At the end of April John Ehrlichman and Bob Haldeman, White House Chief of Staff, resigned together. Both had been close to Nixon. Because of their German names they had been dubbed ‘the Berlin Wall’ by those who felt shut out by them. They had organized criminal activities such as burglary and perjury for the President: could anyone possibly believe that they had done those things against his will and without telling him? The idea was laughable.
Next day, the Senate voted unanimously for a Special Prosecutor to be appointed, independent of the tainted Justice Department, to investigate whether the President should be charged with crimes.
Ten days later, Nixon’s approval rating fell to 44–45 – the first time he had ever scored negative.
The Special Prosecutor went to work fast. He began to hire a team of lawyers. Maria knew one of them, a former Justice Department official called Antonia Capel. Antonia lived in Georgetown, not far from Maria’s apartment, and one evening Maria rang her doorbell.
Antonia opened the door and looked surprised.
‘Don’t say my name,’ said Maria.
Antonia was puzzled, but she was quick-witted. ‘Okay,’ she said.
‘Could we talk?’
‘Of course – come in.’
‘Would you meet me at the coffee shop along the block?’
Antonia looked bewildered but said: ‘Sure. I’ll ask my husband to bathe the kids . . . um, give me fifteen minutes?’
‘You bet.’
When Antonia arrived at the coffee shop she said: ‘Is my apartment bugged?’
‘I don’t know, but it might be, now that you’re working for the Special Prosecutor.’
‘Wow.’
‘Here’s the thing,’ said Maria. ‘I don’t work for Dick Nixon. My loyalty is to the Justice Department and to the American people.’
‘Okay . . .’
‘I don’t have anything particular to tell you right now, but I want you to know that if there is any way I can help the Special Prosecutor, I will.’
Antonia was smart enough to know that she was being offered a spy inside Justice. ‘That could be really important,’ she said. ‘But how shall we stay in contact without giving the game away?’
‘Call me from a pay phone. Don’t give your name. Say anything about a cup of coffee. I’ll meet you here the same day. Is this a good time?’
‘Perfect.’
‘How are things going?’
‘We’re just getting started. We’re looking for the right lawyers to join the team.’
‘On that subject, I have a suggestion: George Jakes.’
‘I think I’ve met him. Remind me who he is.’
‘He worked for Bobby Kennedy for seven years, first at Justice when Bobby was Attorney General, then in the Senate. After Bobby was killed, George went to work at Fawcett Renshaw.’
‘He sounds ideal. I’ll give him a call.’
Maria stood up. ‘Let’s leave separately. Reduces the chance of our being seen together.’
‘Isn’t it terrible that we have to act so furtively when we’re doing the right thing?’
‘I know.’
‘Thank you for coming to see me, Maria. I really appreciate it.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Maria. ‘Don’t tell your boss my name.’
* * *
Cameron Dewar had a television set in his office. When the Ervin Committee hearings were being broadcast from the Senate, Cam’s TV was on continuously – as was just about every other set in downtown Washington.
On the afternoon of Monday, 16 July, Cam was working on a report for his new boss, Al Haig, who had replaced Bob Haldeman as White House Chief of Staff. Cam was not paying close attention to the televised testimony of Alexander Butterfield, a mid-level White House figure who had organized the President’s daily schedule during Nixon’s first term, then left to run the Federal Aviation Administration.
A committee lawyer called Fred Thompson was questioning Butterfield. ‘Were you aware of the installation of any listening devices in the Oval Office of the President?’
Cam looked up. That was unexpected. Listening devices – commonly called bugs – in the Oval Office? Surely not.
Butterfield was silent for a long time. The committee room went quiet. Cam whispered: ‘Jesus.’
At last Butterfield said: ‘I was aware of listening devices, yes, sir.’
Cam stood up. ‘Fuck, no!’ he shouted.
On TV, Thompson said: ‘When were those devices placed in the Oval Office?’
Butterfield hesitated, sighed, swallowed, and said: ‘Approximately the summer of 1970.’
‘Christ almighty!’ Cam yelled to his empty room. ‘How could this happen? How could the President be so stupid?’
