With Friends Like These ...

But that was back in 2002, when McCain was being deposed in an obscure and ultimately unsuccessful lawsuit to have the campaign-finance law he helped write declared unconstitutional. Somber and subdued, McCain seemed determined last week to quash any hint of impropriety that might hurt his presidential campaign. It is possible that he was overlooking that most shopworn of clichés, that the cover-up is worse than the crime. Or maybe he thinks the public is tired of sex scandals, real or contrived, and will lose interest, which is probably half true. The run-up to the Times story was messy and convoluted, and its twists and turns, still somewhat murky, say a lot about the nature of friendship in Washington.

Much of the story that emerged last week was not new. In January 2000, when McCain was challenging George W. Bush for the Republican nomination, The Boston Globe published a story detailing how McCain had written the FCC on behalf of Paxson. The story noted that Paxson was a major contributor to McCain, and quoted the then chairman of the FCC, William Kennard, calling McCain's letter "highly unusual" and suggesting that it was inappropriate. McCain's campaign responded by drowning reporters in documents showing that McCain had done nothing improper, and media interest soon dried up.

The Globe story had made no mention of Vicki Iseman. A lobbyist for telecom and tourism companies who opened doors with her friendly manner and good looks, Iseman was a familiar presence in the hallways around the Senate commerce committee. "You always wanted to be lobbied by Vicki," recalls one longtime Democratic committee aide who often invited her into his office and did not want to be identified acknowledging that he found her attractive. At the time, McCain was gearing up to run for president as the scourge of special interests. Iseman often chatted up McCain and, according to one account, boasted to other staffers and lobbyists about her access to the commerce-committee chairman. A McCain adviser watching the two talk at a political fund-raiser recalls wondering, why is this corporate lobbyist always around—and talking about it? "I remember being uncomfortable about it," says the adviser, who did not want to be identified talking about a sensitive matter.

Sometime last fall, a Times reporter, Jim Rutenberg, began making calls to committee staffers and lobbyists asking about Iseman and McCain. It is not clear what stimulated the Timesman's interest, but an earlier blow-up in the McCain camp may be relevant. In July, when McCain's campaign seemed to be running out of money and momentum, one of McCain's closest aides, John Weaver, was effectively forced out. He had quarreled with the current campaign manager, Rick Davis, a Washington lobbyist who appeals to McCain's more conventional, politically ambitious side. Weaver is a moody figure, a longtime soul brother of McCain's who served as a traveling companion (he even combed the senator's hair) and whose gloomy countenance earned him a typical McCain nickname: "Sunny."

In December, a reporter for the Times asked Weaver about Iseman. Weaver sent an e-mail—on the record—to the Times explaining that he had taken Iseman out to lunch at a restaurant in Union Station and told her to stay away from McCain. "She was going around blabbing" about her access to McCain and it was "hurtful" to the campaign, Weaver tells NEWSWEEK. He says he told Iseman, "You need to stop this," and that Iseman "got up and left. It was a short meeting." (A source familiar with her account, who did not want to be on the record talking about a sensitive matter, tells NEWSWEEK that Iseman acknowledged to associates a brief, unpleasant meeting with Weaver, but says the conversation had nothing to do with suggestions of an improper relationship. Weaver, the source says, was upset that Iseman had spoken to McCain after a political event about his performance. "It was a typical disagreement" that takes place during campaigns, says the source.) To NEWSWEEK, Weaver declared that he had not tipped off the Times about his confrontation with Iseman, and he insisted that he was not seeking to sabotage the McCain campaign. He noted that, in December, at the same time he was e-mailing the Times, he sent a copy of the e-mail to the McCain campaign. "I've always wanted John McCain to be president," Weaver says, adding that he still talks to McCain campaign aides and offers advice. Why did he respond to the Times? NEWSWEEK asked. "I'm not in the business of lying to reporters," he said.

On Dec. 20, the gossipy Drudge Report caught the attention of reporters in Washington with the headline: MEDIA FIREWORKS: MCCAIN PLEADS WITH NY TIMES TO SPIKE STORY. Drudge posted that McCain had hired Washington superlawyer Robert Bennett to "mount a bold defense against charges of giving special treatment to a lobbyist," identified as a woman who "may have helped to write key telecom legislation." Retaining Bennett is like waving a red flag to reporters. In the mid-1990s, he had been employed by President Clinton to fight charges of sexual harassment by Paula Jones. At Christmastime, McCain campaign adviser Charlie Black told reporters that McCain was bringing in a heavyweight to fend off the kind of low blows that had wounded McCain in the 2000 South Carolina primary. But a few—though by no means all—top McCain staffers suspected Weaver's hand in the Times investigation. "He is angry and embittered," says one adviser, who wished to remain anonymous talking about internal matters. (McCain continues to call Weaver "my friend.") By early January, journalists at Washington cocktail parties were trading gossip about the apparent hold on the McCain story at the Times. There were reports of battles between the Washington bureau and the editors in New York, hardly uncommon in large news organizations. Times executive editor Bill Keller was said to be demanding numerous rewrites—also not unusual on a sensitive story. Signs of strain at the Times emerged: on Jan. 10, the Times reporter covering McCain, Marc Santora, asked to be taken off the beat. He later told The New Republic: "The last thing I wanted was to be a pawn in this thing. I was exhausted and there were a lot of rumors flying around." One of the reporters on the McCain story, Marilyn Thompson, quit to return to her earlier employer, The Washington Post (she says her frustrations over the story were not the main reason).