“This would really eviscerate the language of the resolution,” Yoo said.
Flanigan took a deep breath. His exhaustion, the strain of maintaining a mood of cordiality—something had blinded him. He had almost single-handedly made a fatal concession that would have constrained the president’s power to wage war on terrorists.
“Okay, John, I get it,” Flanigan said. “I lost focus.”
The two men walked back into the room.
“We can’t accept that language,” Flanigan said.
And the dance resumed.
• • •
At 9:00 A.M. on September 14, Andy Card stood at the front of Room 450 in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, his eyes roving over the contingent of somber White House aides who had been summoned to discuss how to stay alive.
“I want to thank you all for coming here,” he began. “Obviously, we’re all facing unprecedented and difficult challenges. You have the opportunity but also the burden of serving your country in a time of real crisis and emergency.”
Card paused. “I know this is not what any of you signed up for when you joined the White House staff,” he said, his voice steely. “And nobody here will blame you—not me, not the president—if under these circumstances and conditions you do want to leave. If that’s the case, tell someone and you can leave, with no recrimination or dishonor or bad feeling.”
The reassurance was no mere formality—real fear gripped those who were listening. Word had circulated about one official who was so frightened at the thought of an attack on the White House that she repeatedly threw up in her trash can. But, like most of her colleagues, she would dismiss Card’s offer and continue working in the executive mansion.
Card assured everyone that there was no reason to be concerned about Bush. “The president is doing enormously well,” he said. “I’ve been amazed at how calm and centered and decisive he has been. He has been a pillar of strength, and you all would be very, very proud of him.”
In a moment, Card said, he would be turning the meeting over to the Secret Service and Bush’s doctor, Colonel Richard Tubb, who would discuss ways for the members of the White House staff to protect themselves from terrorists. But first, he wanted everyone to understand that their access to Bush would become severely limited.
The president’s circle of advisors had to shrink dramatically, Card said, to a handful of players who would stay in near-constant contact with him.
“So if you want to see the president in the coming weeks and months, you will not see the president,” Card said. “But if you need to see the president, you will see the president.”
Next, a Secret Service official briefed the staff on precautions they should take each day—varying their routes to and from work, keeping an eye open for any cars that might be following them, and going to different restaurants for lunch.
Out in the audience, Bradford Berenson, an associate counsel for the White House, knew he would be spurning the advice.
That’s ridiculous, he thought. Like most of the others in the room, his name was listed in the phone book. If terrorists wanted him dead, all they had to do was wait outside his house and shoot him as he walked to his car.
The safety lesson over, Dr. Tubb gave a brief tutorial on biological and chemical arms. Years before, a Japanese group had demonstrated it was possible for terrorists to kill using sarin gas, one of the most toxic chemicals available.
Biological weapons that used disease and natural poisons to incapacitate and kill had the potential to be even more deadly; viruses and bacteria could spread before anyone knew an attack had occurred. Infectious agents such as smallpox had been used in the past.
But these days, Tubb said, the most likely pathogen for a biological weapon was a parasite that has a natural life cycle in hoofed animals and could cause an infectious disease—anthrax.
• • •
About that same time, legislators milled about the Senate floor discussing the pending vote on the White House resolution to grant Bush new powers for fighting terrorists.
Some senators were expressing nervousness about the open-ended authority that the vague wording appeared to give to the president. But a leading member of each party—Harry Reid, the Nevada Democrat; and Don Nickles, a Republican from Nevada—were making the rounds to tamp down those fears, assuring their colleagues that Congress could always revisit the issue if members came to believe the president was going too far. For now, they argued, it was imperative for them to set aside their differences and speak in one voice by approving the resolution unanimously.
Just minutes before the morning session began, the White House contacted Senator Tom Daschle, the South Dakota Democrat and majority leader. There were some words that should be added to the resolution, the administration official said—after “appropriate force,” the phrase “in the United States and” should appear. That same language had been removed in the earlier negotiations with Senate staffers.
Daschle was appalled. The White House was seeking a revision of unprecedented import and asking for it so late in the game that senators would have no chance to even think about the implications. He was not going to negotiate whether the president would be allowed to take military action inside the country, potentially against American citizens.
“I don’t see any reason for the Congress to accede to such an extraordinary request for additional authority,” Daschle said. That was that.
By 10:16, the clamor in the chamber had barely abated when Senator Evan Bayh, the Indiana Democrat serving as the presiding officer, banged a gavel, calling the Senate into session. He gazed out at those colleagues who were still in earnest discussion.
“The senators will take their conversations to the cloakroom and clear the aisles,” he said.
Among the senators stepping out of the chamber was Arlen Specter, the Pennsylvania Republican. Even though his own party occupied the White House, Specter could not shake his discomfort about the resolution’s phrasing. The senator spoke to an aide—get someone from the White House on the phone who knows about the language in the authorization, he said.
Minutes later, a phone in the cloakroom rang for Specter. Tim Flanigan was on the line.
