Watergate Read online

  BOOKS BY THOMAS MALLON

  Fiction

  Arts and Sciences

  Aurora 7

  Henry and Clara

  Dewey Defeats Truman

  Two Moons

  Bandbox

  Fellow Travelers

  Watergate

  Nonfiction

  Edmund Blunden

  A Book of One’s Own

  Stolen Words

  Rockets and Rodeos

  In Fact

  Mrs. Paine’s Garage

  Yours Ever

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Thomas Mallon

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  Pantheon Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Portions of this work were previously published in somewhat different form in The American Scholar and Five Points.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mallon, Thomas, [date]

  Watergate / Thomas Mallon.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-90708-0

  1. Watergate Affair, 1972–1974—Fiction. 2. Journalists—Fiction.

  3. Washington (D.C.)—Fiction. 4. Political fiction. I. Title.

  PS3563.A43157W38 2012 813’.54—dc22 2011017393

  www.pantheonbooks.com

  Jacket design by the Office of Paul Sahre

  v3.1

  FOR

  CHRISTOPHER HITCHENS,

  AMERICAN

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Players

  Prologue

  Part One: HIDE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Part Two: SEEK

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue: 1978–2004

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Players

  Marje Acker: assistant secretary to Rose Mary Woods

  Spiro T. Agnew: thirty-ninth vice president of the United States

  Carl Albert: speaker of the United States House of Representatives

  Joseph Alsop: syndicated newspaper columnist

  Stewart Alsop: syndicated newspaper columnist

  Susan Mary Alsop: wife of Joseph Alsop

  Jack Anderson: syndicated newspaper columnist

  Anne Armstrong: counselor to the president

  Alfred C. Baldwin: monitor of illegal phone wiretaps at Democratic National Committee

  Bernard Barker: former CIA operative; White House “plumber”; Watergate burglar

  Carl Bernstein: reporter, The Washington Post

  William O. Bittman: attorney for E. Howard Hunt

  Joan Braden: Washington hostess; wife of Tom Braden

  Tom Braden: author and journalist

  Ben Bradlee: executive editor, The Washington Post

  Edward Brooke: U.S. senator (R-MA)

  Patrick Buchanan: White House adviser and speechwriter

  William F. Buckley, Jr.: conservative author and commentator; editor of National Review

  J. Fred Buzhardt, Jr.: special White House counsel for Watergate matters

  Art Buchwald: newspaper columnist and humorist

  Steve Bull: special assistant to the president

  George H. W. Bush: U.S. ambassador to the United Nations; chairman, Republican National Committee

  Don Carnevale: vice president, Harry Winston, Inc.

  Rene Carpenter: television personality, former wife of astronaut Scott Carpenter

  Dwight Chapin: deputy assistant to the president

  Anna Chennault: widow of Lieut. Gen. Claire Lee Chennault

  Charles Colson: special counsel to the president

  John B. Connally: former governor of Texas and secretary of the treasury; head of “Democrats for Nixon”

  Archibald Cox: Watergate special prosecutor, department of justice

  Edward Cox: son-in-law of President and Mrs. Nixon

  Tricia Nixon Cox: daughter of President and Mrs. Nixon

  Richard Darman: aide to Elliot Richardson

  Samuel Dash: majority counsel, Senate Watergate Committee

  John W. Dean III: White House counsel

  Thomas Eagleton: U.S. senator (D-MO); Democratic nominee (briefly) for vice president

  James O. Eastland: chairman, Senate Judiciary Committee (D-MS)

  David Eisenhower: grandson of President Dwight Eisenhower; son-in-law of President and Mrs. Nixon

  Julie Nixon Eisenhower: daughter of President and Mrs. Nixon

  Daniel Ellsberg: United States military analyst and antiwar activist; charged in theft of the “Pentagon Papers”

  John Ehrlichman: assistant to the president for domestic affairs

  Samuel J. Ervin, Jr.: U.S. senator (D-NC); chairman, Senate Select Committee on Presidential Campaign Activities

  Lewis Fielding: psychiatrist to Daniel Ellsberg

  Betty Ford: wife of Gerald Ford

  Gerald Ford: fortieth vice president of the U.S.; thirty-eighth president

  Frank Gannon: White House aide

  “Tom Garahan”: retired trust-and-estates lawyer

  Leonard Garment: special consultant to the president; White House counsel

  Katharine Graham: publisher of The Washington Post

  Robert Gray: public relations executive; frequent escort of Rose Mary Woods

  Edward Gurney: member, Senate Watergate Committee (R-FL)

  Alexander Haig: deputy national security adviser; White House chief of staff (from May 1973)

