Blind Ambition: The End of the Story (28 page)

Bittman must have pulled out all the stops, I thought.

Ehrlichman, ignoring the sentimental aspects, came straight to the point. “Chuck, I don’t want you to get into any specifics with anyone regarding clemency,” he said firmly. “I talked to the President many months ago about this whole problem coming up.” Ehrlichman’s jaw was set as he leaned back. He looked off. “I think it was back in July that I talked to the President about this out in San Clemente, and he told me he didn’t want to talk to anybody about clemency for these Watergate people. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll take this up with the President myself. And, Chuck, I don’t want you to talk to the President about it at all. You understand? You just wait until you hear back from me.”

His words echoed in the room. We all knew the dimensions. Anyone could pay money to the Watergate defendants. Only one man could grant them clemency. I thought, Ehrlichman is shrewd, he’s being protective of the President by insisting that he be the only one to speak with him about it; I wonder will he go the extra mile by not raising the matter with the President, assume the burden himself so that he can fall on his sword if necessary? No, I thought, that’s not the way Ehrlichman operates. He will raise it with the President. In the unlikely event that he needs to protect the President later, he will say he did not.

Ehrlichman, meanwhile, was glancing back and forth intently from Colson to me, telling us with his eyes that he meant business. Colson and I responded with understanding looks, and Chuck finally said, “Okay, I understand. But Bittman told me he wants to hear back as soon as possible about what we can do. So I’ve got to get back to him.”

Ehrlichman nodded, and the meeting ended.

The next morning, January 4, Ehrlichman called me early. “John, I’ve been thinking about this Hunt thing and I think it’s under control. And I’ve asked Brother Kleindienst to come over for lunch today to see if we can’t find some alternative that’ll satisfy Hunt. I’d like you to join us.”

“I’ll be there.”

Jack Caulfield walked in. I hadn’t seen him for several weeks, he was now working in the Treasury Department. He was upset; his eyes were bulging. “Did Fielding tell you about the letter from McCord?” he asked.

The question unleashed an unpleasant recollection I had suppressed in the panic about Hunt. Fred had told me that Caulfield had received a letter from McCord, in which McCord had laid down his threats poetically: “If Helms [CIA Director Richard M. Helms] goes and the Watergate operation is laid at the CIA’s feet, where it does not belong, every tree in the forest will fall. It will be a scorched desert. The whole matter is at the precipice now. Just pass the message that if they want it to blow, they are on exactly the right course.” I had been aware that McCord might be off the reservation, too; furthermore, Paul O’Brien had informed me about McCord’s deteriorating relationship with his lawyer. Hunt and the lawyers, said O’Brien, had planned to blame Watergate on the CIA by convincing “those dumb D.C. jurors that they were watching the Mission Impossible show.” McCord had balked at this. No one knew why. I wondered whether the Agency had reached him.

“Yeah, he told me about the letter,” I told Caulfield despondently.

“When it rains it pours.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Well, here’s the original letter. I don’t understand what the hell Jimmy’s up to, frankly. I met with him last summer, and he was all right then.”

“What were you meeting with him for?” This was news to me.

“Well, I wanted to keep track of him,” Jack sputtered. “I was worried about his family. We’ve got a code system worked out so we can communicate.”

“Well, thanks for this lovely letter, Jack. Let me know if you get any others from your pen pal. And keep in touch, okay? We might need to take some readings on Mr. McCord’s state of mind.”

I went down to the executive mess for lunch with Ehrlichman and Kleindienst. It was a hurried affair. Kleindienst announced that he didn’t have time to eat because he had to rush off to catch a plane.

“Well, Dick, I’ve been thinking about these Watergate defendants,” Ehrlichman said casually, as if the idea had wafted into his mind during late-night reading. “And I just wanted to ask you if there isn’t something we might do. Some way the Department of Justice might recommend that these wayward souls involved in this little caper could be treated with leniency when they’re sentenced. Some sort of official recommendation to the court to assure that they got leniency. What do you think?”

