JANUARY 20 WAS the 444th day of the Iran hostage crisis, and Inman was still on watch relaying information on the final Iranian delay directly to President Carter, who was en route to the inaugural. Finally, just after 12:30 P.M., a half hour after Reagan assumed the presidency, the two planes with the hostages aboard left Mehrabad Airport in Tehran.
The next day Casey arranged for the President to call Admiral Inman. When the call came, Inman figured there was a script. Reagan’s tone was light, almost playful, as he explained that Casey and everyone else in the intelligence community wanted Inman as the deputy DCI. Then came the killer line: “I need you,” the Commander in Chief said with practiced sincerity.
Government service had its rewards, military service its expectations and protocols; but presidential service at the President’s personal request had a singular mystique. Inman found himself saying, “I would be honored.” He added that he hoped eighteen months to two years would be enough. Please.
That same day, January 21, 1981, the first full day of the Reagan Administration, Casey singled out one other important piece of personnel business. If Inman was all intelligence insider, Casey wanted someone who was equally an outsider. Organization-building demanded variety. Casey had identified the person who was the polar opposite to Inman. He was the “Who-gul” Casey had mentioned several weeks earlier to John Bross.
Max C. Hugel, a fifty-six-year-old Brooklyn-born businessman, was more than a half foot shorter than Casey but bubbled with the same can-do, streetwise energy. Casey felt special affection for this man who was the epitome of the fast-talking, self-made entrepreneur. Like Casey he mashed his words or used improper grammar, mispronouncing big and small words. Nothing had come easily to Hugel, but he had made several million dollars by outworking others. Casey named Hugel his personal special assistant at the CIA.
During the 1980 campaign the two had shared a two-bedroom apartment in Marina Del Rey, a haven for singles and yachting enthusiasts. Rising at about 5 A.M. to be available for early phone calls from the East Coast where it was 8 A.M., Casey and Hugel worked late into the night. Almost from scratch, Hugel built a virtually cost-free organization of pro-Reagan supporters around the thirty major special-interest groups—religious, professional, ethnic, even senior citizens.
Casey and Hugel were an odd couple. At first neither could figure out how to get their stove to work. Casey found a constancy and devotion in Hugel that was touching, even sweet. Hugel learned that Casey loved bananas. When he shopped, he brought back bunches of them. Once when a gust of wind blew Casey’s hat from his head, Hugel went chasing after it and a second gust caught Hugel’s toupee and sent it flying—providing some of Hugel’s critics on the campaign a cherished memory.
Hugel had worked in U.S. military intelligence after World War II. He spoke Japanese and had had twenty years of international business operations with a Japanese firm, Brother Industries, that made sewing machines and typewriters.
Hugel soon was filling out stacks of forms for the highest top-secret and code-word background and security investigation. He was opening every aspect of his past and his life to inspection. The clearance required a lie detector test.
Several days later, Hugel sat down before the polygraph machine, sensors strapped on. The questioner began a series of carefully ordered inquiries.
Have you ever stolen any money? the man administering the test asked.
No, Hugel said, knowing he had to limit his answers to yes or no.
Ever engaged in any homosexual activity?
No.
Have you ever used any illegal narcotics such as marijuana or cocaine?
No, Hugel said. He hadn’t, but he figured that if he were lying, the little needle tracing his destiny would blow right off the chart.
Ever been blackmailed?
No.
There were more questions and it seemed to Hugel that the ordeal lasted for hours. The questions reached far back. They were sweeping but demanded absolute answers—yes or no. The validity of the test was open to question, Hugel knew, and courts would not accept it as evidence of any sort. Yet everything was riding on it. How could you remember if something had never happened or been said or done?
The examiner finally told him that he had passed—with flying colors, he added.
With Inman accepting—acquiescing, perhaps, was the better word—Casey could begin his reign over the entire intelligence empire of the United States. Some important things were shaking out in the new Administration that made his position look even more attractive. The national-security adviser, Richard Allen, was going to have to report to Reagan through Ed Meese, the new White House counselor. This was an unprecedented reduction in the security adviser’s authority and access, but it enhanced Casey’s role. As further good news, James A. Baker III, a smooth Texas attorney who had been a Casey deputy in the campaign, was appointed White House chief of staff, with Casey’s firm backing.
Baker, who had managed George Bush’s presidential campaign, was a strong, efficient manager, the opposite of Meese. Anything could disappear in the bottom of Meese’s briefcase or in-box. Casey also knew Mike Deaver well enough from the campaign; Meese, Baker and Deaver were the troika who would run the White House. Casey was confident he had good lines to all three and that they would want to have a channel to him. On top of that, Casey felt he could pick up the phone or make an appointment to see the President directly.
Relations with Haig and Weinberger seemed good. Casey struck a non-competitive posture with both senior Cabinet officers. Haig had “diplomacy,” Weinberger “war.” If it turned out there was a scarcity of both, the foreign-policy goal of the Administration, aggressive anti-Communism, might be carried out through “intelligence.”
