“Well, I checked with Tim Russert,” Eckenrode said. “What would you say if I told you he didn’t remember saying this?” Ordinarily Eckenrode wouldn’t have revealed information from another interview, but his instinct told him to get this out.
Both Libby and Tate looked stunned. Libby hesitated, but then said, “That’s funny. I always knew Tim to be a stand-up guy. We had this conversation, but maybe Tim just doesn’t remember it.”
The news that Russert didn’t support his story could have been a golden opportunity for Libby. He could have said he might have been mistaken; maybe it was some other reporter; his memory was vague. Eckenrode was amazed that Libby kept giving such a detailed, specific account. He had to have known Eckenrode would go to Russert, but perhaps he was counting on Russert to invoke the First Amendment and refuse to answer questions. Libby had emphasized that their conversation was off-the-record–another part of Libby’s story that Russert didn’t mention.
The interview continued, and Libby repeated much of his earlier testimony. There weren’t any significant inconsistencies, but he added some telling details. Libby said that during his conversation with Vice President Cheney on Air Force Two about how to respond to the continuing reports that the vice president was behind the Wilson trip, they had debated whether to tell the press that Wilson’s wife worked for the CIA. But then Libby said he “wasn’t sure” they’d actually discussed that. But he added that at some point he had told the vice president he’d learned about Plame from Russert.
The FBI’s notes from the interview read: “Libby had conversations with V.P. about the wife after July 10. The issue remained around awhile. Libby thinks that he may have mentioned to the V.P., do you want me to get something out on Wilson’s wife? Libby does not recall.”
That meant there was another possible corroborating witness to the Russert conversation–Vice President Cheney. And it was possible Cheney had told Libby to leak Plame’s identity.
Libby also added some nuance to his account of the phone call to
Time
reporter Matt Cooper. Libby said that after reading the on-the-record statement authorized by the vice president, Cooper had asked–off-the-record–about Wilson’s trip. Libby had told him that reporters were saying that Wilson’s wife worked for the CIA, but that he didn’t know that, and it might not be true.
Eckenrode asked Libby to describe a lunch he’d had with White House press secretary Ari Fleischer on July 7. Given that the lunch was the day after Wilson’s op-ed piece, and Fleischer would have been the logical person to lead efforts to counteract it, it seemed highly likely that the two would have discussed it. Libby said he’d asked to have lunch with Fleischer, since Fleischer was leaving his White House post the following week. Libby thought it was “possible” they had discussed Wilson, but that wasn’t the purpose of the lunch. They had mostly talked about Fleischer’s future plans and the Miami Dolphins. Both were fans.
Eckenrode asked specifically–and repeatedly–if he and Fleischer had discussed Wilson’s wife and her status as a CIA officer. Each time Libby said no, he didn’t recall anything like that, and in any event, he couldn’t have discussed it with Fleischer on July 7, since he hadn’t yet learned it from Russert.
The agents also pressed Libby on whether he discussed Wilson’s wife with any other administration officials. Their notes read: “Libby does not recall any conversations with any administration officials concerning the exposure of Wilson’s wife’s identity or employment in the public domain.” And except for Rove, “Libby said he would have only had discussions with the vice president or Cathie Martin concerning Wilson’s wife, but he does not recall the specifics of those conversations.” As for Marc Grossman, Libby said he seldom spoke to him. Eckenrode showed Libby a copy of the INR report containing the discussion of Wilson’s wife, and Libby said he’d never seen it, nor had the vice president, nor had he discussed it with Grossman.
At the end of the interview, the agents gave Libby a copy of a waiver releasing reporters from any promises of confidentiality. Libby signed it and sent a copy to the FBI.
By Thanksgiving, working without subpoenas, Eckenrode and his team had made remarkable progress in what had developed into a complex and sensitive matter that touched the highest levels of the White House, the State Department, and the CIA. They had largely solved the central mystery, which was the identity of Novak’s administration sources. But while the press continued to focus on Novak, the agents had moved on to broader and, in some ways, more important questions: Who else might have violated the protected identities act? Was this part of a broader administration campaign to discredit Wilson? And were the people they had questioned being truthful? Obstruction of justice now loomed as a major threat.
