Balance of Power

    Gage smiled like a teacher whose pupil has passed a tough exam. 'Tort reform,' he said flatly.

    'Tort reform with a meat ax. The SSA will want us to pass a bill banning this kind of lawsuit.' Fasano nodded toward his television, mutely flashing a picture of the First Lady in mourning, walking on the beach with her husband. 'A tough sell at the moment. And we'd need a twothirds vote to override Kilcannon's veto.'

    Turning, Gage watched the screen. 'The principle's right,' he answered. 'It all depends on how we package it.'

    'Whatever the SSA might want,' Fasano responded calmly, 'I told them to wait for a meeting until we see what Kilcannon does. The President's got some real problems of his own, beginning with Chuck Hampton and the Democrats. At least five or six of them don't need a fight with the SSA.'

    Gage still eyed the screen. 'If it's only us in Kilcannon's way, it's our problem. If it's Democrats, too, it's Kilcannon's problem. The SSA will see to that.'

    For a moment, Fasano also watched Lara Kilcannon's image on television, a slim figure in blue jeans and an oversized sweater, leaning against her husband. The cynic in him wondered if, knowing the cameras watched, Lara had chosen to project her vulnerability. 'Lara Kilcannon,' he rejoined, 'could change everything.'

    Gage turned to him, as if unmoved by what he had seen. 'She'll get some short-term sympathy, I agree. But people may decide they're going overboard.

    'She's from California; he's from New Jersey. The nearer you live to water, the more clueless you become. Good people with guns won't like being blamed for the actions of a wife-beater.' Gage smiled grimly. 'To millions of Americans, guns are a religion, like NASCAR. It's not economics which drives politics anymore—it's values. People in the heartland sense Kilcannon's not right with his God.'

    'On abortion,' Fasano answered coolly, 'he'll never be right with God. But our mistake is to believe that he's some sort of different species—a fanatic liberal running on emotion and intuition.

    'I think he understands everything you just said, Mac, and has simply made a different calculation. Different, and huge—a cosmic gamble.' Fasano's tone had lost all pretense of deference. 'Kilcannon's game is nothing less than the realignment of American politics. He wants us to be the only place the SSA can go: he figures that issues like guns and abortion will drive women away in truckloads, along with moderates and suburbanites.

    'The right wing can turn enough voters out in most Republican primaries that you just can't win against them. Then Kilcannon takes the SSA in states like California and jams them down our throat—in the states he needs to win, he figures, the right is strong enough to win our primary, and offensive enough to lose us the general election. That's his biggest reason for pursuing this.'

    Gage's expression was keen with interest. 'Which makes him not only a prick, but a cold-blooded prick.'

    Fasano shrugged. 'Have any quarrel with that?'

    'None. Except that Kilcannon's wrong.' Gage folded his hands in front of him. 'Less than half the people in this country vote. We don't need a majority to win. We need a fully committed minority, one which votes the issues they care about first, last, and always. Our message on guns is simple: the Second Amendment is absolute; the government shouldn't interfere with gun rights; and existing laws are all we need. Ask yourself this: do folks want to ban stock car racing because Dale Earnhardt cracked up his car?'

    'Tell that to our moderates,' Fasano retorted. 'New Englanders like Kate Jarman and Cassie Rollins. Not to mention Chad Palmer.'

    At this mention of Palmer, Gage stared fixedly at Fasano's Persian rug. 'Palmer,' he said quietly, 'was what went wrong with Masters. Kilcannon got to him first. Don't let that happen here.'

    'I don't intend to. But Palmer will want something.'

    'Then find a way to give it to him. At least within reason.' Gage sat back, his manner becoming more expansive. 'Want my overall advice on how to beat Kilcannon on gun control?'

    'That's what I was hoping for.'

    'Lie low. Let Kilcannon make all the noise, and let the SSA work below the radar screen. Control the calendar—slow things down until passions have cooled, so that the natural order of politics can reassert itself. Let other senators take the lead. Just remind folks of how much better it is when this great deliberative body is allowed to work its will, so that we get the right bill rather than a hasty one.'

    That, Fasano thought, was merely stating the obvious. Pointedly, he asked, 'No nuances? After all, we're dealing with a President's murdered relatives.'

    Contentment crept into Gage's features, as if he had been waiting for this moment, certain enough of Fasano's purpose to know that it would come. 'Just a story I heard,' he answered smoothly. 'Maybe it's worth passing on.'

    Gage paused, as if reluctant to impart unpleasant news. 'Awhile ago you mentioned Martin Bresler, and whether it was the SSA that took him down for dealing with Kilcannon on safety locks. What I heard, Frank, is that Bresler brought this deal to you before he took it to Kilcannon.'

    Fasano felt his expression go blank, his reflex when cornered. 'Go on.'

    'The story is that Bresler told you that this was our party's chance to moderate our image—embrace 'gun safety' and help the manufacturers find a way out of trouble. If it worked out right, the rumor has Bresler telling you, maybe our party could take some modest steps like background checks at gun shows.'

    Fasano mustered a smile. 'And so?'

    'So Kilcannon's argument is that Lexington could have stopped the murder of his wife's family.' Pausing, Gage's voice softened. 'His real argument, if he knew about this rumor, would be that you could have stopped it. But the only folks who know are all your friends. Or so the story goes.'

    Fasano shrugged. 'In this town, Mac, you hear all sorts of things.'

    'I know.' Glancing around his former office, Gage's voice filled with sympathy and regret. 'A false rumor cost me your job. But I felt honorbound to pass this on.'

    And with it, Fasano guessed, a tacit message from the SSA. 'Thanks, Mac,' he answered blandly. 'You've always been a friend.'

TEN

Two days after his return, Kerry met with Clayton Slade; Jack Sanders, his principal domestic policy advisor; and Alex Cole, his congressional liaison.

    In those two days—despite the chorus of relief and praise stemming from the announcement of Mahmoud Al Anwar's death—the President had not appeared in public. Though the media was an echo chamber of speculation, in the tumult over Al Anwar there had been no leaks regarding his directive to Clayton, Sanders and Cole. This was as Kerry intended.

    Before the others were settled, Clayton took Kerry aside. 'Bob Lenihan called, Mr. President. He made his apologies for asking, but he desperately wants to see you.'

    This brought an ironic smile to Kerry's lips. 'No matter how dire the national condition, or my own, I'll always have time for Bob.' Turning, he spoke to Cole. 'Run that tape for us, Alex. At the least it will focus our thinking.'

    Cole pressed the button on Kerry's VCR. On the screen, Paul Harshman of Idaho, a member of the SSA Board of Governors, stood in the well of the Senate. Gravely, he read from his copy of a letter sent to Kerry by George Callister, provided to Harshman by Lexington Arms.

    'It's an interesting experience,' the President said with muted sarcasm, 'hearing your own mail read aloud. It almost sounds like I wasn't meant to read it.'

    'It is with deep sorrow and regret,' Harshman quoted, 'that we