Bob Woodward

by State of Denial (lit)

  Marks was still asking for help on the WMD list and site folders, and on the teams that would have to do something about the weapons during and after war. He routinely questioned the validity of using only technical methods of looking at the suspected WMD sites. He wanted to increase what he called the Fingerspitzengefühl—German for an instinctive sense and understanding—of Iraq, through human collection. But it was too late to develop human sources, and the CIA and DIA had almost none inside Iraq.

  Marks tried to energize the DIA back in Washington, with little success.

  I can't get DIA to move, he told General McKiernan one day. You need to fire me.

  McKiernan wouldn't hear of it. Marks was eventually even more direct.

  Sir, I can't confirm what's inside any of these sites, he said. He amplified his concern about a particular site on the list, a suspected chemical production plant. There is no confirming intelligence that that's what it does. It's labeled as such and it's got a bunch of signs on it that we can see from overhead imagery, and we've got some architectural designs and that's what it's designed to do. But I can't confirm that that's what it's doing today in the Year of Our Lord 2002.

  Got it, McKiernan replied. Let's move on.

  Marks took that as further reinforcement that it was up to him to solve the problem. Top military officers like Marks were trained to be can-do people. Can't was a word not to be uttered. He was in the solutions business, not the whining business or the excuses business. The boss was busy and had his own problems. It was almost a principle of Army leadership, and Marks developed a motto: Don't visit your personal hell on your boss. His deputy, Colonel Rotkoff, heard it so often he recorded it in his diary as a classic Spider Marks catchphrase: Don't share your personal hell.

  Monday was always the scariest day of the week for Colonel Rotkoff in Kuwait. Like nearly everyone else, he spent days at a time wearing his charcoal-lined chemical weapons defense jumpsuit. A nylon pouch containing a gas mask and hood was strapped to his leg for ready use. Even the lighter, more modern version of the suit, called a J-LIST, was uncomfortable and awkward. Still, he was scared half to death each time he took it off.

  Monday was the one day that Rotkoff could find 15 minutes in his schedule to shower. Every time he did, he was sure that would be when Saddam would attack with chemical or biological weapons. Saddam had fired 88 Scud missiles, with a range of several hundred miles, at American troops in the first Gulf War and 39 more at Israel in an attempt to goad that nation into the fight and fracture the U.S.-Arab coalition that existed at the time. Now, everyone expected he would attack again, only this time he would top the Scuds with chemical or biological warheads. Everyone absolutely knew it was coming.

  Day after day, WMD scares provided inspiration for the haiku Rotkoff wrote in his diary:

  Anthrax + smallpox

  Gas masks, J-Lists at all times

  Scary being here

  Yikes—SCUD exercise

  Mask four hours avoiding work

  Sweat pours down my face

  This is not a drill...

  Mask + chem suit on quickly

  Try not to panic

  That was the visceral reaction, but the continuing problem was that there was a real absence of convincing intelligence.

  They were every morning getting up and putting on their chemical suits, Rumsfeld later recalled. Not for the heck of it, because they were worried about having their troops killed by chemical weapons. We never—none of us ever believed that they had nuclear weapons. The only real worry that we had was chemical.

  The full written version of the Iraq war plan, called Op Plan 1003 V, included an annex devoted to the task of WMD exploitation. That was the good news, Marks thought. The bad news was that there had never actually been a military unit assigned to the task. This was the operational problem Marks had been grappling with for months, since his first visit with the DIA smart guys at the Pentagon in October.

  After much wrangling, Franks's Central Command agreed to assign the job to a battalion, designated the Sensitive Site Exploitation Task Force. But a battalion was a small force of several hundred, and the lieutenant colonel in command was a relatively low-ranking officer to lead the mission, given that weapons of mass destruction were the most often cited reason for war. It seemed odd to Marks, even negligent. There is no more important or critical mission for the nation, he wrote in his diary at the time, DOD keeps wire brushing us/pushing back on our requests—Incredible!

