(14)
The Cabal
Donald Rumsfeld's home stood on a quiet, tree-lined street about two miles from the White House. The two-story brick house was modest by the standards of the mansions that comprised the majority of the dwellings of his neighbors. It was, nonetheless, a beautiful and historic home.
It was in this house at the beginning of March, 2003 that a highly secretive meeting took place, the ramifications of which amounted to nothing less than the inauguration of a palace coup. Present at this meeting were: Vice President Dick Cheney, former Defense Secretary Rumsfeld, Supreme Court Justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas, Paul Wolfowitz, Richard Perle, Douglas Feith, John Bolton, Scooter Libby, Eliot Abrams, editor and pundit William Kristol, former CIA Director James Woolsey, Kenneth Adelman, former Education Secretary and author William Bennett, and former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich. The subject of the urgent meeting was the strange and dangerous behavior of their nominal boss, the repercussions of this behavior, and what steps need to be taken to get the train back on track, presumably without the President. Although the gathering took place at Rumsfeld's house, it was Dick Cheney who was clearly in charge.
"Alright people, listen up. As you are all aware, our president has, in my mind, lost his mind. I'm, frankly, not surprised. He didn't have all that much to lose." Everyone in the room guffawed in sycophantic rhythm. "Simply stated, Iraq's in the shitter for now."
"Umm, Dick, could you maybe watch the language a bit? The wife's here, and, well, heh-heh, you know how they can be."
"Jesus Christ, Don, this isn't a fucking convent!"
"Dick! Please!"
"Shit...remind me not to have the next meeting here. Anyway, we're at an historic moment in American history, but the pigeon we chose to carry the message for us has, in fact, flown the coop."
"Ha! Flown the coop! That's...a good one...never mind." Justice Thomas, expecting more laughter, slunk back in his chair at the piercing glare of the Vice President.
"It is absolutely vital, frankly, that we look forward to the 2004 election for a new standard-bearer for our cause. I have in mind a man whom I have a great deal of respect for, a man I've known for many years, a man–"
"Dick, I'm flattered! It's been such a rough couple of days what with the firing and all and–"
"I'm not talking about you, Don, you knuckle-head! Now if everyone will just shut up and quit interrupting–"
"Dick?" Eliot Abrams had tentatively raised his hand.
"For the love of Christ, what?!?"
"Who is it?"
"I'm going to tell you if you'll just shut up long enough! Geez... But first, we have to establish an organizational structure for this little cabal. We'll need a leader...
Inominatemyselfallthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed. Okay, as your new leader, I move that what I say goes without exception. Allthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed. We need a secretary–I nominate Don–"
"But Dick, I don't want to be–"
"Allthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed."
"Uhh, Dick?"
"What is it now, Don?"
"Don't you think we should have a second-in-command, you know, in case, well, anything happens to you? You know, your heart isn't exactly..."
"If anything happens to me, frankly, you're all up shit creek! Pardon my French, Don. I hereby move that there will be no second-in-command, and if anything happens to me the group is immediately disbanded. Allthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed. Now...as I was saying...we need a new standard bearer for the 2004 election. We need someone who is respected by the entire Conservative community, someone who is familiar with the rough-and-tumble world of politics, someone, in point of fact, who is a winner. I'd do it myself, but I'm getting on in years and I don't think my heart could take the abuse. Therefore I nominate Newt Gingrich allthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed. Congratulations, Newt. You'll need a running mate..."
"Oh! Oh! Pick me! Pick me!" A bevy of hands went up around the room.
"Bolton, you're it. Allthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed. Now I don't know, frankly, if this ticket is Main Street Republican, and President Mother Theresa is going to get sympathy votes at the convention. We'll start out down the road as Republicans, but we may have to go Third Party on this."
"Mr. Vice President–challenging a sitting president by going third party from within his own party? Isn't that handing the election to the Democrats?" Bill Kristol had a point.
