In the wee hours of October 3, as promised, Max Thurman followed up on Tom Kelly’s earlier alert to give me a fuller briefing. The uprising, he said, had been planned by a PDF officer, Major Moises Giroldi Vega, and was supposed to begin in about six hours, at 8:30 that morning.
“What do we know about Giroldi?” I asked Max. “Does he have any allies? Are any units on his side? What does he want from us?”
“We don’t know anything about him,” Max said. As for his motive, Giroldi appeared to represent disgruntled unpaid PDF soldiers. His coup seemed to be a job grievance more than a blow for democracy. And he was not asking us for anything yet.
“Are we trading one Noriega for another?” I asked Max.
“Could be,” he responded, though it was tough to know, given the scant information we had.
I asked Max to keep me informed and then phoned Secretary Cheney. This was a key call, the first time I would be carrying out the JCS Chairman’s responsibility to provide military advice to the Secretary of Defense. I was impressed by Cheney’s coolness as I woke him up and told him what we knew. I passed along Max’s and my view that we did not have enough information to commit ourselves to Giroldi. Cheney agreed and then called Brent Scowcroft, who also concurred and so advised President Bush.
The next morning, 8:30 came and went without a coup. Max called to report that Giroldi had apparently run into logistics problems and had postponed his move until later in the day.
Later that morning, I went to the White House to meet with the President and his national security team. I called Max Thurman directly from the Oval Office, got the latest word, and then told the President what Thurman now knew. Giroldi commanded the PDF’s 4th Infantry Company, which provided security for Noriega’s headquarters in the Comandancia. He had helped Noriega put down the most recent attempted coup, and the two men were personally close. Noriega was the godfather of one of Giroldi’s children. Giroldi was asking us to use U.S. troops to block access to the Comandancia so that PDF units outside the city could not come to Noriega’s rescue. He had no intention, however, of turning Noriega over to us. He had the odd notion that Noriega would accept his fate and retire peacefully to the country. He was taking no chances, however, about the safety of his own family. He had asked U.S. officials in Panama to provide sanctuary for them.
The whole affair sounded like amateur night, and Cheney, Thurman, and I still agreed that the United States should not get involved. All of the President’s other advisors concurred, although we were a little uneasy that if Giroldi failed, we might be accused of passing up an opportunity to get rid of Noriega. President Bush, however, had made up his mind. Giroldi had still said nothing about democracy. And we would not support him unless he made a commitment to restore civilian rule.
This was my first opportunity to see the Bush team in action, and I was surprised that critical deliberations were taking place with no preparation or follow-up planned. The PRG system that Frank Carlucci and I had created had been dismantled by the new team. Brent Scowcroft, a sharp player, later diagnosed the problem and reimposed order by reincarnating the PRG as the Deputies Committee, chaired by Bob Gates, his deputy. But all that was in the future. On this day, the Oval Office debate was a free-swinging affair, and the freest swinger of all was the President’s Chief of Staff, John Sununu. Sununu did not suffer fools gladly, or smart folks either, for that matter. He cut people off in midsentence and pursued his pet tangents, a behavior, I noticed, which did not seem to bother the President. Bush listened, spoke little, and made sense when he did talk. He repeated that the plotters had to express a clear intention to restore democracy “or we don’t commit.” He then brought the meeting to a close. I went back to the Pentagon, staying in constant touch with Thurman.
At one point during this tense day, I went to Cheney’s conference room and set eyes on someone I had never expected to meet. The Secretary was hosting the new Soviet minister of defense, General Dimitri Yazov, and with Yazov was General Colonel Vladislav A. Achalov, former commander of the Soviet 8th Guards Army, which faced my V Corps in Germany. Cheney introduced us, and we smiled at each other across the table with evident irony, two soldiers who had once studied how to kill each other. “General Achalov,” I said, “you know, I used to keep your picture on my desk in Frankfurt.”
He gave me a crafty smile and said, “Yes, and I kept your picture on my desk.”
Night fell, and the last word out of Panama was that the Giroldi coup would take place the next day. Game called on account of darkness.