  He searched for a larger unit, and in December 2002 he worked out a solution with a general at the Army's III Corps at Fort Sill in Oklahoma.

  You've got an artillery brigade coming over here, Marks said. We're thinking about having them leave their big guns at home and come over here to handle the WMD instead. The brigade, about 400 people strong, was commanded by a stocky colonel named Richard McPhee. It was soon rechristened the 75th Exploitation Task Force and given the job of finding the WMD once the U.S. forces entered Iraq. It was what the military called a field expedient solution, making do with what they had. Finally, at least, somebody was assigned to the WMD job.

  At the Pentagon, on Thursday, December 5, 2002, in the middle of the most intense invasion planning for Iraq, Steve Herbits walked into Rumsfeld's office.

  You're not going to be happy with what I'm going to tell you, he said, but you are in the unique position of being the sole person who could lose the president's reelection for him if you don't get something straightened out.

  Rumsfeld flushed.

  Herbits continued. Now that I've got your attention, you have got to focus on the post-Iraq planning. It is so screwed up. We will not be able to win the peace.

  Later I asked Rumsfeld if he recalled the conversation with Herbits. No, Rumsfeld said. Doesn't mean it didn't happen.

  Rumsfeld was under instructions from President Bush to oversee a massive deployment of hundreds of thousands of U.S. forces to the region around Iraq without telegraphing to the world and Saddam Hussein that war was inevitable. The president was still engaged in United Nations diplomacy. So Rumsfeld personally took charge of the mobilization and deployment system called the TPFDD (pronounced TIP-fid) for Time-Phased Force and Deployment Data. He believed he had lifted a big rock and found a system that was totally screwed up. Soon he was personally deciding which units would deploy and when. It was an extraordinary degree of micromanagement that frustrated and enraged the military.

  Herbits warned Rumsfeld that policy undersecretary Feith was screwing up. The fighting between State and Defense was so bad that interagency meetings were at times little more than shouting matches. Postwar planning was so fiercely off track that it required the secretary's personal intervention.

  Rumsfeld didn't say much but soon called one of his surprise Saturday meetings with Feith and others involved.

  What's going on here? he asked. We've got to get this on track.

  In early January 2003, Marine Commandant General Jones was alone with Rumsfeld in his office. Jones had declined to be interviewed for the JCS chairmanship 18 months earlier, but Rumsfeld was now giving him another important four-star post—the dual assignment of both NATO supreme allied commander and U.S. combatant commander for Europe.

  Rumsfeld's ruminations turned to life in Iraq after the battle. Saddam Hussein had effectively and brutally sealed off the country. What was it like there? What were the people really thinking and doing? It was hard, Rumsfeld mused to Jones, to find anyone anywhere who really knew something about Iraq, who knew facts.

  I worked for someone who is a hero in Kurdistan, Jones said, referring to the northern Iraqi region. Jay Garner.

  I know him! Rumsfeld said, bolting up at the mention of Garner's name. Garner had worked on Rumsfeld's space commission during the Clinton administration.

  Garner, a retired three-star Army general, had led Operation Provide Comfort after the 1991 Gulf War, coming to the rescue of thousands of ethnic Kurds in northern Iraq. Over the years Provide Comf
ort had become the gold standard of military humanitarian missions.

  Jones explained that as a colonel, he had commanded the contingent of 2,200 Marines assigned to Provide Comfort. Garner deserved the lion's share of the credit for the operation's success, he said, setting up critical water purification systems and providing other humanitarian assistance. Overall, Garner was in charge of a U.S.-led force of 20,000 troops who systematically drove Saddam's forces from northern Iraq. Finally, one Sunday morning in 1991, Colin Powell, then chairman of the JCS, had drawn a line on a map establishing a southern Kurdistan border.

  After Provide Comfort, the Kurds in northern Iraq set up a semi-autonomous enclave. They were regularly threatened by Saddam, but they were also a real thorn in his side and a conspicuous exception to his iron rule.

  Provide Comfort was considered a great success for another important reason: Garner and the U.S.-led forces had done their job and come home in a matter of months.