"You ever hear of Teddy Roosevelt in 1912?"
"But Dick, he lost. The Democrat won."
"...yes, that's technically correct. But in my mind, that's because he ran a lousy campaign. And what was with that stupid name of his party? The Bull Moose Party?!? Frankly, he lost it right there, if you ask me."
"What are we going to name our party, Dick?"
"Yeah, what?" A general discussion broke out all over the room. Donald Rumsfeld's bulldog, named Hoover, wandered into the room and lay down on a rug in front of the fireplace.
"Oh, I don't know...how about...the American Patriot Party–the APP. Allthoseinfavorsayayethemotionispassed."
"Great!"
"Good call, Dick!
"Like it!" There was unanimous approval.
"Any food, Don? I'm starving," cried the bulky Bill Bennett. "Chips? Anything? I'll bet you got something in the kitchen to eat."
"Given your track record, Bill, you shouldn't be betting on anything. Now–the American Patriot Party is top-secret information until I announce it. Got it? You two," said Dick Cheney, motioning towards Gingrich and Bolton, "you're going to have to work on your people skills a little bit. You both have reputations as being a little rough around the edges. I like that you're both fighters–that'll come in handy, frankly, over the course of the election cycle. But you're going to have to get out there, kiss babies, press the flesh, and all that other crap."
"But Dick, I hate people!" said an agitated John Bolton. "I mean, I'm no good around the public. I can't stand most human beings. They're smelly and stupid."
"Well, you're going to have to learn to bear with it. And you're going to have to tone down your anger a bit."
"Ha! That'll be the day!" piped in Douglas Feith.
"Shut up, shitzu-face!"
"You shut up, walrus-breath!"
"Make me, fat boy!"
"Hey!! This is what I'm talking about. Now John, you're going to get a lot of this on the campaign trail and you are going to have let it roll off of you like water off a duck's back."
"Or a walrus's back."
Bolton lunged at Douglas Feith, tearing at his face and biting a chunk of flesh off Feith's cheek. After bouncing around on the floor and knocking over an 18th Century porcelain tea set, smashing it into little pieces, the two were pulled apart. Hoover the bulldog got up slowly and moved to a spot underneath the 17th Century Dutch cuckoo clock.
"Dammit Feith, this is going to be the Moron Party with the juveniles we have in here. Now listen up!" Dick Cheney told the cabal that he would resign the Vice Presidency "under doctor's orders for continuing heart problems," but really it was so that he could devote all of his time to raising money for the new political party. His goal was to raise fifty billion dollars. He instructed Wolfowitz, Feith, and Bolton to resign the day after he did, and Adelman and Abrams after that.
"What about me, boss?" Scooter Libby was concerned he was being left behind.
"Just walk out the back door, Scooter. No one will notice you've left, because, frankly, no one ever knew you were there."
"If we resign, do we get severance?" asked Paul Wolfowitz.
"No. We eliminated all severance pay for Federal employees in the last round of budget cuts," replied Cheney. "Something, frankly, had to give. Money doesn't grow on trees."
"That's harsh," said Newt Gingrich. "Are we for that?"
"CIA tried to grow money on trees in the 1980s for the Contras, but it didn't work," mused ex-CIA Director James Woolsey. "We had some success squeezing blood out of turnips."
"No, Jim, I was talking about the severance pay thing," replied Gingrich.
"Look, Federal employees are not going to elect the two of you," said Dick Cheney. "Therefore we do not give a rat's ass about them. In my mind, they're lucky to still have jobs. We're going to run on a platform to eliminate 98% of the Federal government. We'll abolish the Department of Energy."
"Ha!" "You da man!" "Stick that in your hybrid!"
"The Department of Education."
"Hear hear!" "How about the NEA?"
"The Department of Health and Human Services."
"Socialism!" "Don't need it!"
"The Department of Housing and Urban Development."
"End the handouts!" "Let the crackheads rot!"