He arranged a meeting with Inman to outline his plans. There was nothing to be gained by being less than frank.
I want to take direct control of the CIA’s analytical directorate to improve the reports and the estimates, Casey said. I also want the Operations Directorate; both covert action and the sensitive collection operations need and will receive beefing up.
Inman was surprised. These directorates were the two main parts of the CIA.
Technology and the scientific end of the CIA were Inman’s if he wanted them, Casey said. In addition, the administrative and personnel operations, matters which didn’t interest him, would be Inman’s.
Normally, the DCI looked outside the CIA, using his authority as the intelligence coordinator for the entire U.S. government, as Mr. Outside. Casey was describing his role as Mr. Inside; he intended to keep his hands on all reports, all operations. Inman detected an overbearing quality that had not been visible before. Casey’s convictions were strong, and his large, awkward body shook, his arms getting into the action. The listening mode was over. Things were about to change.
He would work and rule his own institution—the CIA. Other inter-agency, interdepartmental matters were Inman’s, except for the White House. Casey would handle the White House. He referred to himself as the President’s intelligence officer, the one who would provide the latest and the hottest and make sure the President knew.
Inman was somewhat disappointed.
On January 26, 1981, the first Monday of the new Administration, the Cabinet was summoned to the White House. Though neither Casey nor Inman had yet been confirmed by the Senate, they were included, Casey as the DCI designate and Inman still representing the NSA. The subject was terrorism.
Secretary of State Haig, the high-strung former Kissinger protégé, NATO general and self-proclaimed “vicar” of a new hard-line foreign policy, was worked up, declaiming about what a band of terrorists or fanatics could do. Iran was proof. Haig was certain that they were entering a period of uncertainty in which the new Administration would be tested. Resolve and will had to be demonstrated. He had the State Department’s terrorism expert, Anthony Quainton, there to address the terrorist issues.
It’s possible for a terrorist group to strike directly at the United States in the United States, Quainton said. The United States is vulnerable.
It was an electrifying moment. The members of the new government were being put on notice that while Iran was astern, with the hostages back, the problem of terrorism was not.
Meese unfurled some of the still-fresh campaign rhetoric: Carter and Turner had made the intelligence problems worse by putting too much restraint on the intelligence agencies to conduct effective investigations of either terrorists or foreign spies.
FBI Director William H. Webster said he disagreed. An all-American, boyish-looking former federal judge with a pleasant, nonconfrontational style, Webster emphasized that it was important to be careful about what was done within the United States to catch spies or stop terrorists. He spoke softly. His bureau, which was in charge of the counterintelligence and counterterrorist efforts within the United States, basically had the tools it needed. It could function within the existing rules and law, he said, dousing Meese’s campaign fire.
Inman supported Webster, saying it was more a problem of resources. There simply were not enough people to do the work. The task was to get the intelligence into the hands of those who needed it in time.
Casey didn’t have much to say. Webster and Inman were certainly no parlor pinks. He would have to examine terrorism, certainly a major intelligence issue.
At the end of the meeting, it was agreed that Casey would examine the Carter executive order on intelligence, the basic directive that had the force of law. If changes were needed, and the sentiment was high that they were, Reagan would issue a modified order.
The next day the Senate, without debate, confirmed Casey as DCI by a vote of 95 to 0, and he was sworn in the following day. But it was Haig who made the news that day. He stepped unhesitatingly before the State Department press corps for his first press conference as Secretary and tagged the Soviet Union with “the training, funding and equipping” of international terrorists. Digging sarcastically at the Carter Administration, he added, “International terrorism will take the place of human rights…The greatest problem to me in the human-rights area today is the area of rampant international terrorism.”
The Soviets, he said without qualification, “today are involved in conscious policies, in programs, if you will, which foster, support and expand this activity.”
This salvo was big news and left some of Haig’s senior aides sputtering in disbelief. Ronald I. Spiers, the head of the State Department’s intelligence branch, told the new Secretary privately that his statements would not hold up against the latest intelligence reports.
Wait, Haig said, he had read about the Soviet role in the advance galley proofs of a book about to be published called The Terror Network, by Claire Sterling, an American correspondent based in Italy. Sterling had fingered the Russians conclusively.
It was possible there was something new, Spiers conceded, and certainly the matter was of sufficient importance to merit immediate attention. Spiers sent a formal request to Casey for a Special National Intelligence Estimate, SNIE (pronounced snee), designed to give the best collective assessment of what all the U.S. intelligence agencies knew and what the policy-makers should expect.
Casey welcomed the request. These estimates were the meat and potatoes, a chief focus of his revitalization efforts. The finished estimate would go to the President, the National Security Council, the key Cabinet officers. These forecasts were the early-warning system in the intelligence community. He was going to make them very good. He was going to take personal direction of the process; terrorism would be an appropriate first topic.
