Balance of Power

    Colby pondered this. 'Not that, on gun issues, I'm any model. But if the only factor you were to consider is what's right, where would you come out here?'

    Cassie touched her finger to her lip, her blue eyes clouded by doubt. 'I'm not sure,' she finally said. 'I've always been for tort reform—to me, the Lenihans of the world are parasites. I also worry that this Costello lawsuit is more about politics than law, and that antigun lawsuits in general stretch the law way too far.

    'But then why should anyone need an Eagle's Claw?' She shook her head. 'There, my judgment is complicated by emotion—I've liked Lara ever since she covered the Hill. I like him, too: whenever I saw him in the Senate, I had the strange desire to hug him . . .'

    'Must be a gender thing,' Colby interjected wryly. 'I never had that problem. But then I've never kissed a cactus.'

    Cassie gave him a knowing smile. 'I never said, Warren, that Kerry Kilcannon wasn't as ruthless as he needs to be. But there's also this feeling of vulnerability, and of seeing other people as something more than chess pieces on the political landscape.

    'When I first came to the Senate, I found a place full of 'real guys' who were exactly who you expect them to be—ambitious, self-involved, and as introspective as a rock. But with Kilcannon, you always had the sense that whatever he'd been through had caused him to feel more, not less, and made him more interested in other people than most. For several years he was the only male senator who asked about my life in more than a superficial way, and the only one besides Chad Palmer I'd trust with anything personal.' Cassie sipped her brandy. 'They were two of a unique kind, at least in the Senate. Neither talked about himself very much. They didn't want to, and didn't need to. Especially Kilcannon.'

    'Perhaps so, Cassie. But it changes nothing.'

    'Oh, I know.' Her voice was level, fatalistic. 'If I oppose the President, there'll be consequences. If campaigning in Maine will help Abel Randolph, Kilcannon will come. If staying away and raising money for Abel is what's best, he'll do that. And on the other side I've got Dane and the SSA.'

    'So what is right?' Colby persisted.

    Cassie summoned a look of deep contemplation. 'There is this place,' she mused, 'called Siberia. Maybe they need a senator.'

    Colby smiled faintly. 'Keep me posted.'

TEN

As Martin Bresler began to testify, Sarah felt edgy.

    This was natural: Bresler was central to Mary Costello's case against the SSA—that it effectively controlled the gun industry, including Lexington, and had prevented an agreement between Lexington and the President which could have kept John Bowden from buying a P-2. But there were smaller, nagging worries. Since being listed as a witness, Bresler had obtained a lawyer, Evan Pritchard—a lanky, sharp-eyed Southerner with a soft voice and cool manner—who had explained to Sarah, without apology, that further contact between her and Bresler would compromise Bresler's credibility. So Sarah watched, barred from talking with her own key witness.

    And Bresler's manner had changed. At Sea Ranch, Sarah had noted his expressive eyes, the fluttery hands which seemed to punctuate each phrase with some new gesture. But now, in the conference room of Nolan's firm, he was almost as still as the lawyers who watched him. Sitting beside her, Robert Lenihan studied Bresler with skepticism.

    Carefully, Nolan posed a series of neutral questions, and then broached the subject of Bresler's contacts with President Kilcannon.

    'Prior to your meeting with the President,' he inquired, 'did you discuss a possible agreement regarding trigger locks with any representatives of the Republicans in Congress?'

    The inquiry startled Sarah. But she knew the answer well enough: Frank Fasano and Paul Harshman.

    To her surprise, the question induced in Bresler a silent stare at the table which, Sarah suddenly thought, seemed intended to avoid her gaze. 'I'm not sure,' Bresler answered in a monotone. 'Right now I don't recall any.'

    Sarah tensed. Beside her, Lenihan expelled a breath, audible to Sarah. The only people in the room who seemed contained were Nolan, Fancher and Evan Pritchard. Calmly, Nolan said, 'Then you also don't recall discussing with any Republicans in Congress the SSA's attitude toward such an agreement.'

    Still Bresler gazed at the table. 'No.'

'Bullshit,' Lenihan muttered with quiet fury.

    No one but Sarah looked at him. 'Or,' Nolan continued, 'discussing your approach to the Republicans with any manufacturers?'

    Briefly, Bresler shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' Nolan prodded. 'For the sake of the reporter, your answer must be audible.'

    Bresler cleared his throat. 'The answer is no.'

    With a tap of her fingers, the reporter added Bresler's denial to the record of his sworn testimony, and the knowledge of what was happening demolished the last vestige of Sarah's disbelief.

    'Did you,' Nolan was asking, 'discuss your approach to President Kilcannon with anyone from the SSA?'

    'Yes,' Bresler said more firmly. 'With Charles Dane. Just before we went to the White House.'

    'Could you describe that conversation?'

    'Charles expressed his disappointment in no uncertain terms. In his view, compromising with Kilcannon would embolden him to further attack gun rights.'

    'Did you agree?'

    For the first time, Bresler looked up. 'Obviously not.'

    Perhaps, Sarah allowed herself to hope, Bresler had decided not to alienate the Republicans, but would tell the truth about the SSA. Silently, she urged him to resist John Nolan.

    'During this conversation,' Nolan asked quietly, 'did Mr. Dane threaten you in any way?'

    Bresler folded his arms. 'He did not.'

    'Or any members of your group, such as Lexington Arms?'

    'No.'

    'How would you describe the conversation?'

    Nolan, Sarah recognized, was phrasing his questions as though he already knew the answers. Bresler resumed staring at the table. In a voice so soft that it was barely audible, he said, 'Very professional. Charles's tone was 'more in sorrow than in anger.' I appreciated that.'

    Shaking his head in disgust, Lenihan stared at Bresler. Evan Pritchard turned to him. 'Let the record reflect, Mr. Lenihan, that you're engaging in a series of muttered asides and discourteous gestures toward the witness. I have to ask you to behave professionally.'

    'Define 'professional,' ' Lenihan said with genuine anger. 'Does that mean suborning perjury, as you and Mr. Nolan are doing now? Or does being professional consist of watching you do it?'

    Bresler, Sarah noticed, briefly closed his eyes. 'I hope,' Pritchard answered coldly, 'that you're prepared to take these charges to the bar association. If not, I'm prepared to advise Judge Bond that you made them without grounds, and let him determine the appropriate sanction.'