Balance of Power

* * *

    After their return, Reiner seemed to lean away from Nolan. 'Before this lawsuit,' he answered the pending question, 'I have no memory of connecting the stolen guns to any group or person.'

    Lenihan gave him a smile of incredulity. 'No memory,' he repeated. 'Not even in connection with the slaughter of Ms. Kilcannon's family.'

    'That's right.'

    Lenihan's smile vanished. 'Did you,' he asked softly, 'destroy the record of a communication suggesting that the Liberty Force was reselling those guns at gun shows?'

    The witness gave an elaborate shrug. 'Why would I?'

    'The why is obvious,' Lenihan snapped. 'Did you destroy such a record, or order it destroyed?'

    Reiner stared at the table. 'I have no specific recollection of this thing you're asking about.'

    'Then let's get back to the Eagle's Claw. During its development, did Lexington run tests of its effectiveness?'

    'I believe so.'

    'Were those tests documented?'

    'Again, I believe so.'

    'Did you order those documents destroyed?'

    The witness reached for the pitcher of water with exaggerated care. It was as though, Sarah thought, he feared that his hand would tremble. 'No,' he answered.

    Touching Lenihan on the shoulder, Sarah bent her head to him. 'Callister,' she whispered. 'It's time.'

    Abruptly, Lenihan pointed to the SSA magazine. 'Did you review this ad with Mr. Callister?'

    'No.' Though Reiner's tone remained gruff, he sounded spent. 'The ads are my department. Mr. Callister had only been there for six months.'

    'Did Callister see the ad before the murders?'

    'I don't know.'

    'Did he discuss with you his meeting with President Kilcannon?'

    'No.'

    'Or his opinion regarding the President's request for background checks at gun shows?'

    'No.'

    'Or whether the SSA threatened him with reprisals if he entered such an agreement?'

    Watching, Harrison Fancher scowled. 'I have no knowledge of that,' the witness answered.

    'Nor even of what you did, it seems.' Lenihan turned to Nolan. 'These questions are critical to our case. It's now utterly apparent that Mr. Callister alone can answer them. Either you produce him for deposition, or we'll renew our motion before Judge Bond.'

    'Based on what?' Nolan's tone was scornful. 'The witness's failure to read George Callister's mind, and come up with thoughts which fit your theory? But then abusing the legal process is what this lawsuit's for.'

    'What it's for,' Lenihan rejoined, 'is obtaining the occasional truthful answer. However difficult.' Turning to Reiner, he asked, 'Did you inform Mr. Callister about the documents you destroyed? Or did he ask you to destroy them?'

    Reiner stood. 'I'm not answering that kind of bullshit question.'

    Turning to Nolan, Lenihan inclined his head toward Reiner. 'Charming guy. He'll do well for you at trial.' Smiling, he added mildly, 'I don't know about you, John. But were I Mr. Callister, I'd want to clear that up.'

TWENTY

That evening, on the Mall, two opposing forces, each numbered in the thousands, gathered to raise their voices for, or against, the President of the United States.

    By far the quieter demonstration was a somber candlelight vigil which enveloped the Lincoln Memorial. Flanked by Secret Service agents, Kerry addressed them from the head of the marble steps. Thousands of candles surrounded the deep black pool of the Mall, casting shadows on the demonstrators huddled in the chill of night, or, more haunting, on five thousand life-size cardboard figures of men, women and children murdered with guns. From Kerry's vantage point, the difference was that the cutouts were utterly still.

    'In the next hour,' Kerry told them, 'and every hour until we change our gun laws, four more of us will die.'

    Pausing, Kerry listened to his words echo through the sound system, carrying to the edges of the pro-gun demonstrators surrounding the Washington Monument, white marble against black sky. 'At the other end of the Mall,' he said, 'the SSA is calling for our defeat. But how do they honor the memory of those who have already died—these silent witnesses to violence whom you commemorate tonight—or the eighty Americans who will die tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day in a toll of death as inexorable as it is unnecessary.

    'They offer only this: 'kill someone with a gun, and we'll throw the book at you—up to, and including, the death penalty.' '

    In the attentive silence of his listeners, Kerry heard a primal roar issue from the demonstrators centered on the obelisk. 'But,' he said with quiet force, 'we know, all too well, precisely what that means. That two deaths are better than none.'

    Kerry gazed out at the far end of the Mall where, he knew, Charles Dane was speaking. In a clear voice, he finished softly. 'We can do better in this country. And with your help, we will.'

* * *

    'The President's goal,' Charles Dane told his legions, 'is to use a coalition of trial lawyers and liberal authoritarians to disarm each and every one of you.

    'And how does he plan to do it?' In a show of anger, Dane crashed his fist down on the podium. 'By promoting a climate of hate in which you are less than human, a collection of four million twisted souls who love your guns more than your own children . . .'

    Protest issued from a thousand throats. 'Tell him,' Dane called out, 'that you love your children enough to defend them. Tell this man that you are the SSA, the defenders of freedom, the largest civil rights group this country has ever seen, the largest gathering of freedom fighters in the history of the planet.

    'Our Constitution is the product of the Founding Fathers' steel-gut, iron-jawed, unflinching devotion to a freedom bought with their own blood. And you are their heirs, with the honor and duty of saving that freedom from the tyranny of this illegitimate President, King George in a pin-striped suit . . .'

    The outcries commingled anger and derision. Gazing at the shadowy figures, Dane felt a surge of hope that he could defeat his enemy. 'Like King George,' he called out, 'Kerry Kilcannon is waging war on you. But his war is a culture war—a latter-day McCarthyism which denigrates you and everything you hold dear. If you believe that white pride is equal to black pride; that gays are not more equal than straights; and that singling out gun owners is like singling out Jews, then—in the world of our new McCarthy—you're 'politically