Kleindienst looked surprised, then puzzled, then uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any idea about that, John. I’m no goddam criminal lawyer. But I’ll check with Petersen and let you know.” Now Kleindienst was even more anxious to leave, and he did.

I had just got back to my office when Petersen called. “John, I just rode out to the airport with Kleindienst,” he said, his voice rising. “Let me ask you something. Are you all nuts over there? The government can’t recommend leniency for those guys. That’s stupid. We’d be crucified. I don’t understand what goes through Ehrlichman’s head sometimes. It’s absolutely out of the question. In fact, we’re going to do just the opposite. We’re going to recommend that the book be thrown at them. And then we’re going to take them all back before the grand jury, immunize them, and try to force them to talk. That’s what we’re going to do. We don’t have any choice. And that’s what I told Dick, and he told me to tell Ehrlichman.”

“Uh, Henry, I don’t think it’s necessary for you to come over and deliver that message. I’ll pass it along.”

I called Ehrlichman and told him. The thought of the defendants going back into the grand-jury room broke one more thin straw I had been grasping—that all we needed was to get through the trial. “What do you want to do about Chuck?” I asked.

“I’ve already talked to him.”

“You have?” I was incredulous. Ehrlichman had actually anticipated Petersen’s response, I figured, and had acted accordingly. Still, it struck me as extraordinary that he had done anything before he absolutely had to.

“Yeah, he’s going to meet with Bittman. Chuck’s got him a plan.”

I went home with all sorts of visions about the Colson-Bittman meeting. The next morning, Bud Krogh walked in. I had long since learned to spot the “Watergate look” on people’s faces, and Bud had a bad case.

“I’ve got a problem, John,” he said tersely. “Gordon Liddy called and wants to talk to me.”

“That’s great, Bud. Why don’t we just have a convention of all the goddam defendants over in the Roosevelt Room? We can clear the air. Have a nice lunch and a few toasts.” I stopped short, realizing that Bud and I were talking at the same time. This news was a turn of the screw. Hunt and McCord were bad enough, but I had never had any personal dealings with them. If Liddy cracked, he could hit straight at me. I wasn’t sure I could bear taking Bud on as a new client in the cover-up. The Ellsberg break-in had been safely buried a long time ago.

“Now, wait a minute,” Bud stammered. “I’m not sure it’s all that bad. Apparently the Senate Commerce Committee staff has been trying to question Liddy about his work with me. They want to talk to him before my confirmation hearings. I think that’s what Gordon wants to talk to me about, but I can’t be sure. The thing is, I want to be able to testify that I haven’t talked to Liddy since he left the White House a year ago. I think that’s important. But at the same time, I sure don’t want to piss Liddy off by refusing to talk to him. I don’t know what to do. What do you think?”

My spirits rose slightly at the thought that there was a benign explanation for Liddy’s call to Krogh. We decided that Bud’s secretary should call Liddy. She should be extremely cordial in explaining that Bud couldn’t speak personally with Liddy because of the upcoming hearings. At the same time, she should say that Bud hoped Liddy could avoid the Senate investigators altogether. Bud could be hurt by anything Liddy might say or refuse to say about him.

Colson called me in the afternoon for another meeting with Ehrlichman. I was astonished when I found him in almost a festive mood. He seemed pleased with himself and was carrying a stack of his normal work papers under his arm. “Well, I think things are coming out all right,” he reported confidently. “I had Bittman over to my office, and I’ve given him the assurances that I think’ll take care of Hunt. But I assure you, John, I didn’t give him any hard commitment. I don’t think this is going to cause any problem for anybody.”

Ehrlichman, as usual, was not taking Chuck’s enthusiasm at face value. “What exactly did you tell him?” he asked.

“I told him he could tell Hunt that he indeed had a good friend here at the White House. Me. And then I offered to take care of his children if he went off to prison. I said I would take them into my own home and take care of them like my own. Then I told Bittman I understood it was natural that no man wanted to go to jail. And while I couldn’t give any hard commitment, I looked at him square in the eye and said, ‘You know, a year is a long time. And clemency is something that’s generally considered around Christmas time here at the White House.’ Bittman was reading me.”