"The Department of Labor."
"Buhbye!" "Communist Central!" "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!"
"The Department of the Interior."
"Take that environmental wackos!" "And tree huggers!"
"Along with...hold it down...along with the US Forestry Service, and any other departments I've forgotten except for Defense and Homeland Security."
"Lean and mean. I like it," said Donald Rumsfeld. "You only need three or four people to run the federal government, tops. One to manage things and give speeches, one to count the money...plus, you're gonna need a lawyer," said Rumsfeld motioning to Scalia, "and probably somebody to do maintenance and janitorial," he said trying not to look at Clarence Thomas.
"We'll run the whole thing from my bunker anyway," added Cheney, "and we'll only need one accountant because, simply stated, there aren't going to be any more taxes!" The whole room erupted in cheers and huzzahs. "We'll be also running on a 'War Is Good' platform–good for the economy, good for jobs," and as Cheney nodded towards Justice Thomas, "good for minorities–"
"I'll affirm that action!" responded Thomas.
"And, frankly, good for America. And?" Cheney cupped one hand behind his left ear and lifted his other as a symphony conductor.
"What's-good-for-A-mer-i-ca- is good-for-the-world!" shouted everyone in a singsong unanimity.
"That's right. We'll abolish the UN {spit} and blow up the building," and here everyone spit in perfect harmony with their leader except Donald Rumsfeld, who cringed at the massive amount of spittle collecting on his antique hardwood floor, especially from Justice Scalia, who had a nasty cold. Hoover the bulldog growled.
"As far as media coverage, well...muha... muhhaha... muhhahahaha!"
Everyone picked up the laughter, "Muhahaha, muhahahahahaha!!!" although it was the first time anyone could ever recall hearing Dick Cheney laugh. It was obvious that media coverage was not going to be a problem, as the crème de la crème, the "who's who" of right-wing power people, were involved at the genesis of this political party.
"Now I want a tight, no-leaks lid on this thing until I say so. That means you, Don. I've got sixteen intelligence agencies breathing down each and every one of your necks, and, simply stated, if any of you so much as fart, I'll know about it."
"Geez, Dick, I fart a lot," said a nervous John Bolton, "but I won't spill the beans–I promise."
"You'll be spilling beans alright stinky fart-face!" said Douglas Feith, and the two went at it again but were pulled apart quickly with minimal damage this time to Mrs. Rumsfeld's antiques.
And so, on March 10th, 2003, Vice President Dick Cheney emerged from almost three weeks of seclusion to announce that, simply stated, he had to resign the vice presidency, in fact, for health reasons. Frankly, his doctor had told him frankly that his heart couldn't take any more stress. He thanked President Bush for his leadership that, in his mind, couldn't have been any finer.
The next day, Wolfowitz, Feith, and Bolton resigned, all citing various ailments and maladies. Eliot Abrams and Kenneth Adelman followed on the 12th, and the neocon exit was complete. Scooter Libby left the next day, but no one noticed.
***
George W. Bush was neither surprised nor upset at the neocons' rush for the exits. It did leave quite a few positions to fill, but the President saw this as an opportunity to reshape the ideological makeup of his administration more towards the "compassionate" end of conservatism. For he still thought of himself as a conservative; still thought that less government was better; still was strongly pro-life; and he still believed that the answer to most, if not all, of life's problems could be found in his Bible. His awakening had allowed him to see the world more through the eyes of the real Jesus, and less through the eyes of the increasingly intolerant and reactionary sect of his religion. This had cut the legs out from under a great deal of his own arrogance, and had shown him the overweening attitude of the neocons for what it was. He, and they, as the faces of the United States government, were projecting this attitude onto the rest of the world as representatives of the American people, and it was hurting America. And now he had a chance to repair the damage.
