Balance of Power

Fasano,' she answered. 'This is taking me somewhere different, Kerry. Journalists develop a shield. Now I'm learning not to protect myself.' Pausing, she tried to put emotions to words. 'I just feel it's good I'm here. Certainly for me.'

    'Then I'm glad you are.' Now it was Kerry who paused. 'Something's come up, Lara. Fasano's tort reform bill has mutated—it would wipe out Mary's lawsuit against Lexington, before Lenihan and Sarah Dash can even start.'

    In this moment, Lara felt herself being transported, against her will, back into the world of politics. 'That's one way,' she said after a time, 'of suppressing evidence. I guess you want me to call Sarah.'

    'Yes. They need to file in a hurry, with maximum impact. And, if possible, to drive a wedge between Lexington and the SSA.'

    'How?' Lara asked.

    Kerry answered with a question. 'Do you recall Martin Bresler?'

THIRTEEN

'I'm not naive,' Martin Bresler told Sarah in an agitated voice. 'If I cooperate with you, sooner or later my name will come out.'

    It was early morning, and Sarah's office was quiet. The night before, she had been revising the complaint against Lexington Arms, planning to file in two days' time, when Lara Kilcannon's call had turned these plans on their head. Calling Bresler in Washington, Sarah recited the facts as Lara related them: that Bresler had been working on a voluntary agreement to require background checks at gun shows; that Lexington had been amenable; and that, by destroying Bresler's association of gun manufacturers, the SSA had thwarted the deal and paved the way for the Costello murders. Even over the telephone, Sarah could hear the impact this blunt recitation was having on Martin Bresler.

    'You've got two choices,' Sarah replied. 'You can cooperate with us in private, and we'll keep your name out of this as long as we can. Or we can take your deposition as soon as we file, under oath, with Lexington's lawyers in the room. Which effectively means the SSA.'

    'If I 'cooperate,' ' Bresler retorted, 'you may sue the SSA. Why would I touch that? I don't think you get it, Ms. Dash. I've got two kids in college, and my career's on life support. I'm just trying to land a job . . .'

    'Exactly,' Sarah said in a calm, implacable tone. 'I'm offering you a chance to do the right thing in private, which gives you more time to regroup before the SSA finds out. But letting you off the hook is not an option.'

    Sarah waited out Bresler's silence. 'I'll have to call you back,' Bresler said in a defeated tone. Only then did Sarah permit herself to feel a certain pity.

* * *

    With quiet fury, Kerry said, 'This is the SSA's Trojan horse. Designed to humiliate me, politically and personally.'

    Alone with Kerry in the Oval Office, Chad Palmer remained calm. 'Fasano,' he answered, 'would call that a 'leadership priority.' As for Trojan horses, I must say that you're taking a keen interest in Mary Costello's prospective lawsuit.

    'We have a fundamental difference of opinion, Mr. President. You and people like Bob Lenihan think that lawsuits against gun companies will force them to give you what Congress won't. Others think they're an abuse of a legal system too open to abuse already . . .'

    'Are you supporting this thing,' Kerry interjected, 'or just tolerating it?'

    'Supporting it,' Chad said baldly. 'I mean to get it through committee and speak for it on the floor.'

    Kerry felt shaken. There was no need to remind Chad of the immensity of his decision, or of how much more difficult it would make the President's task. Softly, he said, 'You despise the SSA almost as much as I do. What in the world did Fasano offer you?'

    For an instant, Chad looked discomfited. Almost unique among politicians, in Kerry's mind, Palmer possessed a sense of shame which diminished his skill at functional insincerity. 'I'm sorry this is personal to you,' he said at length. 'But, this time, I'm not carrying your water. Caroline Masters was enough.'

    Though spoken quietly, the last phrase reminded Kerry that he would always be associated with the death of Chad's daughter and that Chad's bitterness, however well suppressed, would never entirely vanish. With equal quiet, Kerry answered, 'Then I have a courtesy to ask. Not for me, but for Lara.'

    Chad hesitated. 'What might that be, Mr. President?'

    'You've scheduled hearings, including on this gun immunity clause. The witness list is up to you.'

    Chad stared at him. 'You want me to call Lara.'

    'And Mary.'

    A grim comprehension stole into Chad's eyes. Personally and politically, he could not ban a First Lady and her sister, the survivors of a nationally televised slaughter, from confronting him on every cable news network in America. Now Chad would pay a price, and so would Frank Fasano. 'Please tell the First Lady,' Chad said with formal courtesy, 'that I welcome them both.'

FOURTEEN

Two mornings later, Martin Bresler met with Bob Lenihan and Sarah Dash.

    To assure that no one saw them, Sarah rented a vacation home in Sea Ranch, a windswept compound along the rugged northern coast of Sonoma County, set amidst low vegetation and sheltering pines. The three sat drinking coffee on a wooden bench at the tip of a bluff overlooking the ocean, watching high waves slap against rocks and cliffs which turned blue water into a perpetual white spray. Seated between the lawyers, Bresler hunched in a defensive crouch.

    'No affidavit,' he stated flatly. 'Nothing in writing.'

    He was a small man, with receding dark hair, liquid eyes and a mobile, expressive face. There was something diminished about him, Sarah thought, a natural volubility turned to suspicion. 'We can't do that,' Lenihan insisted. 'What's to keep you from telling us any story you want, then walking away from it when crunch time comes?'

    Remaining hunched, Bresler did not look at anyone. 'And if crunch time never comes? What if your case settles or gets thrown out? I don't want some document sitting around with my name on it . . .'

    'Are you that scared?' Sarah interjected.

    'Are you that naive?' Bresler snapped. 'Once you hear my story, you'll understand. Right now, let me ask how you'd enjoy this scenario—I can't get hired in the gun industry; Republicans treat me like a pariah; and I'm scouring Washington for a lobbyist job when the last one blew up in my face.

    'I'm talking to you because it's the only way to avoid having to testify. But if I'm forced to, I don't want to have signed an affidavit so that Lexington's lawyers can use it as a fucking blueprint to grill me with.' Pausing, he sipped coffee, still gazing at the sparkling blue water beneath an electric blue sky. 'So do you want my help? Or do you want a deposition from someone who's suffering an enormous memory lapse?'

    Sarah looked past him, at Lenihan. 'Let's talk,' she said.