Thursday, October 23, 2008

Gordon Liddy Knows How To Impress Teh Ladiez

By now I've reached the point in Will where Liddy has begun to work for CREEP. Jeb Magruder has already told everyone involved that Gordon Liddy is to be in charge of 'dirty tricks.' Howard Hunt, as usual, is right there with Liddy scheming, dreaming, planning these dirty tricks. One such dirty trick they agreed to develop was to plant attractive females at Democratic events, with the hope that these females would seduce important Democrats then extract information from them. Hunt and Liddy live high on the hog on CREEP's dime, touring the country in style, recruiting operatives:

During one of our trips to California Hunt attempted to recruit one woman suggested by [Morton] Jackson, and I a woman suggested by Hunt's candidate. The woman I was working on, Sherry Stevens, was ideal as a plant. She was flashily good-looking, young, had secretarial skills and experience, and appeared able to attract men sexually if she wished, possibly even the candidate [at that time, unless I am mistaken, feared by the Republicans to likely be Ted Kennedy]. At dinner Miss Stevens seemed reluctant, balking at the risks involved, and when I told her that her identity would be revealed to no one and she could just walk away anytime if she feared exposure, she pointed out that I would know her identity. I told her that no one could force me to disclose anything I chose not to reveal. She didn't believe me and as I was casting about for some way to convince her when I noticed she smoked. I told her to light her cigarette lighter and hold it out. She did and I locked my gaze upon her eyes and placed my hand, palm down, over the flame. Presently the flesh turned black and when she smelled the scent of burning meat, Sherry Stevens broke from my gaze and pulled the lighter away from my hand. She seemed frightened badly so I took pains to calm her, wrapping an ice cube against the burn with my napkin and returning to my dinner. Pale, Miss Stevens said she was sure I would never betray her, but excused herself as a candidate, invoking a just remembered plan to marry a Swiss airplane pilot in September of 1972. When I told her I'd be glad to have her services through August, at a very generous rate of pay, she refused and, expressing concern for my hand, asked to be taken home.

At her apartment Miss Stevens gave me more ice cubes for the burn and appeared even more fearful, saying she hoped "you won't go down in flames" if she didn't offer to sleep with me. I told her that if I became offended every time someone didn't offer to go to bed with me, I'd end up being offended by an awful lot of people. "My God," I said, waving the napkined hand, "is that what you thought this was all about? Weren't you listening to what I was saying?"

"Well, I wasn't sure."

"Be sure. I want you for the job. No strings attached."

She promised to think it over. Back at the hotel I learned that Hunt had done better, getting a preliminary commitment. When I didn't do my customary hundred pushups the next morning, Hunt asked why. I showed him my hand and explained how it came to be that way. "That way" was, by now, a huge blackened, water-filled blister covering my palm and rendering my left hand virtually useless. I located a nearby physician in the phone book and had him lance the blister, treat the burn, and bandage it, then Hunt and I returned to Washington to make our plans in more detail.

Back at [CREEP] I explained the burn to the idly curious as the result of an accident in which an entire pack of matches went off in my hand....