Any way one looked at it, he had gotten off to a pretty impressive start. World reviews were enormously positive. An enormous card of thanks and praise for avoiding war signed by 15,000 schoolchildren from Hiroshima and Nagasaki was delivered to the White House by the Japanese ambassador. Invitations for the President to visit countries in which he was so recently persona non grata were now pouring in from all over the globe.
The first task in front of him was to pick a new vice president. The choice promised to be a controversial one, no matter who the President picked. Once again, George W. Bush relied on his Chief of Staff, Andy Card, to present him with a list of possible candidates. Many of the usual suspects were on the list–Senator Bill Frist of Tennessee, Homeland Security Chief Tom Ridge, New York Governor George Pataki, former Senator John Danforth of Missouri, and even Former Secretary of State James Baker. In a phone conversation with Mo Levison, another name surfaced that was as radical an idea as it was pleasing to George W. Bush's ears.
After discussing the pros and cons of the various men suggested by the list, Mo Levison countered with, "What about your brother?"
"Jeb?"
"Well, I don't think we're talking about Neil or Marvin."
"I...can I do that? Is it constitutional? Gee, I hadn't even thought that was a possibility..."
"I don't see why you couldn't do it, except that it hasn't been done, you know, precedent."
"It'd be like the Kennedy brothers, heh-heh-heh. I mean, he's qualified and all–Governor of Florida...huh, I have to think on that one awhile, but I have to admit, I like it."
The President hung up the phone and immediately started calling in every direction. "Andy! Get Ashcroft on the phone–no, get him over here. And get Alberto, too." George W. Bush was a ball of energy when an idea struck his fancy. He picked up the phone again. "Dad?"
"Wow, you've been through quite the couple of weeks, son! But, you know, I'm proud of you, and your mother is proud of you. For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing, Mr. President."
"Coming from you Dad, it really means a lot. Listen, I wanted to get your advice on the VP choice."
"Can't do it, son–I'm too old, and besides, your mother would kill me! And that 'wouldn't be prudent'," said the former president, parodying himself.
"That's too bad, Dad, heh-heh-heh, but you're close. What about Jeb?"
"What? Are you serious? Is that legal?"
"That was my reaction when it came up, but I'm checkin' on it right now."
"Who brought him up?"
"Mo."
"That figures. It's a shame he's such a liberal–he'd make a great attorney general."
"Dad, he'd let everybody out of jail, he'd try to abolish the death penalty...don't get me started."
"Oh, I know. He's such a smart guy, it's just such a waste. Anyway, that's a really interesting idea. Of course as the father of both of you, I wouldn't like it a bit."
"Do you think he'd do it?"
"Well, you'll just have to ask him. I don't know, to tell you the truth. He marches to his own drummer sometimes."
"Yeah, I know. I just wonder if I'm going to be accused of nepotism."
"It's only about the most nepotistic thing you could possibly do, son. Never been done in the history of the Republic. Might be a reason, I don't know. But you know, he is qualified. You gotta give him that. I don't think anyone could get you on that one."
The more George W. Bush thought about choosing his brother for the vice presidency, the more he liked it. Jeb would be a real bulwark in the difficult days ahead.
Attorney General John Ashcroft and White House Counsel Alberto Gonzalez sat down in the Oval Office as the President perched on the edge of his desk. "Fellas, I'm thinking of choosing the Governor of Florida as my new vice president."
"Your brother?!?" asked the two men in unison.
"I believe he is currently the Governor of Florida," replied the President.
"Is that legal?" John Ashcroft looked at Alberto Gonzalez, who shrugged.
"Well, geez, that's why I'm askin' you! Is it legal? Aren't you two supposed to know stuff like that?"
"Well, it's, uhh, certainly uhh, unprecedented," stammered Ashcroft.
"Highly unprecedented," agreed Gonzalez. "Robert Kennedy was Attorney General for his brother, but, other than that..."
"I know that, Alberto. I need you two Einsteins to find out if there's any legal reason why I can't choose my brother to be the vice president. Class dismissed."
After legal opinion came back as a "non-negative," the President's next, and hardest call went to his brother.
