Balance of Power

    With one stroke, Sarah realized, the judge had just walled off discovery from public view. In protest, Lenihan rose again. 'Plaintiff's counsel,' Nolan continued calmly, 'mentioned deposing Mr. Callister, Lexington's Chief Executive Officer. We believe any such deposition is an effort to take up valuable executive time, when the plaintiff can get the exact same information from other witnesses . . .'

    'The plaintiff,' Lenihan objected, 'is entitled to question all relevant witnesses.'

    'But who determines relevance?' Nolan inquired in his most reasonable tone. 'We request that the Court bar Mr. Callister's deposition until plaintiff has examined all other prospective witnesses, and only if counsel then can demonstrate that Mr. Callister has information unavailable from any other source.'

    In anger, Sarah stood. 'May I be heard, Your Honor?'

    Turning, Bond gave her a perfunctory nod. 'Go ahead, counsel.'

    'It's preposterous that Mr. Nolan proposes to take up the time of the President of the United States, but claims that the president of Lexington Arms is too important for us to bother . . .'

    'President Kilcannon,' Bond interrupted, 'can speak for himself. But Mr. Nolan speaks for Mr. Callister.'

    'Mr. Callister,' Sarah shot back, 'dealt with President Kilcannon. Any pressure by the SSA or Lexington would have been on Mr. Callister.'

    'Pardon me,' Nolan broke in. 'Are you saying, Ms. Dash, that Mr. Callister conspired with himself, or pressured himself? Under your own conspiracy theory, Mr. Callister's uniqueness as a witness is conceptually impossible.'

    'Indeed,' Bond said emphatically. 'So I'm granting your request.' Facing Sarah, the judge spoke in his most astringent tone. 'Whatever this case turns out to be, counsel, it will not be a tool of harassment, a pipeline to the media, or fodder for national politicians.

    'Let me be clear. Mr. Nolan's requests are now the order of this Court. Any party or attorney who violates our order will be subject to contempt and, should the Court deem it appropriate, referred to the State Bar for disciplinary proceedings.'

    Speechless, Sarah sat down. 'Now let's discuss scheduling,' the judge told her. 'According to your complaint, defendants are perpetrating a continuing public nuisance which threatens every citizen of this state. If, indeed, this case is a matter of life and death, this Court feels compelled to expedite its resolution.' Bond's voice became peremptory. 'Therefore you will complete discovery—on both the injunctive relief to be decided by this Court, and the remaining claims to be decided by a jury—on the following timetable:

    'Within seven days, the parties will serve all requests for documents.

    'Within fourteen days from that, all documents will be produced.

    'Within sixty days—not one day more—the parties will conclude all depositions . . .'

    'Your Honor,' Sarah objected, 'for meaningful depositions we need defendants' documents. This schedule is a license for defendants to withhold them . . .'

    'That,' Bond snapped, 'assumes bad faith. I don't. If there's a problem, you can file a motion with the Court.'

    Lenihan's face, Sarah saw, was stained with anger. 'Even assuming good faith,' she answered with precarious calm, 'there will be many thousands of documents. An inspection by the Special Master will further limit our time to review any number of them. We can't take meaningful depositions on the schedule you've outlined, let alone prepare for trial . . .'

    'You requested an injunction, Ms. Dash. I'm giving you the benefit of your request —accelerated discovery.' Folding his arms, Bond leaned forward. 'Not only will I rule on your proposed injuction within two weeks after discovery, I'll rule on defendants' summary judgment motions—if any. If plaintiff lacks sufficient facts to support her claims, there will be no trial.

    'In short, the facts had better be there. Or this Court will not further waste judicial time and resources.' Head snapping, Bond nodded to Nolan and Fancher and then, more curtly, to Lenihan and Sarah. 'That's it. Tomorrow morning the Court will issue its written order.'

    'All rise,' the courtroom clerk called out, and the hearing was over.

* * *

    The elevator doors closed. As it glided downward to the main floor, Sarah and Lenihan were alone.

    Stunned, she leaned against the metal wall. Lenihan stared at the floor. 'Throwing us out,' he said, 'wasn't good enough for Bond. Dismissing the case might have looked arbitrary. He might even have been reversed. But this is truly elegant: he's burnished his credentials for promotion—Gardner Bond, a man so fair that he gave us the rope to hang ourselves. By fucking us with your goddammed public nuisance theory.' His voice echoed in the stifling space. 'Even you can see what's coming, Sarah. On this schedule, Nolan and Fancher will shaft us under the cover of a media blackout.

    'We'll never be able to prove our case, in the press or in the courts. And then Bond will grant their motions for summary judgment. Assuming, of course, that Fasano hasn't rushed the Civil Justice Reform Act past Kilcannon.'

    Before Sarah could answer, the elevator shuddered to a stop.

    A fresh herd of reporters awaited them. 'Ms. Dash,' a woman called out, 'the Senate Commerce Committee has just voted out the Civil Justice Reform Act, and President Kilcannon has denounced its action as a 'speed record for injustice.' What is your reaction?'

    'We'll complete discovery in sixty days,' Sarah answered. 'If the Congress tries to pass this law before the public sees our evidence, we're looking at a cover-up.'

    The contest of law and politics, Sarah knew, had begun.

PART FOUR

THE

BETRAYAL

MID-OCTOBER–EARLY NOVEMBER

ONE

As a courtesy, Frank Fasano, though Majority Leader, came to visit Chuck Hampton in the Minority Leader's office.

    For a time, amidst the ornate trappings of Hampton's office suite, they chatted about personal things— Fasano's burgeoning family, Hampton's twenty-four-year-old daughter's first job as a reporter, the amusing vagaries of Fasano's adjustment to becoming leader and, as such, a manager of towering egos with conflicting ambitions. To Hampton, it was reminiscent of the more decorous and genteel time he knew only through Senate lore, when politics was more leisurely and less lethal, the veneer of professional respect a balm for partisan rancor. But no amount of civility could change what both men now would face. The murder of Lara Kilcannon's family, and the future of this President, would be resolved on the Senate floor. At length, Fasano said, 'We have some business to do.'

    Though instantly on guard, Hampton smiled faintly. 'Scheduling a vote on the President's gun bill?'

    Fasano maintained a bland expression. 'You'll have it, Chuck. Or, at least, a debate on various proposals. All in good time.'

    This somewhat delphic response, Hampton knew, conveyed three things: a threat to filibuster Kilcannon's bill; a reminder that Fasano controlled the schedule on which the bill would be considered; and the reality that, through