Golden (57 page)

Federal agents were still listening in as the information reached Blagojevich's ears through Lucio Guerrero. It was nearly 10:30 P
M.

“Little late,” Guerrero said sheepishly as Patti picked up the phone at Blagojevich's North Side home. “Is the governor around?”

Blagojevich got on the call.

“Ah, Scofield and I got a call from John Chase about ten minutes ago. Uh, he said they're writing a story for tomorrow's paper that says as part of a federal investigation they have recordings of you, and also, John Wyma's cooperating with the feds. Uh, I've got calls out to Quinlan, waiting to hear back,” Guerrero said. Chase hadn't said what was on the recordings and was looking for comment. It was running the next day.

There was a pause as Blagojevich seemed to be digesting the information.

“Recordings of me?” he finally said.

“Correct,” said Guerrero.

Three minutes later, Blagojevich was on the phone with Quinlan. The attorney was doubtful that the information was right but didn't know exactly what to say. “Lon is adamant there is no way John Wyma is cooperating,” Quinlan said.

At about 10:40 P
M,
Blagojevich, Guerrero, and Quinlan had another call. The governor was searching his memory for things he might have said to Wyma, thinking he had been acting strangely, and remembering that Chase had been outside the fund-raising meeting on October 22.

“You know, I was pressing [Wyma] on a fundraiser from Vondra,” Blagojevich recalled. “You know, I said Vondra wants something. I may have said that. I don't know.”

Don't worry, said Quinlan, but there was more.

“OK, and then I'm thinking Magoon, call Magoon see if he can do a fundraiser because, um, you know, one was not for the other, but Dusty Baker called me and said they're behind payments on children pediatric doctors.”

Blagojevich would spend a restless hour on the phone with his lawyers, including Sheldon Sorosky, speculating on what the information meant and whether Blagojevich could be in trouble. Blagojevich repeatedly went back to the October 22 meeting, trying to remember whether he had crossed any lines and saying he didn't believe he had. There was a flurry of calls as Blagojevich representatives tried to find Wyma, and the governor got hold of his brother. He shared what was said in the call from the
Tribune
and asked Robert to remember the last time they sat with Wyma.

“Assume he was wearing a wire in there,” Blagojevich said. “Was there anything that I said that could have been—”

“Ah, Jesus, I don't know,” Robert answered. “You know, uh, you know I, Jesus, I'd have to really think.”

After midnight, Robert was checking for the story online and was back on the phone with Blagojevich and Patti. The speculation continued about what the information could mean, with Blagojevich wondering out loud if Wyma “would fuck me like that.” Over and over he mentioned his discussion about Vondra, fearing that had been taped and saying he didn't think he had done anything wrong.

It would be nearly 1:00 A
M
before Blagojevich would get off the phone, after a final call with Sorosky, Quinlan, and Patti. They were rehashing the scenario, trying to figure out how much jeopardy the governor could be in. The speculation remained on fund-raising and on conversations with Wyma. Their thoughts didn't turn to the Senate seat and to whether what Blagojevich had been doing for weeks could be an issue for him. What was certain, Blagojevich said, was that he could be facing another disappointing situation where someone who had been close to him had turned away. Blagojevich had often complained that his faithful circle of friends was shrinking, and he was afraid he would have to add another name to that list.

“Feds taped Blagojevich” was the
Tribune
's banner headline the next morning, and the appearance of the story set the governor off on yet another cycle of calling lawyers and advisers about what to do next. Blagojevich insisted he never knowingly did anything wrong but remained concerned that he could have unwittingly done something that the feds now had on tape.

One of his calls was with his brother.

“What you're likely to be hit with, it would seem to me, is just nothing concrete but they would say an allusion to, uh, some type of improper behavior. Just because this, this organization, the Children's Memorial, um, got something positive and now let's go talk to them about doing a fundraiser,” Robert said.

“Yeah,” Blagojevich answered. “That's not a crime.”

In other calls that day, including with Quinlan, the governor agreed the worst he might have done was say something confusing. Robert checked his calendar for October 22, and while he had made notes about calls, there was nothing unusual. The governor could not remember anything as blatant as
pulling Wyma aside and saying some state action would come from one of his clients making a large donation, but Patti still thought whatever money was left in the Friends of Blagojevich coffers should be moved to one of the governor's lawyers.

Some of his attorneys and advisers were a little more concerned than they were otherwise letting on.

“So where are you and I moving to?” Quinlan joked on a call to Harris. “Because the whole idea of us not being part of anything, if they're taping him, I mean holy fuck.”

In fact, Quinlan and Harris thought the information was probably right. Blagojevich had been taped. The only question was when and how often, and Quinlan expected recently. Harris said he wasn't personally worried, just more concerned for people like Lon Monk and even Chris Kelly. He was doing more joking with Quinlan than actually sweating it out.

“What a dysfunctional family we are,” he said.