"Jeb, I wanna know what you think about the vice presidency."
"Well, I think you need to find someone who isn't going to try to dominate you, I don't think you need another neocon. Uhh, someone who is going to be loyal, somebody who may be strong in areas that you are weak... somebody that'll help you in 2004–heck, you know what you need. Who made the short list?"
"You did."
"Me? Me? George, among a million other reasons why not, I don't think that will go over real well with the public. Dynasty issues, you know? It's probably not even legal. Besides, I'm happy here in Florida. Columba and the kids won't want to–"
"So I guess that's a yes? Your President needs you, Jeb. You can't honestly turn down such an impassioned plea from the leader of your country, can you?"
"Oh, yes I can. Have you talked to Dad about this?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Pop gave his blessing assuming it was legal and I've found out subsequently that it is legal, so, sorry, that excuse is out. Look, Jeb, seriously. I need you to really consider this. I'm down to just a handful of people that I can really trust here, and I could sure use your support and help."
"Well, I can support you from here, George. I don't have to be up there in Washington. Listen, we can set up a regular phone time. I'd be more than happy to do that... I just–"
"Well, look–you shouldn't have to make up your mind all of a sudden like this. I realize it's hittin' you outta left field...why don't you take the evening to think it over, talk to Columba, and get back to me tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?!? Gee, thanks for all the extra time. It's 5:30 in the evening right now."
"Well, I gotta do something quick, and you da man, Jeb, heh-heh-heh."
"Great. I don't mean to be ungrateful, but–"
"Then don't be. Just call me in the morning."
The media missed this one. No one saw it coming. When President George W. Bush stepped to the podium and announced that he was naming Governor Jeb Bush of Florida as his new Vice President there were audible gasps from the normally blasé White House press corps. Jeb had called his brother and finally agreed to take the post, but held on to the possibility of leaving when the President's first term ended.
The reviews on this move ran the gamut from "gutsy move," to "Bush family plots to keep succession in order." The American public, however, seemed to tire of the intrigues of Washington and was much more fixated on whether Ruben Studdard or Clay Aiken would win American Idol.
The reviews from the Middle and Near East, however, were not at all promising. In response to stepped-up investigations of Saudi financial transactions, especially "foreign charitable and religious contributions," the offended Saudi government was threatening to cut oil production in half. The Bush administration had received assurances from Russia, Nigeria, and Mexico that they would make up some of the shortfall, but those reassurances weren't enough to stop the price of a barrel of oil spiraling past the seventy-five dollar mark simply on the threat.
President Pervez Musharraf of Pakistan reiterated his government's decision not to allow US forces of any kind into the autonomous regions of Pakistan, and warned that any such incursion without express permission would be considered a violation of Pakistani sovereignty and a provocation. This rebuff put the American Commander-In-Chief in a tense and uncomfortable situation. It was beyond doubt that al-Qaeda and Taliban remnants were fleeing in large numbers across the mountainous, unguarded, and ill-defined border between Afghanistan and the tribal areas of Pakistan. This area was closer to being a nation of its own than to belonging to either country. If the President respected the sovereignty of Pakistan and agreed to halt American forces at the Afghan-Pakistani border, he was, in effect, letting thousands of jihadists get away to fight another day. But if he ignored Pakistani objections and allowed the US military to pursue Islamist radicals into the autonomous regions, he was risking a confrontation with a nuclear-armed nation of ninety million Muslims, making the conflict with Iraq seem tame by comparison.
Secretaries Powell and Rice were dispatched to Islamabad in May to try and persuade Musharraf to change his mind, but domestic pressures were too great on the Pakistani leader, and he stood firm. At the same time, Musharraf offered to send Pakistani troops and Intelligence officers into the region to help root out the jihadists. This was to initially prove an empty gesture, as a significant percentage of the Pakistani military and Intelligence services were favorable to the cause of the Taliban and Osama bin Laden, and continued to offer covert, if not outright support for the two organizations.
