Fear: Trump in the White House

by Bob Woodward

  “I realized,” Bannon said later, “I’m the director, he’s the actor.”

  * * *

  Kellyanne Conway had gone to the four-day Democratic convention in Philadelphia in July. She had listened to the speeches, talked to delegates, appeared on television. Her observations shaped her current strategy. “Their message is Donald Trump is bad, and we’re not Donald Trump. The rest of the message was race, gender, LGBT.”

  Conway coined the phrase “the hidden Trump voter.” These were the people who found themselves perplexed by the vote ahead of them, saying, “God, my daddy, my granddaddy and I are all in the union. I’m going to vote for Donald Trump?” Putting a question mark at the end. “I’m going to vote for a billionaire Republican?” Another question mark.

  “And you’d have these women who’d say, you know, I’m pro-choice . . . but I don’t think Roe v. Wade is going to change. But I don’t understand why we can’t afford everyday life anymore, so I’m voting on that.”

  Much of the media did not buy “the hidden Trump voter” line. But Priebus and Walsh’s database gave the RNC and the campaign insight into almost everything about every likely voter—what beer they drank, the make and color of the car they drove, the age and school of their kids, their mortgage status, the cigarettes they smoked. Did they get a hunting license every year? Did they subscribe to gun magazines, or liberal magazines like The New Republic?

  And Conway said, “There’s not a single hidden Hillary voter in the entire country. They’re all out and about.”

  About Clinton, she said, “She doesn’t seem to have a message. Now if I’m her, I’m going to find a message. I’m going to buy a message. And it’s going to be very positive and uplifting and optimistic. All I can see from her so far is not optimism.”

  Clinton had not cracked 50 percent in eight key states that Obama had won twice with over 50 percent. Conway agreed with Bannon that if the Trump campaign could make the race about Hillary, not Trump, they would win with those hidden Trump voters. If the race stayed about Trump, “we’ll probably lose.”

  * * *

  Repeating the impression he’d formed six years earlier when he first met Trump in 2010, Bannon said, “Literally, I’ve got Archie Bunker. . . . He’s Tiberius Gracchus”—the second-century BC Roman populist who advocated transfer of the land from the wealthy patrician landowners to the poor.

  Bannon looked at the schedule—Education Week coming up, then Women’s Empowerment Week. The third week was Small Business Week. It was as if the first George Bush were running in the 1980s. Classic country-club Republican. “Throw this shit out,” he said.

  Bannon suggested a new plan to Jared Kushner. Trump was down double digits in every battleground state. There would be three stages:

  First, the next six weeks, mid-August to September 26, when the first debate with Hillary was scheduled. “If we can get within five to seven points, that can build a bridge to win.”

  Second was the three weeks of debates. This was the period of extreme danger. “He’s so unprepared for the debates,” Bannon said. “She’ll kill him because she’s the best” at debating and policy. Bannon said the way to handle debates was spontaneity. Trump had no problem being unpredictable. “We’re going to call nothing but audibles in these debates. That’s the only thing we’ve got . . . where he can walk around and connect.” Still he was pessimistic. “Look, we’re going to get crushed. . . . We’re going to lose ground here.”

  Third was the final three weeks to election day, from the final debate to November 8. Bannon saw the fundraising by Steve Mnuchin, a Goldman Sachs alumnus and national finance chairman for the campaign, as an inadequate joke. They were going to have to turn to Trump himself. A candidate could spend unlimited amounts of his or her own money.

  Bannon said he had seen data suggesting that Ohio and Iowa could be winnable. Also they had to win Florida and North Carolina. Then Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota could come back to the Republicans. It all seemed like a giant fantasy.

  “This is Götterdämmerung,” the final battle, he said.

  Manafort’s departure was announced on August 19.

