Still, because of compartmentation, McGregor did not feel she had a handle on what the entire agency was doing. Even though she was cleared for nearly every top-secret program in the agency, getting information out of CIA officials remained extremely difficult. The problem was not so much the higher-level officials, who understood that Webster needed accurate information. Rather, it tended to be the lower-level case officers who gave her a hard time.
The Directorate of Operations is like a wild animal in the woods, a senior lawyer in the agency told John Bellinger.
“You have to stand stock-still and let them sniff you all over before they come to accept you,” he confided.
Slowly, the DO came to accept the assistants.
“I found them all doing their best to get along,” said Clair George, who was deputy director for operations when Webster took over. “I think they did the best they could.”221
If operations officers were taciturn, they also did not understand the need for taking disciplinary action against those who had violated the trust the agency placed in them. After Webster disciplined officers for not telling the truth to the inspector general and the Tower Commission about the agency’s involvement in the Iran-contra scandal, an aide to Clair George visited McGregor in her office at the end of the director’s suite of offices on the seventh floor of the old building. The aide sat down on McGregor’s couch and gave her a stricken look.
“This is the worst day in the history of the DO [Directorate of Operations],” the man said.
McGregor was unsympathetic. It seemed to her that the officer’s thinking was myopic. As he saw it, it was an outrage for the DCI to take action against operations officers. It was demoralizing and devastating to the troops of the clandestine service.
“I can’t believe that you see this as affecting just the DO,” she said. “Look at how some of the actions of the DO have affected the image of the whole agency. The agency is being dragged through the mud by Congress and the media and the administration. It is taking the fall for the whole fiasco.”
To McGregor, the encounter illustrated the extent to which some CIA officials felt loyalty foremost to their own directorate rather than to the agency as a whole.
McGregor also could not understand the criticism she sometimes heard in the building that Webster was anxious to please Congress and the public.
“That is exactly the way it should be,” she thought. “The agency can be responsive to Congress without sacrificing its mission.”
McGregor did not need to fight a lot of battles. She could find the information she needed one way or another. Only rarely did she bother Webster with one of her own problems. He had enough to do, she felt. Often people came to her with problems that they hoped she would pass along to the director. Seldom did she do so. Webster wanted his assistants to be his “eyes and ears,” as he put it, but it was not her job to be a conduit for anything she was told. However, if she felt the complaint was legitimate, she passed it along to Webster or to Gates, then deputy director for Central Intelligence. It was a constant balancing act between acting as a facilitator and acting as an independent analyst.
McGregor had a hand in resurrecting moribund plans to build a day care center for children of agency employees. The idea had originated with Harry E. Fitzwater, a deputy director for administration under Casey. However, without some word that it was important to the director, the plans had been pushed aside. McGregor brought it up with Webster at one of his breakfast meetings with his assistants. He said to go ahead. The Langley Children’s Center opened in its own 10,000-square-foot building in the fall of 1989, with 104 children enrolled.
One of McGregor’s more fascinating projects entailed reading top-secret reports of cases that both the CIA and FBI had been involved in and had screwed up. For example, the CIA had provoked Edward Lee Howard into spying for the Soviets by firing him on the spot. Then the FBI fumbled by letting him slip past bureau agents watching him in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Reading the reports, McGregor saw how each agency justified its own actions.
Webster did not maintain an open-door policy, but certain aides and officials could walk in at will—the deputy director of Central Intelligence, the deputy directors for operations and intelligence, the general counsel, the director of public affairs, Webster’s assistants, and Webster’s secretary. The deputy director had a door that opened directly into Webster’s office. Webster was not used to dealing with a deputy who had as much authority as the deputy does at the CIA. He felt somewhat uncomfortable with the ability of the DDCI to walk in at any moment. But it never bothered him enough to do anything about it.
Webster kept six wooden boxes on his desk and on the credenza behind it. Each was marked with a red plastic label. One was marked “Critical Action” for matters that required his immediate attention. On top of the box rested a black folder that contained personal papers such as party invitations. He received two to three of these a day.
Another box was marked “Signature/Approval” for letters and formal rulings or rule changes that required his approval. Another said “DCI reading” for miscellaneous articles and trip reports.
Webster had a fourth box for material relating to the management and coordination of the intelligence community. A fifth box contained briefing papers and biographical sketches of people he would be seeing at coming meetings. The sixth box contained intelligence estimates and other memos from the Directorate of Intelligence. In all, some two hundred to three hundred of these documents came in from the DI each week.
Despite all the organization, McGregor and the other assistants sometimes left documents requiring immediate action on top of Webster’s desk, or on his chair, to make sure he saw them immediately. Each day, at least one hundred and fifty items came in for his attention.
Because Webster realized his attorney assistants would not be as familiar with the work of the CIA as they were with the FBI’s, Webster appointed an intelligence analyst as his executive assistant to read all the material and keep track of it. If Webster wanted to know the status of an issue, he could turn to the assistant—Paul Pillar—for the answer.