  Garner's name lodged in Rumsfeld's mind. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He told Feith he had decided on Garner to head a postwar office.

  On Thursday, January 9, Garner, then the head of a division of L-3, a multibillion-dollar defense contractor specializing in high-technology surveillance, intelligence and reconnaissance equipment, was in New York for a company meeting. He picked up an incoming call on his cell phone from Feith's policy office at the Pentagon.

  We want to talk to you. Can you come over? asked Ron Yaggi, an Air Force one-star general who was Feith's military assistant.

  What do you want to talk about? Garner asked.

  It's a little sensitive on the phone, Yaggi said.

  Look, General, Garner said a little irritably. This is the only way we're going to talk about it. Age 64, an intense, 5-foot-7 fireplug of a man, Garner had retired from the Army half a dozen years earlier after 33 years of service, including two tours in Vietnam.

  We're putting together an organization to do some postwar work. I'm sure you know where it is, Yaggi explained, trying to be cryptic on the nonsecure phone line. We'd like for you to run that, at least to put it together.

  Yaggi explained that Garner would set the organization up, but he might not go with it into Iraq after combat operations. Garner got the impression that he might not remain the senior civilian once things really got going.

  I probably can't do this, Garner said. I'm running a company with over 1,000 people in it and they depend on me and I just can't take off like that.

  The following Monday, January 13, Feith called Garner. The secretary of defense said to tell you that if you turn this job down you have to come in and personally explain it.

  Neither man had to state the obvious: It would be almost unthinkable for someone in Garner's business position, dependent on Pentagon contracts, to refuse the secretary of defense. Retired officers working for major defense contractors were in a kind of unofficial standby reserve for special assignments. To no one's astonishment, the CEO of L-3 found it possible to grant a leave of absence.

  By the end of June, I'll be home, Garner promised Connie, his wife of more than 40 years. I'll be home for our Fourth of July cookout. *

  That same day, January 13, President Bush summoned Secretary of State Colin Powell for a 12-minute Oval Office meeting to say he had decided on war with Iraq.

  You're sure? asked Powell.

  Bush said he was.

  You understand the consequences, Powell offered in a half question. For nearly six months, Powell had been hammering on the theme of the complexity of governing Iraq after the war. You know that you're going to be owning this place?

  Bush said he realized that.

  Are you with me on this? the president asked his secretary of state. I think I have to do this. I want you with me.

  I'm with you, Mr. President, Powell replied.

  In case there was any doubt—and there really couldn't be any for Powell, the good, obedient soldier—the president explicitly told the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs: Time to put your war uniform on.

  The president very reluctantly confirmed to me that he had asked Powell directly for his support but added testily a rather obvious point. I didn't need his permission.

  The director of Middle East affairs on the National Security Council staff, Elliott Abrams, was one of the most controversial, driven, hard-line conservatives. During the Reagan administration he had been

  * From documents, talking points, chronologies, letters, transcripts, his personal notes and the notes of his executive assistant, Garner's role is presented here in detail and at length because he was the first person given full-time responsibility for postwar Iraq. This is the most complete, documented account of his experience yet available, as he decided not to write his own book or speak to others at such length. Garner was interviewed extensively on the record on September 19, 2005, October 16, 2005, December 13, 2005, and April 22, 2006. Members of his postwar planning office were also interviewed and some supplied additional documents and notes.

  the assistant secretary of state and had avidly and energetically supported the covert CIA war in Nicaragua. He pled guilty to withholding information from Congress in the Iran-contra affair. Bush senior pardoned him in 1992.

  Rice had brought Abrams to the NSC, where he was a workhorse. He was assigned the humanitarian relief account for Iraq. For months Abrams had been working with General Franks's Central Command, drawing up elaborate no-strike lists and trying to keep Iraqi hospitals, water plants and electrical grids from being bombed when the war started.

  On January 15, two days after Bush informed Powell it would be war, the president met with the NSC for a secret Abrams presentation on the plans for humanitarian relief. Two months before the war would start, the president received his first major briefing on postwar plans.