“Senator, I understand you have some concerns.”
“Well now, Tim, this language is very broad—very broad—and you know that this gives the president a lot of authority. We shouldn’t be doing this and we should be limiting this.”
Perhaps, Specter suggested, the administration should seek a declaration of war instead. “I’ve spoken with Joe Biden, and he agrees that this language is very broad.”
There wasn’t much for Flanigan to say. The White House had the votes to get the resolution passed. Would Specter and Biden really want to publicly oppose the president’s request for the power he needed to fight terrorists? There wasn’t a chance that everyone would run back on the field so that Specter could call the play over again.
“Senator,” Flanigan said, “this is the language that was negotiated with staff.”
“Well, I know you’ve negotiated it, but we ought to rethink this.”
For a minute Specter parsed specific wording in the resolution. What was the meaning of “necessary and appropriate”? What kind of force was the resolution authorizing? The language didn’t make that clear. What standards would be used in declaring which countries or organizations aided in the 9/11 attacks?
Flanigan gave a few perfunctory answers, but there really wasn’t much to discuss. “Senator, this is what the president feels he needs to do,” he said, his voice quiet. “This is how he will be able to respond to the attacks on the United States.”
Specter sighed. “I just think you ought to think about this,” he said. “I know you’ll talk to the president about this.”
Yeah, right. “Senator, I understand your points. We just disagree.”
A pause. “I think you’re making a big mistake.”
With that, Specter hung up. Frustrated
and angered, he returned to the floor. The clerk had been running down the roll for senators’ votes for several minutes and had just called for the decision of Olympia Snow, Republican from Maine. She said aye.
“Mr. Specter?” the clerk said.
A few seconds ticked by. Finally, Specter swallowed his worries and voted yes. The resolution passed unanimously.
Several Democratic senators had cast their votes with unease, including Biden. The best way to deal with those concerns, he decided, was to address the chamber and clearly state what he had just approved—and what he had not.
Biden walked to the lectern on the Democrats’ side of the chamber. The presiding senator recognized him to speak.
“My mom has an expression,” he began. “ ‘Out of every tragedy some good will come.’ ”
What the Senate had just done, he said, was something that would likely not occur in any other country in the world. They had followed the principles enshrined in the law, despite the anger and hatred spawned throughout the United States and inside the Senate chamber by the terrorist attacks.
“We didn’t pell-mell just say ‘Go, do anything, anytime, anyplace, Mr. President, you’ve got to just go.’ ”
Instead, Biden said, they had honored America’s founders by holding fast to the dictates of the Constitution.
“We said, ‘What does it call for here?’ And what it called for was for the United States Congress to meet its constitutional responsibility to say, ‘Mr. President, we authorize you, we authorize you in the name of the American people, to take action and we define the action in generic terms.’ ”
Biden turned toward Robert Byrd, the West Virginia Democrat who was the second-longest-serving senator in American history and who jealously guarded Congress’s authority. Byrd was nodding forcefully.
Gesticulating to emphasize his message, Biden faced front again. “We gave the president today, as we should have and as is our responsibility, all of the authority he needs to prosecute these individuals or countries, without yielding our constitutional right to retain the judgment in the future as to whether or not force could, would, or should be used.”
For Biden, the record was clear; Congress was not granting the president a blank check and was not ceding any of its inherent powers to the White House.
He glanced back at Byrd. The elderly senator pursed his lips as he proudly nodded again.
• • •
Bush sat at his desk in the Oval Office speaking by phone to Tony Blair in London. The United States, Bush said, was nailing down its plans for attacking its terrorist enemies.
“We’re going to be using conventional forces to fight a guerrilla war,” he said. “We’re going to be matching that up with the full force of the U.S. military, with bombers coming from all directions.”
The first phase of the conflict, Bush said, was not going to be limited to combat in Afghanistan. “We’re cutting off money, we’re rounding up people, we’ve gotten people to go after them.”
Each step, Bush said, would set in motion events that would eat away at the entire terrorist infrastructure. “It’ll be like circles coming from a pebble dropped in the water.”
Blair listened with growing alarm about Bush’s words. There was no mention of a multinational response. Instead, there was an echo of the president’s apparent disdain for consulting the Group of Eight. America, Blair feared, might be turning inward, in its anger developing a go-it-alone mentality. Such an approach would only isolate the country. It would be a strategic blunder that could blunt or even derail America’s fight against terrorists.
Afghanistan was only the beginning, Bush continued. If the United States took out al-Qaeda and stopped there, the war would reach an inconclusive stalemate. Other terrorists would simply take al-Qaeda’s place. There had to be a strategy to starve, disrupt, and destroy all terrorist groups.
“The next step is to look at other countries, including Iraq,” Bush said. “I think there might be evidence that there might be a connection between Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden.”
Time to reel this in. “The evidence would have to be very compelling indeed to justify taking any action against Iraq,” Blair said. “I would strongly advise dealing with Afghanistan very distinctively. To go after Iraq would be certain to lose Russia and France.”