At the end of May, 2003, the President, in one of the most controversial decisions of his presidency, decided on the latter option, sending 2,500 Special Operations Forces and Marines into Waziristan in pursuit of al-Qaeda and Taliban fighters. Critics compared his decision to the secret bombing of Cambodia and Laos on the orders of President Richard Nixon during the Vietnam War, although the obvious difference was the secrecy. In 2003, it was hard to keep anything a secret. In consultation with Secretary of State Colin Powell and Vice President Jeb Bush (newly confirmed by the Senate), the President decided that the best course of action would be to publicly announce the policy as forces were entering the tribal areas.
Did the President, in lieu of his decision not to invade Iraq, feel pressured, whether internally or externally, to do something overtly pro-active in Afghanistan? In a later interview, he fairly bristled at the inference. "Do you mean, did I feel like I politically had to do something 'cause I stopped Iraq? Absolutely not! Once again, I always felt like my job was to protect and defend the American people, and these were the bad guys–there they were! In one way, the two decisions were linked: I didn't go into Iraq for the same reason that I didagree to the pursuit of al-Qaeda and the Taliban into the tribal areas. I felt like Afghanistan was the central front on the War on Terror, and Iraq, while a problem to be solved, was not. These terrorists were all escaping into this region like it was, uh, some sort of base, you know, like kids playing a game of tag, 'You can't tag me–I'm on base'. Well, we needed to send a message to the bad guys that there is no 'base' in this game, 'cause it isn't a game."
While initially successful, the incursion into Pakistani territory immediately inflamed tensions in already volatile Pakistan. President Musharraf, facing massive, life-threatening dissent from his Islamist right, had little choice but to dispatch government troops to the autonomous regions to confront the Americans. Thus began a dangerous standoff that only ended when the American forces withdrew back into Afghanistan at the beginning of July.
How did the President balance the risk of a wider conflagration with Pakistan with pursuing the jihadists? "As Commander-In-Chief, every decision I made involved some measure of risk. We had been given private assurances by the Pakistani government and their military that they would have to appear confrontational to calm a certain percentage of the population, but it wouldn't involve the discharge of weapons. Was it a dangerous situation anyway? Yeah, it probably was. But we felt like the benefits of finding, capturing, or killing the terrorists were more important, and I feel like we accomplished the mission."
There were no immediate benefits of the crackdown on Saudi finances and the incursion into Pakistan for George W. Bush politically, as he began to take fire from all sides. Angered by rising gas prices and fearful of a wider war, Americans showed their displeasure with the President's policies by lowering his approval rating from 68% just after the Iraq speech in March, to 53% in the doldrums of July. The Saudi government followed through on their threat, and cut the output of oil by 30% in June, and another 20% in July. Prices on the open market flew past $95 a barrel.
President Bush was being pummeled by his right flank. Newt Gingrich began showing up every other night on FoxNews lambasting the President on everything from immigration to foreign policy. Although the former Speaker's replies remained cagey, the feeling in punditland was that Gingrich was priming the pump for a run for president in 2004. In the middle months of 2003, it was still assumed that this challenge would be for the Republican nomination.
The President's decision to close Guantanamo as a military prison added further grist for the mill. Here, the influence of Mo Levison was unmistakable. Levison had lobbied his friend hard to shut down the facility, arguing that it was doing more harm than good to the War on Terror. Through his own contacts in both the legal world and the human rights crowd, Levison had strong proof that Americans were engaging in techniques that were, if not legally torture, then right up to the line of torture. These techniques included waterboarding, something that George W. Bush had never heard of.
"It's simulating drowning!" said an agitated Levison earlier that summer to an unconvinced President as they jogged through the woods at Camp David.
"But they don't actually drown, do they?"
"It's as close as humanly possible to the sensation of drowning," countered Levison.
"Well, it can't be all that bad, and anyway, these people don't seem to respond to normal interrogation techniques."
