Balance of Power

by Richard North Patterson

NINE

  Francis Xavier Fasano did not lack for self-confidence. He was—and knew he was—attractive, articulate, media-savvy, and an extremely subtle tactician. These gifts had caused his peers to make Fasano the youngest Majority Leader in memory, in the hope that he could heal the damage caused by the downfall of Macdonald Gage, while matching Kerry Kilcannon in youth and determination. But Fasano did not underrate his difficulties. Among them was to propitiate the conservative forces which provided money and activists to the GOP, while ensuring that he neither was, nor appeared to be, under their control. With no group was this harder than the Sons of the Second Amendment—which was why, the morning after calling on the Kilcannons, Fasano sought Senator Gage's advice.

  They met in the well-appointed suite which, one-half year ago, had belonged to Gage himself. To Fasano, his predecessor was a reminder of how unsparing Kilcannon could be. Amidst the fight over Caroline Masters, Mason Taylor—a lobbyist and key supporter of Mac Gage—had tried to eliminate Chad Palmer as Gage's rival by leaking Palmer's permission, despite his pro-life views, for his daughter to have an abortion. This had led to Kyle Palmer's tragic death; Kilcannon's use of the FBI to trace the leak to Taylor—and, by implication, Gage—had forced Gage's resignation as leader. While Fasano doubted Gage had gone so far as to authorize the leak, as opposed to merely failing to restrain Taylor, this was not a distinction which seemed to trouble Kerry Kilcannon.

  For this, Fasano accorded Gage a deferential sympathy which had earned him Gage's appreciation and, at times, sound tactical advice. But Fasano had another reason for this meeting: Gage, Fasano was quite sure, maintained an intimate connection with Charles Dane, president of the SSA, though neither Gage nor Dane acknowledged this. Through what Gage said—or, perhaps, chose not to say—Fasano hoped to divine Dane's thinking.

  "The SSA wants a meeting," Fasano began. "Very private."

  Gage gave the smile which was no smile, the one in which his teeth did not show. Though he maintained the Southern charm and the ami able, shrewd persona of a prosperous provincial worthy, Fasano sensed a bitterness burrowing through Gage like a tapeworm, a wound, inflicted by Kilcannon, which soured his every day. "Well," Gage answered, "they're our friend—a friend in need of friends. Kilcannon's got all the sympathy." Sipping his coffee, he studied Fasano over the rim of his china cup. "What do you suppose they want?"

  "On the surface? To ensure we're loyal. To remind me that I should be loyal. As a substantive matter, to strategize how to beat Kilcannon if he launches a crusade for tougher gun laws. If the SSA can whip him now, with Lara Kilcannon's family murdered, the Democrats will run from gun control like the plague."

  "True enough." This time Gage's teeth showed. "Then maybe they'll replace Kilcannon with you—if you're as loyal as you should be. What more could they want?"

  How, Fasano wondered, could a politician as practiced as Gage seem so nakedly duplicitous. "Perhaps something more immediate," he answered.

  "Such as?"

  "Remember Martin Bresler? He was working on a deal with Kilcannon. The same one Kilcannon later floated to the president of Lexington Arms."

  Gage gazed at the chandelier, as if straining to remember. "As I recall, the gun companies decided Bresler was a bit of a loose cannon."

  "That's one version. The other is that the SSA took Bresler down." Fasano finished his coffee. "Suppose you're Charles Dane. The SSA has adamantly opposed the President's proposed settlement of lawsuits against companies like Lexington in exchange for voluntary background checks at gun shows. Then this batterer gets a Lexington gun—maybe at a gun show—and executes three members of the First Lady's family. What, exactly, do you tell the gun companies now?"

  Fasano watched Gage choose between maintaining a pose of ingenuousness and conceding inside knowledge. "That depends," Gage said at length. "To me, these lawsuits are a terrible abuse: suing gun companies for selling a legal product that some criminal later uses for his own evil purposes. That runs counter to the common sense of the American people."

