Balance of Power

    'I gather that the Sons of the Second Amendment is more hospitable to forbidden thoughts. Since leaving the University of Connecticut, hasn't the principal financing for your research come from the SSA?'

    'Yes. They believe, as I do, that financing is indispensable to competing in the marketplace of ideas. So they've placed me on retainer.'

    'For how much?'

    'Five hundred thousand a year, for the next five years.'

    'That kind of money,' Sarah remarked amiably, 'will finance a lot of forbidden thoughts. Let's turn to one of them—your thesis that the more guns Americans own, the less crime we'll have.

    'In More Guns, Less Death, you claim that concealed carry laws cause a drop in rape and murder, diverting criminals into property crimes like burglary. Has it ever occurred to you, Doctor, that a serial rapist won't consider stealing a transistor radio to be a fair exchange?'

    Glass briskly put down the pencil, a first show of impatience. 'What's your point?'

    'That the pathology of a rapist is distinct from that of a burglar. Or did your courses in criminology skip that part?'

    Glass mustered a renewed aura of dignified scholarship. 'All of my education and experience suggests that criminals, by definition, are criminals—people unable to live within the laws. Depending on circumstance and motive, the particular crime may vary.'

    For the first time, Sarah gave John Nolan a long look of incredulity. Nolan remained impassive. Turning to the witness, Sarah said, 'Let's discuss your methodology. On what basis did you conclude that, last year, there were roughly 2.5 million instances where Americans used guns in self-defense?'

    'On the basis of a random—and therefore utterly objective—sampling: a telephone survey of five thousand heads of households.'

    Sarah cocked her head. 'In other words, rather than relying on police reports, you relied on total strangers who reported their own behavior.'

    'Yes.' Briefly, Glass ran his fingers through the stubble of his crew cut. 'As experts in the field know, many acts of self-defense go unreported to authorities.'

    'In your survey, how many respondents reported acts of selfdefense?'

    'Fifty-one.'

    'In other words, slightly over one percent of your respondents. How did you extrapolate 2.5 million acts of self-defense?'

    'By applying the one percent of affirmative responses to our total adult population.'

    Pausing, Sarah smiled. 'Do you happen to know how much of 'our total adult population' is considered mentally ill?'

    'No.'

    'Try three percent. Did it dawn on you that a considerable number of the people who reported acts of self-defense might, instead, be crazy?'

    Reaching for the water pitcher, Glass reminded her of Reiner. After a leisurely swallow of water, he said, 'I have no reason to believe that.'

    'Or disbelieve it. So let's turn to the broader problem of selfreported acts of self-defense.' Briefly, Sarah checked her notes. 'For example, are you aware of a 1994 Harvard survey concerning acts of selfdefense in a five- year period, where fifty of those responding reported thirty-five acts of self-defense, comprising seventy percent of the incidents reported?'

    Carefully, Glass placed down the water. 'No.'

    'Then I'd suggest you read it.' Briefly Sarah paused. 'What about the Washington Post survey of fifteen hundred Americans as to whether they'd seen an alien spacecraft in the preceding year.'

    Glass mustered a wan smile. 'I don't follow aliens, Ms. Dash.'

    'You might find it interesting. Accordingly to the Post, one hundred fifty-one of these respondents reported having seen an alien spacecraft— an affirmative response of ten percent.'

    Nolan turned to his witness. 'As I said,' Glass responded in a stubborn tone, 'I'm not aware of that.'

    'So you're also unaware that sixteen people of those responding— approximately one percent—reported actual contact with an alien.'

    'Yes. Again.'

    Sarah's mouth twisted slightly, a smile suppressed. 'Isn't it possible that your one percent was the same as the Post's one percent, and that what you came up with is the incidence of defensive uses of a gun against alien invaders?'

    'Enough,' Nolan cut in bitingly. 'If you have a serious question, ask it.'

    'Silly answers,' Sarah retorted, 'tend to provoke silly questions. As does fuzzy math.' Turning to Glass, Sarah asked coldly, 'Are you at least aware that the New England Journal of Medicine reported that for every gun in the home, it is three times more likely that a family member will be killed than if the gun weren't there?'

    'No.'

    'Or that such families showed roughly five homicides of family members for every act of self- defense?'

    'Enough, counsel,' Nolan interrupted. 'He said no. Move on.'

    Sarah sat back with a smile. 'Actually, John, I'm almost through. I've just identified a Martian, and I'm dying to report him.'

TWENTY-TWO

After dinner in the residence—pepperoni pizza, because they felt like it—Kerry rubbed Lara's shoulders as she described the funeral of a woman killed in Maryland by a random sniper, at which the family had implored her to speak. 'I felt so ambivalent,' Lara told Kerry. 'I didn't know the victim, and by coming to her funeral I'd drawn a crowd of demonstrators. Demonstrators, Kerry, at a funeral.

    'But there they were. So I felt I owed the husband whatever comfort I could give him. Like me, he'd had no time to say goodbye.' Leaning back, she rested the crown of her head against Kerry's cheek. 'And unlike me, he had no one to lean on.'

    'And the demonstrators?'

    'Were the crazy ones.' Kerry felt, rather than heard, her sigh of resignation. 'I know they don't represent most people who own guns. But they reminded me of why this debate is so intractable—the complete absence of any empathy or imagination. In their minds, the widower and I should put aside what happened, and realize that guns are a sacred right and our families merely collateral damage—the price of America's Second Amendment freedoms.

    'In its own way, it's almost as dissociated from humanity as what I saw in Kosovo. And when I think of John Bowden, it scares me just as much.'

    This was as much as she had said, Kerry realized, since their retreat to Martha's Vineyard. 'It's good to talk,' he told her. 'We've spent so much time in motion, trying to make it all mean something. Especially you.'

    'Me?' Lara gave a quiet laugh. 'It's been like 'don't look back, grief might be gaining on you.' Or fear.'

    'That something may happen to you?'

    'Not really. About that, I worry much more for you.'

    Kerry did not tell her that at moments, as at the Lincoln Memorial the night before, he was struck by the fear of a sudden death—more piercing because of his love for her, for whom he feared much more. 'These days,' he told