On his third day in office, Casey received a copy of a twelve-page SECRET SNIE, completed just before he was sworn in. Headed “Libya: Aims and Vulnerabilities,” it was a brief course on what to expect from Qaddafi in the coming months. Qaddafi was no longer an abstract problem; he was Casey’s problem. The document bore the legend “WARNING NOTICE: Intelligence Sources and Methods Involved.”
“This estimate is issued by the DCI,” Casey read. “The National Foreign Intelligence Board concurs, except as noted in the text.” The NFIB was the board of directors of all U.S. intelligence agencies that Casey now chaired.
“Key Judgments” summarized the conclusions:
First, “Qaddafi’s recent success in Chad ensures that his aggressive policies will pose a growing challenge to U.S. and Western interests.” Several months earlier Qaddafi had dispatched thousands of troops into neighboring Chad, directly to the south of Libya. Chad, a French colony until 1960, was one of the many new African states whose leadership and loyalties were continually up for grabs. The estimate said the Qaddafi problem was not going to go away; the prospect was “more adventurism.”
Second, “the domestic and exile opposition to his regime is poorly organized and ineffective.” That meant that a covert action would require more than just passing along money or arms; problems of organization and morale would have to be tackled.
Third, “Soviet objectives are served by Qaddafi’s anti-Western policies…the Soviets gain substantial hard currency earnings from massive arms sales to Libya.” The estimate put this at $1 billion a year. Though he was not a Soviet pawn, Qaddafi’s relationship with the Soviets was far too intimate.
Recently, the estimate continued, Qaddafi had “employed political intrigue, diplomatic activism, terrorism, assassination and now, in Chad, military occupation.”
The agency employed psychologists and psychiatrists who took the raw intelligence data collected on the ground and turned it into psychological profiles, a kind of Freudian spycraft. In analyzing Qaddafi’s personality, the estimate said: “Because of special circumstances in his childhood, Qaddafi absorbed, in exaggerated form, the Bedouin characteristics of naive idealism, religious fanaticism, intense pride, austerity, xenophobia, and sensitivity to slight.”
Qaddafi was the son of a nomadic shepherd. “As a result of the discriminatory treatment he encountered as a Bedouin during his early schooling in Libya’s cities—at the hands of urbanized Libyans as well as foreigners—Qaddafi developed an intense disdain for established elites, a rigid adherence to his Bedouin ways and a strong identification with the downtrodden.”
One result, the estimate said, was “his own rebellion against authority” and “his indiscriminate support of rebel causes throughout the world.”
Sinking into armchair psychoanalysis, the estimate said: “…to defend himself psychologically, Qaddafi has developed an exalted, even grandiose sense of self-importance. Qaddafi’s vision for Libya seeks to restore the purity and simplicity that he supposes existed in earlier Arab history.”
The estimate touched on other countries where Qaddafi was working underground. “Libya has engaged in covert activities through black Africa,” including “bribing leaders.” In Tunisia, which shares a 200-mile border with Libya, the estimate said, “recent clandestine reporting”—a term for information from sources, either human or technical—“suggests accelerated training and recruiting of Tunisian dissidents.”
Qaddafi had for years claimed territorial waters beyond the internationally recognized 12-mile limit, holding that the Gulf of Sidra, the massive 275-mile-wide indentation opening directly on Libya’s 800-mile Mediterranean coast to the north, was all his. “While there is some question whether Qaddafi would actually risk U.S. retaliation,” the estimate continued, “his military has standing orders to attack U.S. ships or aircraft penetrating this line.” And the intelligence agencies concluded: “Chances for an incident off Libya involving the U.S. are relatively high.”
About 10 percent of imported U.S. oil, the estimate noted, came from Libya, “a major supplier of hard-to-replace light-density, low-sulfur oil.” A cutoff or ban on that Libyan oil could result in what the estimate called “a serious gasoline shortage on the U.S. East Coast.”
Overall, Qaddafi’s hold on power was not that certain, the estimate said, adding, “We have evidence of one near coup attempt last May, and of another, more serious one in August.” To protect himself, Qaddafi has “a system of informers,” but the organized exiles got support from abroad, “notably Egypt, Morocco, Saudi Arabia and Iraq.” And some of these exiles had “support within Libya.” Nonetheless, the estimate said, “barring an assassination, he could continue in power for many years.”
In paragraph 51, former Chad Defense Minister Habré was mentioned. Habré, the quintessential desert warrior, had been battling the Qaddafi forces in Chad. (CIA files showed that Sudan’s leader Jaafar Nimeri had several months before secretly urged the CIA to assist Habré. Nimeri feared that Sudan, the largest country in Africa, was next on Qaddafi’s menu.) The estimate said that “Morocco, Egypt, Sudan and France are providing increased covert support to Habre’s rebellion.”
