Balance of Power

finds itself muscled back by those it intends to use. Dane's needs were obvious and urgent. And by hiring Landon for his ties to Fasano, Dane had given both men leverage: for Fasano, to secure his dominance of the party; for Landon, to augment his wealth and influence. Finishing his bourbon, Landon leaned back in his chair, as though widening his field of vision. 'If we're all agreed on our approach,' he said in a conciliatory tone, 'let's talk about what Frank can do for you. And how he best can do it.

    'I don't know what Frank Fasano will decide his future holds. But to my mind, and I'm sure to yours, he has potential well beyond the Senate. It's in all of our interests to spare him needless controversy.'

    'In other words,' Dane said with brusque impatience, 'Frank can't take the lead. So who will?'

    Dane cast an inquiring gaze toward Fasano. 'Dave Ruckles, perhaps?'

    This, Fasano thought, suited his own needs perfectly. As Majority Whip, Ruckles was already chafing under Fasano's leadership. Ruckles was nakedly ambitious—even if he saw the potential pitfalls, the temptation to ingratiate himself with such a wide array of interest groups would be too great to resist.

    'That sounds right,' Fasano concurred. 'Dave should introduce the bill—Paul Harshman's image is too hard- line. You'll also want a woman to cosponsor, maybe Clare McIntyre. Or Cassie Rollins, assuming she's persuadable.'

    'In Maine she should be,' Dane replied. 'But she's up for reelection. In election years, the Yankees try to sit on the fence.'

    'The Yankees,' Fasano knew, was Dane's pejorative for New England moderates Dane considered unreliable on gun rights—Kate Jarman of Vermont, Dick Stafford of Connecticut, John Smythe of Rhode Island, and Cassie Rollins of Maine. ' 'The Yankees,' ' Fasano replied, 'are my department. As is my party as a whole.'

    Dane paused, appraising him. 'How so?' he demanded.

    It was time, Fasano decided, to spell out how things would be. 'You want me to deliver,' he said coolly. 'So you play by my rules.

    'I direct the money you give to our party. I allocate it to the national party, the Senate committee, and the individual senators I select. I pick the candidates you help, and I clear the Democrats you support. End of story.'

    Dane's eyes seemed to narrow. 'Your story ends with you as the most powerful senator in living memory. Using our money to do it.'

    Fasano nodded. 'True. But with the SSA more well positioned than ever. Because I am.'

    Now Kelsey Landon only watched. Coldly, Dane countered, 'Then I want your commitment to go all out. No taking SSA money, then making some token effort and telling us it's all too bad.'

    Fasano's own expression was grim. 'Fair enough. But I'm the Senate Majority Leader, not your hired hand. You screwed up with Martin Bresler's group, and then I let you get between us and Bresler. If Kilcannon or the media ever hears about that one, they'll say I'm holding the bag on three dead bodies.

    'So I'm in charge of this one. I know how best to protect my party, and our majority. Respect that, and you won't have to live with a Senate controlled by Kerry Kilcannon.'

    For a long time, Dane stared at him. 'Is that all?'

    'Not quite. Kilcannon will use this lawsuit to drive a wedge between Lexington and the SSA, and Lexington and the rest of the industry. If Lexington caves, you've got no bill . . .'

    'How long,' Dane interrupted, 'would Lexington last if our four million members stop buying its products. Or gun dealers refuse to stock them?'

    'This involves much more than keeping Lexington quiet and in line,' Fasano answered. 'If you're that worried about what Lenihan might uncover in their files, Lexington can't let Mary Costello's lawsuit gain any traction whatsoever. That demands a scorched earth defense by the meanest lawyers they can find.'

    This induced a longer gaze from Charles Dane. 'We've got the lawyers,' he said at length. 'They're not just mean, but establishment mean—as smooth as corporate lawyers come. We're confident that Lexington will agree to hire them.' Abruptly, Dane's manner became commanding. 'How long will it take you to pass a bill?'

    'This bill? Three months at a minimum.'

    'Then you should find a way to speed it up.'

    'What clever trick would you recommend? Tacking it on some other bill? Kilcannon would veto the bill in a heartbeat, and pillory us in the bargain.

    'We'll do this by the numbers,' Fasano continued. 'Introduce the bill; refer it to the Commerce Committee for a hearing; get it out of Palmer's clutches with a favorable committee vote; put it on the calendar; work out an amendment process with Hampton; kill his amendments gutting your provision; and pass it with sixty-seven votes. All of which takes time.'

    'Three months,' Dane retorted, 'is too much time. As soon as Kilcannon's people figure out what's in the bill for us—and they will—he'll try to rally support like he's been doing on his gun bill. The more time he has, the more our opposition hardens.'

    'Frank didn't say,' Landon interposed, 'that there was nothing you can do to make this easier. I think there is.'

    Dane turned to Landon. 'Such as?'

    'Start with the House of Representatives. Let Tom Jencks pass the tort reform bill without the gun immunity clause. Keep that language out of the Senate bill you send to Palmer. That way, there's nothing for Kilcannon's people to spot . . .'

    'And we get nothing for our investment . . .'

    'But then,' Landon continued smoothly, 'a few days before passage, someone like Paul Harshman inserts your gun immunity provision in the bill to be voted out of Palmer's committee. It's easily done. Suddenly the bill coming to the floor includes what you want, and, with luck, it will be a while before the President and Hampton notice that. Let alone rally support.

    'With enough luck, they'll be too late. And once your bill passes the Senate, we go back to the House, wherein Tom Jencks swiftly inserts the gun immunity language.'

    Silent, Fasano watched Dane evaluate Landon's suggestion. At length, he turned to Fasano. 'There's just one glaring problem. Palmer. Committee chairmen are dictators. And the last time I saw him he told me to go fuck myself.'

    Fasano smiled. 'Sounds like Chad. I'll talk to him about you.'

    'Palmer,' Dane objected, 'is in the way . . .'

    'I'll deal with Palmer,' Fasano snapped. 'You take care of Lexington.'

    'The sine qua non is to keep everyone together—Lexington, the SSA, and all the other entities in our great antilawyer, pro-job, pro-consumer coalition.' Looking from Landon to Dane, Fasano paused for emphasis. 'Our only chance of surviving Kilcannon's veto is to keep the gun provision in the final bill, forcing every senator to vote 'yes' or 'no' on the most sweeping reform of civil justice ever to pass the Senate.'

    Thoughtful, Dane seemed to withdraw from the conversation. 'Is there any chance,' he mused aloud, 'that Kilcannon could be persuaded not to veto such a bill?'

    For the first time since the meeting began, Fasano was surprised. 'One that wipes out Mary Costello's lawsuit? That's a primal challenge to everything he holds dear.'

    At this, Dane looked up at him with eyes so placid that it took Fasano aback. 'Still, Frank, your life would be much easier if you never had to get to sixty-seven.'