All the President's Men (19 page)

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“When I am the candidate, I run the campaign.” Richard Nixon had said that after his aides had botched the management of the 1970 mid-term elections. Sitting at his desk, Bernstein remembered the quote and wished Woodward were there, but Woodward had gone to New York for the weekend. After almost four months of working together, a kind of spiritual affinity had developed between Woodward and Bernstein. People at the paper would occasionally kid them that they were out to get the President. What if they really had to confront such a situation—not
getting the President,
but obtaining persuasive evidence that he was involved?

Bernstein tried thinking as Woodward would. What did he have? Three attorneys said they had been approached by Segretti. There was no evidence, beyond a Justice Department lawyer’s angry reactions. There were the travel records—circumstantial. There was no evidence that a law had been broken.

What they had was ephemeral, but there were enough pieces to try writing
something.
The rule was: Lay it out piece by piece, write what you know is solid; the big picture can wait.

Bernstein tried a lead:

Three attorneys have told the
Washington Post
that they were asked to conduct political espionage and sabotage on behalf of President Nixon’s re-election campaign by a man who is under FBI investigation in connection with the Watergate bugging incident.

The words “espionage” and “sabotage” could not be lightly chosen. They were war terms. Bernstein and Woodward had talked about that, about the fact that the White House and CRP regarded the President’s re-election campaign as a holy war.

Bernstein wrote late into the night, came in early on Sunday morning, called Sussman at home. A draft would be ready by midday for Sussman to look at. He arrived about two, read the draft, then read it over the phone to Woodward in New York.

Sussman and Bernstein wanted to run the story. Woodward argued that not enough details about the sabotage operations were known, and that their scope and purposes were unclear. Moreover, the implications should not be hinted at until there was more solid information.

Woodward prevailed. He would catch the next plane to Washington and contact Deep Throat.

He left New York on the last Eastern shuttle and, from a telephone booth at National Airport, called Deep Throat at home.

They had recently arranged a method by which Woodward could call to request a garage meeting without identifying himself. Woodward put his suitcase in a locker and got a hamburger. He took a cab to a downtown hotel, waited 10 minutes, took another, walked the final stretch and arrived at the garage at 1:30
A.M.

Deep Throat was already there, smoking a cigarette. He was glad to see Woodward, shook his hand. Woodward told him that he and Bernstein needed help, really needed help on this one. His friendship with Deep Throat was genuine, not cultivated. Long before Watergate, they had spent many evenings talking about Washington, the government, power.

On evenings such as those, Deep Throat had talked about how politics had infiltrated every corner of government—a strong-arm takeover of the agencies by the Nixon White House. Junior White House aides were giving orders on the highest levels of the bureaucracy. He had once called it the “switchblade mentality”—and had referred to the willingness of the President’s men to fight dirty and for keeps, regardless of what effect the slashing might have on the government and the nation. There was little bitterness on his part. Woodward sensed the resignation of a man whose fight had been worn out in too many battles. Deep Throat never tried to inflate his
knowledge or show off his importance. He always told rather less than he knew. Woodward considered him a wise teacher. He was dispassionate and seemed committed to the best version of the obtainable truth.

The Nixon White House worried him. “They are all underhanded and unknowable,” he had said numerous times. He also distrusted the press. “I don’t like newspapers,” he had said flatly. He detested inexactitude and shallowness.

Aware of his own weaknesses, he readily conceded his flaws. He was, incongruously, an incurable gossip, careful to label rumor for what it was, but fascinated by it. He knew too much literature too well and let the allurements of the past turn him away from his instincts. He could be rowdy, drink too much, overreach. He was not good at concealing his feelings, hardly ideal for a man in his position. Of late, he had expressed fear for the future of the Executive Branch, which he was in a unique position to observe. Watergate had taken its toll. Even in the shadows of the garage, Woodward saw that he was thinner and, when he drew on his cigarette, that his eyes were bloodshot.

