It's A Go!
Under Rumsfeld's new approach, I was told, U.S. military operatives would be permitted to pose abroad as corrupt foreign businessmen seeking to buy contraband items that could be used in nuclear-weapons systems. In some cases, according to the Pentagon advisers, local citizens could be recruited and asked to join up with guerrillas or terrorists.
1:36 a.m., Jan. 25. Somewhere along a row of darkened town houses near Arlington, VA, a phone rings.
RUMSFELD: Uh... Hello?
FEITH: Donny? Are you up, man?
RUMSFELD: Shit. Who is this?
FEITH: Donny, it's Douglas.
RUMSFELD: Douglas?
FEITH: Feith, Donny. Douglas Feith. The undersecretary for motherfucking policy!
RUMSFELD: (laughing) Oh, that Douglas.
FEITH: What up, Dog?
RUMSFELD: Well, I was trying to sleep, but you know how it is... my bladder...
FEITH: Midnight trips to the john, dude! Welcome to old age! Bienvenue!
RUMSFELD: Ah, what do you know about it?
FEITH: Just what Poindexter tells me. That guy hasn't taken a shit since August!
RUMSFELD: Yeah, but when he finally does-ker fucking plunk, you know what I'm saying?
FEITH: I hear you. I hear you.
RUMSFELD: So what's up?
FEITH: Hey, I was just wondering if you saw Sy Hersh's latest deal in The New Yorker.
RUMSFELD: Nope. I just read the cartoons.
FEITH: Oh, me too. I love the ones that are, like, ironical office scenes.
RUMSFELD: Yeah. There's always this imposing boss behind the desk saying something surprising.
FEITH: (in caption voice) Johnson, I fucked your wife!
RUMSFELD: Exactly. Anyway, what's in the article?
FEITH: Oh, you should read it. That guy is an amazing journalist.
RUMSFELD: Oh, I know, I know.
FEITH: Anyway, he's got this thing in there about how we're going into Iran soon. But the funny thing is, he's got all this stuff in there about how the Pentagon has all this new intelligence capability. Like we have all this leeway to do covert ops and maneuvers and stuff without having to go to Congress!
RUMSFELD: No shit.
FEITH: Is it true?
RUMSFELD: If he says so. I mean, he was right about My Lai, right?
FEITH: That's what I was thinking. There's this part in there about how we can pose as corrupt businessmen and buy weapons and even start our own terrorist groups!
RUMSFELD: Fantastic. What else is in there?
FEITH: Man, what isn't in there? Apparently we can do this stuff, have operations going on, and even the CINCs won't know about it.
RUMSFELD: The CINCs?
FEITH: The regional military commanders-in-chief.
RUMSFELD: I'll be damned. All those acronyms. In this town, everything's an UN- this, a SUB- that. I'm like, just tell me where the goddamn elevator is!
FEITH: Be careful of that. I reached for a pen on my desk the other day, and my whole office went down three floors.
RUMSFELD: (laughing) Yeah, my first three months on the job, I was coming in the morning, sitting down, and shouting, "Computer on!" Nothing happens, right? Then one day I do it and the toilet flushes in the next room. I love the Pentagon!
FEITH: Well, that's what I'm saying. I mean, if all this stuff is true, just think of the possibilities!
RUMSFELD: Like what?
FEITH: Well, shit, I don't know. We could start another war!
RUMSFELD: Aren't we already doing that?
FEITH: I don't know. Are we?
RUMSFELD: I don't know. Nobody tells me anything. It's like the other day, they bring some guy into my office. Big guy, craggy face, desert fatigues, a full bird. He's got this fresh scar running all the way from the corner of one of his eyes right down the side of his neck. One arm in a sling. He salutes, then he drops this stack of photos on my desk with all these pictures of dead bodies. And he's like, "We got them, sir. We killed all those fuckers." And I'm like, who are you? And he's like, "My God, Dad. Don't you recognize me?"
FEITH: He was your son?
RUMSFELD: So he says, he's like, "Don't you remember? The Cubs games? The wrestling lessons? The crawlspace?" And I'm scratching my head, trying to remember. Then a tear drips out of his eye, and he pulls out this snapshot from his wallet. "Jesus, Dad!" he says. "Don't you even remember Halloween?" I look at the picture: there I am, 40 years younger, with my arm around this little kid in a pirate costume!
FEITH: A pirate costume!
RUMSFELD: Yeah. So I take his word for it, you know, and I'm like, "Son, I believe you. Now where were you? Iran?" And he's like, "Iran? My God, Dad, why would we want to invade Iran? That's so like you!" And we just stared at each other. There was just this total disconnect!
FEITH: Kids are difficult.
RUMSFELD: Tell me about it. You just never get back to that golden time. Anyway, I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I don't know if we're starting another war. I tried to ask the president about it the other day. We schedule a meeting. I go in there. He's sitting behind his desk and everything's the same as before, except now he's got this big brass plate on his desk that reads, "Ask me to show you my MANDATE!" He's got a plate of tater tots and he's hucking them at Laura's new dog there, making these bomb noises, like "Pyew! Pyew!" And I'm like, "Sir, are we invading Iran?" And he looks up and says, "Iran? That's a great idea! Put Rumsfeld on it!"
FEITH: Jesus! And you say?
RUMSFELD: And I say, "Sir, I am Rumsfeld!" And he says, "You're kidding. Then who was that who was just in here?" And he points to a security monitor. I look at it, and there's a guy walking down the White House corridor, towards the exit, who looks just like me!
FEITH: Who was it?
RUMSFELD: How the hell do I know?
FEITH: Was he Defense?
RUMSFELD: I don't think so. I'm Defense!
FEITH: Hmm. Is there another Defense?
RUMSFELD: I don't think so. I haven't been briefed on it, anyway.
FEITH: Huh. Well, I think this is all positive.
RUMSFELD: How so?
FEITH: Well, if nobody knows what the fuck is going on, and we do start a war, we can at least be sure that nobody will ever be able to sort it all out later.
RUMSFELD: You can say that again. I'm still trying to figure out how Iraq happened. I remember there was a period where I was going on television a lot and saying a whole bunch of shit about Saddam's nuclear program. Next thing I know, my office is filled with maps-and there are all these generals in there, yelling at me about "Boots on the ground"!
FEITH: I hate that. What does that mean, anyway-"Boots on the ground"? Where else would they be?
RUMSFELD: I don't know. I'm afraid to ask. They'd answer me in an acronym, anyway.
FEITH: Negative nonfuck, GEN-CINT! The ASSTWST is a ROGER-DONKEY!
RUMSFELD: Something like that. People sure talk funny around here.
FEITH: So what should we do about this Hersh thing? It seems like a golden opportunity.
RUMSFELD: I don't know, man. I'm pretty sure that whatever it is, we're doing it already.
FEITH: (sighing) Yeah, I guess you're right. God, I love that about us!
RUMSFELD: Me, too. We're with some good people, Douglas. Anyway, it's late.
FEITH: Yup. Good night, Donny.
RUMSFELD: Nite.