At the center of this dimension of the case was Libby. All indications were that he had concocted an elaborate story that was false in nearly all its most important details. Questioned a second time, confronted with Russert’s response, and given an opportunity to correct any misstatements, he had repeated his story and even elaborated on it. Why? What was he trying to conceal? Nor was Libby the only person the agents suspected of being less than candid. Rove and Armitage had obvious motives to minimize their roles. Fleischer had refused to cooperate. Their net was widening.
Despite their considerable progress, at this juncture Eckenrode recognized that they had pretty much exhausted their leads. Further progress would depend on the power of subpoenas issued by a grand jury. In the case of journalists, a clash over First Amendment privileges loomed. And with the vice president and president, both important witnesses, there were potential issues of executive privilege. These were matters well beyond the powers of the FBI.
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hat fall, James Comey, the U.S. Attorney in New York who made the decision to prosecute Martha Stewart, was nominated to become deputy attorney general. He started commuting to Washington, handing most of his U.S. Attorney duties in New York to his deputy David Kelley. Comey read a thick binder of the FBI’s interview reports, including those on Armitage, Rove, Libby, and Russert. Armitage had already admitted being Novak’s original source, and Rove was a suspect. Comey had two reactions: this was a serious investigation, and it would be increasingly awkward for Attorney General Ashcroft to stay involved. He kept his thoughts to himself.
At the annual conference of U.S. Attorneys, held that year in Philadelphia, Comey pulled aside Patrick Fitzgerald, the U.S. Attorney in Chicago. They’d worked together in New York at the U.S. Attorney’s office and had often sought each other’s advice once they’d become U.S. Attorneys themselves. Fitzgerald was godfather to Comey’s son, and there was no one Comey trusted more; plus, he understood high-profile, politically sensitive cases. Fitzgerald was forty-two, the son of Irish immigrants who’d grown up in Brooklyn. His father worked as a doorman at a Manhattan apartment building. He had been an outstanding student at Regis High School, a prestigious parochial school in Manhattan, and attended Amherst College and Harvard Law School, working as a doorman and a deckhand to help pay his way. He was tall and imposing, but had a boyish look and often-tousled sandy hair.
Fitzgerald had been hired by the then U.S. Attorney Rudolph Giuliani, and during thirteen years as a prosecutor in the Southern District, successfully handled a series of high-profile cases, including a Gambino crime family case and the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. Since arriving in Chicago as U.S. Attorney in 2001, Fitzgerald had investigated then-governor George Ryan, who abandoned a bid for reelection in 2002 and was subsequently convicted of racketeering, bribery, and false statements. Fitzgerald seemed dedicated to his work, so busy that he’d never married.
That afternoon he and Comey stepped outside into a cold rain. Comey swore him to secrecy, then briefed him on the case. Fitzgerald agreed that the investigation put Ashcroft and the department in an awkward situation. Comey said he might want to consult him again before making any decisions.
Later, in December, Comey approached Ashcroft’s chief of staff, David Ayres. “I’m at the point where I feel the attorney general has to get out of the CIA leak case,” Comey said. Ayres seemed shocked. The two went into his office and closed the door. Comey felt awkward. He’d just been confirmed as Ashcroft’s deputy, hardly knew him, and already he was urging him to step aside in the highest-profile investigation in the department. Anything Ashcroft did would be distorted and attacked because of his ties to the administration and especially Rove. Rove had worked on Ashcroft’s U.S. Senate campaign in Missouri. What if he decided not to bring charges against Rove? There would be an uproar. Ashcroft could recuse himself and delegate his authority to Comey. Comey, in turn, would name a special prosecutor. “I’m viewed differently,” Comey said, since he had no political career. “It will be better received.” Even if Ashcroft named a special prosecutor, the choice might be tainted by partisan suspicion.