Though it was not simple, Casey saw equivocation: Qaddafi could be out, there was “evidence” of coups, or he could be around. The document was laced with “coulds,” “mights,” “possibles.” For Casey’s taste it was written by equivocators for equivocators. But he was interested in how it spelled out the hazards of fighting Qaddafi:
“Indeed an open Western challenge could rebound to Qaddafi’s advantage, transforming him from outcast to Muslim martyr. Arab regimes that did not then oppose any anti-Libyan actions by the U.S., especially military action, could be threatened by their own people—a possibility they greatly feared when the U.S. threatened military action in Iran.”
The last paragraph, number 71, stated that the Arab states’ “actions could turn against them at home and in the Arab world.”
It was a quibble. Qaddafi spelled trouble for everyone—for the West, the United States, the Arab states, friend and foe, and even for himself. The document put the intelligence agencies in the bureaucratically secure position of being able, no matter what happened, to dust off the estimate and say, “See, we told you. We said that could happen.” To say everything was to say almost nothing, Casey thought.
Yet the last sentence of the last paragraph offered some redemption. Referring to the Arab states, it said: “A measure of their subtlety is the discretion with which some of Qaddafi’s regional foes, including President Sadat, are focusing their resources on quietly bleeding Qaddafi at his most vulnerable point—his overextension in Chad and the danger this poses for him at home.”
The last sentence rang a bell. If you focused only on it, the estimate could be seen as an artful document, building its argument to a rather cunning call to action, suggesting, pointing the way to the minimum risk, the “subtlety” and “discretion” of “quietly bleeding” the Libyan colonel. The message was that the Chad adventure was the Achilles’ heel for Qaddafi, and the implied course to thwart Qaddafi in Chad appealed to Casey’s strategic sense. Casey wasn’t going to have the CIA sit on its hands with such an opportunity available.
Soon, within Haig’s new State Department and Casey’s new CIA, a proposal for covert support to Habré was drawn up. It was called the “second track” as distinguished from the normal or “first track” of standard open diplomacy and aid. Haig’s stated purpose was to “bloody Qaddafi’s nose” and to “increase the flow of pine boxes back to Libya.” Casey pushed the policy. Chad, Sudan and Egypt were on Libya’s east and south; they formed an important wall of resistance that needed reinforcement.
There were interdepartmental meetings and finally one at the White House with the President, solidifying the basic philosophical agreement among the major players. The consensus was not just on the pledge to reactivate covert action, but also on the need to rehabilitate the international reputation of the United States. Soon the President signed a formal intelligence order, called a “finding,” releasing several million dollars of covert support to Habré. Casey’s first covert action was under way.
In the first weeks he had found some of what he expected—an institution withdrawn into its shell. He had to coax it out. These were people who weren’t going to come out unless there was a reason. They certainly hadn’t come out for Carter and Stan Turner. But the seeds of boldness were there. The Libya estimate was an example. To bring his people out, Casey would have to alter the point of reference. If Turner’s approach had been to minimize risk, Casey would demonstrate a willingness to take risks. To break the logjam, he might have to prove that the Administration, the President and he were willing to take the heat.
Air Force Lieutenant General Eugene Tighe made sure he was on time for the 11 A.M. meeting with the new DCI on Monday, February 2, 1981. He had met Casey only once before, and that had been at a party. Tighe (pronounced “tie”) had learned in thirty-six years of intelligence work that politics and intelligence are roommates. A genial, grandfatherly looking man with glasses, Tighe had a disarming, intense smile that he often held long after the laughter had passed. He had seen administrations, Secretaries of Defense and DCIs come and go, and the shape and tone of intelligence work change. But he had found that the real squabbles arose when they didn’t have enough information. When U.S. intelligence had a lot of good data, there was rarely a fight.
Tighe had been head of the Defense Intelligence Agency for nearly four years under Carter, and he wanted to stay on. The DIA coordinated the intelligence gathered by the Army, the Navy, the Air Force and the Marine Corps. Tighe had access to the intercepted communications intelligence of the NSA, the satellite photography of the National Reconnaissance Office—the supersecret agency that wasn’t even in the Pentagon phone directory—and the CIA. His first responsibility was to provide early warning of Soviet military moves. The CIA did revolutions, political upheaval and change. That meant that its product was on the White House table every day, since there was always a hot spot or a crisis somewhere. Tighe did war. That meant the DIA product was tested less frequently; in the case of the Soviets it might never be. He hoped it wouldn’t be. There were war games and debates within intelligence circles, the White House, State, Defense, think tanks, the press, but they were abstract. That worried him, and he was determined to keep the DIA on its toes.
Tighe was not one of the shooters. His philosophy was simple: the more you know, the less chance of war. The task was to get the intelligence that made it possible for the United States to act peaceably. Tighe knew that among the intelligence agencies the DIA was thought of as back-bench, a no-account organization that had meager intellectual sophistication. Yet he was conscious of the burden carried by the DIA and the 4,500 people who worked for him. About 95 percent of the U.S. military intelligence was done by the DIA, not only the analysis of the hardware, the threats and the military intentions, but the targeting plans within the Soviet Union that provided the crucial information for SIOP, the Single Integrated Operation Plan, the big war plan for nuclear war with the Soviet Union.
