Trump eventually brought up several theories his allies had told him about voting machines being manipulated to skew the count for Biden. Barr listened, but when the president finished, he asked him about how that could physically prove true.
“I think you guys are making a mistake to focus on the machines,” Barr said. “It’s the one theory you have that can easily be blown out of the water, so you’re fighting the wrong battle.”
Barr explained what he, Wray, and other top Justice Department officials had been told in an extensive briefing by the Department of Homeland Security’s election security team. It was nearly impossible to fake the counts on voting machines because they could be easily audited. If there was a mistake, it would quickly be found.
“These are tabulation machines, Mr. President,” Barr said. “You have a stack of paper, they count the paper. You can easily go back and audit every single one because if you had six hundred votes for you and four hundred for Biden, that’s going to show up as the number, and it will correlate to the number of pieces of paper, and that’s what’s going to be shown.”
Trump frowned. He didn’t buy it.
“What the people are saying about the machines is just silly,” Barr said.
Barr told Trump he was willing to have his agents and lawyers jump on every allegation of serious fraud, but so far, he didn’t see any allegation that would move the needle on the final call for any state.
Others in the White House had been worried about the president undermining people’s confidence in the election results. The unsubstantiated claims from various Trump whisperers were multiplying and metastasizing on social media. Kushner and Ivanka Trump had warned the president he might be going too far in attacking the integrity of the vote. Conway had told him, “You’ve got to produce evidence.” Now Barr was indirectly adding his voice to that chorus.
Barr left the White House, as he later told aides, with a cautiously optimistic feeling. He felt Trump would publicly claim he believed the election was stolen but would be okay with accepting the results and moving on. The president surely would resign himself reluctantly to defeat, Barr thought, if he could maintain it wasn’t a “true” defeat.
Around the same time, Trump met separately in the Oval Office with some of his campaign advisers and lawyers, as well as Cipollone and Herschmann. The president wanted to file an election fraud lawsuit directly with the Supreme Court, where conservatives enjoyed a majority after Amy Coney Barrett replaced Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Since he had nominated three of the nine justices, Trump figured the high court owed him. He had a transactional approach to politics and governing.
When Trump asked his lawyers to bring a case to the Supreme Court, some in the room took note when they thought they heard Cipollone say, “Yes, okay.” They were perplexed. Herschmann stressed that neither Trump nor the White House could file a brief at the Supreme Court: They did not fit in the very small category of cases that could go directly to the highest court. “That’s not a thing,” he said. “It’s just not happening.”
A smaller group gathered later in the Cabinet Room, without the president’s company, where Cipollone stressed that of course he would never bless Trump’s idea of fighting the election results in the Supreme Court because it was not possible.
“We all know that,” Cipollone said. “But we’re going to go find some other options to bring him so that we’re not just telling him no.”
Cipollone was protective of his relationship with Trump, even though tensions between them were rising after the election. His predecessor, Don McGahn, had earned the moniker “Mr. No” for quashing Trump’s ideas that were illegal, unethical, or otherwise unsound, often in front of other aides. Trump chafed at McGahn’s frequent nos and ultimately tired of dealing with him. They were barely on speaking terms by the time McGahn resigned nearly two years into the administration.
Cipollone was determined to avoid McGahn’s fate, so when Trump presented wacky ideas he would nod affirmatively, vow to investigate, or say, “Yes, sir.” He didn’t want to shut down the president in front of other people and risk embarrassing and angering him as McGahn had, and he was loath to lay out his advice in large groups. When Cipollone later had a private audience with Trump, he would explain why his idea wouldn’t work. The problem for Cipollone, as another adviser described it, was, “That initial green light got the president’s hopes up. Trump said, ‘I thought you said we could do this and now you say we can’t. What the fuck?’ There was a lot of that.” This adviser added, “It was like giving false hope to somebody, letting them latch on and get attached, and someone snatches it away. That builds anger and resentment over time.”
