Balance of Power

by Richard North Patterson

  Bernadette's smile mingled skepticism with fondness. "That was easier to believe when you were less important. I can always find someplace to sit."

  Leaning over, Frank kissed her still-smiling lips. "I'm incredibly important," he told her, "but you and our baby are precious."

  * * *

  Frank had meant it, of course. He felt so lucky in Bernadette that sometimes he pitied those politicians, like Kerry Kilcannon, whose spouses had their own agendas. But one of Frank's weaknesses was to count on the elasticity of his wife's good nature. And so, it was well past the time he had meant to leave—after hours of hearty handshakes, kisses on cheeks, confabs with governors whose support he deeply wanted, and calculated candor with columnists—when Senator Macdonald Gage pulled him aside.

  Glancing around Cal Carlston's massive drawing room, Fasano saw Bernadette settled on the couch, listening in apparent fascination to the ever-courtly Kelsey Landon. Briefly, Fasano wondered whether Landon and Gage were functioning as a tag team, and then turned his full attention on Mac Gage.

  "A grand coalition," Gage remarked. "That's what you sold the SSA?"

  "Of course. It won't work any other way."

  "Then this will surely be the lobbyists' Olympics." As he lowered his voice, Gage's smile turned shrewd. "Does the SSA understand you're using them to break the power of the trial lawyers?"

  "Someone needs to," Fasano answered coolly. "Starting with the tobacco litigation, we've been watching the greatest transfer of wealth since they passed the federal income tax—this time from our corporate donor base into the pockets of the plaintiffs' lawyers like Bob Lenihan. Which means to the most liberal element of the Democratic party.

  "The trial lawyers put more cash into Kilcannon's campaign than anyone else. If we can cut down their recoveries against our corporate supporters, we can stop them from funding the Democrats—at least in such large amounts." Fasano glanced around them. "That'll make it easier to beat Kilcannon when he runs for reelection. Charles Dane can hardly object to that."

  Gage's look of shrewdness deepened. "Leave it to you, Frank, to turn a problem into an opportunity. Still, the stakes are huge. It's a shame you can't put a little more time between this and the Costello shootings."

  "Tell that to the SSA." With this, Fasano dropped all pretense that Gage would not be reporting back to Dane. "My next move is to recruit some high-tech companies who'll help me pick up swing Democrats. And techies don't want to be lumped with gun makers. If the SSA doesn't keep quiet and play by my rules, they'll screw this whole thing up."

  Gage squared his shoulders. "Just be straight with Dane about what you're doing, and keep your coalition in line. Once he figures this out, Kilcannon will try to split the SSA from the others. You can't let that happen."

  At the corner of his vision, Fasano caught a senator and two governors glancing at them surreptitiously. Moving closer, Fasano spoke in an undertone. "I don't intend to. That's why I'm making trial lawyers the issue.

  "That'll help us get by with this. Look at Columbine—even with the liberal media pushing gun control, nothing happened. In the end, people will blame Bowden, not Lexington or the SSA. But only if we play it right."

  As if to signal the room that he and Fasano remained in private conference, Gage bowed his head slightly in a pose of confidentiality, though his eyes remained fixed on Fasano. "Kilcannon thinks he can hang our activists—evangelicals, the pro-life folks, and the SSA—like a millstone around our neck. But in a time when under half of eligible Americans vote for President, and some of those for a third-party candidate, less than a quarter of the adult population can make you President. Which means the activists will count for a whole lot more.

  "If all goes well, you'll have the conservative activists providing the troops for a Presidential campaign financed by the corporate interests who'll love you for tort reform. And the activists hate Kilcannon so much they'll let you soften your pitch a little, pick up some votes in the middle." Gage summoned his most amiable smile. "If you can pass tort reform, Frank, and stave off Kilcannon's gun control bill, you're halfway to becoming President."

  Gage, Fasano knew, understood that he already had made precisely this calculation. But if the purpose of this make-believe was to convey messages to and from the SSA, it was now Fasano's turn.

  "If," Fasano answered. "The sequence is important.

  "We need to stall Kilcannon's gun bill. For that, the SSA's going to have to tolerate our alternative bill—something that seems to address how Bowden got his gun. Then we can say that both parties want to protect women and children, but that the Senate needs to work through how best to do it . . ."

  "Which," Gage interrupted, "allows you to put the tort reform bill ahead of gun control on the Senate agenda."

  Fasano nodded. "Of course. Except that the gun immunity provision won't even be in our bill, at least until it's voted out of Palmer's committee."

  Gage's look of good humor evaporated. "Palmer," he said tersely, "is Palmer."

  "Exactly. A war hero, a senator of unimpeachable integrity openly hated by the SSA, and—some would say—still a leading contender for the Republican nomination. If I can get Palmer behind gun immunity, we'll have the inside track on people like Kate Jarman and Cassie Rollins."

  Gage's expression turned opaque. To Gage, Fasano guessed, the last

  remark was an implicit insult: Gage's failure to control Chad Palmer had cost him the job Fasano now held and, with it, his own aspirations to be President. "So," Gage said softly, "you can get Palmer, Kilcannon's great friend, to do all that for you."