  H. R. Haldeman: White House chief of staff, January 1969–April 1973

  Bryce Harlow: counselor to the president

  Hubert H. Humphrey: U.S. senator (D-MN); former vice president

  Dorothy Hunt: wife of E. Howard Hunt

  E. Howard Hunt, consultant to the White House

  Leon Jaworski: Watergate special prosecutor, Department of Justice

  Lady Bird Johnson: former First Lady
of the United States

  Lyndon B. Johnson: thirty-sixth president of the United States

  Herbert W. Kalmbach: personal attorney of Richard Nixon

  Edward M. Kennedy: U.S. senator (D-MA)

  Ethel Kennedy: widow of Senator Robert F. Kennedy

  Henry Kissinger: national security adviser; secretary of state (from September 1973)

  “Clarine Lander”: staff member, Democratic National Committee

  Fred LaRue: deputy director, Committee for the Re-Election of the President (CRP)

  Ike Parsons LaRue: deceased father of Fred LaRue

  G. Gordon Liddy: finance counsel, CRP

  Alice Roosevelt Longworth: daughter of Theodore Roosevelt; widow of House Speaker Nicholas Longworth

  Dr. William Lukash: White House physician

  Clark MacGregor: former U.S. congressman (R-MN); chairman, CRP

  Robert Mardian: former assistant attorney general

  James W. McCord, Jr.: security director, CRP

  George S. McGovern: U.S. senator (D-SD); Democratic nominee for president

  Janie McLaughlin: housekeeper for Alice Roosevelt Longworth

  John Mitchell: former attorney general; director, CRP

  Martha Mitchell: wife of John Mitchell

  Gail Magruder: wife of Jeb Stuart Magruder

  Jeb Stuart Magruder: deputy director, CRP

  Pat Nixon: first lady of the United States

  Richard Nixon: thirty-seventh president of the United States

  Lawrence F. O’Brien: Chairman, Democratic National Committee

  Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis: former first lady of the United States

  “Billy Pope”: political aide to Senator James O. Eastland

  Charles “Bebe” Rebozo: businessman, friend of Richard Nixon

  Charles Rhyne: attorney for Rose Mary Woods

  Elliot Richardson: secretary of the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare; secretary of defense; attorney general

  Nelson Rockefeller: governor of New York

  William P. Rogers: secretary of state (January 1969–September 1973)

  Kermit “Kim” Roosevelt, Jr.: grandson of Theodore Roosevelt; former political action officer, CIA

  Manolo Sanchez: valet to Richard Nixon

  Diane Sawyer: White House aide

  James St. Clair: attorney for Richard Nixon

  Earl Silbert: U. S. attorney, District of Columbia

  Hugh Sloan: treasurer, CRP

  Taft Schreiber: vice president, Music Corporation of America

  R. Sargent Shriver: Democratic nominee for vice president

  George Shultz: secretary of the treasury

  John J. Sirica: chief judge, United States District Court for the District of Columbia

  John C. Stennis: U.S. senator (D-MS)

  Frank Sturgis: Watergate burglar

  Joanna Sturm: granddaughter of Alice Roosevelt Longworth

  Dr. Walter Tkach: White House physician

  Anthony “Tony” Ulasewicz: former New York City police officer; White House private detective

  Jack Valenti: former aide to Lyndon Johnson; president, Motion Picture Association of America

  Theodore H. White: author and journalist

  Charles Wiggins: U.S. congressman (R-CA)

  Edward Bennett Williams: attorney for the Democratic National Committee and The Washington Post

  Rose Mary Woods: personal secretary and executive assistant to the president

  Bob Woodward: reporter, The Washington Post

  Robert F. Woodward: American diplomat; former U.S. ambassador to Uruguay

  Charles Alan Wright: constitutional scholar; attorney for Richard Nixon

  Ron Ziegler: White House press secretary

  Prologue

  MAY 22, 1972

  9:55 P.M., EDT

  WASHINGTON, D.C., AND MOSCOW, U.S.S.R.

  Fred LaRue looked out his apartment window at the blinking red light atop the Washington Monument—on, off, on, off—and thought about George Wallace’s newly recovered ability to wiggle his toes. “First time anybody ever got on page one for doin’ that,” he’d said to the boy who came around the Committee offices this afternoon with the Star.

  But never mind the toes: Would the governor, shot last week by a kid with short hair, ever get back up on his feet? It was doubtful, the doctors still seemed to think.

  And it was not to be wished, thought LaRue; not if that meant the governor might get back into the race for the Democratic nomination or, much worse, get set for the kind of third-party run he’d made four years ago.

  If Wallace stayed out, lying on some beach and wiggling his toes to his heart’s content, then the Old Man should do a wing-tipped cakewalk toward a second term. LaRue couldn’t imagine how they’d gotten this lucky, with McGiveup looking like the guy they’d be running against. The “peace” candidate—oh, yeah? When it was Richard Nixon over in Moscow tonight rubbin’ noses with the Reds?

  LaRue fished a last pinch of tobacco out of his pouch and managed to fill only half the bowl of his pipe. Hell, he thought, putting it down; he’d already puffed himself into a stupor while on the couch, watching that movie. He went back to watching the Monument blink, and to thinking about the gov’s tootsies.