  On August 22, Time magazine ran a cover illustration of Trump’s dissolving face headlined: “Meltdown.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  Signs of Russian “reconnoitering,” or digital intrusions as the National Security Agency called them, first appeared in local and state electoral boards’ computerized voter registration rolls—lists of voters’ names and addresses—in the summer of 2015. The first showed up in Illinois, then spread across the country to include 21 states.

  As the NSA and FBI picked up more information on these cyber intrusions, Director of National Intelligence James Clapper worried that Russia might use the data to change or manipulate votes in some way. Is this just Russia, he wondered. The Russians were always trying to make trouble.

  Clapper made sure the initial information was included in Obama’s President’s Daily Brief (PDB), the highest-level top security briefing. Obama read it each day on a preprogrammed iPad, which he returned. Similar iPads were distributed by designated PDB briefers to the secretary of state, the secretary of defense, the national security adviser and the CIA director, although in these cases the briefers remained in the room while the principals read the PDB and then reclaimed the iPads.

  In July of 2016, WikiLeaks and DC Leaks, another site known for releasing hacked government and military materials, began publishing emails taken from a Democratic National Committee server by groups of Russian hackers identified as “Cozy Bear” and “Fancy Bear.”

  Intelligence about Russian meddling caused deep concern in Obama’s National Security Council. Over time, the intel got better and more convincing.

  Should President Obama go on prime-time national television and announce these findings? Would it look like he was attacking Trump, linking the Republican nominee with Russia? Could it backfire and look like he was meddling in the U.S. election, trying to tip the scales?

  To remain silent had its perils: Oh my God, we know about this Russian meddling and we’re not acting, we’re not telling the public? There could be a backlash directed at Obama and his national security team after the election.

  In the very unlikely, almost inconceivable chance that Trump won, and the intelligence became public, the questions would come: What did they know? When did they know it? And what did they do?

  John O. Brennan, director of the CIA, argued vehemently against showing their hand. Brennan was protective of the agency’s human sources. “Now you see the dilemma,” he said, for him personally and the CIA institutionally. The mantra always was PROTECT THE SOURCES. Yet, he wanted to do something.

  Brennan needed to speak to his counterpart, Russian FSB intelligence chief Alexander Bortnikov, about Syria and harassment of U.S. diplomats. He asked Obama if he could raise the election meddling issue with Bortnikov.

  Obama approved the under-the-radar approach.

  On August 4, Brennan told Bortnikov, You’re meddling in our election. We know it. We have it cold.

  Bortnikov flatly denied it.

  The next day, August 5, Mike Morell, who had been deputy CIA director from 2010 to 2013 and twice acting director, published an op-ed in The New York Times. The headline: “I Ran the CIA. Now I’m Endorsing Hillary Clinton.” Morell accused Trump of being “an unwitting agent of the Russian Federation.”

  * * *

  Clapper was chosen to brief the so-called Gang of Eight in Congress—four Republican and Democratic leaders in both the Senate and House plus the four chairmen and vice chairmen of the Senate and House intelligence committees.

  Clapper was stunned by how partisan the leaders were. Republicans disliked everything about the briefing. The Democrats loved every morsel, peppering him with questions about the details and sourcing. He left the briefing dismayed that intelligence was increasingly another political football to kick around.

  By fall
, the intelligence reports showed that Moscow—like almost everyone else—believed that Clinton was likely to win. Russian president Vladimir Putin’s influence campaign shifted strategy to focus on undermining her coming presidency.

  Clapper and Secretary of Homeland Security Jeh Johnson were the most anxious to alert the public to the Russian interference. At 3 p.m. on Friday, October 7, they released a joint statement officially accusing Russia of trying to interfere in the U.S. election, although they didn’t name Putin in the public release.

  “The U.S. intelligence community is confident the Russian government directed the recent compromise of emails from U.S. persons and institutions. These thefts and disclosures are intended to interfere with the U.S. election process. Russia’s senior-most officials are the only ones who could have authorized the activities.”

  Clapper, Johnson and the Clinton campaign expected this to be the big news of the weekend, as did the reporters who began working on the story.

