Balance of Power

instructions?'

    'He claims that.'

    'And that you have a problem with authority?'

    Conn raised his chin, eyes narrowing in dislike. In that moment, Sarah felt certain that Nolan had hit his mark. 'I have a problem with stupidity,' he answered.

    Inwardly, Sarah winced. But Nolan's expression was one of condescending kindness. 'While at Lexington, have you ever taken disability leave?'

    Abruptly, Conn hunched in his chair, seeming to deflate in front of Sarah's eyes. 'Yes.'

    'For what?'

    'Post-traumatic stress disorder. From Vietnam.'

    'And how did that affect you?'

    'It affected my concentration.'

    'And your emotional equilibrium?'

    'How do you mean?'

    'Did you,' Nolan asked more harshly, 'have outbursts of temper?'

    Conn folded his arms. 'That was ten years ago,' he said in muted protest. 'Not since.'

'Were there outbursts of temper directed at Mr. Reiner?'

'We had words.'

    'But instead of firing you,' Nolan said softly, 'Lexington and Mr. Reiner allowed you to take disability leave.'

    Incongruously, Conn shook his head. 'It was only for two months. I was in Vietnam for thirteen months, and it's stayed with me for thirtyfive years. Two months isn't much to ask.'

    'But you asked,' Nolan continued in the same quiet tone, 'and Reiner gave them to you. And this is his reward.'

    The statement required no answer. Sarah could imagine easily Nolan's version of Norman Conn: a difficult employee, kept on out of charity, his perceptions so skewed that they perverted this gratuitous kindness into a denial of his worth. 'Isn't what happened,' Nolan asked, 'that you saw Ms. Dash's web site, pleading for informants, and decided that this was your opportunity to destroy Mike Reiner?'

    'No.'

    'No? Specifically, Mr. Conn, didn't you copy these documents, destroy the originals, and then concoct a story blaming Reiner for their disappearance?'

    Conn folded his arms. 'I did not.'

    'No again? Isn't the reason there's no memo of your conversation tying the Liberty Force to Bowden's gun that no such conversation occurred?'

    Briefly, the witness shut his eyes. 'It happened. Believe me, it happened. I didn't make it up.'

    In Nolan's place, Sarah might have left it there: given Conn's apparent instability, his enmity for Reiner, and the absence of corroboration, Nolan's story line was, at least, plausible. But Nolan went for the kill. 'You did,' he said flatly. 'Because you first heard about the Liberty Force from Sarah Dash. Isn't that why there are no witnesses?'

    Sarah stifled her indignation. 'No,' Conn answered.

    'Yet again. Isn't the reason you didn't go to Lexington because your employers know you all too well?'

    Suddenly, Conn sat upright again, his face and body animated with a tensile alertness. His finger jabbed a document. 'Are you saying that this trace report is a fake? Or this one, showing that they made the Eagle's Claw to tear your guts out? Or these, proving that Reiner was marketing to criminals?'

    Nolan's eyes went hard. 'I'm not here to answer questions.'

    'Well you can read, can't you? So now you know what they knew.'

Conn's voice rose in anger. 'You can't say I made these up. So you try to divert attention by saying I made up a story to go with them. Because you're just like Reiner. You don't give a damn what you do or say as long as you get paid for it.'

    The two men stared across the table. Startled by Conn's comeback, Sarah awaited Nolan's counterthrust, not knowing whether to be heartened or distressed. 'That break I mentioned,' Conn's lawyer interposed. 'It might be good for several of us.'

    Sarah released a breath.

TWENTY-SIX

On the morning of the day that the Senate would vote on gun immunity, Chuck Hampton rose to deliver the final speech in opposition.

    The White House had done all it could to help him. The headline in the morning's New York Times was 'Bowden Gun Traced to White Supremacists.' The article reported the indictment of one Ben Gehringer who, as part of a plea bargain, acknowledged selling the Lexington P-2 to Bowden at a gun show in Las Vegas. With its unsavory mix of racism, trafficking and gun shows with the slaughter of Lara's family, the announcement by the United States Attorney for Idaho was a boon for Kerry Kilcannon, ratcheting up the pressure on the last three undecided senators—Rollins, Coletti, and Slezak—without violating Gardner Bond's gag order regarding information emanating from Mary Costello's lawsuit. Hampton could only wonder at the nature of the President's involvement—the no doubt indirect conveyance of his wishes and directives—which had led to this exquisitely timed announcement. As to Kilcannon, the media reported nothing.

    But the Senate could feel his presence, personified by Vice President Ellen Penn presiding, prepared to cast a tie-breaking vote should the Senate deadlock fifty–fifty. All one hundred senators were in attendance. Their demeanor, reinforced by the morning's headlines, was unusually grim. By the end of the day they would vote on gun immunity and then, with or without it, the Civil Justice Reform Act as a whole. Even had not the vote been so personal to Kilcannon—but more so because it was—each senator knew that this battle was a defining moment for this President and, by implication, for Frank Fasano's ambition to succeed him. At best, Kilcannon hoped to strip gun immunity from the bill. Failing that, he must garner the thirty-four votes against the final bill which—assuming they held—he would need to sustain his expected veto. As to both, Hampton felt far more uncertainty than he liked.

    And so, it appeared, did Fasano. Across the aisle, his expression— though opaque and self-contained—hinted at an intensity which excluded irony or humor. When, before commencing his speech, Hampton accorded the Majority Leader the briefest of nods, Fasano seemed to stare right through him.

* * *

    'In the last few days,' Hampton told his colleagues with a fleeting smile, 'we've heard much about trial lawyers, and guns. As it happens, I used to be a trial lawyer, and I own twenty or so guns. Astonishing as it may seem, I happen to be proud of both.

    'Let's take the trial lawyer first. There's been much complaint from my Republican friends about lawyers who accept contingent fees or make 'excessive' requests for punitive damages. I know about these from personal experience, because my biggest case involved both.