He believed that the DIA was the chief line of intelligence defense. President John F. Kennedy and Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara had discovered, upon taking office, that there was no missile gap with the Soviets as Kennedy had loudly proclaimed in his 1960 presidential campaign. So they had created the DIA to make sure that military information was shared, properly vetted, and not ignored. They wanted an overall Pentagon intelligence authority that would provide answers independent of interservice rivalries.
The message had to be simple: the Arabs are going to attack or not attack; the Russians are coming or not coming; or the Chinese, or whoever.
The meeting this Monday morning was the first of the National Foreign Intelligence Board that Casey chaired and included the heads of the NSA, the DIA, the service intelligence agencies, the State Department intelligence branch INR, and the intelligence branches of the FBI and Treasury. In all, about a dozen agency chiefs or representatives were in the room awaiting the new Director.
Tighe had always felt that the DCI should be a professional like himself, but after the Helms and Colby experiences he had come to the conclusion that there might never again be a DCI up from the ranks.
Casey lumbered in and took his seat, looking terribly old. His walk was not straight, and there was a grayness about him. It was in striking contrast to Turner’s youthfulness and military bearing.
Casey began with a little upbeat speech. Every voice would be heard; the intelligence board would spend as much time as necessary to carry on their business; there could be no shortcuts in intelligence work; he understood intelligence, he realized its importance; he would do whatever he needed to keep informed.
Good signs, Tighe felt. Casey had done enough homework to know the objections to the way Turner had chaired the board. Turner had allocated an hour or so for the meetings, and he had made sure they ended on schedule. Every voice might be heard, but few got their whole message across. Sometimes they’d get to the meat and Turner would have to go. Since Turner was No. 1, he could just go ahead and make decisions. Turner was rigid and often distracted.
As Casey continued, Tighe was mildly surprised to find him so well versed in the special language of intelligence. The new DCI was congenial, he said he wanted to come see each agency head personally.
Casey also mentioned that there were a lot of people in the room, perhaps too many, and on some sensitive matters they would have to find a way to eliminate those without a need to know. He would make sure of that. He repeated that security was one of his main priorities.
A few days later Casey called Tighe. How about lunch at your place? Casey asked. When Tighe said he did not have a private dining room, Casey said they could eat in Tighe’s office. Several days later Casey appeared at Tighe’s Pentagon office, Room 3E258.
Both ordered shrimp salads, and Casey began at once to extract details about each of Tighe’s previous intelligence assignments. But he had two real questions: What do you do? What do you know about what is going on in the world? Tighe was soon launched on a tour d’horizon.
Beginning in the South Pacific, Tighe said, the intelligence assets are too thin. The Soviets are buying wool from the New Zealanders, a classic Soviet stunt, exploiting economic trouble to get a foot in the door. In the North Pacific, the situation in Korea is bad, with intelligence resources cut in recent years as the North Koreans add more troops. The Soviets are trying to increase their influence wherever the U.S. has abdicated, particularly in Southeast Asia, Vietnam.
Casey took some note cards from his pocket and began writing, encouraging Tighe to keep going. Korea, Vietnam—old problems, old wars—might not be over.
The Nixon-Kissinger opening has not solved the China problem, Tighe said. Chinese policy could change 180 degrees overnight. The Chinese strategic nuclear force, their submarines, their orbited satellites, their ICBMs make them a world power. There is a serious error in the way we’ve looked at the Chinese, viewing them only as some kind of giant Third World country, focusing on them as a massive regional threat. The new listening posts the Chinese are allowing the United States to set up on Chinese territory are a sign though not a guarantee of friendship.
Mexico, Tighe said, is a big concern. There is insurgency in the countryside; local police, not the central government in Mexico City, control certain areas. In the capital, poverty is so extreme that another Khomeini-type leader could appear. Central America is a sea of instability, Tighe said, a breeding ground for leftists. Cuba is getting more and better planes that would allow it to project its power over more territory.
Things will get worse in the Middle East before they get better, Tighe said. Iran under Khomeini hasn’t had its civil war yet, but it’s inevitable. U.S. mediation in the Middle East seems always to get us into trouble.
India is key, he went on, but power is divided between the Gandhi government and a Defense Ministry that is almost wholly under Soviet domination. This two-tiered government will make things difficult for the U.S., he explained, because it is often unclear who has the real say.
There is also a wake-up factor, Tighe said. Often the White House wouldn’t listen. Frankly, it had been almost impossible to get President Carter to see the intelligence that showed conclusively that the Soviets were preparing to invade Afghanistan. Six months before the invasion, a Soviet general who specialized in extending military influence and had previously been active in North Vietnam was tracked to Afghanistan. Tighe had tried calling the Carter White House personally to warn them. It was as if no one were home; certainly no one was listening. Satellite photos and signals intelligence made the Soviet intention clear. But the White House had been obsessed with Iran and seemed not to want another problem. Now, after more than a year, Tighe said, the Soviets are still very serious in Afghanistan.