  Fasano suppressed a smile—never was Gage more disingenuous than when he spoke in pieties. "It does," he agreed. "Or did. Until the Costello murders."

  Gage's eyes glinted. "You're thinking maybe that now Lara Kilcannon will sue Lexington for the wrongful deaths of her mother, sister, and niece, asking for enough in compensatory and punitive damages to drive Lexington into bankruptcy. An object lesson for anyone who kowtows to the SSA, courtesy of our President." Briefly Gage licked his lips, as though, Fasano imagined, tasting his own bile. "Kilcannon likes reminding us of what a prick he is—for him, that was the beauty of what he did to me. But using his wife is too unsubtle, using a First Lady too unseemly."

  "Did Macbeth 'use' Lady Macbeth?" Fasano rejoined. "I saw them yesterday, Mac. As sorry as I was for her, it felt like visiting tempered steel. But you're right, of course—they're both too smart for that."

  Gage studied him. "And so?"

  "Go back and count sisters one more time." Pausing, Fasano spoke more quietly. "On the drive home, Bernadette asked what was troubling me. It took me a moment to remember the sister who survived."

  Gage sat back with the ruminating air of a man discovering his own subconscious thoughts. "So the other surviving sister brings a lawsuit," he said slowly, "represented by some raging greed-head of a plaintiffs' lawyer who made millions suing tobacco companies. And you figure that's occurred to the SSA."

  Fasano met his gaze. "I figure it's occurred to Kerry Kilcannon. And Charles Dane gives the President at least as much thought as I do."

  Gage smiled like a teacher whose pupil has passed a tough exam. "Tort reform," he said flatly.

  "Tort reform with a meat ax. The SSA will want us to pass a bill banning this kind of lawsuit." Fasano nodded toward his television, mutely flashing a picture of the First Lady in mourning, walking on the beach with her husband. "A tough sell at the moment. And we'd need a twothirds vote to override Kilcannon's veto."

  Turning, Gage watched the screen. "The principle's right," he answered. "It all depends on how we package it."

  "Whatever the SSA might want," Fasano responded calmly, "I told them to wait for a meeting until we see what Kilcannon does. The President's got some real problems of his own, beginning with Chuck Hampton and the Democrats. At least five or six of them don't need a fight with the SSA."

  Gage still eyed the screen. "If it's only us in Kilcannon's way, it's our problem. If it's Democrats, too, it's Kilcannon's problem. The SSA will see to that."

  For a moment, Fasano also watched Lara Kilcannon's image on television, a slim figure in blue jeans and an oversized sweater, leaning against her husband. The cynic in him wondered if, knowing the cameras watched, Lara had chosen to project her vulnerability. "Lara Kilcannon," he rejoined, "could change everything."

  Gage turned to him, as if unmoved by what he had seen. "She'll get some short-term sympathy, I agree. But people may decide they're going overboard.

  "She's from California; he's from New Jersey. The nearer you live to water, the more clueless you become. Good people with guns won't like being blamed for the actions of a wife-beater." Gage smiled grimly. "To millions of Americans, guns are a religion, like NASCAR. It's not economics which drives politics anymore—it's values. People in the heartland sense Kilcannon's not right with his God."

  "On abortion," Fasano answered coolly, "he'll never be right with God. But our mistake is to believe that he's some sort of different species—a fanatic liberal running on emotion and intuition.

  "I think he understands everything you just said, Mac, and has simply made a different calculation. Different, and huge—a cosmic gamble." Fasano's tone had lost all pretense of deference. "Kilcannon's game is nothing less than the realignment of American politics. He wants us to be the only place the SSA can go: he figures that issues like guns and abortion will drive women away in truckloads, along with moderates and suburbanites.

  "The right wing can turn enough voters out in most
Republican primaries that you just can't win against them. Then Kilcannon takes the SSA in states like California and jams them down our throat—in the states he needs to win, he figures, the right is strong enough to win our primary, and offensive enough to lose us the general election. That's his biggest reason for pursuing this."

  Gage's expression was keen with interest. "Which makes him not only a prick, but a cold-blooded prick."