The assistants had access to anything on Webster’s desk and could sit in on almost any meeting. They knew as much about what was going on in the agency as practically anyone. Occasionally, on matters that were extremely sensitive, the DDO walked into Webster’s office and told him privately of a development. At other times, the DDO asked the assistants to leave at the end of a meeting so he could talk with Webster alone.
The assistants made their recommendations on blue note-paper. Even though they carefully reviewed each proposal, Webster insisted on going over them. The assistants were always amazed at how Webster zoomed in on questions they had not addressed. He seemed to have a sixth sense for detecting areas that might prove troublesome.
Just as if he were a judge on the case, after reviewing the recommendations of his assistants, Webster spent eight hours reviewing the case of the purloined stamps within the Office of Security.
“This case is important to every employee in the agency because it gives a clearer picture of what is expected of us,” Webster said in a statement distributed internally. “Public service is a special trust. It is not easy; it is not without temptations.”
In conversation, the assistants found that if they mentioned another document, Webster would invariably ask why he had not seen it. They learned not to refer to other papers unless they had submitted them to him first.
When the assistants made mistakes, Webster could become just as angry at them as at CIA officials. During the Iran-contra hearings, one of the assistants prepared briefing papers that, because of an editing error, contained a sentence that was incorrect. Webster fixed his steely eyes on the man. He told him the work was not acceptable. To the others present, it seemed Webster was embarrassing the man beyond what was necessary.
As a rule, Webster did not socialize with the assistants. They might be invited for his annual Christmas par
ty at his home, or he might chat with them at a social function they had been invited to anyway, but Webster generally kept them separate from his social life. Assistants found that Webster was formal and businesslike at the office but was warm and expansive at home.
One evening at ten, Bellinger decided he would have to call Webster at home with a problem. Bellinger was amazed at how warmly Webster greeted him. Apologetically, he explained why he needed to call at that hour. Webster made it a point to tell Bellinger he had done the right thing in calling.
In May 1988, roughly two years after she had begun working for Webster, McGregor left the CIA to move to Texas, where her husband, Neal Manne, a former chief of staff to Sen. Arlen Specter, had joined a Houston law firm. Despite all the frustrations she had felt, McGregor came away with respect for the CIA and its people. They had an important mission, they worked incredibly long hours, and they were smart and highly competent.222
After leaving the agency, McGregor picked up the Nen York Times on her doorstep. It was then that the realization hit her.
“This is it,” McGregor thought to herself. “No more President’s Daily Brief. No more inside information on pending terrorist threats. There will be no way to judge if an article is true or not. This is all I’m going to know.”
24
X-Rated Chowder
AFTER GEORGE BUSH BECAME PRESIDENT AND ASKED Webster to continue as director of Central Intelligence, rumors began to appear in the press that Webster was about to be replaced. The press reports said Bush only wanted him as an interim DCI until he could get his own man. Sometimes, the reports referred to indifferent work habits. Later in his four-year term, the press reports referred to his inexperience in foreign affairs or to the fact that he was not part of Bush’s policy-making team during the Persian Gulf War.
Usually, the reports were attributed to unnamed White House sources. CIA officials, so good at finding out secrets in other countries, never learned the source of the leaks while Webster was in office.
While some White House officials were dissatisfied with Webster, most of the claims that appeared in the press were myths. After coming to Washington, Webster had quickly grasped the fact that Washington work and social life are intertwined. The best way to avoid being crushed by others envious of one’s power was to keep a high profile on the social circuit and on the tennis courts.
“I have made more real friends in tennis than I have at cocktail parties,” Webster told the Washington Post. “It’s much nicer to get to know people on a tennis court than it is in a hearing room.”223
Webster played tennis with the likes of Mike Wallace; Merv Griffin; Zsa Zsa Gabor; Jack Nelson, the Washington Bureau chief of the Los Angeles Times; William French Smith when he was attorney general; columnist Carl Rowan; Sen. Lloyd Bentsen; and Bush when he was vice president.
While at the FBI, Webster typically played tennis for an hour two or three times a week and on Saturday mornings, usually at St. Alban’s Tennis Club in Washington. It was less time than most people spend going to health clubs before or after work. At the CIA, Webster had to cut back to Saturday and occasionally Wednesday-morning games. Typically, he was at the White House by eight A.M. to brief the president. He left the agency at six-thirty P.M. In the evening, he attended social functions that were often related to the business of the agency. He occasionally came in on Saturdays and kept in touch from home, where he had a safe so he could read classified reports. Peggy Devine, Webster’s executive secretary, usually came in to work when Webster did. Each year, she put in for four hundred hours of overtime—the equivalent of more than two extra months of work.
In fact, Webster’s hours were not that different from Casey’s.
“Bill [Casey] was there by seven forty-five A.M., and he would leave between six and seven-thirty P.M., then go off to one or two things in the evening, and read in bed for one or two hours,” said Herbert Meyer, his former special assistant. “He was there on Saturday until lunch. Then he would play golf.”224
Supreme Court justice John Paul Stevens III played tennis three to four times a week, and no one complained. Likewise, independent counsel Lawrence E. Walsh, the special prosecutor, rarely came into the office before ten A.M. Yet nothing appeared in the press about his hours.