Look, Casey said, glancing up from his cards, if you ever have a message to pass, you come to me directly. “We’ll get through.” He was emphatic.
In the Soviet Union, Tighe said, the military is dominant to a degree that few recognize. The intelligence analyses, particularly from the CIA, have not been willing to give it credit for having that authority. The Soviet generals have been calling many of the shots for a decade. Their instrument is reform. By becoming more modern, the military has become more powerful. The intelligence reports show that a significant segment of the Soviet military was against the Strategic Arms Limitations Treaty, SALT II. Given this opposition, Tighe said, he believed the Soviets would cheat.
Casey agreed. The Soviets are cheaters and cannot be trusted.
Worse, Tighe said, it was his opinion that the Soviet leadership was becoming more and more entrenched. Russia is becoming a class society. About three thousand families had formed an elite. They wanted to remain elite. Their dachas and their possessions were being passed on to their children, a sign that they would not release their hold.
The Soviets did not trust the Eastern European military one hoot, Tighe said. With the possible exception of Bulgaria, the Soviets were resented throughout Eastern Europe where the leaders were fed up with having to buy the old military junk that the Soviets made them purchase. But the Soviet military presence was growing in Eastern Europe, and it was very threatening.
Tighe said that he had just recently been to Turkey where trouble was brewing.
In December 1978, about six weeks before the revolution drove the Shah out of Iran, Tighe had visited Tehran, he recalled. The CIA station chief there was pleading for more Farsi-speaking agents. He didn’t get them; almost no one was able to find out what was going on. To get a firsthand view, Tighe dodged his security protection by changing into civilian clothes and climbing out an embassy window. He had walked around for three hours. At 11 A.M. the shops were all open. At noon they all closed and one million demonstrators poured into the streets, whipped into an anti-American frenzy. It was a stunning display, showing true emotion or precision organization, or both. It was clear that dramatic forces were at work, that a hurricane was about to hit.
Later, at the American Embassy, the head of SAVAK, the Iranian secret service, Lieutenant General Nasser Moghadam, had taken Tighe to a private room for three hours and pleaded for crowd-and riot-control equipment. What were the lines of communications from the Iranian government to the United States government? Apparently the lines were screwed up and there was paralysis in both countries. Iran was a ghastly intelligence failure. It deserved more searching analysis, even now.
Casey once again nodded assent. He left shortly afterward, heading down the corridor of the E-ring, out of the building and to his waiting car.
God damn, there was a lot to do. Korea, Vietnam, China, Mexico, the rest of Central America, the Middle East, India, the Soviet Union of course, Iran still.
The image of the DIA chief crawling out the window of the U.S. Embassy in Tehran for a firsthand look around was appealing, even admirable. Casey decided there was only one way to do his job: he would draw up a list of major countries and make an inspection tour, visit the CIA stations, see for himself what they did and what they knew.
Casey and John Bross had sifted through some personnel files in search of a chief doorkeeper, paper-sorter, facilitator and executive assistant for Casey. They finally selected Robert M. Gates, who had just taken over the job as the national-intelligence officer for the Soviet Union, reporting directly to the DCI. NIO for the Soviets was the senior analytic position in the number-one area of concern. But more valuable to Casey was Gates’s White House experience. From the spring of 1974 to December 1979, Gates had been assigned to the National Security Council staff and had seen the uses and abuses of intelligence under Presidents Nixon, Ford and Carter. At thirty-seven, with fourteen years of experience in the CIA, Gates, a short man with gray hair and a bright, open smile, had what Casey wanted.
During the Carter years, Gates had worked for Brzezinski’s deputy at that NSC, David Aaron. Gates called Aaron “the Strasbourg goose” because his feet almost had to be nailed to the floor to get him to focus on issues. The afternoon sessions at which Gates force-fed Aaron the latest intelligence and extracted the necessary decisions to make it through the day were called “the Strasbourg hour.” If others weren’t organized or methodical, Gates was willing to assist.
Casey had done some checking. When Gates joined the career training program at the CIA in 1966, he had lamented that the CIA was so filled with good World War II and OSS vets that there was no way around them to the top, unless you were plugged in with political connections. He had found a way. After complaining to a fellow CIA officer, John T. Smith, whose father was Gerard Smith, Nixon’s chief arms control negotiator, Gates was introduced to the elder Smith. Within a short time he was assigned as a CIA analyst to the arms control delegation.
More important, Gates had some unorthodox notions that Casey found attractive. Though he had a doctorate in Russian history, he argued that the CIA was too academic, that it shied away from controversy. “If no one gave a shit about what the intelligence analysis was saying, there would be no controversy, no pressure,” he said. Controversy and pressure brought intelligence analysts closer to the policy-makers. Intelligence people had to understand the worries of the policy-maker, not so that estimates could be tailored to suit the White House, but so that obstacles could be identified early and warnings issued. Gates argued that the main intelligence failure had been not educating policy-makers on the limits of intelligence. Given the billions spent on it, a President might think there should not be unknowns. There were.