The coup did take place the next morning. Giroldi held Noriega in the Comandancia, but then did not know what to do with him. We instructed Max Thurman that he could take custody of Noriega only if he was offered to us by the conspirators. But Thurman was not to initiate action to seize him. Noriega, in the meantime, showed no sign of wanting to retire to his hacienda. Instead, he picked up his phone, called loyal subordinates in Panama City and in Río Hato, seventy-five miles away, and arranged his own rescue. By early afternoon, Noriega had managed to talk Giroldi into giving up, and the coup, such as it was, collapsed. The whole thing had lasted just five hours.
After reporting the debacle to the White House, Cheney and I walked out to the River Entrance parade field. With one crisis already under my belt, it was time for the official ceremony marking the beginning of my chairmanship. I did not find this an auspicious start, but I had learned a few things already: Cheney was cool and solid; the Joint Staff was a fast-moving, professional organization; and President Bush, while tolerating the noisy swirl of advisors around him, saw through to the essence of issues and made sound decisions.
Giroldi was finished. Noriega soon ordered that he be executed, but the U.S. fallout from Giroldi’s failure was just beginning. Democrats and Republicans in Congress began jumping all over the administration for blowing a supposedly golden opportunity to dump Noriega. Senator Jesse Helms led the pack. Cheney and I had to go up to the Hill and listen to second-guessers berate us for not coming instantly to Giroldi’s aid, as if this Brand X plotter were the next Simón Bolívar. I consoled myself with the words of Clausewitz: “The vividness of transient impressions must not make us forget that such truth they maintain is of a lesser stamp.” And few events could have been more transient than the coup of Major Moises Giroldi Vega. I remained convinced that we had made the right decisions.
Thurman and I had received quite a baptism. We compared notes and determined that if we ever were forced to act in Panama, we would recommend getting rid of the PDF. Max began to develop a plan to do just that.
The Saturday after the failed coup, I was helping Alma get us settled into our new home, Quarters 6, the chairman’s residence, when Bob Woodward of the Washington Post called. Woodward was doing a story on the failed coup for the Sunday edition and said he just wanted to check a few facts and give me a chance to give my interpretation of what had happened. Woodward had the disarming voice and manner of a Boy Scout offering to help an old lady cross the street. He assured me that anything I said would be on “deep background,” which is one step in anonymity beyond “a senior administration official said today …” So far, news stories recounting my role in the Panama coup had painted me as the fair-haired boy who had fallen flat on his face. Consequently, I was not averse to getting my version of events across in a newspaper of note. I agreed to talk to Woodward.
His story the next day was not inaccurate, but neither was it helpful. The experience reminded me of posing for what you think is going to be a reasonably flattering photo, only to find out that the photographer has chosen to print the shot of you with your mouth hanging open. Nevertheless, I continued dealing with Woodward, though Alma warned me to handle with care.
Over the next two months, rumors of more coups floated out of Panama. They came to nothing, but Thurman accelerated his contingency planning. An existing plan, code-named Blue Spoon, was beefed up to include taking out the entire PDF as well as removing Noriega. Under the re
vised Blue Spoon, thirteen thousand troops of the U.S. Army South and supporting units in Panama would be reinforced by another ten thousand troops of the XVIII Airborne Corps from the United States. Lieutenant General Carl Stiner, commander of the XVIII Airborne Corps, would command the joint task force. If we did attack, this force was to seize all PDF installations, put down PDF resistance, and help bring the legitimately elected Endara government to power. Blue Spoon further included a raid by Delta Force to rescue an American citizen, Kurt Muse, a CIA source who had been placed in solitary confinement in Modelo Prison by Noriega for spying. Noriega had threatened that if the United States moved against Panama, Muse would be killed instantly. With Secretary Cheney’s approval, we quietly began to infiltrate additional equipment and units into Panama.
Quarters 6 on Grant Avenue at Fort Myer is a stately home, and living there was a little like living in the White House. Alma and I had big, fashionably appointed public rooms for entertaining on the first floor and lived in an apartment on the second floor. The difference from the White House was that our apartment was tiny, just big enough for the two of us with hardly enough room for an overnight guest. I spent my free time there in a small study with a TV set and a secure phone.