Bush listened politely, and thanked Blair for his thoughts. But the United States would be following the terrorist threat wherever it went, and his administration had little doubt that the trail would lead to Iraq.
• • •
Blair hung up the phone and glanced around the room at his aides. They could see that the prime minister was quite troubled.
They had to do something. Bush was going in the wrong direction. “We have to think of a way of getting to the U.S. for a face-to-face meeting,” he said. “I need to see Bush in a room, and look in his eyes, not do all this in phone calls with fifteen people listening in.”
He summarized the conversation, then looked over at David Manning, a foreign policy advisor. “David,” Blair said, “I want you to stay in permanent contact with Condi, and make sure they do nothing too rash.”
The group spent a few minutes mulling over the military strategies that Bush had laid out. When Blair mentioned Bush’s plans for Iraq, Geoff Hoon, the defense secretary, spoke up.
“Rumsfeld has been looking for reasons to hit Iraq,” he said. “They definitely want regime change, and that has been the channel of advice Bush has been getting since the election.”
Jack Straw, the foreign secretary, broke in. “They would be mad to do Iraq without justification!” he said. “They’ll lose world opinion.”
Nodding, Blair took a deep breath. “My job,” he said, “is to steer them in a sensible path.”
• • •
High atop the bucolic Catoctin Mountains in Maryland sits Camp David, a 180-acre compound ringed by three fences and obscured from public view. Presidents and their families have often described the retreat as a rustic, wilderness getaway where ordinary Americans would feel at home. But in truth, it is far from modest; with its heated pool, skeet range, bowling alley, and movie theater, Camp David is a sumptuous spread more akin to a five-star resort than a backwoods campsite.
On the morning of September 15, a Saturday, Camp David was alive with activity as top administration officials—guarded by a beefed-up contingent of the elite Marine Security Company—plotted the final details for America’s retaliation to the terrorist attacks.
Bush, dressed in a blue shirt and a bomber jacket to ward off the chilly mountain air, left his Camp David residence early and walked to Laurel Lodge, a building in the compound. He made his way into a narrow, wood-paneled conference room and took a seat directly across from George Tenet, who was accompanied by his deputy, John McLaughlin, and Cofer Black.
After a brief presentation by Paul O’Neill, the treasury secretary, Tenet distributed copies of a briefing packet that had been compiled by the counterterrorism unit. The title projected its ambitions: “Destroying International Terrorism.”
The actions that the paper proposed were the same ones that the CIA had been advocating for more than a year. Elite agency paramilitary units would sneak into Afghanistan and link up with the Northern Alliance. Later this would be joined by Special Forces from the military.
The initial goal, Tenet said, was to close off Afghanistan from the outside world, which would require engaging its neighbors—Iran, Turkey, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and Pakistan. At that point, Tenet said, America’s only strong relationship was with the Uzbeks; they had been secretly aiding the United States to conduct surveillance flights over Afghanistan by granting permission for the CIA to launch the Predator from their country.
First the Americans would demand that officials with Afghanistan’s Taliban government turn over bin Laden. If they refused, the CIA would demolish the regime. Agency operatives would step up their contacts with Pashtun leaders and Taliban commanders who they believed w
ould turn on their leader, the inarticulate village cleric, Mullah Mohammed Omar.
The now-familiar elements of a full-frontal assault on al-Qaeda were part of the presentation—a covert attack on the terrorists’ finances, tracking down al-Qaeda cells in the United States, using mullahs on the agency payroll for propaganda efforts, employing the Predator to track down and kill bin Laden or his top lieutenants. Agency operatives would need the authority to unilaterally detain the terrorists anywhere in the world. And the efforts would require a huge infusion of cash.
To accomplish this, the president would have to clear away bureaucratic hurdles by signing a Memorandum of Notification granting the agency the authority to conduct operations, including the use of deadly force, without having to return time and again for approval. Al-Qaeda operated out of ninety-two countries, Tenet said, but if the president signed off on the proposals, the CIA would be ready to go; already, the agency had allies in scores of countries, disrupting terrorist plots.
“That’s great!” Bush exclaimed.
Now it was the military’s turn. General Hugh Shelton, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, laid out three options. If the president wanted to move quickly, he could follow in Clinton’s footsteps by launching cruise missiles into Afghanistan and obliterating al-Qaeda camps—which, unfortunately, had emptied out just before the 9/11 attacks. Bush dismissed the idea. A more aggressive approach, Shelton said, would be to rain down destruction on military targets with sustained attacks, lasting about ten days, with both cruise missiles and bomber aircraft—B-1s, B-2s, and B-52s.
The third alternative was the most ambitious of all: an assault using every offensive force at the military’s disposal. Missiles, bombers, Special Forces commando units, perhaps army soldiers and marines, could all be part of the mix. This, he said, was being called the “boots on the ground” option. It would take time to get the first forces there—perhaps as long as twelve days—but after that point they would be ready to go.
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