Balance of Power

where you find yourself. Allie can't help blaming my career.'

    Silent, the President gazed off into some middle distance, as though at a painful and uncertain future. 'All I can do,' he said at length, 'is get up every morning. And wait this out, however long it takes.'

    Palmer nodded his understanding. The President, he knew, revealed his private self to very few. But Chad could not know whether, tonight, to do so was a relief, or another burden for a man about to undertake a challenge which could make or break his Presidency. Perhaps, Palmer conceded with the unsparing self-scrutiny which was his nature, he himself wished to avoid the difficult subject at hand.

    'You wanted to talk about this gun bill, Mr. President.'

    'Yes.' Abruptly, Kilcannon refocused. 'I need your help, if you can give it.'

    Frowning, Palmer chose his words. 'Maybe in time,' he said in a dubious tone. 'Maybe. But I can't get out front on this.'

    That the President's expression betrayed such open disappointment told Palmer how deeply invested Kilcannon already was—as a practical politician, the President could not be surprised by Chad's reluctance. Quietly, Kilcannon said, 'Walk me through that, if you don't mind.'

    There was no point in mincing words. 'It's pretty straightforward, Mr. President. You're a pariah to the right. Some of them have forgiven me for backing you on the Masters nomination—I suppose on the theory that losing a daughter unmoored me from sound principle. But they won't forgive me this.

    'In my party, gun rights are a visceral issue. At the least I need to sound out sentiment within our caucus.' Pausing, Palmer added, 'And, of course, there's Frank Fasano.'

    'What about him?'

    'He feels you coming, Mr. President. He already knows that you won't settle for a symbolic battle, or a tactical defeat.'

    Kilcannon cocked his head. 'He's told you that?'

    'In so many words. What he made quite explicit is that this is the first test of his leadership, and therefore an absolute test of party loyalty for the rest of us. If you crack us on guns, he argues, it's all downhill from there.'

    'Downhill for Republicans? Or merely for Fasano?'

    'In Fasano's mind, they're the same. I may not give a damn about the SSA, but he does. In fact, he believes their support is essential to displacing you, and therefore to the benefit of all right-thinking Republicans.' Briefly, Palmer smiled. 'I'm a Republican, he reminded me. At least for now.'

    Kilcannon did not return his smile. 'Whichever way you jump, Chad, you'll help the side you're on. A reputation for integrity will do that.'

    Palmer shrugged. 'It's always amazed me,' he answered dryly, 'what getting yourself kidnapped and tortured will do for your career. Even if I wasn't a volunteer.'

    To Palmer, the President's smile was painfully fleeting. 'Neither was I,' he answered. 'Like getting shot, this issue found me.'

    Once again, Palmer felt Kilcannon's solitude. 'I'm truly sorry, Mr. President. All the way around.'

TWELVE

In his commodious office at the SSA, Charles Dane watched CNN, waiting for Kerry Kilcannon to enter the House of Representatives.

    With him were his legislative and communications directors, Carla Fell and Bill Campton. Silent, they watched as television cameras swept the chamber, crowded with congressmen and senators, members of the cabinet, the Supreme Court, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Even had he not known the circumstances, Dane would have sensed that this occasion was extraordinary. The chamber was unusually hushed, the assembled dignitaries forgoing the whispered asides and knowing smiles of those accustomed to pomp and power, instead choosing, on this night, to sit silent and somber. Briefly, the cameras caught Frank Fasano, his hooded gaze inscrutable, and then Lara Costello Kilcannon, sitting in the gallery with her sister, Mary, and the families of the other victims. Beside the First Lady was a black teenager whom Dane could not identify, but was grimly confident had lost a relative to gunfire.

    Mr. Speaker, the Sergeant at Arms called out, the President of the United States.

    The door of the chamber opened, and Kerry Kilcannon entered.

    Save for his brief statement before the funeral, the President had not been seen in public. Almost none of those assembled had spoken to him since the wedding. Now they stood, the applause swelling and supportive. As he moved, unsmiling, down the aisle to the rostrum, Kilcannon paused to accept the condolences and good wishes of senators and congressmen, some of whom touched his arm or whispered their remarks. The aisle became crowded; Kilcannon stopped repeatedly, making no effort to hurry. The applause kept rising, mingled with cheers.

    This, said Wolf Blitzer on CNN, will no doubt be remembered as one of the more remarkable moments in the recent history of Presidential addresses to Congress.

    On the screen, Chad Palmer stepped forward, giving Kilcannon a firm handshake and a brisk word of support. Then the President continued on, turning one way, then the other, as legislators crowded around. The camera captured Kilcannon's perfunctory handshake and quick nod to Frank Fasano and then, just before he proceeded to the rostrum, a much longer moment with Senator Chuck Hampton. Bracing the President's shoulders, Hampton spoke softly; head lowered, Kilcannon listened, nodding, and then briefly grasped Hampton's arms, a display of warmth which seemed so genuine that Dane found it unsettling.

    'The key,' he told Carla Fell, 'may be how hard Chuck Hampton works for him.'

    'Maybe so,' she answered, 'but in the end it'll all come down to Palmer and Fasano.'

    Kilcannon reached the rostrum, to be greeted by Speaker Thomas Jencks, a stocky, grey-haired Republican, and Vice President Ellen Penn. Silent, he handed each of them a copy of his message. For almost five minutes, the respectful applause continued unabated, with Kilcannon utterly still, eyes downcast in an attitude of deep reflection and humility. Only when, at last, the sound slowly receded did Thomas Jencks speak the ceremonial greeting.

    Members of Congress, I have the high honor and distinct privilege of presenting to you the President of the United States . . .

Those attending rose as one.

* * *

    From the rostrum, Kerry Kilcannon watched them, his chest tight with emotion. He recalled like yesterday the tumult as he accepted his party's nomination, the chill day of his inaugural address, but never a speech so fraught with moment. As the silence fell at last, he remembered Inez Costello, then Joan, and finally Marie, smiling with delight as he danced with her at the wedding. And then, stepping forward to the rostrum, he looked up at his wife.

* * *

    On television, Lara Kilcannon's lips moved, as though in a silent encouragement only he could hear.

    'They're certainly milking this one,' Bill Campton said to Dane. And then Kilcannon began to speak.

    Thirteen years ago, the President said in quiet tones, my brother James Kilcannon died of a fatal gunshot wound. Thirteen days