I was sitting in the study on Saturday evening, December 16, 1989, when I got another call from Tom Kelly. “Mr. Chairman,” Kelly said, “we’ve got a problem.” As usual, the first details were sketchy. I learned only that a U.S. Marine had been shot in Panama. Soon afterward, I was informed that four officers in civvies had driven into Panama City for dinner, where they ran into a roadblock near PDF headquarters. It was Panama’s annual armed forces day, and I suspect that a lot of the PDF soldiers had been drinking and carousing. At the roadblock a group of these soldiers tried to yank the Americans from their car. The driver hit the gas and started to pull away. The PDF fired, and Marine Lieutenant Robert Paz was hit and died soon afterward.
The situation grew worse as the night wore on. A Navy officer, Lieutenant Adam J. Curtis, and his wife, Bonnie, who had witnessed the shooting, were detained by the PDF and taken to a police station for interrogation. Curtis was roughed up and threatened with death. Mrs. Curtis was forced to stand against a wall while PDF soldiers pawed her until she collapsed.
I reported all this to Cheney, and we considered whether we had an unignorable provocation. He informed the White House, and a meeting was set with President Bush for the next morning.
That Sunday was hectic. I went first to the Pentagon to check with Thurman on Saturday’s events. Although our officers had taken a wrong turn and had blundered into the roadblock, the PDF’s behavior was still inexcusable. Moreover, the shooting represented an increasing pattern of hostility toward U.S. troops. “How’s Blue Spoon proceeding?” I asked. “Rehearsed and ready to go,” said Max. I called the leaders of the Transportation Command and the Special Operations Command and told them to be ready to move, then went to Cheney’s office for a 10:00 A.M. meeting. In the room were Paul Wolfowitz, undersecretary of defense for policy; Pete Williams, the assistant secretary for public affairs, in my judgment the best in the business; and Bill Price from the NSC. We went over the options. By the time Cheney ended the meeting, Wolfowitz and Price were still not sure we had a “smoking gun” justifying military intervention. Cheney asked me to stay behind. When we were alone, he asked, “What do you think?”
“Max and I both believe we should intervene to protect American citizens,” I said. “Besides, Noriega’s not a legitimate leader. He’s a criminal. He’s under indictment.” I told Cheney, however, that I wanted to hold off my final recommendation until I had a chance to talk to the chiefs.
“Okay,” Cheney said. “I’ll set the meeting with the President for this afternoon.”
Panama was the first major foreign crisis of the Bush administration. It also presented the first serious test of the chairman’s new role under Goldwater-Nichols. In the past, the chiefs had voted to achieve a consensus that the chairman could carry to the Secretary of Defense and the President. Now, I was the principal military advisor. The chiefs had great skill and experience. They were the ones who provided the trained and ready forces to the CINCs. I was not likely to ignore their wisdom. But now, as chairman, I was no longer limited to a messenger role.
Back at my office I asked Tom Kelly to have the chiefs meet me at Quarters 6 at 11:30 A.M. I did not want all that horsepower coming to the Pentagon on a Sunday morning. They were sure to be spotted by the press, setting off all sorts of alarms. Soon they began arriving from church and home. I made coffee, and we sat down in the library on the first floor. “Sorry you lost a man,” I said to Al Gray, the Marine Corps Commandant. Gray nodded grimly. Tom Kelly and Rear Admiral Ted Sheafer, my intelligence officer, briefed the chiefs. After we had talked over the military options, I gave them my judgment. “Paz’s killing can’t be overlooked. Blue Spoon is a good plan. We’re ready, and I think we should go with it. But I want your views.”
Carl Vuono, the Army Chief of Staff, Carl Trost, the Chief of Naval Operations, and Vice Chairman Bob Herres all agreed. Larry Welch, the Air Force Chief of Staff, still debated if we had sufficient provocation, but soon concurred. Al Gray wondered if we needed to move as quickly as Blue Spoon required. Al knew that the plan, as it stood, contained only a minor role for the Marines. He wanted time to bring Marine amphibious units to the party. “Al,” I said, “Max has a solid plan, ready to go, and we’re not going to delay it or add anything unnecessary.” Al understood, and in the end, Blue Spoon had the unanimous support of the chiefs.
