THIRTY
On November 9, Meadows called Esper in the afternoon to say Trump was going to fire him.
“You serve at the pleasure of the president. You haven’t supported him enough,” Meadows said, making no apologies for the summary judgment.
Esper had always set his own course and had recently written a classified letter opposing the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Afghanistan. In Meadows’s view, Esper had not learned how to play the necessary politics that went with the job of being Trump’s secretary of defense.
“My oath is to the Constitution,” Esper replied. “I recognize that the president has this authority.”
About eight seconds later at 12:54 p.m., Trump tweeted that “Mark Esper has been terminated” as secretary of defense. “I would like to thank him for his service,” Trump wrote.
Esper was surprised he had lasted this long, knowing he was walking on a tightrope and telling people all summer he might be fired any day.
In anticipation of being fired sooner or later, he had told the Military Times in an interview, “Who’s going to come in behind me? It’s going to be a real ‘yes man.’ And then God help us.”
Trump appointed Chris Miller, the head of the Counterterrorism Center, as acting secretary of defense.
“Chris will do a GREAT job!” Trump wrote.
David Urban, who was Esper’s close friend, called Jared Kushner. He was irate.
“Jared, what the fuck? This is unhinged shit.”
Kushner said he had nothing to do with it. “I’m not the one driving the bus,” he said.
“Then who is?”
Kushner did not answer.
“This is really shitty what he did to Esper.” Urban reminded Kushner that Esper had always been willing to resign upon request. “He’s a soldier!”
I know, Kushner said.
Urban ended the call. He told others that Miller and his allies would surely begin to try to assert more influence over national security policy. People he knew and trusted were no longer in position.
“That was the day the fucking music died for me,” he said.
Esper’s firing was overshadowed that day by a sudden breakthrough on a vaccine. Pfizer announced its vaccine trials were 90 percent effective in preventing the virus, calling it “a historical moment.”
Kathrin Jansen, head of vaccine research and development at Pfizer, told The New York Times she learned of the results the day before, Sunday, at 1 p.m., and maintained the election had no influence on the release of the information. “We have always said that science is driving how we conduct ourselves,” she said, “no politics.”
But Trump refused to believe it. “The @US_FDA and the Democrats didn’t want to have me get a Vaccine WIN, prior to the election,” he later tweeted, “so instead it came out five days later – As I’ve said all along!”
Pfizer went to work on its FDA application for Emergency Use Authorization to distribute the vaccine to the general public, a rigorous process.
Vice President Mike Pence, ever a team player, also refused to publicly accept that Biden had won. He had banked his political future on being embraced by Trump’s voters as the president’s reverent second in command and most logical successor.
“It ain’t over til it’s over,” Pence tweeted on November 9, “and this AIN’T over!”
But Pence’s team did not want to see him get swept into Trump’s election fight.
“Get him the hell out of D.C., the hell out of Crazytown,” Pence’s veteran political adviser, Marty Obst, advised Marc Short, now Pence’s chief of staff.
Short—an intense conservative with deep ties in the business and congressional realms, who had a closely shaved head—started planning day trips for Pence. The vice president, who still headed the White House’s coronavirus task force, would travel to vaccine development sites and manufacturing plants.
Pompeo, heavy and gregarious, with little tolerance for liberals, was always thought to be one of Trump’s staunchest supporters in the cabinet. He came to see Milley at Quarters 6 on the evening of November 9 for a one-on-one kitchen table session with the chairman.
“The crazies are taking over,” Pompeo said. He was increasingly worried as he watched Trump meet with Giuliani’s traveling circus act. Now Sidney Powell, Michael Flynn and the My Pillow Guy—Mike Lindell, the outspoken former drug addict and millionaire CEO of My Pillow, a mattress and pillow company—had Oval Office access.
First in his class, West Point 1986, Pompeo was as military as Milley. He was a classmate of Esper’s and was upset at the handling of the firing by Trump. It was cruel and unfair. Firing the secretary of defense was symbolically different than firing any other cabinet secretary because of the vast military power and weaponry.
Milley vividly recalled a statement that Trump had made to Breitbart News in March of 2019: “I can tell you I have the support of the police, the support of the military, the support of the bikers for Trump. I have the tough people, but they don’t play it tough until they go to a certain point, and then it would be very bad, very bad.”
It seemed to be a warning. Milley thought of the military, the police, the FBI, the CIA and the other intelligence agencies as the power ministries. These power centers had often been the tools used by despots.
As they sat in the Quarters 6 kitchen, Milley confided that he believed Trump was in a mental decline. Anyone who sought the presidency already had a large ego. Trump’s ego was even more outsized, he noted. And Trump had just suffered the most painful rejection possible. It’s got to hurt in ways others will never fully understand.
“You know,” Pompeo replied, “he’s in a very dark place right now.”
“I don’t know that,” Milley said vaguely. He said his focus was on stability. Transition.
For Milley, the firing of Esper in the cauldron of the election upheaval was a turning point. The danger to the country was accelerating, a mindless march into more and more disorder.
Pompeo said it was turning in a direction that was perilous for the republic.
“We’ve got to stand shoulder to shoulder,” Pompeo said. “We’re the last of the Mohicans.”
The next day, at a public State Department session with reporters, Pompeo was asked about the Biden transition.
“There will be a smooth transition to a second Trump administration,” Pompeo said. He then smiled and added with a smirk, “Right.”
On November 10, at 8:10 a.m., Central Intelligence Agency director Gina Haspel, the first woman to head the CIA on a permanent basis, called Milley.
Haspel, who had served 35 years in the CIA, was a trained case officer, tough and skilled at monitoring unstable leaders abroad. She was upset about the dismissal of Esper, and believed Trump wanted to fire her.
“Yesterday was appalling,” Haspel told Milley. “We are on the way to a right-wing coup. The whole thing is insanity. He is acting out like a six-year-old with a tantrum.”
“We’re going to be steady,” Milley repeated his mantra. “Steady as a rock. We’re going to keep our eye on the horizon. Keep alert to any risks, dangers. Keep the channels open.”
What else could they do? Trump was still president, and they were subordinates, constitutionally and legally.
That Tuesday afternoon, Hope Hicks visited Trump in the Oval Office.
“There are opportunities,” she said, brightly, suggesting a laying down of political arms as an opening for the future.
“You have a huge amount of goodwill and you can capitalize on it in lots of different ways,” she said. “We can’t squander it.”
Trump did not want to hear about anything that inched close to a concession. He glared at her and frowned, showing disappointment but not surprise. He had appeared to sense her reserve for days.
“It’s not who I am to give up,” Trump told her. “It’s not in me to do that.”
The president continued, “I don’t care about my legacy. My legacy doesn’t matter. If I lose, that will be my legacy.
“My people expect me to fight, and if I don’t, I’ll lose ’em,” Trump said.
“I know this is hard,” Hicks said. “It’s really hard. I don’t like to lose. Nobody likes to lose. But there is so much to be gained by moving forward.”