Rosenstein was dumbfounded. The memo was a critical piece of evidence for investigators, but instead of giving it to the Justice Department, Comey had directed that it be publicized in the press. “Why would Comey do that?” Rosenstein asked McCabe that night. Rosenstein thought to himself, “Why didn’t anyone tell me the FBI director was keeping a book on the president?”
Rosenstein realized Comey’s memo changed the landscape. He rationalized that he would name a special counsel only if he were confident that that man or woman could do a better job leading the Russia investigation than the FBI’s career investigators on the team known as Crossfire Hurricane. It had to be someone who understood national security and cyber warfare, someone with unimpeachable credibility, deft management skills, and absolute discretion. In Rosenstein’s estimation, there was only one person who fit the bill. So he called Robert Mueller.
Five
THE G-MAN COMETH
President Trump was deep into his search for a new FBI director on May 16, 2017, when a stone-faced, central-casting G-man was secretly escorted into the White House. Robert Mueller had the kind of law-and-order credentials and don’t-mess-with-me look that Trump prized: champion athlete, Princeton grad, Marine Corps platoon leader, federal prosecutor, FBI director through the first twelve years of the war on terrorism, chiseled jaw, neatly cropped silver hair, and permanent glower.
A living legend in the law enforcement community, Mueller, seventy-two, was now finally in a kind of semiretirement in private practice at WilmerHale, one of Washington’s most prestigious firms. He made clear to Trump’s advisers that he had no interest in returning to the FBI, which he directed for two years longer than the standard ten years at President Obama’s request, before retiring in 2013. But Attorney General Jeff Sessions had urged him to meet with the president nevertheless.
The plan was simple: Get Mueller to explain the modern FBI to Trump—its evolution from helping put mob bosses in jail to spotting terror cells before they could strike—as well as to emphasize its historically important political independence. Trump advisers figured the president might be drawn to Mueller’s résumé and therefore internalize his points. Maybe then Trump would have a better idea of who should succeed James Comey as FBI director and, importantly, restrain himself from improper interference.
Mueller arrived in the West Wing through a back entrance, so as not to be spotted by the media. He was intimidating. He stepped toward Steve Bannon, who was going over an unrelated task with communications adviser Hope Hicks just outside the Oval Office, and extended his hand to introduce himself. “Hey, Steve, Bob Mueller,” he said.
Mueller made a friendly aside about their shared background in the military. “I can’t believe a member of the senior naval service allowed his daughter to matriculate at West Point,” Mueller told Bannon, who had been an officer in the navy. Bannon was surprised and impressed that Mueller knew where one of his daughters, Maureen, was in college. “Here’s the bad news,” Bannon said. “She actually was recruited by the Naval Academy.”
They both laughed and talked a bit longer, but Bannon couldn’t help feeling distracted, even a little spooked. He thought about how much homework Mueller must have done to study up on a Trump aide he wasn’t even scheduled to meet. “This guy is so fucking good to do the research,” Bannon thought to himself.
The curved door of the Oval Office opened, and Mueller was waved inside to meet Trump. Joining them were Sessions, Rod Rosenstein, and Don McGahn. Mueller tried to explain that he wasn’t interested in becoming FBI director again, but Trump seemed to be the only person in the room who didn’t catch on to the fact that this wasn’t a real job interview.
There was something else Trump didn’t know. Rosenstein had privately called Mueller the previous week and asked him to consider taking the job of special counsel if Rosenstein decided to appoint one. Rosenstein had told Mueller that he hadn’t yet decided, and Mueller had been courteous but noncommittal, giving Rosenstein neither a yes nor a no.
Normally, aides could count on Trump lighting up in the presence of someone with Mueller’s pedigree, but his body language—crossed arms, a mildly bored expression—revealed he wasn’t taking a shine to the former FBI director. Trump puffed himself up, eager to impress, but Mueller had a taciturn and nonplussed demeanor, the look of a man trying to be polite but biting his tongue. During their session lasting less than an hour, Mueller made no effort to praise the man sitting behind the Resolute Desk.
* * *
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The next day, May 17, Trump delivered a commencement address at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy. Families and faculty gathered to celebrate a transformative milestone of young lives, but the president vented to the graduates about his personal pain. “No politician in history—and I say this with great surety—has been treated worse or more unfairly,” he said.
Back in Washington that afternoon, Trump had another raft of interviews with FBI director candidates. Vice President Pence, Sessions, Rosenstein, and McGahn, along with a few other aides, were typically present for these sessions. They would brief Trump on each person’s background and confer with him between each interview, to see what he had thought of the candidate who had just come through. Rosenstein took a special interest in the process and was proud to have lassoed top-notch contenders. But after the first interview that afternoon, McGahn noticed that someone was missing.
“Where’s Rod?” McGahn asked.
“I haven’t seen him all day,” replied Jody Hunt, chief of staff to Sessions.
They continued with the next interview, but a few minutes into the session an aide peeked her head into the Oval to tell McGahn he had an important call. The White House counsel ducked out and picked up the line.
“It’s Rod,” the voice on the phone said.
McGahn was relieved. “Hey, we’re interviewing FBI directors over here,” he told Rosenstein. “Where are you?”
“I gotta tell you something,” the deputy attorney general said. “I just appointed a special counsel to oversee the Russia investigation.”
McGahn was surprised. He felt as if a flash from a camera had gone off in his face and closed his eyes.
“What?” McGahn said, trying to get some purchase. “You did what?”
Rosenstein repeated himself.
McGahn inhaled and exhaled slowly, thinking of all this would mean.
“Okay, Rod,” he said, regaining his composure. “Got it. How much time do I have?”
Rosenstein told McGahn he had a few hours. “This won’t be public right away,” he said.
McGahn returned to the Oval and the interview in progress. His brain was working so fast on this new development he barely processed anything the candidate or Trump said. He couldn’t wait for it to end. In the meantime, an aide poked her head in to say there was someone waiting on the line for Sessions. The attorney general stepped out of the room. Rosenstein delivered the same news he had just given McGahn.