  But one hour later, at 4:05 p.m., David Fahrenthold at The Washington Post released a story headlined, “Trump Recorded Having Extremely Lewd Conversation About Women in 2005.”

  The Post released an audio outtake recording from the NBC show Access Hollywood of Trump bragging crudely about his sexual prowess. He said he could grope and kiss women at will. “When you’re a star, they let you do it,” Trump said. “You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy.”

  The Access Hollywood tape was a political earthquake. The Russia story essentially disappeared.

  “I expected it to be something that would have a lot of currency over the following days,” Jeh Johnson later said. “And that it would be a continuing conversation with more questions from the press.” But the press went “off to the other end of the pasture ’cause of greed and sex and groping.”

  Trump issued a brief statement to the Post: “This was locker-room banter, a private conversation that took place many years ago. Bill Clinton has said far worse to me on the golf course—not even close. I apologize if anyone was offended.”

  Less than a half hour later, at 4:30 p.m., WikiLeaks capped the day’s news by dumping thousands of emails hacked from Clinton campaign chairman John Podesta’s personal account online. They revealed excerpts of Hillary Clinton’s paid speeches to Wall Street financiers, which she had refused to release, Podesta’s emails with campaign staff and correspondence between the Clinton campaign and DNC chair Donna Brazile regarding questions and topics to be raised at upcoming debates and events.

  * * *

  After midnight—and hours of outraged responses to the Access Hollywood tape spreading across the political spectrum—Trump released a videotaped apology: “I’ve never said I’m a perfect person . . . these words don’t reflect who I am. I said it, I was wrong and I apologize. . . . I pledge to be a better man tomorrow, and will never, ever let you down. Let’s be honest. We’re living in the real world. This is nothing more than a distraction. . . . Bill Clinton has actually abused women and Hillary has bullied, attacked, shamed and intimidated his victims. . . . See you at the debate on Sunday.”

  The Trump high command assembled the next morning, Saturday, October 8, in the penthouse of Trump Tower.

  Priebus told Bannon, “The donors are all out. Everybody’s dropped. Paul Ryan’s going to drop this afternoon.” The loss of the money people and the Republican house speaker signaled the end. “It’s over,” Priebus said.

  “What do you mean it’s over?” Bannon said.

  “Everybody’s pulling their endorsements. I don’t even know if Pence is going to be on this thing.” The fastidiously loyal Mike Pence, Trump’s running mate, was doubting.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Bannon replied. “It’s a tape, dude.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Priebus. “It’s over.”

  * * *

  The team gathered in Trump’s residence. Trump sat in his big gold chair.

  “What’s the percentages?” he asked. “Okay, let’s go around. I really want to know, what’s your recommendation? What’s your advice?”

  “You have two choices,” Priebus began. “You either drop out right now or you’re going to lose in the biggest landslide in American history and be humiliated for life. I’m getting crushed. I’ve got every leader, every congressman, every senator, everyone I care about on the Republican National Committee—they’re going crazy. And they’re telling me you’re either going to lose big, in a massive way, or you need to drop out of the race. I can’t make it any better.”

  “Well,” Trump said, “I’m glad we’re starting off on a positive note.”

  “Cut the bullshit,” Bannon said to Priebus. “That’s bullshit.”

  “If you want to do it now,” Priebus continued, “Pence is prepared to step up, and Condi Rice will come in as his VP.” Rice had been national security adviser and secretary of state under George W. Bush.

  “That’s never going to happen,” Bannon said loudly. “That’s ridiculous. Fucking absurd.” In less than two months as campaign CEO they had cut the polling gap in half with endless rallies. Trump was a rock star now.

  New Jersey governor Chris Christie was sitting in sweatpants and ball cap.

  “This is not about the campaign,” Christie said with a note of finality. “That’s over. This is about your brand. You’ve worked your entire life. These kids—” He pointed to Trump’s son Don Jr. and Jared Kushner. “You need to save the brand for them or the brand’s finished.”