"Can't be that bad?!? If it isn't that bad, why don't you try it?"
"What?"
"Yeah, why don't you find out for yourself how it feels."
"I didn't do anything wrong, Mo! I'm not a mass murderer."
"Neither are most of the men at Guantanamo who sit and rot without even knowing why they're there. If you are convinced that it isn't torture, why don't you find out first hand? Go down to the CIA and tell them you want to be waterboarded. Don't worry, if it isn't torture, you'll be fine."
"I can't do that, Mo! Are you nuts? The President of the United States is down in the dungeons of the CIA being tortured to see–"
"Ahh–it isn't torture!"
"Whatever. That's nutty, Mo."
"How about I do it, and report back to you?"
"You'll never get clearance. Besides, you're a lousy swimmer."
"Okay, then. Why don't you tell your Attorney General and the head of the CIA that you want to be waterboarded to see what it's like and then watch their reactions?"
"Now that isn't a bad idea. I could agree to do that."
The next day President Bush convened a meeting with Attorney General John Ashcroft, White House Attorney Alberto Gonzalez, and new CIA Director Porter Gauss. George Tenet had been quietly removed from his post at the CIA and committed to Saint Albans Psychiatric Hospital in Radford, Virginia, after being found naked on the roof of the main building at Langley with a box of Krispy Kreme donuts and a loaded .357 Magnum.
"Gentlemen, it has come to my attention that we have been engaging in some pretty rough interrogation techniques at Gitmo and elsewhere," began the President. "Now, I know we have had to take the gloves off a bit, and I'm not naïve to the value of the information we might receive, but what does anyone here know about the technique of waterboarding?"
"Waterboarding? Hmm..." The new CIA Director was wracking his brain. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"Is that like skateboarding?" asked a perplexed Alberto Gonzalez.
"Never heard of it," answered John Ashcroft.
"Uh-huh," said the President. "Well, from the information that I've gathered, it appears that it's one of techniques we're using at Gitmo."
"Don't know anything about that," said Porter Gauss.
"Must be new," said Gonzalez.
"Sounds like it involves water," said Ashcroft.
"And boards," added Gonzalez.
"Yeah, that's what I thought. So here's what I'm gonna do. Porter, I would like you to set up a trial for me at the CIA headquarters to be waterboarded."
"WHAT?!?" The three men all shifted forward in their seats, Porter Gauss falling right off.
"I'm afraid that wouldn't at all be a good thing, I mean–"
"Mr. President, you simply can't do that," said an exasperated John Ashcroft.
"Whaddya mean I can't do it? Porter, get up off the floor! What's wrong with you? You fellas said you never even heard of waterboarding. I want to try it, and I'm gonna try it."
"Mr. President," said the agitated CIA Director, straightening his tie, "we can't take that kind of risk with the leader of the Free World. I mean, assuming that this waterboarding that you speak of is, somewhat..."
"Coercive," broke in Gonzalez.
"Yes, coercive, maybe to the point of..."
"Mr. President, these are very bad men we're talking about," said Ashcroft.
"Bad. Very bad," agreed Gonzalez.
"Threatening to kill them doesn't work," said Gauss.
"Bad men," said Ashcroft. "They want us to kill them."
"Mr. President, hypothetically speaking, of course, because the United States doesn't use torture, but hypothetically," squirmed Alberto Gonzalez, "let's say that this very bad terrorist–"
"Bad," said Gauss.
"Oh, very bad," said Ashcroft.
"–this very bad terrorist who blew up one bazillion people knew exactly when the next really bad terrorist was going to blow up another bazillion people."
"I've heard this one before, but go ahead," replied the President.
"Well, anyway, this bad, bad terrorist, hypothetically, is not responding to more, ahem, civil methods, like standing in stress positions, dressing him in women's clothing, and throwing his Koran in the toilet. The interrogators must move to more, ahem, coercive techniques–"
"Like?" asked George W. Bush.