It was a strange time to plan for war. Sunday afternoon, December 17, I was hurrying down a festively decked corridor of the White House, Tom Kelly at my side, lugging his map case, when our way was blocked by Christmas carolers in eighteenth-century costume. We shook hands with them, exchanged holiday greetings, and continued on up to the Bushes’ private apartment on the second floor.
The President was sitting in his pensive pose, slouched, chin resting on his chest, chewing his lower lip. He wore slacks and a blue blazer with red socks, one marked “Merry” and the other “Christmas.” He had called in Dick Cheney; Jim Baker, now Secretary of State; Brent Scowcroft and his deputy, Bob Gates; and Marlin Fitzwater, the press secretary. John Sununu was not present, which promised a little less blindsiding.
Cheney led off with a review of what had happened in Panama and described our proposed response in general terms. He then turned the stage over to me to explain the military plan. Tom Kelly uncovered his maps, and I began to brief, using a pen-sized laser pointer that threw a beamless red dot on the map. The disembodied dot seemed to amuse the President.
Except for Cheney, the others were hearing an expanded Blue Spoon plan for the first time. I started off with our prime objective: we were going to eliminate Noriega and the PDF. If that succeeded, we would be running the country until we could establish a civilian government and a new security force. Since this plan went well beyond “getting Noriega,” I paused to make sure that this point had sunk in, with all its implications. No one objected.
I went into the military details. We would use the forces in place, which we had been quietly beefing up to a current total of thirteen thousand troops. That number, however, was not enough. Thurman and Stiner had a strategy to strike at every major PDF unit and seize all key military installations. Army Rangers would parachute onto the main barracks at Río Hato, west of Panama City, and take out the PDF companies used to put down past coups. Our Air Force’s new F-117A Stealth fighter would be employed for the first time in combat to support the Rangers. Paratroopers of the 82d Airborne Division would fly in from Fort Bragg and drop on objectives east of the city. More infantry from the 7th Infantry Division would be flown in from Fort Ord, California, to extend our control of the country and to help restore law and order. U.S. troops already stationed in Panama would seize the Comandancia and objectives in the city proper; and Navy SEALs would take the airfield where we knew that Noriega
kept his “getaway” plane. Special Forces units would search for him, a tough assignment, since we had not been able to track him day to day. A Marine company in Panama was set to secure the Bridge of the Americas over the Panama Canal, and the Delta Force had the mission to rescue Kurt Muse, the CIA source held in Modelo Prison across the street from the Comandancia. The Blue Spoon force would total over twenty thousand troops. I predicted that within hours of H-Hour, Noriega, captured or not, would no longer be in power and we would have created conditions that would allow the elected Endara government to come out of hiding and take office. I finished my briefing pointing out that “the chiefs agree to a man.” Then the questions began flying.
George Bush sat like a patron on a bar stool coolly observing a brawl while his advisors went hard at it. Brent Scowcroft’s manner had an irritating edge that took getting used to, but his intelligence was obvious and his intent admirable. He wanted to leave the President with no comfortable illusions: “There are going to be casualties. People are going to die,” Scowcroft said. The President nodded, and let the debate roll on.
Jim Baker believed we had an obligation to intervene; that was why we maintained military forces to meet such obligations. He could not resist mentioning that the State Department had urged intervention for some time. Scowcroft kept my feet to the fire. “Suppose we go through all this and we don’t nab Noriega? That makes me nervous.” That was possible, I said, since we did not know where he was. Suppose he escaped into the jungle? That too could happen, and it was an easy place to hide. Brent hammered away at casualties. Numbers, he wanted. Numbers. I said I could not be specific. Obviously, people were going to get hurt and die, soldiers and civilians, I said. A lot of real estate was going to be chewed up. We could anticipate chaos, especially in the early stages.
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