  Rudy Giuliani said that Trump now had less than a 50 percent chance of winning. “Basically you’ve got 40 percent.”

  “Do we call 60 Minutes?” Kellyanne Conway asked. She proposed a public confessional. “You can’t do it Sunday because the debate’s on Sunday. . . . Or you call ABC or NBC and have him on the sofa with Ivanka on one side and Melania on the other, basically crying, saying I apologize.”

  Melania Trump had come down and wandered behind the sofa where Conway was proposing they sit. It was clear she was seething.

  “Not doing that,” Melania said in her Slovenian accent, dismissively waving her hand. “No way. No, no, no.”

  Bannon believed she had the most influence with Trump of anyone, that she could discern who was sucking up and who was telling the truth. “Behind the scenes she’s a hammer.”

  “What do you think?” Trump asked Bannon.

  “One hundred percent,” Bannon said.

  “One hundred percent, what?” asked Trump.

  “One hundred percent, metaphysical certitude you’re going to win.” He often declared certainty with 100 percent.

  “Cut the shit,” Trump yelled. “I’m tired of the 100 percent. I need to know what you really think!”

  Priebus didn’t believe the 100 percent, and thought no one in the room did. He saw that Trump was upset with himself.

  “It’s 100 percent,” Bannon repeated. Trump’s words were “locker-room talk.” Your supporters will still be with you. “They are worried about saving their country.” The comparison with Bill Clinton was handy. “We’re going to compare your talk with his action.” Bill Clinton was as much Trump’s opposition as Hillary, perhaps now more than ever.

  “How are we going to do that?” Trump asked.

  “Jared and I reserved the Hilton Hotel ballroom for 8 tonight. We’re going to put it on Facebook and get 1,000 hammerheads”—one of Bannon’s terms for diehard Trump supporters—“in red ball caps. And you’re going to fucking do a rally and attack the media. We’re going to double down. Fuck ’em! Right?”

  Trump seemed delighted.

  The others were opposed. There was a huge fight, but a compromise emerged.

  Conway would call ABC and arrange for David Muir, the ABC anchor, to helicopter in. Giuliani and Christie would write an introduction for Trump and Muir could do a 10-minute interview.

  Political suicide, thought Bannon. This would make the campaign over for sure, and Trump would lose by 20 points.

  He said they
had to let the Hilton know about the rally because they would have to put up cash.

  Priebus said again that Trump just had to drop out. “You guys don’t know what you’re doing. You’re going to go down.”

  Prominent Republicans began to call for Trump to step aside for Mike Pence, who had been making campaign appearances in Ohio. He had gone to ground when the news broke about the Access Hollywood tape.

  Just before 1 p.m., Pence released a statement saying, “As a husband and a father, I was offended by the words and actions described by Donald Trump in the 11-year-old video released yesterday. I do not condone his remarks and cannot defend them. I am grateful that he has expressed remorse and apologized to the American people. We pray for his family and look forward to the opportunity he has to show what is in his heart when he goes before the nation tomorrow night.”

  Stories circulated that Pence had given Bannon a sealed letter urging Trump to drop off the ticket.

  Two hours later, Melania Trump released a statement: “The words my husband used are unacceptable and offensive to me. This does not represent the man that I know. He has the heart and mind of a leader. I hope people will accept his apology, as I have, and focus on the important issues facing our nation and the world.”

  At 3:40 p.m., Trump tweeted, “The media and establishment want me out of the race so badly—I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN! #MAGA”

  Trump took a seat. Preparations for the ABC interview were in motion—it was likely to be a record-breaker. Giuliani and Christie handed a sheet of their suggestions to Trump.

  Trump read: “My language was inappropriate, not acceptable for a president.” It was political speak—not Trump, all Giuliani and Christie. Trump was surly.

  “I can’t do this,” he said. “This is bullshit. This is weak. You guys are weak.”