"Like...playing Barry Manilow Christmas records at all hours of the day and night," said Gonzalez quickly and defensively.
"That actually got the Marine guard on duty to confess to stealing $300 from another Marine just to make it stop," added Gauss.
"Yes, but the Islamic terrorist is hard to crack," continued the White House counsel. "Most of them have undergone severe and hellish training in the mountains and caves of Afghanistan for just this moment. In any event, this man was bent but not ready to crack. They then showed the Mariah Carey movie Glitter on the jihadist's wall for four straight days. That came close to breaking the man, he chewed right through his bed frame, but still, no information."
"That's cruel and inhuman right there," complained the President.
"Yes, well, they were getting close to the line on that one. Hypothetically speaking, of course. But then, they went for broke."
"This next technique would crush most humans," said John Ashcroft.
"This man was, hypothetically, amazing in what he could stand," added Porter Gauss. "It was frightening."
"They went in for the kill," continued Alberto Gonzalez. "Hypothetically."
"I've heard vague references to this," said the President. "Usually nobody wants to tell me about it so there will be pausible denial."
"Yes, Mr. President, that's plausible–"
"I thought so too."
"Anyway, I feel that you ought to know that the CIA subjected this bad, bad man to–" and here Gonzalez leaned in close to the President and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, the other two men leaning in as well– "ninety-six straight hours of golfer John Daly's country album that he recorded in 2002, an album called My Life."
"God, no!!" George W. Bush was genuinely shocked. He hadn't actually heard the record, but the mere thought frightened him. "Surely no man could withstand that, or should! This abuse must stop, in the name of all that's good about America! What happened to this poor soul?"
"We had Marines, tough ones, crying for their mamas after forty-eight hours," said Porter Gauss.
"Our lawyers examined every nook and cranny of the law to make sure that we were in the clear on this," added John Ashcroft.
"What happened to the man?!?" asked President Bush, a bit of moisture forming just below his right eye.
"He bent–oh yes, he was begging for some kind of release. About the three-hundredth time that John Daly sang "Long Ball Rebel" the jihadist was pulling his hair out, scratching at his eyes, and screaming at Allah for betraying him."
"This is criminal," said the President, shaking his head slowly. "You all should be ashamed of yourselves."
"Finally, although the interrogators tag-teamed to reduce their own suffering, the last interrogator broke down in a suicidal mess, and the music was mercifully stopped."
"Thank God!" exclaimed the President. "It served them right. Gentlemen, I've heard all I need to hear. This brutality will not continue on my watch. We've got soldiers in Harm's Way out there, and God help them if they ever fall into the enemy's hands with knowledge of this kind of treatment. I'm going to insist that Guantanamo be closed as soon as it is feasibly possible."
"But Mr. President!–" All three men seemed to want to protest at once.
"I'm sorry. We need to close the book on this despicable chapter of American history. For God's sakes, men–have you no shred of dignity? Can any of you sleep at night knowing that we, as Americans, are subjecting other human beings to this horror?"
The three men looked at each other shamefully, and then pitifully back at President Bush.
"Mr. President, the prison at Guantanamo will be closed as soon as we can find suitable locations for the enemy combatants," said a chastened Porter Gauss.
"Thanks, fellas. Class dismissed."
A few days later George W. Bush, flying back from a fund-raising dinner in Florida, was on the phone with Mo Levison. "Well, Lefty, you'll be pleased to hear that I'm shuttin' down Guantanamo."
"What? Really? That's great news! Congratulations! You must have confirmed what I told you about the waterboarding."
"The what? Oh, that. No, Mo, what I heard, was much, much worse. It frankly embarrassed the heck outta me. It made me sick. You were right. We can't win the hearts and minds of people all over the world on one hand while we are doin'...ahh, I can't even talk about it, Mo. But anyway, thanks to you and your stubbornness, I finally saw the light."
|
