

  Mr. President, the threshold issue for me is do I stay or not. A lot of people were saying she wanted to succeed Rumsfeld at Defense. This is not about where you send me. This is about do I stay or not.

  They talked for another half hour. Bush tried to steer the conversation back to what they could do in the second term. He had always held the upper hand in their relationship, and Rice had almost always done what he wanted. But he couldn't get her to accept.

  Mr. President, she finally said, I have to think about it.

  Of course you have to think about it.

  At the end of the weekend, Rice told Bush, Yeah, you know, I'm still thinking about it. But she sensed her own body language was more forward-leaning. By the next day she was very excited about the prospect of becoming secretary of state.

  She told Bush she would do it. Yeah, she said, if that's what you want me to do.

  In Iraq, the war wore on. Fallujah had turned into terrorism central, exporting car bombs into Baghdad and all over the country. General Casey mobilized a large force of six U.S. assault battalions backed up by as many battalions of Iraqi troops and cordoned off the city. Nearly all of the civilian population emptied out of the city, while the tight cordon kept suspected terrorists trapped inside. The message was that Casey was finally going to take care of Fallujah.

  One Sunni delegation after another filed in to see interim Prime Minister Allawi with a single message: Don't do Fallujah. The message Washington sent was basically: Please do another Najaf, with a peaceful resolution.

  But there was no resolution. With the American presidential election over, and the first Iraqi national election two months away, Casey and Negroponte sent counsel back to the NSC and the president. According to one official the blunt message was: There is no way you can get this country to an election, either from a standpoint of security or just a standpoint of political belief in what this endeavor is, if you don't do Fallujah and if you don't deal with Moqtada. And you've got to deal with this or else the country is going to disintegrate.

  Bush gave Casey the go-ahead to order the attack. Those in Fallujah stood and fought. The U.S. military considered the city a perfect shooting gallery, and killed between 1,000 and 2,000 alleged hard-core insurgents.

  The U.S. lost 70 troops—about one soldier or Marine per platoon. The Iraqi battalions lost between 20 and 30 each. Though their role was not that significant, the big deal was that the Iraqis hadn't run away. Most of their battalions were ambushed on the way out, but they continued to fight.

  In the midst of the battle, Arab and world attention was diverted to Paris, where Yasser Arafat, the Palestinian leader and idol of the so-called Arab Street, was near death. Like most everything involving Arafat, it was a prolonged and orchestrated drama with publicized medical treatment, controversy over the cause of his eventual death on November 11, and the return of his body to Palestine. The Arafat theater dominated Al Jazeera and other Arab media despite the fighting and dying in Fallujah, r
educing the story at times to little more than Meanwhile in Fallujah ...

  Bush, Rice and Powell tried to explain to the various Arab leaders why the U.S. was convinced the Fallujah assault was necessary and pleaded with them to be on board with the United States. The Arab leaders weren't exactly supporters, but they did not take hard positions against the Americans.

  At the White House, the biggest question mark was still Rumsfeld. Should he stay? Card had to approach the issue with delicacy. Rumsfeld had made Card's job difficult. Rice and Card were not in the chain of command—and everyone knew who was—but Card's job was to serve Bush. Iraq was the centerpiece of everything now, and Rumsfeld had been effectively supplanted as overall person in charge, first by Rice in the fall of 2003 when she took over the Bremer account, and then in 2004, when NSPD-36 had made State the lead agency in Iraq. Still, Iraq was mostly about the violence and the 130,000 American troops, which were indisputably Rumsfeld's.

  The president was clearly predisposed not to do anything that would disrupt the war effort, and the effect of replacing Rumsfeld was not clear. If Rumsfeld left, what would the impact be on overall momentum and on the morale of those who were doing the fighting? Of course, because Rumsfeld had a virtual monopoly on Defense contacts with the president, there was no way the president could get independent information to answer those kinds of questions.

  The biggest voice for change was Powell. In one conversation, Powell had told Card, If I go, Don should go. But now that Bush had decided to replace Powell with Rice, it was unclear who he wanted at Defense.

  There were other, more subtle champions of change at Defense, such as Rice, Hadley and, in the right circumstances, Card himself. The first and best way to present the case to Bush was to argue that he needed a whole new national security team. But Rice had already failed with the new-team argument, and then she had accepted State, undercutting her own suggestion.

  Still, Card decided to proceed. Since he had floated several dozen alternatives for himself as chief of staff, he figured he could do the same for Rumsfeld. He got out his hit-by-the-bus book.