Like Barr and Milley, Cipollone saw himself as a guardrail, ensuring the president followed the law and protecting the sanctity of an election. He told confidants he had to stay on his toes: He knew Giuliani had unfettered access and would tell Trump whatever he wanted to hear. If he had said no and the president fired or sidelined him, who would be left to counter Giuliani?
* * *
—
In the week of November 9, Hicks tried to wean Trump from his claims of a rigged election. In Trump World, she was considered an A student in the psychology of DJT, as she called him. More than just about anyone in the West Wing, Hicks understood how to manage his moods, appeal to his ego, and steer him away from his darker impulses. Hicks was sometimes unsuccessful, but she knew which buttons to press to have a fighting chance.
Hicks had quietly said to other advisers she thought Trump’s fraud-based challenges were futile, especially after the race was called for Biden, and many of them agreed. Larry Kudlow told colleagues he thought December 14, the date that states were set to certify their electoral college votes, was the drop-dead moment by which Trump should accept the verdict of the voters. They thought it best for Trump to concede gracefully and use his remaining time in office holding events touting his achievements or otherwise burnishing his legacy. But most would not directly confront the president about it. Hicks decided to try.
“Look, sir, I’m sorry,” she said during an election-related meeting that week. “I know everybody in the room is telling you one thing, but I don’t think you’re doing yourself any favors fighting this election. The networks have called it. You’re not going to be able to win it back. There’s no way for you to win.
“I’m sorry that everyone’s telling you you have a chance and you’ve got to keep fighting,” she continued, “but I just don’t want to see you tarnish your legacy.”
“You’re wrong,” Trump told her. “I hear you, but you’re wrong. You don’t know what all’s going on. There’s lots of stuff going on. People are telling me about all the evidence. You’re wrong.”
The two went back and forth about the false conspiracies and baseless allegations the president was hearing from the likes of Giuliani. The massive “dump” of sketchy Biden votes in Wisconsin, the late-night changes in the vote in Pennsylvania when poll observers were barred from watching. Trump insisted this was solid enough evidence to overturn the result.
“Well, then we need to produce the evidence,” Hicks said. “If there’s evidence, I’m open to a discussion about how to do this tactically and strategically. But we’ve got to step up to the plate.”
Trump didn’t want to listen. He tuned out one of his longest-serving advisers, and by Thanksgiving she would pretty much disappear. She would stay on payroll and do some work at the White House but avoided the meetings with the president that normally had filled her days.
* * *
—
On November 13, Trump’s aides were scrambling to gin up some tangible proof to show the public that the president was still engaged in the business of running the country. Reporters had started writing articles questioning whether the president had lost all interest in governing, given that he hadn’t made a public appearance for six days after the election. His work calendar was la
rgely empty.
The White House team came up with the idea for a presidential work session on the new vaccines that were close to winning FDA approval, to show Trump still had his hand on the wheel. They called in Moncef Slaoui, Gus Perna, and Alex Azar to lead a briefing for Trump on the status of the vaccines. The event was closed to the press. Vice President Pence, Marc Short, Paul Mango, Kushner, Brad Smith, and Adam Boehler also joined.
It was a good thing journalists were not invited. Trump began the session by wailing about how the FDA and drug companies had screwed him. He again complained about the timing of Pfizer’s announcement, which Trump believed to be intentional to hurt him in the election. Trump and Meadows had wanted to fire Hahn back in September because he had forced a longer approval process for the emergency use of the vaccines. They were suspicious. By requiring the drug companies to collect sixty days of data from test patients after they got their second vaccine shot, the FDA had set a timeline that would almost certainly delay the drug’s approval until after the election. But the president and his chief of staff had been talked out of removing Hahn, as aides cautioned that firing him—especially before the election—would torpedo confidence in the vaccine and possibly tarnish Trump’s own legacy by diminishing his credit for pushing to deliver a vaccine so quickly.