“That’s fine,” said Ehrlichman, who rarely offered compliments. Colson had conveyed the message clearly but indirectly. He had never mentioned the President’s name.

“You think Hunt’s going to plead now?” I asked Colson.

“Yep.” We shared a satisfied pause.

I turned to Ehrlichman. “John, there’s one other thing. I think we should assume the word will get out from Hunt to the other defendants that he has some sort of clemency. They’re going to want the same thing. McCord’s already making threatening noises. Even Liddy might be shaky. What are we going to do with the other guys?”

“Well, I think we should be fair about this,” Ehrlichman said. “We’ll give them the same assurances in the same way, if necessary.”

Colson and I walked together from the West Wing to our offices in the EOB. On the way he stopped me, looked around to make sure there was no one approaching, and confided, “John, I want to tell you something. Listen, Howard Hunt is a friend of mine. And I decided I couldn’t give him any assurances unless I thought I could back them up. This is too serious. So I felt this was something I had to take up with the President himself. To make sure I was on firm ground. And I did. I talked to him, despite what Ehrlichman said. I thought I had to.”

Chuck was fishing for approval. “I understand,” I said. He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned on it a little as he pivoted to head toward the EOB entrance. As we walked in I listened to the lawyer in me tell me that this act alone put the President directly into the cover-up.

I had scarcely sat down at my desk when Bud Krogh arrived with a report of his secretary’s conversation with Liddy. He was distressed. Liddy had been rather abrupt with her and was upset that Bud had refused to talk to him. Bud asked me if I would call Liddy to soothe him. I said I would have to think that one over.

The next morning, Saturday, I paced about my kitchen, debating whether to make the call. Finally I did. “Gordon, I think you’ll recognize who this is when you hear the message I have to pass on to you,” I said guardedly. I was afraid there might be a tap on Liddy’s home phone. “I just wanted to tell you that Bud is very sorry he can’t talk to you right now. It’s the timing. He’s worried that any conversation now might cause him a problem in his confirmation hearings. I just wanted you to know that’s the only reason he didn’t return your call.”

“I understand perfectly, John,” Liddy replied. “That doesn’t bother me. But I want to say one thing, John, and I hope you don’t take it the wrong way. My attorney hasn’t been paid, and that’s unfair to him. I don’t want any money for myself. But I’ve got to be able to pay my lawyer.”

“I understand, Gordon. I’ll pass that along,” I said, anxious to get off the phone. I told him I wished him well at his trial. I felt small.

Two days later the Watergate trial began, with Judge Sirica presiding. I watched the papers, wondering whether this new public exposure could conceivably make the cover-up any more harrowing than it had been during the past two months. My reserves were running low. I felt ground down.

The trial went as we expected. Hunt pleaded guilty and assured the court he knew of no “higher-ups” involved in the break-in. The press and TV enthusiastically reported Judge Sirica’s open skepticism, but it didn’t lead to anything. We figured we could weather skepticism as long as no one got a hook into Magruder or Mitchell or any of a dozen “principals” who could rip the cover-up apart.

Then, one week into the trial,
New York Times
reporter Seymour Hersh wrote a front-page story alleging that at least four of the defendants were being paid for their silence. LaRue, O’Brien, Mitchell, Ehrlichman, Haldeman, and I exchanged a blitz of phone calls to find out who had leaked this story. We settled on Henry Rothblatt, the attorney for the four Florida defendants. We knew Rothblatt was strongly resisting his clients’ desire to follow Hunt’s lead and plead guilty. We were relieved when they fired him and pleaded guilty anyway, assuring Judge Sirica in open court that they had been paid no money by anyone for anything.

The “hush money” story vanished, but it gave me a foretaste of the panic that would follow if any investigators ever touched this rawest nerve of the cover-up. If, in fact, they ever focused attention on what had happened after the break-in instead of before.