  War might displace two million Iraqis, Abrams said. The U.S. was stockpiling food, tents and water. Money had to be moved quietly to United Nations agencies and other nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) so they would be ready.

  Abrams said that the precise number of refugees and displaced persons would be determined by interethnic tensions among the Kurds, Shiites and Sunnis, the level of violence and reprisals, and weapons of mass destruction—whether they were used or even if people just thought they might be. One PowerPoint slide explained how Saddam might blow up dams and flood parts of the country. In all it was not a pretty picture, a disturbing forecast for possibly one of the worst humanitarian crises of recent times.

  This is an opportunity to change the image of the United States, Bush told the war cabinet. He saw a public relations opportunity. We need to make the most of these humanitarian aid efforts in our public diplomacy. I want to build surge capability. He began issuing orders. I want loaded ships ready to provide food and relief supplies so we can go in very promptly. Then he added, There are a lot of things that could go wrong, but not for want of planning.

  Garner, who was about to take over the postwar humanitarian mission, had not been invited to Abrams's presentation. The next day, he sat with both Rumsfeld and Feith at a little table in Rumsfeld's office.

  Look, Jay, Rumsfeld began, regardless of what you're told, there's been an awful lot of planning throughout the government for this. But it had all been done in the vertical stovepipe of each of the federal agencies, including the Defense Department. I recommend that you try to horizontally connect the plans and find out what the problems are and work on those problems and anything else you find.

  Feith was very upset with the aftermath of the Afghanistan War of 2001-02. He thought the State Department—which he at times called the Department of Nice —had botched it by not stabilizing the country fast enough. He wanted the Pentagon to have control of postwar Iraq until State could stand up an embassy. Until then, State would be subordinate to Defense.

  Garner was worried about the lack of time. In World War II, Garner told Rumsfeld, the United States had started planning for postwar Europe years befor
e the war ended. You're taking on this problem to solve what will need a solution in somewhere between five and 10 weeks.

  I know, Rumsfeld said. We'll get somewhere. We'll get somewhere on this. Just maximize the time available.

  Frank Miller, a 22-year veteran of the Pentagon bureaucracy who had served under seven secretaries of defense in some of the most sensitive and senior civilian positions, was now working for Rice as the NSC's senior director for defense. He headed the Executive Steering Group, which was to coordinate the Iraq issues among the different federal agencies. Heavyset with glasses, Miller was the kind of serious, invisible middle manager who can make an organization work, the equivalent of a timing belt in an automobile engine: vital, but barely noticed until gone.

  By the start of 2003, Miller felt that Rumsfeld had made his job almost impossible. There was constant tension between the NSC and Rumsfeld's Pentagon, and Rumsfeld went to extra lengths to keep control of information. Often, when Rumsfeld came to the White House with General Franks to brief the president and the NSC and some of the staff on the Iraq invasion plans, he would see that the slides and handouts were distributed just before the meeting, and taken back immediately after. Sometimes there would be a handout for the president with 140 pages, and the lesser beings like Miller would be allowed to see only 40 of them. On one occasion, Rumsfeld came for a meeting without enough briefing packets for all the principals, so Rice wound up looking on with the person next to her. It was all so petty. Miller and a few others allowed in the meeting would scramble, trying furiously to write down the important points.

  Sometimes, Rumsfeld would point across the room in the middle of a briefing. People shouldn't be taking notes, he scolded. People should not be taking notes in here.

  It was absolutely crazy, Miller thought. How could he advise Rice and Hadley or the president if he couldn't keep notes on information from the Pentagon? Miller had handled the most sensitive nuclear war plans issues for Cheney when he was defense secretary, and had been awarded the Defense Department's highest civilian award, the Defense Distinguished Civilian Service Medal, five times. He was deeply insulted that Rumsfeld would treat him and others from the NSC staff like third-class citizens of dubious loyalty, sometimes not even acknowledging their presence. Besides, he thought, it was self-defeating. Weren't they all on the same side?