  Fasano shrugged. "Have any quarrel with that?"

  "None. Except that Kilcannon's wrong." Gage folded his hands in front of him. "Less than half the people in this country vote. We don't need a majority to win. We need a fully committed minority, one which votes the issues they care about first, last, and always. Our message on guns is simple: the Second Amendment is absolute; the government shouldn't interfere with gun rights; and existing laws are all we need. Ask yourself this: do folks want to ban stock car racing because Dale Earnhardt cracked up his car?"

  "Tell that to our moderates," Fasano retorted. "New Englanders like Kate Jarman and Cassie Rollins. Not to mention Chad Palmer."

  At this mention of Palmer, Gage stared fixedly at Fasano's Persian rug. "Palmer," he said quietly, "was what went wrong with Masters. Kilcannon got to him first. Don't let that happen here."

  "I don't intend to. But Palmer will want something."

  "Then find a way to give it to him. At least within reason." Gage sat back, his manner becoming more expansive. "Want my overall advice on how to beat Kilcannon on gun control?"

  "That's what I was hoping for."

  "Lie low. Let Kilcannon make all the noise, and let the SSA work below the radar screen. Control the calendar—slow things down until passions have cooled, so that the natural order of politics can reassert itself. Let other senators take the lead. Just remind folks of how much better it is when this great deliberative body is allowed to work its will, so that we get the right bill rather than a hasty one."

  That, Fasano thought, was merely stating the obvious. Pointedly, he asked, "No nuances? After all, we're dealing with a President's murdered relatives."

  Contentment crept into Gage's features, as if he had been waiting for this moment, certain enough of Fasano's purpose to know that it would come. "Just a story I heard," he answered smoothly. "Maybe it's worth passing on."

  Gage paused, as if reluctant to impart unpleasant news. "Awhile ago you mentioned Martin Bresler, and whether it was the SSA that took him down for dealing with Kilcannon on safety locks. What I heard, Frank, is that Bresler brought this deal to you before he took it to Kilcannon."

  Fasano felt his expression go blank, his reflex when cornered. "Go on."

  "The story is that Bresler told you that this was our party's chance to moderate our image—embrace 'gun safety' and help the manufacturers find a way out of trouble. If it worked out right, the rumor has Bresler telling you, maybe our party could take some modest steps like background checks at gun shows."

  Fasano mustered a smile. "And so?"

  "So Kilcannon's argument is that Lexington could have stopped the murder of his wife's family." Pausing, Gage's voice softened. "His real argument, if he knew about this rumor, would be that you could have stopped it. But the only folks who know are all your friends. Or so the story goes."

  Fasano shrugged. "In this town, Mac, you hear all sorts of things."

  "I know." Glancing around his former office, Gage's voice filled with sympathy and regret. "A false rumor cost me your job. But I felt honorbound to pass this on."

  And with it, Fasano guessed, a tacit message from the SSA. "Thanks, Mac," he answered blandly. "You've always been a friend."

  TEN

  Two days after his return, Kerry met with Clayton Slade; Jack Sanders, his principal domestic policy advisor; and Alex Cole, his congressional liaison.

  In those two days—despite the chorus of relief and praise stemming from the announcement of Mahmoud Al Anwar's death—the President had not appeared in public. Though the media was an echo chamber of speculation, in the tumult over Al Anwar there had been no leaks regarding his directive to Clayton, Sanders and Cole. This was as Kerry intended.

  Before the others were settled, Clayton took Kerry aside. "Bob Lenihan called, Mr. President. He made his apologies for asking, but he desperately wants to see you."

  This brought an ironic smile to Kerry's lips. "No matter how dire the national condition, or my own, I'll always have time for Bob." Turning, he spoke to Cole. "Run that tape for us, Alex. At the least it will focus our thinking."

  Cole pressed the button on Kerry's VCR. On the screen, Paul Harshman of Idaho, a member of the SSA Board of Governors, stood in the well of the Senate. Gravely, he read from his copy of a letter sent to Kerry by George Callister, provided to Harshman by Lexington Arms.

