'Tell them to run it. We're well beyond worrying about our dignity, don't you think?' Her tone became hard. 'I won't accept that my family died for nothing. We need to keep our votes in place, then pray for something better.'
* * *
At seven that evening, the telephone in Sarah's office rang.
She was still preparing for Callister's deposition, scribbling notes into her typed outline. By mutual consent, though Lenihan's was somewhat condescending, they had agreed that Sarah would stand a better chance of lulling Lexington's president into some misstep than a notorious trial lawyer who would set George Callister's teeth on edge. Immersed in the intricacies of her design, she put down her ballpoint with reluctance.
'Sarah?' the now familiar voice said. 'It's Lara Kilcannon.'
Sarah hesitated, looking for a way to express her sympathy. 'How are you?'
The First Lady laughed softly. 'Lousy,' she answered. 'Angry. Heartsick. Embarrassed. Feeling guilty about Mary and terrible for Kerry. Scared to death that I'll wind up being part of the reason our society keeps on killing people. All the emotions that make life worth living.'
Sarah was surprised—Lara's expression of her torment in black comedic terms made her seem at once more human, and more despairing, than the grieving but collected woman Sarah had first encountered. 'I've been pretty worried myself,' Sarah answered frankly. 'For you, and about what could happen to this case.'
'You should be. Back here, things are slipping.'
'The Senate?'
'Yes. The vote's set in three days, and as of now we're going to lose.'
'I've been so afraid of that.' Sarah paused, sorting through her emotions. 'Not just because of how hard we've tried, or even because of how Mary hung in with me when I didn't think she would. But because I know about the evidence.
'We have depositions sealed in a lead-lined vault that would keep the Senate from overriding the President's veto. But I can't make them public because of Bond's order. In the guise of keeping us from indulging in selective leaks, Bond and the defense lawyers are perpetrating a cover-up.'
Lara was silent. 'Can you take the depositions to the judge,' she inquired at length, 'and ask him to change his order?'
'Even if he were inclined to change it—which he never will—it's too late. I'd have to file a motion, allow time for the defendants to respond, and then go before the judge. There's just no way to do that in three days.' Sarah felt the frustration of explaining to a nonlawyer how indifferent a court could be to the ends of justice. 'Besides, what can I say— that I want Bond to release the depositions in order to tilt the Senate? He knows all about the Senate and what it means. That's why he's hiding the files beneath the pious pose that the law should be above such things.'
'So there's nothing you can do,' Lara persisted.
At once, it struck Sarah that Lara's query involved more than a desperate hope, and that her openness with Sarah involved far more than venting. Bluntly, Sarah said, 'No matter how I feel, I can't release the files. Unless my law license goes, as well.'
'I understand,' Lara said simply.
This was offered with such promptness that Sarah wondered whether her answer had assumed more than the First Lady had asked. 'George Callister's tomorrow,' Sarah told her with resignation. 'All I can do is put my blinders on, and cross-examine him like it matters. What happens in the Senate is out of my control.'
ELE VEN
At nine o'clock the next morning, Sarah faced George Callister.
It was the last desultory moment before the deposition would commence. To one side of Callister was John Nolan and, separated by an empty chair, Harrison Fancher on behalf of the SSA. To Sarah's left, Robert Lenihan sipped water. Between the combatants was a silver carafe of coffee and Nolan's copy of the Ne
Arranging her papers in front of her, Sarah surreptitiously studied the witness and his lawyer. With a casual air, Nolan chatted with Callister about the Super Bowl prospects of the New England Patriots, Callister's team of choice. As always, Nolan projected confidence, the entitlement of those accustomed to authority.
But Callister was different. For weeks, Sarah had imagined this elusive figure as a corporate version of Charles Dane, scornful of the process she was seeking to inflict on him. But the real man projected the practical aura of a midwesterner who would as happily tinker with an engine as populate a boardroom. He had a naturally gruff voice with the intonation of the Great Plains, a greying flattop to match, a nondescript blue suit, and freckled, thick- fingered hands which clasped the Styrofoam cup of coffee he brought in from the street. His grey eyes were level and his range of expressions did not lend themselves to social exaggeration. His responses to Nolan bespoke polite interest, his smile was measured, and he seemed to regard his lawyer with the detached but not unpleasant appraisal he had trained on Sarah at first meeting. He did not strike her as a man who was easily fooled, or rendered implausible in the eyes of a jury.
'Ready, gentlemen?' Sarah asked.
Callister glanced at his lawyer. 'We are,' Nolan answered, and the deposition began.
* * *
For the first ten minutes, Sarah established the preliminaries: that Callister was an engineer by training; that he had spent most of the adult portion of his fifty-six years in the American gun industry; that, less than a year ago, Lexington's British parent had hired him as CEO with a mandate to make the company both profitable and stable; that he had carefully reviewed the company's revenues and product line in order to chart his course. Then Sarah turned to the subject of the Lexington P-2.
'In your view,' she asked, 'what was the market for the P-2?'
'People who wanted firepower.'
'Including criminals?'
Nolan placed a hand on Callister's sleeve. 'Objection,' he interjected. 'Calls for speculation.'
Sarah kept her eyes on the witness. 'You may answer, Mr. Callister.'
Callister smiled slightly. With the air of the good soldier, he responded, 'You're asking me to speculate.'
This would not be easy, Sarah thought—men of Callister's generation had not climbed the corporate ladder by disobeying orders, and this man knew very well the risks presented by this lawsuit. She settled in for hours of