  Fasano did not waver. "Look around you," he said with equal quiet. "Chad isn't here. Since Kyle died, he's half of who he was. All he has left except Allie is his career. He needs for it to mean something."

  This implied rebuke—expressing the father and husband in Fasano, not the politician—made Gage look briefly away. When he spoke again, his voice contained an edge. "And you think you can offer him that."

  "Not exactly. But if the SSA gets out of the way, I can make Chad an offer he knows I intend to be meaningless, and let him try to outwit me."

  Gage's eyes became narrow and tight. "And what would that be?"

  Fasano's own stare was hard. "What you would never give him, Mac. The thing he wants most, besides for his daughter to be alive. Not just a law, but a place in American history. I know you'll want to help me."

  NINE

  On that same evening, Chad and Allie Palmer were at th e White House.

  For their first effort to resume a social life, neither Kerry nor Lara felt up to a formal dinner. Instead, they invited a smallish group for a casual meal and an advance screening of a new romantic comedy with Kate Beckinsale and Hugh Grant—who, Lara had assured her husband, was a greatly inferior version of Kerry himself. Their guests were an eclectic collection of political and social friends—two of Lara's former colleagues from NBC; Clayton and Carlie Slade; Jimmy Laughlin, Kerry's former office mate from the D.A.'s office in Newark, now an official in the Justice Department; Kit Pace, his press secretary, and her partner Beth Wilson; and, after some thought on Kerry's part, the Palmers. Only at the last minute had he invited Chuck and Elise Hampton; though the Senate Minority Leader had never been an intimate, or even a supporter, Kerry concluded that now was the time to work on this. And so at dinner Kerry sat between Elise Hampton and Allie Palmer, and Lara next to Chuck.

  This worked out better than either of the Kilcannons had hoped. Lara knew Chuck Hampton from covering the Hill. They had stories in common—the drama and comedy of clashing egos and the sometimes foolish behavior of self-serious men—and after a time Lara's laughter flowed as easily as Hampton's story of the buffoonish senator from North Dakota who, inebriated, had tried to exit a closed-door meeting and entered a closet instead. "We were speechless," Hampton concluded. "He just stayed in there—as though if he didn't come out, we wouldn't notice."

  "What did the rest of you do?" Lara inquired.


  Hampton grinned. "Waited him out, of course. The closet had no bathroom."

  In the general laughter that followed, Kerry murmured to Allie Palmer, "The most remarkable thing about that story is that it's true. I was in the meeting."

  Still smiling, Allie asked, "What did the poor man do when he did come out?"

  "It was really quite astonishing. He sat down again, as though he'd just returned from the men's room, and launched into a monologue on farm subsidies. A true example of grace under pressure."

  Envisioning the moment, Allie shook her head in amusement. After that, their own exchanges deepened. By the end of dinner, she had told him in detail about her volunteer work in an inner-city school, a conversation which Kerry sensed helped Allie put flesh on her new life. As for Elise Hampton, Kerry had always liked her. A Ph.D. in English, Elise had a jaundiced sense of humor and a perspective on politics which, Kerry sensed, had made her more sympathetic than her husband to Kerry's internecine battle with Dick Mason.

  This proved to be true. As they walked from dinner to the screening room, Elise said wryly, "I have an admission to make. A convenient one."

  Kerry smiled. "What's that?"

  "I'm glad you're here, and not Dick Mason. Every time I tried to probe his smooth veneer, I discovered the veneer beneath." Serious now, she touched Kerry's arm. "I'm so sorry about all that's happened, to Lara and to you. But what you're doing needs to be done."

  This was the only mention of guns until the evening—a great success—was over, and the guests began slowly to peel off. Next to last were the Palmers. Leaving, Chad said with a smile, "What this country needs is more free movies," and went into the night, his arm around Allie's waist.

  That left the Hamptons. Standing near the East Entrance with the President and First Lady, Hampton informed Kerry, "I've been counting votes on your bill, Mr. President. I think there's a fair chance that we can get to fifty-one.

  "The problem is getting to sixty, and shutting down a filibuster. Also dealing with whatever sham bill Fasano puts together."

  Kerry nodded. "Something else has occurred to me," he told the Hamptons. "Is there any sign that tort reform is on Fasano's agenda?"

  Elise glanced at her husband, who raised his eyebrows—his curiosity seemingly aroused both by the question and by the fact that Kerry had asked it. "Not that I know about. If Fasano passes a bill with teeth, he has to know you'd veto it."

  "True," Kerry allowed. "But do me a favor, if you will. If some Republican suddenly drops a tort reform bill, I want my legislative people to see it right away."

  Hampton considered him. "Is this about the SSA? At the state level, they've been pushing bills to immunize gun manufacturers."

  "The thought's occurred to me. But Fasano wouldn't be that blatant—not in this environment. That was what brought tort reform to mind."

  Once the Hamptons were gone, Lara leaned against Kerry's shoulder. "How was tonight?" he asked.

  "Good," she answered softly. "Sometimes, I almost forgot."

  Gently, Kerry kissed her. In two days she would commence a fifteencity tour to meet with victims and survivors.

