Balance of Power

of the Sons of the Second Amendment. And that the senator's seeming haste to protect their interests is a cover for the one interest that really matters . . .

    The moment, Fasano found, was no less unpleasant—indeed, perhaps more so—for its complete predictability. 'The SSA,' he said, 'is getting all they asked for. And more.'

    For my part, the President concluded, I will veto any so-called tort reform which is a smoke screen for the SSA. I urge the Republican leadership to put an end to this unseemly race, and to join us in the slow and patient effort to lift the burdens of litigation from America's honest businesspeople . . .

    Fasano laughed aloud.

* * *

    Back in the Oval Office, Clayton remarked to his friend, 'What an embarrassment for poor old Frank. How much time do you think you cost him?'

    'Days,' the President answered with a smile. 'Maybe weeks. Vic Coletti will be lonely for a while.'

EIGHT

Ten minutes into John Nolan's questioning, Dr. Callie Hines's expression remained as impassive as her tone was flat. To Nolan, Sarah guessed, it must feel like Hines was looking through him.

    For her own part, Sarah found the trauma surgeon a fascinating study. Interviewing Hines before the deposition, Sarah was greeted with an imperviousness which could be taken for hauteur: the process of socialization which drives most people on first meeting to attempt to be engaging or, out of shyness, to appear uncomfortable, seemed never to have touched this angular and handsome woman. She did not smile, and evinced no particular emotion—let alone any desire to ingratiate; only Sarah's instincts, or perhaps imagination, led her to sense that another Callie Hines assessed her from behind the mask. As they spoke, Sarah found herself conjuring the layers of experience—as a black confronting prejudice; a woman in a profession still dominated by males; a virtuoso in a specialty which required nervelessness and self-control— which made Hines seem so utterly indifferent to the trivial niceties of human interchange.

    Then, toward the end of their meeting, Hines had done something which Sarah found quite astonishing— searching her office for a file with her back turned to Sarah, Hines had begun singing snatches of blues lyrics in a clear and resonant voice. Hines found the file: handing it to Sarah, she had resumed their laconic conversation as though nothing at all had happened. Sarah realized that she had never before liked a person so much who made so little effort to be liked.

    This, plainly, was a reaction John Nolan did not share. Nolan had the frustrated manner of someone who had been trying to charm a wall. After a few moments, he had dropped any effort to establish a rapport, and begun to ask questions in a rapid-fire rhythm. Sarah wondered if the timing of Hines's responses—a few seconds would pass before she uttered her first word—was intended to unsettle him.

    'What is your experience,' Nolan asked now, 'with injuries caused by guns?'

    Pausing once again, Hines took no note of the others present— Sarah, Fancher, or the court reporter. 'Extensive,' she answered in the same flat voice. 'In San Francisco, gun violence is the second leading cause of death by trauma.'

    'Can you estimate the number of times you've treated gunshot wounds?'

    'Once a day, on average, every workday for the past six years. Roughly fifteen hundred surgeries.'

    Nolan raised his eyebrows. 'In the course of all this experience, have you become familiar with particular types of guns?'

    'Handguns.'

    'For what reason?'

    'They're responsible for ninety-five percent of the deaths or injuries I see. The majority of those involve semiautomatics like the Lexington P-2.'

    Nolan's tone became faintly hostile. 'On what do you base that, Doctor?'

    'Fifteen hundred surgeries.' Though her tone did not change, something in Hines's manner suggested her impatience with belaboring the obvious. 'Semiautomatics can fire more rounds. That causes more deaths and injuries.'

    'Are you personally familiar with the Lexington P-2?'

    'Not at firsthand.' This time the pause came in mid-answer. 'Only the bullets.'

    Nolan's gaze hardened. 'And what is your experience with the Eagle's Claw?'

    'Removing them.'

    Nolan shifted in his chair. Tense, Sarah awaited the first mention of Marie. Among Nolan's purposes in discovery—as Sarah well knew—was to ferret out bad news. Of the prospective witnesses, Callie Hines was potentially the most dangerous to Lexington.

    'In how many cases?' Nolan inquired.

    'Roughly twenty-five to thirty.'

    'In these twenty-five or thirty cases, what were your surgical observations regarding the Eagle's Claw?'

    'That it teaches one humility.'

    The answer was so surprising that Nolan groped for a follow-up. At length, he said, 'Please explain that.'

    This was greeted with the same unnerving silence. 'The Eagle's Claw,' Hines finally answered, 'is designed to tear up human flesh. The effect is that of a buzz saw—maximum tissue damage, more bleeding, greater trauma to internal organs and wounds which are harder to repair.

    'For a trauma surgeon, these difficulties are enhanced by the jagged edges of the bullet, which can cut the surgeon's tendons and end his or her career. As it did to one of our residents.'

    The flatness of her tone, Sarah realized, made her answer seem more lethal. In response, Nolan, too, became expressionless. 'Could you,' he asked evenly, 'describe Marie Bowden's injuries?'

    For the first time, Hines seemed drawn into a very specific memory. 'The patient,' she said at length, 'had a wound to her lower abdomen. On opening the cavity I encountered a grape-sized hematoma—a collection of blood. It immediately burst, complicating our efforts to remove the bullet and locate the wound.' Hines paused and then continued with the same dispassion. 'The wound, when I found it, was severe. An ordinary bullet would create a hole. This bullet shredded the vena cava.'

    Nolan cocked his head. 'Describe what you mean by 'shredded.' '

    'Torn apart,' Hines answered tersely. 'On impact, the point of the Eagle's Claw becomes six razor edges. They ripped apart the vein in three different places. The ends of each wound were ratty.'

    The description seemed to give Nolan pause. 'As a surgeon, what was your response?'

    'Limited. The patient's blood pressure was crashing, her temperature was falling quickly and her blood had lost the capacity to clot.' Once more Hines's pause came in mid-answer. 'I determined to pack the wound and close her up as best I could. The hope was to raise her temperature, stabilize her, and operate in twenty-four hours. There wasn't time.'

    In Sarah's mind, this clipped account conveyed a purposeful frenzy, swift improvisation, and almost superhuman self-control. But Nolan seemed not to hear it. 'Why didn't you attempt to repair the wound?'

    At once, Hines refocused on the man in front of her. 'Because,' Hines answered succinctly, 'she was dying.