That night, Deep Throat seemed more talkative than usual. “There is a way to untie the Watergate knot,” he began. “I can’t and won’t give you any new names, but everything points in the direction of what was called ‘Offensive Security.’  . . . Remember, you don’t do those 1500 [FBI] interviews
*
and not have something on your hands other than a single break-in. But please be balanced and send out people to check everything, because a lot of the [CRP] intelligence-gathering was routine. They are not brilliant guys, and it got out of hand,” Deep Throat said. “That is the key phrase, the feeling that it all got out of hand. . . . Much of the intelligence-gathering was on their own campaign contributors, and some to check on the Democratic contributors—to check people out and sort of semi-blackmail them if something was found  . . . a very heavy-handed operation.”

Deep Throat had access to information from the White House, Justice, the FBI and CRP. What he knew represented an aggregate of hard information flowing in and out of many stations. Reluctantly,
after prodding, he agreed that Woodward and Bernstein were correct about the involvement of higher-ups in the Watergate break-in and other illegal activities as well.

Mitchell?

“Mitchell was involved.”

To what extent?

“Only the President and Mitchell know,” he said.

“Mitchell conducted his own—he called it an investigation—for about ten days after June 17. And he was going crazy. He found all sorts of new things which astounded even him. At some point, Howard Hunt, of all the ironies, was assigned to help Mitchell get some information. Like lightning, he was pulled off and fired and told to pack up his desk and leave town forever. By no less than John Ehrlichman.”

Woodward reacted with equal measures of shock and skepticism. Ehrlichman was the good guy, the resident program man in the White House who dealt with legislation, concepts, domestic crises. Politics was Haldeman’s and Mitchell’s turf. Woodward pointed out the gravity of Deep Throat’s remark that “only the President and Mitchell know.” But the man would not elaborate.

Woodward asked if the Watergate bugging and spying were isolated, or if they were parts of the same operation as the other activities Deep Throat referred to.

“Check every lead,” Deep Throat advised. “It goes all over the map, and that is important. You could write stories from now until Christmas or well beyond that. . . . Not one of the games [his term for undercover operations] was free-lance. This is important. Every one was tied in.”

But he would not talk specifically about Segretti’s operation. Woodward could not understand why.

“Just remember what I’m saying. Everything was part of it—nothing was free-lance. I know what I’m talking about.”

Ratfucking?

He had heard the term; it meant double-cross and, as used by the Nixon forces, it referred to infiltration of the Democrats.

Deep Throat returned to Mitchell on his own steam: “That guy definitely learned some things in those ten days after Watergate. He was just sick, and everyone was saying that he was ruined because of
what his people did, especially Mardian and LaRue, and what happened at the White House.

“And Mitchell said, ‘If this all comes out, it could ruin the administration. I mean, ruin it.’ Mitchell realized he was personally ruined and would have to get out.”

Woodward asked about the White House.

“There were four basic personnel groupings for undercover operations,” Deep Throat said. The November Group, which handled CRP’s advertising; a convention group, which handled intelligence-gathering and sabotage-planning for both the Republican and Democratic conventions; a primary group, which did the same for the primaries of both parties; and the Howard Hunt group, which was the “really heavy operations team.”

“The Howard Hunt group reported to Chuck Colson, who maybe didn’t know specifically about the bugging. There is no proof, but Colson was getting daily updates on the activities and the information.” He shook his head. “There are stories all over town—check every one, each is good.”

What about Martha Mitchell?

“She knows nothing, apparently, but that doesn’t mean she won’t talk.” He didn’t laugh.

Deep Throat had said there were “games” going on all over the map. For instance?

“I know of intelligence-gathering and games in Illinois, New York, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, California, Texas, Florida and the District of Columbia.” The President’s forces had been out to wreck the campaigns both of the Democrats and of Nixon’s challengers within his own party—Representative Paul McCloskey of California and Representative John Ashbrook of Ohio.

Woodward asked about Howard Hunt and leak-plugging at the White House.

