Balance of Power

I don't need anyone but you. We can fix it together . . .

    Joan stabbed the stop button. Wearily, she said, 'He just keeps saying that, over and over . . .'

* * *

    As Kerry listened, her words over the speakerphone sounded in the Oval Office. Their tension kept him taut and still. 'Joanie,' he entreated, 'don't let John pull you back in . . .'

    'His trial's coming up.' Her voice became constricted. 'I'm scared for him, scared for us. If he loses his job . . .'

    'He's trying to scare you. It's emotional terrorism . . .'

    'Listen,' she insisted, and her husband's plaintive voice filled the Oval Office.

    I can't go to work, Joanie. I can't even get out of bed . . .

    'He managed to send you flowers,' Kerry interjected. 'To make phone call after phone call . . .'

    You're destroying me. Bowden's tone approached hysteria. You've taken my home, my daughter, my reason for living . . .

    'It's like he's in the room,' Joan was saying. 'I can feel him.' Her husband's voice sounded muffled by choked tears.

    Marie. I miss my little girl . . .

    Softly, Kerry requested, 'Please, turn him off.'

    There was a moment's delay, and then Bowden's pleading went silent in midsentence.

    Kerry exhaled. 'There's nothing new here. 'I'm the victim,' John keeps saying. 'Come back into my closed-off world, or terrible things may happen.' '

    Kerry waited out her silence. Tiredly, Joan asked, 'What if I just tried it . . .'

    Hearing her despair, Kerry fought his worry and impatience. 'Last week, Joanie, he put a gun to your head.'

    There was a knock at Kerry's door, and Clayton stuck his head in.

    Switching off the speaker, Kerry picked up his telephone. 'Hang on,' he said to Joan, and stared at Clayton. In silent inquiry, Clayton raised his eyebrows.

    'I'm on with Joan,' Kerry snapped. 'What is it?'

    Clayton's brusque nod was, Kerry knew, meant to telegraph his concern about Joan Bowden. 'Sorry to interrupt,' Clayton answered, 'but Martin Bresler's on the line, sounding close to suicidal.'

    Kerry frowned. While useful, Martin Bresler struck him as someone whose sense of disproportion might lead him to deem every internecine skirmish worthy of a President's attention. 'Try Jack Sanders,' Kerry instructed. 'He's Bresler's contact person.'

    'I suggested that. Bresler says he has to talk to you. Do you want to just say no, or set another time?'

    Pausing, Kerry thought of Joan. 'How much time do I have right now?'

    'The AIDS activists have been waiting for ten minutes. After them you've got the National Security Council.'

    Kerry glanced at his watch. 'Tell the AIDS people I'll be with them in five, and put Bresler through.'

    Clayton briefly disappeared, giving instructions to Kerry's secretary. With fresh urgency, Kerry said to Joan, 'Please, hang in there until the hearing. Keep calling to check in.'

    'Okay.' She sounded unsettled and unsure. 'It's just so hard . . .'

    Distracted, Kerry motioned Clayton to take a seat. When Joan said a wan goodbye, he picked up his second line.

'Martin?' he asked. 'What's up?'

'I'm sorry, Mr. President. The gun-show deal's off.'

    Bresler sounded jangled, like a man who had drunk too much coffee with too little sleep or food. 'Why?' the President asked.

    'They just did it.' Bresler's speech was rapid. 'I really can't talk about that. I just wanted to tell you myself. I was proud to work with you, Mr. President. But now I've got no job . . .'

    'Is there something I can do?'

    'No.' Bresler's voice lowered. 'You've got no idea how much they hate you.'

    Kerry did. But there was no point saying that to a man in extremis. 'What if you expose what the SSA is doing . . .'

    'That would ruin me, Mr. President.' Abruptly, Bresler summoned a belated dignity. 'I just wanted you to know, and to thank you for your courtesies.'

    Feeling anger overwhelm his pity, Kerry repeated, 'If I can be of any help . . .'

    'I wish you could.' With these last dispirited words, Bresler thanked him again and got off.

    Kerry slammed the phone.

    Clayton stood. 'What is it?'

    'The SSA. Somehow they got Bresler, though he won't say that directly. It's their message to anyone who tries to deal with me on guns.' Belatedly, Kerry stood as well. 'They must have put the screws to the gun companies. Maybe the antitrust division should take a look at this.'

    Clayton folded his arms. 'Hardball's not illegal—if it were, you'd be in jail. Bring in the Justice Department, and you'll be the overreaching proto-dictator the right wing says you are.'

    'In my dreams, Clayton.'

    'Maybe in your second term. In the meantime, it's enough to try and conquer AIDS.'

    At this reminder, Kerry headed for the door. But he could not let go of his anger. 'We'll conquer AIDS,' he said over his shoulder, 'before we ever stop slaughtering each other with guns. AIDS doesn't have the SSA behind it—at least officially.' Opening the door, he turned and ordered, 'Track down that guy George Callister, from Lexington Arms. I'd like to have a word with him.'

ELE VEN

On the following Sunday, two days after the public announcement of Kerry's wedding date, the President met in secret with George Callister.

    The date and place were carefully chosen. A weekend offered Kerry some relief from press vigilance, and a chance for seclusion; on this weekend, the prospect of a presidential wedding—setting off a spate of stories and a headlong competition for interviews with Lara, Kerry, or both—consumed the media's attention. Thus it seemed only natural that, on a balmy Sunday morning, the President would seek respite at Camp David. The press did not know that, an hour before, George Callister had arrived.

    Among the White House staff, only Clayton and Jack Sanders knew of this meeting—Callister, as he assured the President, had told no one but his wife. 'Unlike you,' Callister observed dryly, 'even the devil himself doesn't want to confiscate our guns.' For Kerry's part, he had determined to go slowly—it was enough, in this first meeting, to take the measure of George Callister.