  * * *

  "Why do it this way?" Tony Calvo asked Frank Fasano.

  The president of the Chamber of Commerce ate breakfast with Fasano in a private corner of the senators' dining room. Putting down his fork, Calvo added, "I think these lawsuits against gun companies are abusive. But the wake of the Costello murders is the absolute worst place to start."

  "It's also your only chance," Fasano answered. "You've never passed a bill. The voters don't much care. So my colleagues aren't scared or grateful enough to give you the sixty-seven votes you need to survive Kilcannon's vetoes.

  "The Chamber's been an equal opportunity donor to both Democrats and Republicans. The SSA supports us—period. I can't dump them just because you ask me to, and you'd be foolish to ask. On the whole, our caucus is far more scared of them than you."

  Calvo glanced around the ornate room. At this early hour, eight o'clock, senators dined with lobbyists, contributors, or the occasional awed constituent—everyone but each other, Calvo reflected. "The Democrats," Calvo answered, "are scared of Kilcannon, and so are some Republicans. They're right to be. Once he finds out what you're doing, he'll make it all about guns."

  "And we'll have all the money and votes that go with them." Pausing, Fasano spoke softly. "How many votes do you have, Tony? Do you think the average American wakes up every morning hoping we'll immunize General Motors? Putting down the trial lawyers is not a top-tier issue for anyone but us. Guns are."

  Calvo sipped his coffee, peering at Fasano over the rim. "What do you want from us, Frank?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Ideally?" Calvo's tone became clipped, businesslike. "Restrictions on class actions. Caps on punitive damages and attorneys' fees. A law allowing companies to require mandatory arbitration in place of jury trials. Ditto peer review in medical malpractice cases . . ."

  "That's all?" Fasano inquired dryly.

  "Nope. We want as many cases as possible shifted to federal court. On average, federal judges are more conservative. Also, a defendant shouldn't be liable for all damages in a lawsuit just because a codefendant is bankrupt, like Arthur Andersen after Enron tanked. And your bill should raise the burden of proof in personal injury cases."

  "In your dreams," Fasano responded with a smile. "I can't get you all that, and still get enough Democrats to give us sixty-seven. But put together a coalition, Tony, and then send me a bill my staff can go to work on. Sooner rather than later."

  Calvo studied his empty cup. At length, he asked, "Do you want language on gun immunity?"

  Fasano suppressed any show of satisfaction. "No need," he assured Calvo. "We've got some language in mind."

  With that, Fasano went to his meeting with the Speaker of the House.

  * * *

  "Why is it," Tom Jencks inquired with feigned disgust, "that the Senate is so candy-assed? My members would vote to immunize Lexington from lawsuits without breaking a sweat."

  Fasano smiled. "The 'people's House,' " he countered, "is so gerrymandered that maybe thirty-five out of four hundred thirty-five seats are even competitive. In the other four hundred, you could elect a tuna sandwich or a pedophile."

  "Democracy," Jencks noted comfortably, "works better as a theory. I truly feel for your burdens, Frank."

  "They are many," Fasano agreed. "And the biggest one is Palmer."

  "Indeed. I've been wondering how you'd get Sir Galahad to play along with this game of smoke and mirrors."

  "Hence this meeting," Fasano answered. "Give me a few minutes, Tom, to explain what you can do."

  * * *

  When Fasano had finished, Jencks looked at him gravely, his bulky frame settling farther into Fasano's overstuffed leather chair.

  "I have to say, Frank, this one worries me. There's too much that can go wrong, too many moving parts—Mary Costello's supposed lawsuit, Kilcannon, Lenihan, controlling the SSA." Jencks spread his meaty hands in mock entreaty. "All that, and now you want me to fuck Chad Palmer for you."

  Fasano shrugged. "The SSA's called in its due bill, Tom. All we can do is make this better, or worse."

  "Better for you." Jencks's tone became tough and practical. "If you can pull this off, I suppose you deserve to be President."

  "It's a time for greatness," Fasano answered calmly. "In exchange for his help on gun immunity, I give Palmer a vote on his dream campaign reform bill—the signature moment of his career. And then you kill it in the House, or pass a bill so incompatible with Palmer's that both bills die in conference without reaching Kilcannon's desk. All I need to know is whether you've got the votes."

  Narrow-eyed, Jencks studied his fingernails. "What does the SSA say?" he inquired. "They hated Palmer's last reform bill worse than I did."

  Once more, Fasano smiled. "Dane's my very next call," he answered.

  TEN

  That evening, Frank Fasano ca
me to Chad Palmer's off ice.

  It was past eight o'clock. Chad felt tired. Since Kyle's death, his stamina had diminished; he was anxious to get home to Allie. But within moments of Fasano's arrival an adrenaline rush of sheer surprise cut through his fatigue.

  "Let me get this straight," Chad said. "Once my committee takes up this tort reform bill, you want me to sneak in language wiping out any lawsuit brought by Lara Kilcannon's sister for the slaughter of their family."

  Unfazed, Fasano nodded. "That's the first step. After that I want you to accelerate hearings, fight off any effort to strip that language from the bill, and get your committee to send it to the Senate floor with a positive vote. At warp speed."