Comey met with Ashcroft alone to discuss the situation. “Fairly or unfairly, the department cannot credibly make the decision about what to do. My recommendation is that you should step aside and leave it to me.” Ashcroft called in Solicitor General Ted Olson for further advice. They agreed that Ashcroft’s involvement didn’t pose an actual conflict. Indeed, he’d done nothing to impede the investigation of Rove or anyone else in the White House. But they felt the appearance of a conflict amounted to the “extraordinary” circumstances called for in the regulations, and that the public interest would be served. This was especially true if no charges resulted. Ashcroft seemed uncomfortable, concerned that stepping down would be a tacit admission that he shouldn’t have been involved from the beginning. But he agreed.
Just before Christmas, Comey approached Fitzgerald to head the leak investigation, choosing him over two other finalists. Fitzgerald was nonpartisan; even Comey didn’t know his political affiliation, if any (he was not registered with any party). He was thorough and fair. Most important, Comey thought he could credibly close the case without bringing charges. At this juncture Comey was still focused on potential violations of the protected identities act rather than perjury or obstruction. He knew that the language of the statute–actual knowledge that an agent was covert and that the CIA was protecting the agent’s identity–made conviction extremely difficult.
Ashcroft’s decision to step aside and Fitzgerald’s appointment were both announced on December 30, and Fitzgerald spent the New Year’s holiday reading briefing materials.
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itzgerald promptly asked to interview Novak again. After all, he was the source of the investigation, and hadn’t revealed his sources. As before, Novak’s lawyers didn’t want to antagonize the special counsel, nor did they want to litigate a privilege issue they felt sure they would lose, at great personal and financial cost to Novak. They agreed to a meeting. Novak was equally determined not to reveal confidential sources, especially since he’d declared on national TV that to do so would end his career as a journalist.
When Novak arrived at his lawyers’ offices on the afternoon of January 12, two days before his scheduled interview with Fitzgerald, his lawyer James Hamilton dropped a bombshell: Fitzgerald had just told him that he would be bringing two waivers releasing sources from any promise of confidentiality. Richard Armitage and Karl Rove had signed the waivers.
As Novak later described his reaction, the revelation “constituted a shock too severe for a seventy-one-year-old man.” He tried to stay calm.
“They have succeeded in identifying my sources,” he said.
Hamilton warned Novak that efforts to resist testifying would likely fail in the courts and would be costly, both in financial terms and in the resulting opinions likely to damage the scope of a reporter’s privilege. In any event, it was clear Fitzgerald already knew his sources. Novak decided there was no further point in resisting. He would identify Armitage and Rove.
When Fitzgerald arrived for their interview two days later he brought three waivers: Armitage, Rove, and also Bill Harlow, Novak’s source at the CIA. With a flourish he placed them on the table and encouraged Novak to read the waivers. Novak did, and then looked up. He swallowed visibly and looked pale. “Okay, let’s go,” he said.
As he later described it, Novak felt miserable, and declined to discuss conversations with these sources about anything except the leak of Plame’s identity. Eckenrode asked how the meeting with Armitage came about, and initially Novak said no intermediaries were involved. Later he corrected that, saying that Kenneth Duberstein, Reagan’s former deputy chief of staff and now a consultant and confidant of Armitage, had called that week to say that Armitage was “interested” in meeting with Novak. Novak was surprised, since Armitage had never responded to any of his calls before and had given the impression he didn’t like Novak. There was no proposed subject for the interview; Novak said he considered it “wildcatting,” hoping for a scoop but with no agenda in mind. He didn’t take notes or record the interview.
The subsequent FBI notes of the interview indicate that Novak was following the Kristof story, and he asked Armitage why Joe Wilson, “a partisan Democrat and former Clinton official,” would have been dispatched to Africa. Armitage replied, “His wife, Valerie, works in counterproliferation at the CIA and she was the one who suggested to superiors that Wilson make the trip.” Armitage “smiled,” and added, “sounds like typical Evans & Novak, doesn’t it?” Novak had smiled in return. “He assumed he was getting privileged or exclusive information” from Armitage.