Balance of Power

bill; a brief visit to a Head Start program; a meeting with the Israeli foreign minister; a luncheon speech on human rights; an interview with the New York Times; a telephone call with the chairman and the finance director of the Democratic National Committee. But, as always, Kerry insisted on exercise: he had just completed six miles on the treadmill when Chuck Hampton called from the Senate.

    Sweat running down his face, Kerry took the cell phone from his assistant, his free hand clutching a chilled bottle of springwater. 'The tort reform bill you were expecting dropped,' Hampton told him. 'Very quietly. They sent it straight to the Commerce Committee—the minority counsel was looking for it, and he's already read it through.'

    Kerry finished taking a deep swallow of water. 'What's in it?'

    'A corporate wish list—I'm sending a copy to your legislative people. But nothing which would immunize gun companies.'

    'What about language tailored to protect the industry?'

    'Not that we can see. Still, a lot can happen between introduction and a final vote, a good bit of it in committee. Palmer's scheduled a hearing.'

    'Already?' Kerry said with real surprise. 'When?'

    'A week from now.'

    'Jesus.' Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Kerry asked, 'Can you stall it?'

    'Not easy,' Hampton replied in a dubious tone. 'I can object to the hearing. But that's hardball, and invites retribution. There's nothing here to warrant all that.'

    'Not on the surface. But this is about guns, Chuck—trust me on that.'

    From Hampton there was the silence of reflection. 'If it is,' he said slowly, 'then it seems like Palmer's playing ball with Ruckles. Or, more likely, Fasano.'

    Though Kerry did not care to think so, Hampton might well be right. 'In that case, they'll likely slip something in before the committee sends it to the floor. Have our counsel keep an eye on it.'

    'I will. And you might want to give your friend a call.'

    'Oh,' Kerry said softly, 'I intend to. After I've given this some thought.'

* * *

    In late afternoon, Kerry and Clayton met on the fly with Jack Sanders and the Director of Legislative Affairs, Liz Curry.

    Liz spread the pages of the Civil Justice Reform Act, annotated in red pen, across the President's coffee table. 'It's like Chuck said,' Liz told him. 'A corporate wish list, a nightmare for plaintiffs' lawyers—limitations on class actions, caps on attorneys' fees and punitive damages, the works. You can hear their opening line: 'plaintiffs' lawyers are maggots.' '

    'And defense lawyers never are?' Kerry asked sardonically. 'You know what this is about, Liz? Social class, and privilege.

    'It's easy to screw a lot of little people who don't have the money to fight back, and then hire a hoard of smug corporate defense lawyers who make five hundred bucks an hour—all to grind the victims to dust while whining about the fee awards lawyers like Lenihan get for representing them. What's an exploding tire or a little E. coli, after all? The truly important thing is that some sonofabitch of a CEO who's getting tens of millions for firing half his workforce doesn't get distracted by the annoyance of having to answer for some victim's misery.'

    'Oh, there's plenty of that here,' Liz answered with a jaded smile. 'Try this one, Mr. President. If this 'reform act' passes, no one can sue for a defect in an elevator over fifteen years old.

    'Why? you might wonder. I happen to know. For a long time one of our leading elevator companies kept selling single line elevators—even though double cables were safer—because they had some in stock. Last year the single line in a seventeen-year-old elevator snapped, leaving a mother of three quadriplegic and without medical care. You can't have the poor elevator company paying for that.'

    Softly, Kerry said, 'They just can't help themselves, can they?' Turning to Clayton, he said, 'I want to pull together a supergroup to fight this bill—the Attorney General, a legislative team, our political director, someone to poll messages, a media consultant to look at advertising. I mean for us to sink this thing, any way we can.' He paused, then finished, 'And make sure we're primed on gun immunity.'

    Clayton nodded. Facing Liz again, the President asked, 'What other stinkers are in here?'

    'Any number. For one thing, it looks like this bill would bar wrongful death actions for victims of asbestosis.'

    The President cocked his head. 'Besides Ruckles, who else is on the bill?'

    Liz smiled. 'Leo Weller, among others.'

    'Isn't asbestosis a problem in Montana?'

    'A big one.'

    'Then it's a big problem for Leo—he's up for reelection next year.' To Clayton, the President said, 'We might want to turn Leo Weller into an object lesson for Frank Fasano. Perhaps even a paid political advertisement.'

    Clayton smiled. 'Leo,' he said mildly, 'was always mediagenic.'

    Smiling himself, Kerry thanked the group. But when he called Chad Palmer, the President's face was grim.

* * *

Bluntly, the President asked, 'What's happening over there?'

    Chad's voice was bland. 'The usual—subsidies for agribusiness; a weapons system we don't need and the military doesn't want; a few million to expand our share of the world's mohair market . . .'

    'Cut the shit, Chad. Ruckles files his stealth bill, and you set a new land-speed record for scheduling committee hearings. Can't you at least give asbestosis suits time for a decent burial?'

    'Is that in there? I hadn't looked.' A note of exasperation, perhaps defensiveness, crept into Chad's voice. 'This isn't new. Asbestosis aside, we've been trying to pass tort reform for years . . .'

    'Chad,' the President cut in softly, 'tort reform has never been your issue. Campaign finance reform is. Something's going on here, and I think we both know what it is—guns.'

    Chad was briefly silent. 'There's nothing in this bill on guns,' he said.

    Kerry paused to reflect. Chad had not known about the asbestosis clause, but was very certain that the bill contained 'nothing' on guns. His implicit addendum, Kerry realized, was 'not yet.'

    Kerry thanked him, and got off.

* * *

    A few days after the bill was introduced, Senator Harshman came to Chad Palmer's office.

    This was rare; the two men detested each other. Gaunt and selfrighteous, Harshman did not bother to sit. Instead he handed Chad a plain manila envelope.

    'I believe you've been expecting this,' Harshman told him. 'I'm suggesting some additional safeguards for the Civil Justice Reform Act.'

    To Harshman's obvious annoyance, Chad opened the envelope and made a show of reading it quite carefully. ' 'Safeguards,' ' Palmer murmured. 'After all these years, Paul, you're developing a gift for understatement.'

    Harshman scowled. 'It's high time we choose between the Second Amendment and a bunch of corporate ambulance chasers.'

    'Oh, it's the patriotic thing, all right. I'm sure even Mary Costello would agree.' Chad summoned his most pleasant smile. 'You needn't linger, Senator. I'm sure you're busy, and it's time for me to take a