  "It's an interesting experience," the President said with muted sarcasm, "hearing your own mail read aloud. It almost sounds like I wasn't meant to read it."

  "It is with deep sorrow and regret," Harshman quoted, "that we learned one of our handguns had been so terribly misused . . ."

  "Only handguns?" Kerry murmured. "Once again, Callister forgot the bullets."

  On the tape, Harshman's gaunt visage assumed an expression of deep solemnity. "To prevent such tragedies in the future, we propose the following:

  "First, Lexington will pay for the cost of voluntary background checks at gun shows when any Lexington weapon is sold . . ."

  "No doubt Bowden would have volunteered," Clayton remarked.

  "Second," Harshman continued, "we will join you, Mr. President, in urging Congress to fund a comprehensive drive to ensure that all criminal acts of domestic violence are entered into the database for background checks . . ."

  "No point in volunteering," Kerry observed, "unless you're certain you'll be caught."

  "In this manner," Harshman went on, "we can better control all those prone to violence without abridging the rights of law-abiding gun owners . . ."

  "Insulting," Clayton murmured disgustedly. "Total eyewash, right from the SSA playbook, intended to make Lexington sound 'responsible' in the public mind. I'm surprised he remembered to send you a copy."

  Kerry kept staring at the television. "Callister's playing games with me," he told the others softly. "In public. No one should try to do that with a President."

  * * *

  When the tape was over, Clayton spoke first. "No leaks," he ordered Cole and Sanders. "No speculation about the President's motives. I don't want to read some article in Newsweek or the New York Times about the anatomy of this decision."

  Both men nodded. "Okay," Clayton said to Sanders. "Take us through the polling data."

  "What we found," Sanders told the President, "is that almost seventy percent of Americans think that the Constitution protects gun ownership for individuals. And well over half of those are concerned that you'll go too far in eroding gun rights. I'd save licensing and registration for another day . . ."

  "We license drivers," Kerry objected. "We register cars."

  "Seems right. But there's this libertarian mythology built around the Second Amendment. Where in the Bill of Rights does it say that a 'wellorganized militia' has the right to drive a Ford?"

  "What about the SSA mantra—'all we have to do is enforce existing gun laws'?"

  Sanders glanced at the paper in his lap. "Fifty-four percent agree with the SSA. But that's misleading. Because almost no one knows what bullshit 'existing law' really is."

  Silent, Kerry appraised him. Quietly, he said, "I take it your polling included questions about the murders."

  For an instant, Sanders hesitated. "It did. A great majority believed that 'existing law' would have prevented Bowden from buying a handgun without a background check. When we explained that while 'existing law' made it 'illegal' for a batterer to buy a gun, there was no background check required to determine if Bowden was a batterer, most folks were amazed . . ."

  " 'Existing law,' " Kerry interposed in mordant tones. "The honor code for c
riminals."

  "Not a bad line," Clayton observed. "Better than when you called gun shows 'Tupperware parties for murderers.' Our rhetoric needs to distinguish between felons or spouse abusers, and the 'normal' folks who take their kids to gun shows instead of Disney World."

  "That's fine," Kerry responded. "But our real challenge is to win. And that means saying clearly and succinctly exactly what we'll do to reduce gun violence, and then trying to enact it with all the weapons we possess.

  "We Democrats have developed this sick attraction to losing, and an absolute fear of being tough—or even saying what we believe. That's why I beat Dick Mason in the primaries when nobody thought I would. Voters finally decided they didn't want a President with no idea of who he was from one week to the next.

  "Oddly enough, Americans find an identity crisis unnerving in a leader. They expect me to be precisely who I am, and they've always known where I stand on guns. And why." Pausing, Kerry softened his tone. "I can make a clear distinction between responsible gun owners and people like John Bowden. But if this isn't the time for us to stop the cycle of violence, it never will be. The question is whether we're good enough to rally the country, and mean enough to beat the Republicans and the SSA."