Balance of Power

    'The House will pass tort reform this week,' he told Lenihan. 'In the Senate there's still a logjam, mostly over gun immunity. But it could break any day—if it breaks against us, it might pass fairly quickly.'

    'It never has before,' Lenihan answered.

    His tone was weary but resistant, that of someone too preoccupied to accept bad news and, perhaps, resentful of Lara's—and, inferentially the President's—intercession with Mary on behalf of Sarah Dash. 'This year's different,' Kerry said. 'Fasano's managed to unite the SSA and the business interests. We need to re-divide them.'

    'What do you suggest?'

    Steeling himself for a burst of outrage, Kerry answered calmly, 'That we offer the business interests a watered-down version of tort reform . . .'

    'Any tort reform,' Lenihan said with indignation, 'is a sellout to the big boys. What in hell do Democrats stand for if not for the average American?'

    'That's not a lecture I need, Bob. But, in this case, I plan on making Frank Fasano the 'average American's' new best friend.'

    'How is that?'

    'Because I'm putting him to a choice between the business interests and the SSA. And I already know which one he'll choose.' The President's voice was no less commanding for its softness. 'I won't let you be my SSA. That's the difference between me and Frank Fasano.'

* * *

'Lenihan signed on?' Chuck Hampton asked the President.

    Even in the motorcade shrieking toward the Blackstone, Kerry could hear the astonishment in Hampton's voice. Dryly, he answered, 'With some reluctance.'

    'I can imagine. Did you tell him what you have in mind?'

    'Most of it, including that your Democratic colleagues could use some cover on tort reform. But not quite all.' Pensive, Kerry gazed out the tinted window at the streets of Chicago. 'Unless I've misjudged both Fasano and Charles Dane, it won't matter. All I really need is to put the business coalition in motion.'

* * *

It was the first time since Kerry's election that Tony Calvo of the Chamber of Commerce had been invited to the White House. That he found himself in the Oval Office, meeting privately with the President, seemed to deepen his astonishment.

    Slowly, Calvo repeated, 'You're proposing, Mr. President, to limit contingency fees for plaintiffs' lawyers. And to cap punitive damages.'

    The President smiled. 'I hope I haven't upset you,' he said wryly. 'All these years, when you were complaining about punitives and greedy trial lawyers, I thought you really meant it. This is your chance.' Abruptly, the President's voice became cool. 'The bill Fasano's pushing is a wish list—I'd have to veto it even if it weren't a Trojan horse for gun companies. Your last, best hope to pass anything is to work with me, or wait three years for the voters to run me out of office. And seven if they don't.'

    Calvo gazed past him out the window, as though imagining the futility stretching before him. 'The trial lawyers have actually signed off on this?'

    'Yes. Specifically, Bob Lenihan and his group. All I need is you, Tony, and we can pass it.'

    Soberly, Calvo faced him. 'I assume that there's a price.'

    'Only one,' Kerry answered succinctly. 'I'm replacing the gun immunity provision in the current bill with language providing that none of its protections apply to lawsuits involving guns. I'll expect you to support that.'

    Dismay crept into Calvo's eyes. 'There's the SSA, Mr. President.'

    Kerry shrugged. 'The SSA got greedy, and piggybacked on your bill. That's intolerable to me.'

    Somber, Calvo weighed his choices. At length, he responded. 'I can't give you an answer on my own. Not about this.'

    'Of course not. So talk to your allies. And then go to Frank Fasano.' Kerry's voice softened. 'Ask Fasano if he wants to do something for you, or just wants chits with the SSA. I hope you don't find out that I'm your only friend in town.'

SIX

In the SSA's main conference room, replete with a wall display of historic handguns and rifles, Sarah Dash interrogated Charles Dane across a lacquered table.

    Hawk-faced, Harrison Fancher sat next to Dane, tautly vigilant to any traps concealed in Sarah's questions. Her strategy, as risky as her task was delicate, rested on a single fact: in one week, plaintiff would have to list its prospective witnesses at trial—among them Martin Bresler. By deposing Dane before this deadline—despite the absence of a concrete foundation for her cross-examination—she hoped to lure him into sworn testimony which Bresler would then refute. This would have two virtues: discrediting Dane as a witness—including with respect to his dealings with Callister—and, thereby, buttressing Sarah's claim that deposing Callister was essential. But this required a considerable deftness; her questions must be pointed, yet general enough to conceal Bresler's cooperation. Ten minutes into the deposition, Sarah remained on edge.

    At the far end of the table sat John Nolan, relegated to the role of onlooker; at the other was a natty court reporter in horn-rimmed glasses and bow tie. Glancing at the copy of The Defender magazine which Sarah slid across the table, Dane answered her pending question in a tone of boredom, 'Of course I've seen this, Ms. Dash. Including the advertisements.'

    'Did anyone from the SSA review these ads for content?'

    Tall and lean, Dane conveyed an impression of ease and power, and his expression combined indifference with the contempt of an important man inconvenienced by a lower species. 'I wouldn't know.'

    'What is your understanding, Mr. Dane, as to The Defender's obligation to review the contents of advertisements such as these?'

    'I have no understanding.'

    Sarah kept her face expressionless, her manner unruffled. 'In your view, is an advertisement calling the P-2 'lethal in split seconds' acceptable?'

    'Yes.'

    'Or one which calls it the 'deadliest military-style weapon on the market'?'

    For the first time, Dane seemed amused. 'Are you saying that's not true?'

    'Are you saying that the SSA's sole obligation was to determine whether Lexington's description of the P-2's killing capacity is accurate?'

    'We had no obligation.' Dane's tone resumed its tightly reined impatience. 'Not unless we knew for a fact that this language was deceptive.'

    Sarah pointed at the magazine. 'So claiming that the Eagle's Claw 'opens a massive wound channel' is also fine with you.'

    Dane shrugged. 'As far as I know, the Eagle's Claw 'opens a massive wound channel.' If it doesn't, then Lexington's to blame.'

    To Sarah's annoyance, Nolan smiled faintly. 'What,' Sarah asked, 'is your magazine's obligation with respect