Still, in this November 13 meeting, Trump sounded like he was ready, willing, and eager to fire the FDA commissioner anyway. As Trump attacked Hahn, his top vaccine advisers again emphasized the need to maintain public confidence in the vaccine. Attacking Hahn, they argued, would be counterproductive. The president eventually switched to attacking the sixty-day guidance Hahn imposed for vaccines. Trump looked over at Azar, complaining that he, too, had supported this guidance.
“Alex, you wanted to get that letter out, though,” Trump said.
“Mr. President, this information was leaked,” Azar said. He said he supported releasing the guidance when that happened. He stressed that it would have been politically foolish to change the time frame after the fact and raise suspicions that the White House was trying to rush the process and or minimize safety.
Slaoui echoed Azar: “We only learned this from the manufacturers, not the FDA.” He said that this problem was “all on Hahn.”
Trump eventually stopped resisting this point, while concluding he had been the ultimate victim. He said his critics would have tried any way they could to undermine his amazing success at getting a vaccine so quickly.
“Even if I got the data before the election, they would have just said it was tainted,” Trump said, sounding satisfied with his summary. “Now they can’t say that.”
The president told the group that he planned to make a Rose Garden announcement that day. He was still steamed at Pfizer. And in what would be his first formal public comments since the election, Trump wanted to remind people he was the reason the vaccines were almost ready.
“I wanna hit Pfizer,” Trump said. “They did this.”
As the group discussed who would speak and in what order, Trump asked, “Where’s Hahn?” He was told the FDA commissioner wasn’t there.
“Okay, good,” Trump said.
Trump pointed at Slaoui’s and Azar’s masks.
“I can’t hear you when you talk through those things,” Trump said. “I hate those things.”
“Mr. President, they work,” Azar said. “The evidence is conclusive that they work.”
He described data showing that at one meter distance between two people both wearing masks, the chance of infection was reduced by 72 percent.
“Really?” Trump asked. He genuinely sounded surprised.
“Yes,” Azar said.
Trump pondered this for a moment.
“Well, just be sure you take it off when you go to the microphone,” he said. “It looks silly.”
Several in the group of public health aides assembled for a news conference exchanged looks. The coronavirus had claimed more than 232,000 U.S. lives. And the president, after months of silencing government scientists, still seemed surprised to hear there was a known way to slow down the march of death.
Eighteen
Strange Rangers
On November 12, eight days after Fox News had enraged President Trump by projecting that Joe Biden would carry Arizona, election officials finished tallying the state’s more than 3.3 million votes. Biden was declared the winner by just over eleven thousand votes. This was only the second time a Democrat had carried Arizona since Harry S. Truman in 1948; the other was Bill Clinton in 1996.
Trump, predictably, was furious. The next day, November 13, Bill Stepien, Jason Miller, Justin Clark, and the campaign’s deputy communications director, Erin Perrine, were in the Cabinet Room going over messaging plans when Dan Scavino interrupted. “Come in here, we’ve got to talk to you,” Scavino said to Clark, one of the campaign’s top lawyers. Clark followed Scavino into the Oval Office, where Trump was talking on speakerphone with Rudy Giuliani about his legal options. Vice President Pence, Pat Cipollone, Johnny McEntee, and others were in the room listening.
“They’re letting you down,” Giuliani told Trump, referring to the campaign’s legal team. “They’re wrong.”
Giuliani zeroed in on the campaign’s strategy in Georgia. “We’ve got to file a suit today in Georgia—today,” Giuliani told Trump.
“Rudy, I’ve got Justin here,” Trump said, motioning to Clark. “Justin, what do you think of this?”
Clark walked the president through the prescribed process in Georgia for recounts and explained that the campaign could not request a recount until after the state’s governor, Republican Brian Kemp, certified the votes. Meanwhile, as Clark explained, the secretary of state, Republican Brad Raffensperger, already had initiated a statewide audit by hand of the more than five million votes cast there.