“That operation was not only to check leaks to the papers but often to manufacture items for the press. It was a Colson-Hunt operation. Recipients include all of you guys—Jack Anderson, Evans and Novak, the
Post
and the
New York Times,
the
Chicago Tribune.
The business of Eagleton’s drunk-driving record or his health records, I understand, involves the White House and Hunt somehow. Total manipulation
—that was their goal, with everyone eating at one time or another out of their hands. Even the press.”

Deep Throat confirmed what the reporters’ other sources had hinted. The FBI’s and the grand jury’s investigations had been limited to the Watergate operation—and had ignored other espionage and sabotage. “None of the outside games were checked,” he said. “If it wasn’t limited to Watergate proper, they would never have finished, believe me. There was also non-corroborative testimony before the grand jury, driving everyone wild, certain perjury.”

Sally Harmony?

Sally and others.

Deep Throat then issued an explicit warning. “They want to single out the
Post.
They want to go to court to get at your sources.”

It was 3:00
A.M
. There was more general discussion about the White House, its mood, the war atmosphere. Woodward and Deep Throat sat down on the garage floor. Neither wanted to end the conversation. Their heads and backs rested against the garage wall. Exhaustion loosened them up. Woodward said that he and Bernstein couldn’t go much further, what they had was too vague. Watergate would not expose what the White House had done—not without more
specific
information.

Deep Throat again told Woodward to concentrate on the other games—not the break-in at Democratic headquarters.

Still, they needed help, Woodward said. Could they say for certain that the games were White House sponsored?

“Of course, of course, don’t you get my message?” Deep Throat was exasperated. He stood up.

What games? Woodward asked. One couldn’t publish stories based on vague references to higher-ups, on information that might or might not have been leaked to the press by Howard Hunt; that the Eagleton records were “somehow tied into Hunt and the White House.”

“There’s nothing more I can say,” Deep Throat replied, and began to walk off.

Woodward said that he and Bernstein needed more—something that went beyond generalities. What about the Canuck Letter?

Deep Throat stopped and turned around. “It was a White House operation—done inside the gates surrounding the White House and the Executive Office Building. Is that enough?”

It was not. They needed to know the scope of the intelligence-gathering, of the games. Were most of them carried out, or merely planned? Woodward grabbed Deep Throat’s arm. The time had come to press to the limit. Woodward found himself angry. He told Deep Throat that both of them were playing a chickenshit game—Deep Throat for pretending to himself that he never fed Woodward primary information, and Woodward for chewing up tidbits like a rat under a picnic table that didn’t have the guts to go after the main dish.

Deep Throat was angry, too, but not at Woodward.

“Okay,” he said softly. “This is very serious. You can safely say that fifty people worked for the White House and CRP to play games and spy and sabotage and gather intelligence. Some of it is beyond belief, kicking at the opposition in every imaginable way. You already know some of it.”

Deep Throat nodded confirmation as Woodward ran down items on a list of tactics that he and Bernstein had heard were used against the political opposition: bugging, following people, false press leaks, fake letters, canceling campaign rallies, investigating campaign workers’ private lives, planting spies, stealing documents, planting provocateurs in political demonstrations.

“It’s all in the files,” Deep Throat said. “Justice and the Bureau know about it, even though it wasn’t followed up.”

Woodward was stunned. Fifty people directed by the White House and CRP to destroy the opposition, no holds barred?

Deep Throat nodded.

The White House had been willing to subvert—was that the right word?—the whole electoral process? Had actually gone ahead and tried to do it?

Another nod. Deep Throat looked queasy.

And hired fifty agents to do it?

“You can safely say more than fifty,” Deep Throat said. Then he turned, walked up the ramp and out. It was nearly 6:00
A.M.

7

W
OODWARD ARRIVED
at the office four hours later and typed his notes from the meeting with Deep Throat. A carbon was in Bernstein’s typewriter when he arrived half an hour later. Woodward, Bernstein, Sussman and Rosenfeld met briefly. There would be three stories: a lead by Bernstein and Woodward outlining the general program of “ratfucking,” espionage and sabotage by at least 50 agents; Bernstein’s story on Segretti; an account by Woodward of White House involvement in the Canuck Letter episode.