Though he was an analyst, Gates had one operational experience that demonstrated a willingness to bend the rules in a way Casey liked. Carter’s White House had wanted to open relations with Cuba, and David Aaron had been sent to a secret meeting in New York with two of Fidel Castro’s top intelligence officers. Believing that blatancy was the best cover, Aaron, accompanied by Gates, met the Cubans at a fancy old-line French restaurant in midtown, off Fifth Avenue. Gates had agreed to wear a “wire” recorder which came in a vest provided by the FBI. As Aaron and the Cubans argued about Cuban troops in Angola and Ethiopia Gates sat stiff and erect in the FBI vest, the human microphone.
Casey sat down for some discussions with Turner’s Deputy Director for Operations, John N. McMahon. DDO was key. The Operations Directorate would be the instrument of change. McMahon, a husky outgoing Irishman (Holy Cross ’51) with 1960s-style long sideburns, was not a covert operator by training, though he had been in the CIA nearly thirty years. Turner had named McMahon DDO to gain control of the directorate, which he didn’t trust. Casey found the agency personnel files very informative as he reviewed McMahon’s. After joining the CIA in 1951 as a GS-5 code clerk, McMahon had worked his way through the administrative and paper-handling hierarchy. He had been a case officer for U-2 pilots. He had navigated his way around the problems of the seventies. As the agency’s reputation foundered, McMahon had been promoted. He had been director of the office of ELINT, electronics intelligence, an obscure but important form of intelligence from radar and other noncommunications emissions. Before he was made DDO, McMahon had been running the intelligence community staff for Turner and pondering retirement.
McMahon had a reputation as a man of caution. Several years earlier, when the CIA put together what was known publicly on who supported and funded several dozen anti-CIA groups and publications such as the Covert Action Information Bulletin, which tried to expose CIA operations and operatives, McMahon had blown up. “Stupid sons of bitches,” he had yelled at a senior-staff meeting, “spying on Americans. If anyone got hold of this…Don’t you see? The perception.”
Casey nonetheless liked McMahon personally. He was open and cooperative and he seemed willing to follow orders.
How about more nonofficial cover? Casey asked him. Sending some of the boys out as businessmen, consultants, et cetera—getting them out of the embassies?
McMahon raised all the objections: security, control, the need for CIA officers to have the stature of diplomats.
What about the Afghanistan operation?
It’s a massive cooperative venture, transshipping weapons primarily through Egypt, McMahon explained. Pakistan is the funnel to the Afghanistan resistance. Saudi Arabia is providing more funding than the CIA.
Casey said he thought it was an important operation, probably the most important one inherited from Carter. President Reagan would want to continue it, probably even expand the support. This was a major point of engagement with the Soviets.
Yes, McMahon said dryly, the Soviet invasion was wrong, a serious mistake for them. Yet he wondered about the purpose of the United States policy. Is it in need of reassessment? It is unlikely that the Soviet army would allow itself to be defeated. Each U.S. move would be met with a Soviet countermove, an escalation. Could U.S. policy designed to “bleed” the Soviets work? Could it be sustained? Are we putting enough diplomatic pressure on the Soviets to leave Afghanistan?
Casey turned his campaign buddy Max Hugel loose in the agency on a fact-finding mission, to get briefed and learn as much as possible. After about three weeks Casey asked him. “All right, what do you want to do?”
“I’ll leave it up to you,” Hugel replied.
“Well, here’s what I want you to do,” Casey said. Deputy director for administration has opened up, he said—one of the top three deputy slots, equivalent in rank to DDO and deputy for intelligence analysis.
On February 13 Hugel’s new job was announced. He soon realized that it was a business job, handling all the support functions including worldwide security, communication and logistics for headquarters and the CIA stations abroad. It was important, but it was removed from real intelligence work, from the secrets he had associated with the CIA.
In late February, Casey attended a memorial service for an old friend, Raymond R. Dickey, a longtime Republican stalwart and Washington lawyer. After the service, he returned to his CIA car and sent his security guard to ask one of the mourners, Stanley Sporkin, to join him.
Sporkin, a rumpled man who looked like an overweight Vegas pit boss, strolled over and opened the Director’s car door.
Stan, Casey said, thanks for the letter of endorsement to the Senate Intelligence Committee. Why don’t you ride back with me?
Sporkin got in and they drove off.
“Look, you turned me down twice before,” Casey said, referring to two previous job offers at the Export-Import Bank when Casey was there in 1974 and 1975. “I want you to come work at the CIA.” As general counsel, Casey said. There were going to be many tough legal calls.
Sporkin said he was interested. He was bored after nineteen years at the SEC, and there was no real enforcement action there.