Giuliani then said that the Dominion voting machines used in Georgia had been rigged so that votes for Trump were somehow deleted. There was no evidence to support this conspiracy theory, but Giuliani spread it to the president as if it were gospel.
“We’ve got to seize the machines,” Giuliani told Trump.
Cipollone interjected. “I think Justin is saying we’re going to know if these voting machines are working or not because they’re doing a hand recount of those paper ballots,” the White House counsel said.
Giuliani, who also argued that ballots had been counted in dead people’s names, snapped. “The audit isn’t going to do anything,” he said. Cipollone rolled his eyes.
Clark, who was standing around the Resolute Desk next to Pence, continued with more details about the audit process and the campaign’s options when Giuliani, still on speakerphone, interrupted again.
“They’re lying to you!” Giuliani told Trump.
“What do you mean lying to him?” Clark asked. “I’m just laying out the process.”
“You’re lying to him,” Giuliani responded.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Rudy,” Clark said.
The conversation devolved from there into a shouting match. Trump just sat in his chair listening. After a few minutes of this, the president ended the call with Giuliani and turned to Clark: “Hey, just try to work with Rudy.” Giuliani, through a spokesman, denied that Clark used an epithet.
Giuliani was not the only close confidant of the president feeding him bogus theories of election fraud. Around this same time, Mark Meadows told Trump that Giuliani’s team had asked him to look into allegations that tens of thousands of unregistered “illegal aliens” may have voted in Arizona, which would have been enough to swing the result to Biden. That got the president all riled up. Professionals on the campaign staff investigated Meadows’s theory. It did not pan out. The vast majority of the voters he was referring to were U.S. citizens living overseas who had cast ballots legally.
“It was very easy for someone to say, ‘Sir, tens of thousands
of illegal immigrants voted,’ but you had to be the voice in the room who, A, isn’t familiar with that, and B, be the bad guy to say, ‘No, that’s actually wrong,’ ” another Trump adviser recalled. “As time wore on, the wild claims began to get louder and it just became so much harder to contain.”
Meanwhile, there were other Trump efforts afoot to influence the outcome in Georgia. On November 13, Lindsey Graham called Raffensperger in what the secretary of state considered a pressure tactic to get him to help overturn the results by improperly tossing out some legally cast ballots. Raffensperger later told Amy Gardner of The Washington Post that Graham had echoed Trump’s unfounded claims that Georgia had numerous voting irregularities. He said Graham questioned Georgia’s signature-matching law and whether political bias could have prompted poll workers to accept ballots with signatures that didn’t match voter registration records. He said Graham also asked him if he had the power to toss out all mail-in ballots for counties found to have higher rates of nonmatching signatures, a suggestion that shocked Raffensperger. Graham denied that he had proposed tossing legally cast votes and claimed he was only trying to understand the signature-matching law and process.
After Giuliani’s argument with Clark, Trump tapped Giuliani to oversee his campaign’s legal strategy and the communications surrounding it. The president called Clark and said, “Rudy’s in charge.”
Clark was disappointed, but knew the president had the right to choose his own lawyer. “That’s fine,” he told Trump. “I’m going to just work on budget and finance on this stuff and make sure no one rips you off.”
Giuliani’s takeover was immediate. He had already rubbed campaign staff the wrong way by barking orders to them, badgering them to book his travel on private jets or to handle his administrative tasks, and making them listen to theories from him or others, including Sidney Powell, the controversial lawyer for Michael Flynn who would become one of the loudest advocates for the rigged-election conspiracy. Jared Kushner grew increasingly frustrated by Giuliani and would complain to colleagues, “Oh, I have to go deal with the mayor. Rudy has all these ideas about where we can go and what we can do.”
I Alone Can Fix It: Donald J. Trump's Catastrophic Final Year Page 41