In part, the inconsistent treatment arose from the inherently imperfect way the press operates. In most cases, the media rely on tips and leaks for stories. If no one is motivated to create an issue, a story may never appear. On the other hand, a critical story may appear simply because a reporter happened to meet at a cocktail party someone who felt that night like making a disparaging remark about his boss.
In Webster’s case, the complaints that he was an absentee director flowed from Webster’s style, which was to weigh decisions carefully and if possible, to obtain consensus within the CIA. Sometimes, it took him weeks or months to sign off on a proposal, leading impatient subordinates to question whether he was asleep at the switch, particularly in his first years at the CIA.
“He is not the sort of person to say, ‘I’ve been watching you from afar, and I have forty-seven things for you to do,’” Bruemmer said. “Casey did that. Webster’s approach was to wait and make sure he understood the organization first.
“He is trying to find a way to find a solution that he can then both support and defend in a way that makes everyone say, ‘I understand, although I may not agree.’ He does his decision making based on the principles. It’s a very judicial style. Gather information. Keep an open mind. Think about it. Identify a framework for making a decision. Then decide,” Bruemmer said.225
After his wife died in 1984, Webster went through a period of mourning that affected his work. But during most of his tenure, most of those who worked with him saw a committed, involved manager—not a workaholic, but someone who devoted much more than the normal forty hours a week to the job.
The week of October 28, 1990—chosen at random—was typical of Webster’s schedule at the CIA—a combination of weekly scheduled meetings, special briefings, ceremonies, public relations events, and social events. On Monday, October 29, Webster arrived at the CIA at seven forty-five A.M. and received a briefing on the latest developments in Iraq. At eight-ten A.M., he had breakfast with former DCI Stans field Turner. At nine-fifteen A.M., he talked with college deans who were visiting the agency as part of the CIA’s efforts to expand its college recruiting program. At ten A.M., Webster had his weekly meeting with Richard F. Stolz, the deputy director for operations, and his fifty-five-year-old deputy, Thomas A. Twetten, who later took Stolz’s place.
At eleven-twenty A.M., Webster met with the CIA’s chief of station in Bangkok and his division chief to receive an update on events in the area. Appointments of chief of station or COS are approved by the director. Whenever a chief of station is appointed or leaves his or her post, Webster would meet with him.
At twelve-ten P.M., Webster met with Richard Kerr, the deputy director for Central Intelligence. At twelve-thirty, he had lunch with the college deans and with Joseph R. DeTrani, the CIA’s director of public affairs. At three P.M., Webster met with Theodore Price, then chief of the Counterintelligence Center.
After reading briefing papers, Webster addressed visiting cartography professors at five-thirty P.M. At five after six, he met again with Kerr, then left for a reception given by Nuzhet Kandemir, the Turkish ambassador, to celebrate Turkish National Day. Like most of the events Webster attended at night, this had a dual purpose. Turkey was a strong supporter of the U.S. effort to remove Iraq from Kuwait, and both the CIA and the military had extensive dealings with the Turkish government. In the ensuing weeks, Webster would visit Turkey as well, flying in an Air Force C-141 Starlifter cargo plane outfitted with special communications for his use.
The morning after the reception, Webster met with Bush at eight A.M. at the White House to give him his daily brief. At eight-forty A.M., he arrived at the CIA and had what is known as the executive breakfast. This is a staff meet
ing held every Tuesday with the deputy directors of the agency, their assistants, the heads of each office, and Webster’s assistants—roughly twenty people in all. Because of the need for compartmentation, nothing substantive was usually discussed. Instead, broader issues—such as the penetrations of the American embassy in Moscow—might be on the agenda.
On Wednesday, October 31, Webster arrived at the White House at eight-fifteen A.M., where he briefed National Security Adviser Brent Scowcroft and his then deputy, Robert Gates. At eight-fifty A.M., Webster briefed the president and arrived at the CIA at ten, when he met with representatives of Middle Eastern intelligence services.
That evening, Webster attended a dinner at the Georgetown home of Katharine Graham, chairwoman of the Washington Post Co., to honor Pehr Gyllenhammar, who was retiring as chief executive officer of A.B. Volvo Gothenburg of Sweden.
The next day at one P.M., Webster had his usual weekly luncheon meeting with Secretary of State James A. Baker III and his deputy, Lawrence Eagleburger. At four P.M., Webster met with the intelligence community staff, a meeting he had every Thursday afternoon. This was followed by a meeting with Scowcroft and Gates.
On Friday, November 2, Webster had his usual weekly breakfast at seven-fifty A.M. with Secretary of Defense Richard B. Cheney and his deputies. At eleven-twenty A.M., Webster received a briefing on his forthcoming trip to Hungary and other East European countries.
The following Monday, November 5, Webster arrived at the CIA at seven-fifty A.M. At nine A.M., he had his regular Monday-morning meeting with his special assistants. By then, Webster had decided to operate a leaner office. His own people were in charge, and he trusted the agency more. When John Hotis retired, Webster chose not to replace him. That left only his newest assistant, John B. Bellinger.
Inside the CIA Page 28