Thompson said: ‘Tell us a little bit about how those devices worked – how they were activated, for example.’
Cam yelled: ‘Shut up! Shut the fuck up!’
Butterfield went into a long explanation of the system, and eventually revealed that it was voice-activated.
Cam sat down again. This was a catastrophe. Nixon had secretly recorded everything that went on in the Oval Office. He had talked about burglaries and bribes and blackmail, all the time knowing that his incriminating words were being taped. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ Cam said out loud.
Cam could guess what would happen next. Both the Ervin Committee and the Special Prosecutor would demand to hear the tapes. Almost certainly, they would succeed in forcing the President to hand them over: they were key evidence in several criminal investigations. Then the whole world would know the truth.
Nixon might succeed in keeping the tapes to himself, or perhaps destroying them; but that was almost as bad. For if he were innocent, the tapes would vindicate him, so why should he hide them? Destroying them would be seen as an admission of guilt – as well as one more in a lengthening list of crimes for which he could be prosecuted.
Nixon’s presidency was over.
He would probably cling on. Cam knew him well by now. Nixon did not know when he was beaten – he never had. Once upon a time this had been a strength. Now it might lead him to suffer weeks, perhaps months of diminishing credibility and growing humiliation before he finally gave in.
Cam was not going to be part of that.
He picked up the phone and called Tim Tedder. They met an hour later at the Electric Diner, an old-fashioned luncheonette. ‘You’re not worried about being seen with me?’ said Tedder.
‘It doesn’t matter any more. I’m leaving the White House.’
‘Why?’
‘Haven’t you been watching TV?’
‘Not today.’
‘There’s a voice-activated recording system in the Oval Office. It’s taped everything that has been said in that room for the past three years. This is the end. Nixon is finished.’
‘Wait a minute. All the time he was arranging this stuff, he was bugging
himself
?’
‘Yes.’
‘Incriminating himself.’
‘Yes.’
‘What kind of idiot does that?’
‘I thought he was smart. I guess he had us all fooled. He sure had me fooled.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘That’s why I called you. I’m making a new start in life. I want a new job.’
‘You want to work for my security firm? I’m the only employee—’
‘No, no. Listen. I’m twenty-seven. I have five years’ experience in the White House. I speak Russian.’
‘So you want to work for . . . ?’
‘The CIA. I’m well qualified.’
‘You are. You’d have to go through their basic training.’
‘No problem. Part of my new start.’
‘I’m happy to call my friends there, put in a good word.’
‘I appreciate that. And there’s one other thing.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want to make a big deal of this, but I do know where the bodies are buried. The CIA has broken some rules in this whole Watergate affair. I know all about the CIA’s involvement.’
‘I know.’
‘The last thing I want to do is blackmail anyone. You know where my loyalties lie. But you might hint to your friends in the Agency that, naturally, I wouldn’t spill the beans on my employer.’
‘I get it.’
‘So, what do you think?’
‘I think you’re a shoo-in.’
* * *
George was happy and proud to be in the Special Prosecutor’s team. He felt he was part of the group leading American politics, as he had been when working for Bobby Kennedy. His only problem was that he did not know how he could ever go back to the kind of penny-ante cases he had been working at Fawcett Renshaw.
It took five months, but in the end, Nixon was forced to hand over to the Special Prosecutor three raw tapes from the Oval Office recording system.
George Jakes was in the office with the rest of the team when they listened to the tape from 23 June 1972, less than a week after the Watergate burglary.
He heard the voice of Bob Haldeman. ‘The FBI is not under control because Gray doesn’t exactly know how to control it.’
The recording was echoey but Haldeman’s cultured baritone was fairly clear.
Someone said: ‘Why would the President need to have the FBI under control?’ It was a rhetorical question, George thought. The only reason was to stop the Bureau investigating the President’s own crimes.
On the tape, Haldeman went on: ‘Their investigation is now leading into some productive areas because they have been able to trace the money.’
George recalled that the Watergate burglars had had a lot of cash in new bills with sequential numbers. That meant that, sooner or later, the FBI would be able to find out who had given them the money.
Everyone now knew that this money came from CREEP. However, Nixon was still denying that he had known anything about it. Yet here he was talking about it six days after the burglary!