Intelligence operations are different, Casey said. They’re ruthless and cutthroat.
Why are you doing this? Sporkin asked.
“This is what I want to do,” Casey said. “I don’t want to make another million dollars.” He added that if Sporkin was interested, he had better be fully briefed on what the agency did. If you find anything objectionable and can’t operate and can’t live by your principles, then don’t do it. We’ve got to turn the water back on out there, and we’ll have to do it slowly, carefully.
The car pulled into CIA headquarters, dropped Casey off and took Sporkin back to the church.
Casey loved Sporkin. He was one of the few government people who wouldn’t stop. As SEC chairman, Casey had asked Sporkin a simple question, “Stan, what do you need to do your job?” Sporkin had been waiting years to be asked. He wanted the power to continue or close SEC investigations, and Casey had given it to him. With that leverage, Sporkin had forced disclosures of questionable business practices and overseas bribery.
Sedate on the surface, Sporkin could reduce a team of well-heeled Park Avenue lawyers to soup. Casey admired the way he conducted himself in long negotiation sessions. He would lean back in his chair, even close his eyes, only to tip forward, open his eyes, pop up from his chair, strut around the room, jab the air and yell about the intolerable behavior that had been uncovered. Or he would cluster his fingers at his temples and shout, “Unbelievable!” Or slink into a dark, penetrating gaze, or break into a smile of approval. Then he would return to his Columbo detective mode—the asker of simple questions, seemingly confused. It was pure theater, Casey knew, but it had often caught the corporate opposition off guard.
Casey’s first weeks were a delight. He was treated as the old OSS hand come back as the leader. It had not leaked that he had wanted State, and the widely held view in the agency was that as the Reagan campaign manager, he could have chosen any job, and he had picked them. Perhaps no head of an agency or department was treated with such deference as the DCI. Nearly everyone used the appellations “the Director” or “Director Casey” or “the DCI” or “sir.” That was the culture. Every message leaving Langley was headed “Cite Director,” followed by a sequential number giving the cables, requests and orders the stamp of ultimate authority, though Casey saw only several dozen of the hundreds that went out each day. Every message from the stations to headquarters was addressed to the Director. People noticed him in the corridors, moved out of his way, very nearly saluted.
Each day there was a pile of new material on his plate. The morning messages from the Langley operations center highlighting occurrences overnight came in a separate folder. Another folder contained the embassy and station reports routed for his attention. He received a nice crisp copy of the beautifully printed President’s Daily Brief (PDB), ten pages of the best intelligence that went each morning to Reagan, Haig and Weinberger. The National Intelligence Daily (NID), a less sensitive but nonetheless top-secret code-word document, was circulated to hundreds in the government—and Casey. Occasional blue-border human-source reports were hand-carried to him throughout the day. Big red folders marked TOP SECRET TALENT KEYHOLE—the code word for overhead surveillance—arrived, containing reports of satellite and other reconnaissance photography. Most of the intelligence reports were all-source, meaning that someone had taken the intercepts, satellite, human and other reports and digested them into a summary. At times, Casey called for or was automatically routed the full intercept. Whenever he wanted more, all he had to do was indicate so and the file or a summary or a briefing would be provided. At certain times he had to restrain his instincts as a reader and an amateur historian. The records were often good, and they told many stories.
Yet in all this paper there was a strange disconnect. Casey found himself wondering more and more, What was going on out there? “Out there” meant the stations abroad. Reports showed that several of the stations provided great intelligence on the host government and the Soviet Embassy in that country, but many stations sent in little of significance, often drivel. He was eager to start on his station visits.
In early March, Casey flew off to the Far East. The CIA stations he visited there had set up systems and operations to provide a systematic monitor on the growing Soviet presence in their countries. Using the local police, the host intelligence, immigration and customs services, the stations pretty well tracked all arrivals and departures of Soviet citizens. They generally received a copy of the passport photo; a surveillance team with a photo and audio van could follow and monitor selected targets; observation and photo posts provided good data on the comings and goings of key Soviets; the Special Collection Element could conduct telephone tapping and room eavesdropping. Postal interception was possible in selected cases. The stations had “access agents” who knew Soviet targets and provided personality data. Several stations had high-level sources in the host government, but really useful political intelligence was scanty.
The operations officers ranged from excellent to adequate, Casey found. But no one seemed to be going for the big play. The atmosphere was not creative. No one spent enough time brainstorming, listing the real targets and then maximizing the effort to recruit human agents or place the key eavesdropping device. The stations waited for opportunities, rather than going out and finding them. There was hesitancy and doubt.
Everywhere he went, he was well attended by his own team—the chief of station, his own security officers, his own communications channels. Casey wanted to set an example, and his former status as the President’s campaign manager carried the implication that he was Reagan’s representative on a range of foreign and defense policies.
Casey came home with an overriding impression: America’s allies and friends were looking for the United States to take the lead, and his stations were looking to him.