Balance of Power

    'With an ordinary bullet wound, I could have operated right away. An adult would have had a ninety percent chance of surviving, and a six-year-old girl more than half. But the Eagle's Claw had functioned as intended.'

    The final sentence—with its intimation of Callie Hines's true feelings—caused Nolan to sit upright. 'Do you have a personal antipathy toward Lexington Arms?'

    For the first time there was no pause. 'I'm a doctor,' Hines answered in even tones. 'I described the cause of death exactly as it occurred. Therefore—as a doctor—I consider your client an accessory to murder. There's nothing personal about that.'

    Nolan stared at her. 'It's nearly ten o'clock,' he said at last. 'Let's take a fifteen-minute break.' Only then did Hines, standing, favor Sarah with a glance, the hint of a bitter, complicit smile in her deep brown eyes.

NINE

After a quick stop at a fund-raiser for Paul Harshman, Senator Cassie Rollins of Maine dined at the Cosmos Club with her predecessor, Warren Colby.

    In a blue pin-striped suit, wing-collared shirt, and his trademark gold cuff links, Colby—as always—looked fit, trim and impeccably tailored, and his clear blue eyes and still-black hair lent him an aura of youth. At once suave, principled, and unusually literate, Colby was a particularly urbane model of the Washington insider, whose reputation for integrity and balanced judgment had led to his appointment, though a Republican, as Attorney General under the prior Democratic administration. This selfless record of service, Colby had wryly observed, might help him achieve his ultimate ambition—Commissioner of Baseball. In the meanwhile, he had to content himself with frequent mention as a possible Supreme Court justice; the income of a named partner in a prestigious Washington law firm; and a second marriage to a beautiful and savvy woman who ran the city's premier public relations group. His life, as he remarked to Cassie, was truly a bitter pill.

    Their dinner, a monthly ritual, had begun when Cassie had become a senator. Before that, she had been an aide in Colby's office, then his Chief of Staff. Blonde and freckled, with an open face and a wholesome outdoorsy appeal, Cassie had proven a quick learner. When Colby had determined not to seek reelection, Cassie, with his support, had literally started running: a former tennis star and marathoner, she had campaigned by jogging from town to town, crisscrossing the state, until she had run through every county. Though victorious, her margin had been thin. Since then, she had walked a fine line between the moderation of Maine voters and the demands of the Senate leadership, far more conservative, and now she faced the next election with apprehension.

    It was after dinner, as Colby swirled Courvoisier in a snifter, that he broached what proved to be his own concern. 'You have a secret admirer,' he said.

    'And who might that be?'

    'Chuck Hampton. We had a meeting the other day, regarding the

government of Lithuania's heady aspirations to join NATO. Afterward, he mentioned you with fondness.' Skipping a beat, Colby added dryly, 'And worry.'

    Cassie smiled. 'Over guns?'

    'Indeed. He hears that Fasano's positioning you to vote with the SSA and wondered aloud if that would damage you in Maine.' Reflective, Colby studied the dim-lit dining room, the clusters of members, principally older men, engaged in quiet but amiable discourse. 'It was all very artful. Chuck is going to war.'

    This made Cassie smile again. 'This one,' she told him, 'is shaping up to make a reunion of the Borgias look like pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. As for Hampton, to my surprise, it looks like he's going to the barricades with the newly minted 'KFK.' That's not good news.'

    ' 'KFK,' ' Colby mused aloud. 'When he first came to the Senate, who'd have thought it?

    'In any event, this could be a classic. I've always thought of Fasano as fusing the best of Lyndon Johnson and the KGB: pragmatic, shrewd, hard as nails and a master of indirection. Whereas Kilcannon's essentially a romantic, which—combined with a considerable inventiveness and what the generous might call his strength of will—makes him the most dangerous man in Washington. Because he'll cut your throat in the service of a higher cause.' Colby sipped his brandy. 'I hear he plans to visit every state where a senator is on the fence. It seems that may implicate you.'

    Cassie nodded. 'The threats and blandishments have begun to fly from all sides. Dane's demanding a meeting—with scant courtesy, I might add.'

    'I can imagine. It feels wonderful, I must admit, to have graduated to statesman.' Pausing, Colby adopted an encouraging tone. 'You should be all right, Cassie. Granted, I don't think you've ever shot anything, but you're foursquare for hunting and that recent photo of you trout-fishing was inspired. The last time I looked, your approval rating was well over half, and there wasn't any talk—serious talk, at any rate—of a primary challenge. Which, as of now, leaves you with only one problem: Abel Randolph. Assuming he decides to run against you in the general.'

    'Oh, he'll run,' Cassie said with certainty. 'He's a popular incumbent governor, term-limited, with nowhere else to go and approval ratings at least as high as mine.'

    Thoughtful, Colby gazed past her. 'There are certain constants,' he said at length. 'You'll win the conservative areas upstate, and Abel will carry Portland and most of the other cities.

    'The fulcrum will be the suburbs. They're largely populated by moderates—plus the new people moving up from Massachusetts, which is not the best thing in the world for you. But you're positioned to do well enough to win: conservative on taxes and defense, moderate to liberal on social issues like abortion. And being a woman helps you there.' Pausing, Colby looked at her directly. 'Aside from prescription drug costs, the one joker in the deck—the one that loses you our seat, if anything does—is guns.'

    Cassie placed her napkin on the table. 'The SSA has tolerated me,' she said. 'But they don't love me, and Maine's got the second highest gun ownership per capita. There's no way that Charles Dane is giving me a pass on these two bills.'

    Colby finished his brandy. 'The SSA,' he acknowledged, 'accounts for some of my most shameful votes in the Senate. The price of survival, I told myself.'

    'I only wish,' Cassie said tartly, 'that selling out this time was so easy. I don't even know which way to sell out.

    'The last election showed how fenced in I could be. A week before the primary, I was leading Bill Poole by thirty percent. Then in the final debate he pushed me into saying something favorable about the assault weapons ban. The SSA sent out one hundred thousand orange postcards headed 'voter alert,' pointing out my left-wing deviation to everyone on their mailing list.' Cassie gave a sardonic smile. 'My polls went into free fall, and I won by six percent. Another week and I might have lost.'

    'Maybe. But then you won the general election.'

    'By the grace of the SSA,' Cassie retorted. 'When the Democrats put up Sam Towle, they overlooked his sins. Not only did he vote for the assault weapons ban in Congress, but he'd sponsored a bill advocating safety locks, and banning cop-killer bullets like the Eagle's Claw. This time the hundred thousand orange SSA postcards identified Sam as the author of the 'Burglar Protection Act.'

    'By this time I'd learned my lesson—I kept quiet about the Eagle's Claw, and loved the Second Amendment like the child I never had.' Pausing, Cassie added quietly, 'When I think about Lara's family, I remember that. But I beat Sam Towle by four percent, and the SSA may well have made the difference.'

    Colby's face was sober. 'Sam,' he remarked, 'is a good man. He's also finished in Maine politics.'

    'I know. But Hampton's right this time—either way, I've got a problem.'