The gravelly bass voice of Nixon interrupted. ‘The people who donated money could just say they gave it to the Cubans.’
George heard someone in the room say: ‘Holy crap!’
The Special Prosecutor stopped the tape.
George said: ‘Unless I’m mistaken, the President is proposing to ask his donors to perjure themselves.’
The Special Prosecutor said dazedly: ‘Can you imagine that?’
He pressed the button and Haldeman resumed. ‘We don’t want to be relying on too many people. The way to handle this now is for us to have Walters call Pat Gray and just say: “Stay to hell out of this”.’
This was close to a story Jasper Murray had run based on a leak from Maria. General Vernon Walters was the deputy director of the CIA. The agency had a longstanding agreement with the FBI: if an investigation by one threatened to expose secret operations of the other, that investigation could be halted by a simple request. Haldeman’s idea seemed to be to get the CIA to pretend that the FBI’s investigation into the Watergate burglars was somehow a threat to national security.
Which would be perversion of the course of justice.
On the tape, President Nixon said: ‘Right, fine.’
The prosecutor stopped the tape again.
‘Did you hear that?’ George said incredulously. ‘Nixon said: “Right, fine.”’
Nixon went on: ‘It’s likely to blow the whole Bay of Pigs thing, which we think would be very unfortunate for the CIA, and for the country, and for American foreign policy.’ He seemed to be spinning a story that the CIA might tell the FBI, George thought.
‘Yeah,’ said Haldeman. ‘That’s the basis we’ll do it on.’
The prosecutor said: ‘The President of the United States sitting in his office telling his staff how to commit perjury!’
Everyone in the room was stunned. The President was a criminal, and they had the proof in their hands.
George said: ‘The lying bastard, we’ve got him.’
On the tape, Nixon said: ‘I don’t want them to get any ideas we’re doing it because our concern is political.’
Haldeman said: ‘Right.’
In the room, gathered around the tape player, the assembled lawyers burst out laughing.
* * *
Maria was at her desk in the Justice Department when George called. ‘I just heard from our friend,’ he said. She knew he meant Jasper. He was speaking in code in case the phones were tapped. ‘The White House press office called the networks and booked air time for the President. Nine o’clock tonight.’
It was Thursday, 8 August 1974.
Maria’s heart leaped. Could this be the end at last? ‘Maybe he’s going to resign,’ she said.
‘Maybe.’
‘God, I hope so.’
‘It’s either that or he’ll just protest his innocence again.’
Maria did not want to be alone when this happened. ‘Do you want to come over?’ she said. ‘We’ll watch it together.’
‘Yeah, okay.’
‘I’ll make supper.’
‘Nothing too fattening.’
‘George Jakes, you’re vain.’
‘Make a salad.’
‘Come at seven-thirty.’
‘I’ll bring the wine.’
Maria went out to shop for dinner in the heat of Washington in August. She no longer cared much about her work. She had lost faith in the Justice Department. If Nixon resigned today, she would start looking for another job. She still wanted to be in government service: only the government had the muscle to make the world a better place. But she was sick of crime and the excuses of criminals. She wanted a change. She thought she might try for the State Department.
She bought salad, but she also got some pasta and parmesan cheese and olives. George had refined tastes, and he was getting worse as he grew into middle age. But he certainly was not fat. Maria herself was not fat but, on the other hand, she was not thin. As she approached forty, she was just getting, well, more like her mother, especially around the hips.
She left for the day a few minutes before five. A crowd had gathered outside the White House. They were chanting ‘Jail to the Chief,’ a pun on the anthem ‘Hail to the Chief’.
Maria caught the bus to Georgetown.
As her salary had improved over the years she had moved apartments, always to a larger place in the same neighbourhood. She had got rid of all but one of the photos of President Kennedy during her last move. Her current place had a comfortable feel. Where George had always had rectilinear modern furniture and plain decor, Maria liked patterned fabrics and curved lines and lots of cushions.
Her grey cat Loopy came to greet her, as always, and rubbed her head against Maria’s leg. Julius, the boy cat, was more aloof: he would show up later.