  If it weren’t for George Corley Wallace, Fred LaRue wouldn’t even be here in Washington working for the Old Man. God, it had been fun in ’68, lining up those radio endorsements from Roy Acuff and Minnie Pearl, doing everything they could to bite into Wallace’s southern vote and keep a couple of border states in the Nixon column. “Fred LaRue,” he’d been told by Minnie Pearl—very much a lady and very much Mrs. Henry Cannon when she was out of that hat with the dangling price tag—“you’ve got the sweetest-soundin’ voice. We could make you into the next Eddy Arnold.”

  He laughed every time he thought about it. Hell, he might be skinny like Hank Williams, but he didn’t look like anybody you’d want to put on an album cover. Dean, the little fellow in the Counsel’s office, had teased him about resembling a basset hound, and he had a point when it came to the ears, but up top Fred LaRue was losing his hair so fast he couldn’t support a tag team of fleas.

  He looked over to the TV, still waiting for the ten o’clock news to come on. The pictures of the Old Man landing in Russia were supposed to be excellent; at least that was the word that had reached the CRP this afternoon. LaRue sometimes wished he were back inside the White House as an unpaid consultant to the president, even though he’d spent most of his time there working for Mitchell, shuttling between the Justice Department and the southerners on the Hill. But when John decided he needed him, again at no dollars a year, down at the Committee for the Re-Election of the President, he could hardly say no, since it had been John—the campaign manager last time out, too—who’d put him in the White House in the first place.

  He had nothing apparent in common with Mitchell, except for their bald heads and pipes, but inside both had the same sort of basic faith in the Old Man, along with a serene skepticism about most everything else.

  Mitchell knew how much money he had laid on Goldwater in ’64, and then on the Old Man four years later, and naturally enough suspected there was a lot more left than there was. Hell, if Fred LaRue were still as rich as people thought, he would be living on the other side of this crazy, round, Italian-made apartment building, facing the courtyard or the Potomac instead of Virginia Avenue and the blinking old Washington Monument.

  God knows there’d been plenty of money to inherit back in ’57. “Christ, that’s not, you know, is it?” Mitchell had once asked, in this very room, when he saw the elegant bird gun mounted on the wall. Nope, that was not the gun with which Fred LaRue had managed to shoot Daddy instead of a duck; it was the gun old Ike Parsons LaRue, worth thirty million dollars, had been holding when he dropped to the ground during their ill-fated hunting trip.

  Daddy had made his money fast, and his son was now losing it slowly. Back home in Mississippi, the oil-and-gas busines
s was starting to sputter out. There were no more big strikes to be made, and the idea that Fred LaRue’s being inside the White House would redound to the benefit of I. P. LaRue Oil and Minerals was just that, an idea—one that others, though not Fred LaRue himself, entertained.

  He preferred the business of politics to the business of business. He liked the way he got to operate without so much as a business card or a line in the staff directory—same at the Committee as it had been at the White House. If this year he’d pretty much be “giving at the office” instead of from his wallet, the campaign was going to be such a slam dunk that nobody would even notice. Every day McGovern was finding something nice to say on behalf of amnesty or abortion, and all the while the troops kept coming home from Vietnam by the hundred thousand, thanks to the Old Man. The demonstration over at the Pentagon this afternoon had featured the usual moth-eaten old peaceniks, like that ginny priest openly rooting for the Vietcong, but the whole passel of them—he had seen them marching across Memorial Bridge—hadn’t required a single canister of tear gas or made it as far up the front page as Wallace’s wiggly toes.

  The joke, of course, when it came to all these Wallace votes they were about to inherit, was that Mitchell had desegregated ten times more schools than Bobby Kennedy and Katzenbach and Ramsey Clark put together. Watch what we do, not what we say, Mitchell liked to whisper into the ears of the party moderates, but folks back home in Mississippi listened to the words, as if they were music. They’d soon fall in line behind the Old Man, whose administration, they scarcely realized, was putting all those colored kids at desks beside their own white offspring.

  With Wallace out of the way, there’d be less need for TV and radio spots and everything else down South, including nice old Minnie Pearl. How-DEEE! They had the chance for a real blowout, and it was beyond LaRue why they were waiting so much as another week to shift the money they’d planned to spend down home out to California instead. They ought to make the switch before other operations, like the ones being run by that weirdo Liddy, started laying claim to it.

  Project Gemstone, my ass, thought LaRue, who looked up at the clock over the television and wondered if it was too late to call Mitchell at his apartment across the courtyard.

  Hell, he’d wait until he saw him at the office in the morning. Martha was so cranked up these days that if he called now she’d probably not only listen in on the extension but burst out with some tirade about “Her,” the only name she seemed able to find these days for poor Mrs. Nixon.