Now, back to intrigue & lunacy (especially the latter) with a true & telling tale about cheese:
Washington, D.C. Autumn 1993
The
guys at National Press Books wanted to get moving on their Edward Lee Howard book.
I, conversely, was bent on slowing
all movement until the FBI could get a grip.
Joseph and Sultan called a meeting
at their office.
"So what's happening?"
asked Joseph. "Are you in or
what?"
"Still thinking about it,"
I said.
"We want to publish this book
next spring," said Sultan. "We
need to know immediately if we're going ahead."
"Do you really think Howard
will write a book in time for spring publication?"
"He's already written a hundred
pages," snapped Joseph.
"Huh?" The manuscript referred to by John H had
apparently surfaced. "Have you seen
it?"
"Sure," said Joseph. "We've got it here in the office. It's good."
Time to change gears. "Another thing that concerns me," I
said, "is the legality of publishing Howard's secrets."
"We'd never publish anything we
know to be classified," said Joseph without hesitation. "It's a felony. The CIA will hate this book. We don't want to give them a reason to jump
all over us."
"What will Howard say about
that?" I asked.
"We won't even bring it
up," replied Sultan.
"Ultimately, we control the editorial content of the book."
"May I see Howard's
material?"
"Sure," said Joseph.
Sultan left the room and returned
with a sheaf of manuscript.
I
thumbed through it: neat, polished prose. In other words, nothing like John H's description.
"We've got to know whether or
not you're in," said Sultan.
"By tomorrow. Take the
material, read it, let us know."
Back home, I touch-keyed John H’s direct line. "I'm under pressure to make a decision," I said. "They're convinced they can publish in the spring because they received a hundred pages of manuscript."
"Did you get a copy?"
"Of course."
"Will you mail it to me?"
"I’ve already posted it."
"I'll phone Headquarters,"
said John H.
Next morning he phoned me back. "This is the situation: There's a Big Cheese who needs to make the
final decision. But he's out all this
week. So no decision till the Big Cheese
returns on Monday. But," John H
added, "it's at the top of his pile.
You've got a lot of people behind you at Headquarters who want to do
this."
I played for time with National
Press.
John H phoned me the following
Tuesday. "There's been a
non-decision," he said.
"A what?"
"The Big Cheese saw the memo
this morning. It's going higher than the
Big Cheese."
"Bigger cheeses?"
"Our people are putting a lot
of pressure on the people dealing with the super-superiors," he
continued. "They promise a decision
tomorrow."
Next day, no word from John H till
late in the afternoon. Then: "I still don't have an answer. It has to go to the Biggest Cheese."
"Jeez," I said, "I
thought it already reached that cheese?"
"No, things don't move that
fast around here. We work in a Unit,
which works for a Section, which works for a Department... we're lucky it's
gone up the ladder as quickly as it has."
Lucky? I was beginning to think bad luck had gotten me into this fromagerie.
Quickly? Bad guys may have less to worry about than
they think.
"So when will it reach the
Biggest Cheese?" I asked.
"Tomorrow."
Which is exactly what I'd been
telling National Press for five days straight:
Tomorrow. I felt like the bologna between two pieces of
stale rye.
"It had to get everybody's
initials on it," said John H.
"And that's done. This is a
reputation-maker. But now the Biggest
Cheese has to decide. He's the one who
will have to face the cameras if things go wrong."
Bottom line: The Division Chief, the Assistant Director
for National Security, the Deputy Director—none of them had the cojones to take
the buck.
National Press, although going up a
wall, issued me a deadline five days hence.
After what I'd been going through on a daily basis, it felt like a vacation.
John H’s word: "The Biggest Cheese has a few
questions."
"Will it have to go beyond him?" I asked.
"No. Now it's coming back down again, to get his
questions answered.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Like,
should we really be doing this kind of thing," he said.
Should
we really be doing this kind of thing?
You mean, instead of the equal opportunity meetings we do so well?
You mean, instead of the equal opportunity meetings we do so well?
If they, the Federal Bureau of
Investigation, had to ask, should we really be doing this kind of thing, I'd
have to ask myself, should I really
be doing this kind of thing.
After all, it wasn't my job to enforce the laws of the United States and catch spies.
After all, it wasn't my job to enforce the laws of the United States and catch spies.
I related this conversation to Clair George.
"Should we really be doing this kind of thing?" he echoed,
incredulous. "Sounds like the
Clinton Administration, all right. It's
over," he added.
Two days after National's deadline,
John H phoned. "Good news," he
said. "It looks like we're in
business. The confusion was sorted out
and everybody agrees we should do this.
There's just one more meeting tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
"Let's say you get a
go-ahead," I said. "At what
level will this be managed?"
"I'll be the guy who deals with
you," said John H.
"So what happens," I said,
"if we're into this and we have to move on something? Are we going to have to wait three weeks for
the Big Cheese Family to approve something?"
Headcheese.
John H phoned late afternoon the
next day. "The meeting that was supposed
to take place today is going to take place tomorrow."
It wasn't funny any more; the L.Q.
was way low on the yuk-o-meter.
Next day, Joseph and Sultan phoned,
an onslaught of huffiness.
I phoned John H. "Any word?"
"It's very discouraging,"
he said.
"National Press just gave me a
final deadline," I said. "Four
p.m. today."
"That's fine by me," said
a dispirited John H. "I'll call
Headquarters and tell them if they don't have a yay or nay by four p.m. they no
longer have to worry about making a yay."
Two p.m. Nothing from John H.
Three p.m. Still nothing.
At one minute to four my cell phone
whistled.
"I guess it's over," said
John H. "The latest is, they have
to show it to the number two man under [U.S. Attorney General] Janet Reno. Probably..."
"Don't say it..."
"Tomorrow," said John H.
![]() |
Louis Freeh "The Biggest Cheese" No buck, he |
Turns out, the Biggest Cheese, presumably FBI Director Louis Freeh, didn't want the
buck either.
"I told them it didn't matter
any more," added John H.
Clair George had called it right.
I faxed National Press a letter bowing out of their Ed Howard book.
Eight days later, an unexpected call from Alan Sultan. "Any news your end?" he asked.
And that's how (thanks to Clair George) it became my job, on behalf of FBI foreign counterintelligence, to create a sting that would attempt to ensnare America's most wanted spy.
Only a handful of officials inside the Bureau with a need-to-know would be aware of my true identity.