IN EARLY AUGUST, I was in Germany on NATO business when a Pentagon number rang on my cell phone. It was Larry Di Rita’s deputy, a public affairs officer named Bryan Whitman.
“General, the IG’s final report is in.”
I was standing in a hotel room in Stuttgart. It had been nearly a year since I had been caricatured as the lunatic, holy-war general. Because of a “journalist” with an agenda, my name had become globally synonymous with “religious nut.” Worse, in Middle Eastern countries, I had become a target, a wanted man.
“As soon as it’s released to you,” Whitman went on, “they’ll release it to Senator Warner and the Armed Services committee, then probably to the press.”
Senator Warner was one of the Democrats who asked the President to fire me. Still, as I held the phone, I felt strangely confident. There are two possibilities, I thought. They either found nothing, or something insignificant.
“Have you seen a copy of the report?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got it right here.”
“What does it say?”
“It says you sometimes didn’t provide a disclaimer when you spoke . . . ”
Meaning I hadn’t said every time that my speech represented only my personal views and not those of the government.
“. . . . You didn’t clear your talks with public affairs, and you didn’t list your airplane ticket to Toronto.”
In an instant, the cloak of dread I’d been wearing for nearly a year dropped away and relief surged through me. These were minor infractions—the result of oversights despite my best efforts to follow the rules. In fact, Whitman said, the IG found that I had made “good faith” efforts to have my activities reviewed and approved by my legal counsel.
“Basically,” Whitman told me, “they’ve exonerated you.”