Blagojevich began to feel better himself later in the day when Wyma's attorney, Zachary Fardon, issued a flat denial that Wyma ever wore a wire. That was correct, and it wasn't what the
Tribune
had reported, but the talk on the calls from that day went from Blagojevich thinking about what he might have said to talk about whether Wyma could sue the paper. The story that
Tribune
reporters had carefully crafted only said that Wyma had cooperated and that his help led to federal recordings. Blagojevich still at that point didn't imagine that his phones—including those at his home—had been tapped by the government.

And the taping would continue throughout that day and into the weekend, including catching the Blagojevich brothers scrapping the meeting that Robert had set up with Nayak.

“Go ahead and just call him and say, ‘Well, it's too obvious now because of this story,'” Blagojevich said.

The governor would slowly ease back toward his normal business. He hadn't forgotten about the
Tribune
and the effort to see certain editorial board members cut loose before he agreed to help the Cubs get state money for Wrigley. There had been a round of layoffs at the paper, but writer John McCormick was still very much in place. Blagojevich wanted to know what was going on from Harris, who'd had conversations with Tribune Company executive Nils Larsen, one of Sam Zell's right-hand men. Harris said there was no word McCormick had been dismissed, but there were more cuts coming.

“I wanna sue the
Tribune,”
Blagojevich said, turning his attention back to Wyma. “I mean, I'm bein' harmed by these stories. At some point I'm gonna sue ‘em. I mean, I might have a lawsuit on this if this isn't true.”

Harris pointed out that the story didn't say what had been recorded. There was nothing negative beyond the idea that Blagojevich was taped. “You could be ordering a cheese and mushroom pizza,” he said.

Blagojevich's brother was even more encouraging.

“You've been going through the gauntlet here,” he told Blagojevich. “And just remember you are going to come out of this stronger. That's the way you got to think.”

“No, that's right.”

“That's the way you fucking got to think.”

Blagojevich was confident enough to attend a December 6 fundraiser with his Indian allies in Elmhurst. It was not well-attended, leaving Robert to describe it as a “goat fuck” on one call, but those who did appear included Jesse Jackson Jr.'s brother, Jonathan.

Meanwhile, Blagojevich continued to speak freely on his phones, including about the Senate seat and how he would proceed. And the widespread media reports repeating the
Tribune
story didn't keep Rahm Emanuel from reaching out to Harris to find out what was happening and make another pitch. Emanuel said he saw three good picks: Lisa Madigan, Tammy Duckworth, or someone from the black business community. Harris threw out Jackson's name, to see if that was still acceptable, and there was no immediate yes or no. Emanuel said he was on a plane and didn't want to have a long conversation about it. He would get two or three names from the business world together and get back to Harris, he said.

That happened the next day, December 7. Emanuel offered up Cheryle Jackson (no relation to Jesse Jr.), who had been the governor's first press agent but rubbed coworkers and reporters the wrong way with inept leadership. She left Blagojevich to head the Urban League, but Emanuel didn't know she'd also had a falling-out with the governor because she once bounced a campaign donation check to him.

“He has got to do something that big, otherwise he is going to get killed here,” Emanuel said. “It's a statement about him now.”

Cheryle Jackson seemed to fit everyone's criteria, he said. She would be an example of the governor promoting an up-and-coming African American. If he were the governor, Emanuel said, he would just name Madigan and get it over with, believing there would be an implicit but not explicit deal with her father. But otherwise, he understood why a black candidate would be in Blagojevich's interests. And in his opinion, this new idea was the best move.

“I am more than willing to talk to him after you broach it,” Emanuel said.

As for Blagojevich, he had a long talk with Scofield about what it would mean if he were recorded and whether any of his friends could be trusted. He had been invited to come talk to the
Tribune
editorial board, which he was declining, and he was trying to come up with things to say when he made his first extended public remarks on the
Tribune
story.

“Where do you put Wyma on an integrity scale?” Blagojevich said. “One being Stuart Levine, and ten being Jesus?”

“Ahhh, where would I put John?” Scofield eventually said. “Uh, you know, I don't know, eight or nine.”

“That high, huh?”

“Absolutely. I've never had any reason to feel otherwise,” Scofield said.

A moment later, it was more names. “Where do you put Lon?” said the governor.

“Same place.”

“Where do you put, uh, John Harris?” Blagojevich continued.

“Same place,” Scofield answered again.

“Chris Kelly?”

“Uhhh, this conversation stays between us?” Scofield said. “Four.”

“Whoa! Four, huh?” said the governor. “Where do you put Rezko?”

With Levine being one, Rezko was a three, Scofield replied.

“Where do you put Mell?” Blagojevich asked, meaning his own father-in-law.

“Three,” said Scofield, and, “I'm kickin Chris up to five.”

It was a funny, frank talk, Blagojevich said. And it was just the kind of thing that people would hear if he ever actually was recorded, the governor said. That's what he was going to say tomorrow, when he finally addressed the press. Anyone could record him. They wouldn't like the blue language, but they'd hear nothing criminal. Right, said Scofield.

“Yeah, I don't think so either,” said the governor. “I mean with those Nixon tapes, Jesus! They're funny. When you hear Nixon say ‘cocksucker,' it's fuckin' funny, in a Nixonian way, right?”