Under Fire at the FBI

By Andrea Sachs

Long past midnight, top government officials worked feverishly inside the FBI's Washington headquarters to launch an assault by the elite Hostage Rescue Team. At stake were the lives of nine employees at the Talladega federal prison, in Alabama, who were being held captive by a mob of prisoners armed with spears, knives and crossbows. Suddenly FBI Director William Sessions walked in and began marching around the room, "making noise, strutting around, being somewhat pompous, and engaging in non sequiturs," as one official recalls. Instead of dealing with the crisis at hand, the officials were forced to humor Sessions, who was oblivious to their nine days of planning. "He blew in at the 59th minute of the 11th hour," gripes another participant.

Such tales of incompetence and self-indulgence on the part of the bureau's director have pushed the organization into a state of near mutiny. The director is locked in a contentious fight to keep his job, a battle that may be resolved as early as this week. Antagonism toward Sessions, who was appointed by Ronald Reagan in 1988 and serves at the pleasure of the President, flared into public view last month after the Justice Department's Office of Professional Responsibility issued a 161-page report finding that Sessions has abused the privileges of his job. The charges range from the serious (not paying taxes on business travel that was later deemed to be personal) to the trivial (hauling his dog Pete in an FBI car). Adding to the theatrics is the director's wife Alice, who enjoyed many of the disputed perks and has accused FBI officials of plotting against her.

Since the report was issued, Sessions has warred openly with his most senior deputies. Some of them have suggested privately to Sessions that he has lost the confidence of his agents. President Clinton may want Sessions to leave, but so far the Administration has only dropped hints. Now that Clinton has nominated a new Attorney General, who as chief of the Justice Department supervises the FBI, the process of replacing Sessions is likely to speed up.

During his first few years at the agency, Sessions generated little controversy. Even his critics concede that he is a cheerful, generous man who reveres the Constitution and is dedicated to social justice and civil rights. But after the Justice report was released, Sessions did a poor job of responding to the charges, attacking FBI agents and other government officials. Questions about his competence and his integrity began to proliferate. In a letter accompanying the Justice report, former Attorney General William Barr accused Sessions of "a clear pattern of your taking advantage of the government." The report charged that Sessions:

Allowed his wife to accompany him on plane flights to 111 locations without compensating the FBI for her travel.

Used an FBI plane to haul firewood from New York City to Washington. (Sessions acknowledges flying the wood, but says it was only four pieces of white birch that his wife needed for decorating their house.)

Carried an unloaded gun in the trunk of his car in order to classify it as a "law-enforcement vehicle" so he could avoid paying taxes on the cost of driving to work.

Went to great lengths to find business reasons to travel to San Francisco (11 trips), where his daughter lives, and San Antonio, Texas (17 trips), his hometown.

May have obtained a sweetheart deal from a Washington bank on a $375,000 home mortgage.

Sessions denies any wrongdoing and has offered to compensate the FBI for some of the disputed travel expenses. Vice President Gore said last week that Sessions may have been targeted by Barr because of Sessions' plan to probe charges that the Justice Department was involved in a cover-up of the Iraqgate scandal. "We owe him a fair review of the allegations," said Gore. But agents who feel that Sessions has brought shame on the FBI have breached the bureau's traditional code of secrecy. Agents openly refer to Sessions as "Director Concessions," "the empty suit" and "Chauncey Gardiner," after the simpleminded hero of the Jerzy Kosinski novel Being There. "The vast majority of agents are embarrassed by him," says Francis Mullen Jr., who served as the FBI's No. 2 official under William Webster, Sessions' predecessor.

Many G-men disparagingly compare the FBI director's wife to the eccentric Martha Mitchell, who while her husband John was Attorney General was resented for getting entangled in Justice Department politics during the Watergate scandal. According to the ethics report, Mrs. Sessions used bureau cars as transportation to get her hair and nails done. She also barged into official business in an unhelpful way, agents say. An FBI official describes her coming into a confidential meeting in Sessions' office at the FBI "in a housecoat and slippers," turning on the TV and thereby ending the briefing. Mrs. Sessions has responded that "the old-boy network" at the FBI can't accept strong-minded women. "They've never really had a director with a wife," she complained to the Washington Post this month. "They've never had a woman executive there."

When they get to talking, G-men gripe about a certain goofiness in Sessions' demeanor. Gary Penrith, former chief of the FBI's Newark, New Jersey, office, remembers briefing Sessions on a major racketeering case. Suddenly, Penrith says, Sessions burst into song, chirping the lyrics of an old advertising jingle: "Brylcreem, a little dab will do ya." Penrith, who quit last year, regards his former boss with contempt. "He loses it," said Penrith.

The Sessionses have not been been shy about taking their case to the press. In late January, after the Justice Department report was issued, Sessions invited a dozen reporters to his office. He engaged in a bitter soliloquy in which he asserted that his nemesis Barr "was in league with others" to do him in. Although Sessions declined to be interviewed for this story, his wife told TIME, "All I have done is stand by my honest man. I know what Bill Sessions is, and I know what he does and doesn't do. We were raised middle- class Midwest and that makes us pioneer people, with values that we still have."

To pull him through the crisis, Sessions has pinned his hopes on his allies on Capitol Hill. He is still well liked by some key Democrats on the Judiciary and Intelligence committees, who view him as a forthright man. Congressman Don Edwards of California, a frequent critic of the bureau, calls Sessions the best director ever. But the FBI's internal revolt is well under way. The ethics charges against Sessions have led to intense resentment of a double standard in the tightly disciplined agency, where agents are routinely punished for minor infractions.

Clinton, who has been determined to give Sessions a fair hearing before taking action, has delegated White House counsel Bernard Nussbaum to conduct his own probe. Among the items Nussbaum will consider are the Justice Department's final report on the matter, due any day now, as well as Sessions' detailed response to the charges. Even if Nussbaum finds the Justice report skewed against Sessions, the Administration may decide that the director has alienated his troops beyond repair.

With reporting by Elaine Shannon/Washington