Nolan stared at her with genuine anger. "That question is wholly out of bounds."
"But understandable. Because it's been so hard to tell." Sarah propped her chin on the cupped palm of her hand. "Mind if I ask that of Mr. Callister?"
The record she was making—the multiple reasons for Bond to order Callister deposed—seemed to give Nolan pause. Tonelessly, he said, "Waste the Court's time, if you like. But let's stop wasting Mr. Dane's time."
"He's been so quiet," Sarah answered, "that I hardly think we're wearing him out." Abruptly she demanded of Dane, "Did you discuss with other manufacturers the prospect of dividing up Lexington's market share in the event of an SSA boycott?"
Once more, Dane glanced at Fancher, and then answered as though carefully reciting prepackaged lines. "If you mean did I recommend—or attempt to compel—such an agreement, the answer is 'no.' "
At once, Sarah was certain that there had been such conversations. But whether she had the time to pursue this depended, in great measure, on whether the President—or Senator Fasano—prevailed on gun immunity. Adjusting her manner, she adopted a tone of indifference. "Am I correct, Mr. Dane, that at some point you became aware that George Callister had met with President Kilcannon regarding sales at gun shows?"
Dane hesitated. "It was in the newspapers."
"Is that the only source of information you had regarding the meetings?"
Dane shifted slightly in his chair. "No."
"Was Callister among your sources?"
"Same instruction," Fancher interrupted. "Press on, Ms. Dash. You've asked the same question nineteen different ways."
She had made her record regarding Callister, Sarah knew. Now it was time to set up Dane for Martin Bresler. "Did the SSA," she asked Dane, "have a view on whether the gun industry—or any of its members—should reach an agreement on gun shows with President Kilcannon?"
"Yes." Dane answered firmly. "We were unalterably opposed."
"Did that opposition predate your awareness of Callister's discussions with the President?"
This seemed to give Dane pause. "I don't recall."
"Then let me try and help. Did you become aware that, prior to his meetings with Mr. Callister, the President was negotiating with a trade association of gun manufacturers headed by a Martin Bresler?"
Dane sat back. "I remember an agreement," he answered, "but that was with respect to safety locks."
"What was the SSA's position on that?"
"We were opposed," Dane snapped. "You try to fool with one while a rapist is banging down your bedroom door. You may not care, Ms. Dash. But it's our First Amendment right to protect the Second Amendment—the one right which makes all the others possible. Whether it's the right to resist a tyrannical government or an intruder preying on defenseless women."
"Thank you," Sarah said pleasantly. "Did you threaten Mr. Bresler with the loss of his job should his trigger lock proposal be adopted?"
"To feel 'threatened,' " Dane countered, "Mr. Bresler would have to be very sensitive. How can I threaten a man who doesn't work for me?"
For a split second, she was tempted to question Dane about threatening Senator Fasano, but she resisted; too obviously, it would betray Martin Bresler's cooperation. "Did there come a time," she asked, "that you became aware that Mr. Bresler was discussing gun shows with the President?"
Again Dane's hesitance was marked. "I'm not sure," he finally answered. "There came a time when Mr. Bresler ceased to be a factor in gun politics."
"At what point was that?"
"The point when his members decided he was a divisive force, bent on his own self-aggrandizement, and disbanded the group."
"Did you discuss disbanding the group with any of its members?"
"Instruct not to answer," Fancher interrupted. "On First Amendment grounds."
"Our motion to compel answers," Sarah rejoined, "will be thicker than the phone book." Of Dane, she asked, "Do you know a man named Jerry Kirk?"
Dane shrugged. "Jerry works for us."
"Directly before that, who employed Mr. Kirk?"
"The Gun Sports Coalition, I believe. Bresler's group."
Sarah sat straighter. "During his employment by the Gun Sports Coalition, did Mr. Kirk tell you that Mr. Bresler was negotiating with the President regarding background checks at gun shows?"
"Ms. Dash," Dane answered wearily, "I have all sorts of discussions with all sorts of people. However much you might wish it, I can't recall them all . . ."
"Let me get this right," Sarah interrupted. "You loathe President Kilcannon. You hate his policies on guns. You're vehemently opposed to background checks at gun shows. But you can't recall whether Kirk told you that the President was discussing background checks with Martin Bresler."
"No, I can't."
"Tell me, Mr. Dane, did you consider Mr. Bresler's group a 'divisive' force?"
"Yes. Beyond that, I'd consider him a traitor to the Second Amendment."
Sarah smiled. "And yet you offered Mr. Kirk a job."
"Yes."
"Before or after Mr. Bresler's group disbanded?"
"What's the relevance of this?" Fancher broke in. "I see none."
Sarah's gaze at Dane did not waver. "You can answer, Mr. Dane."
Fancher clutched Dane's arm. "Not before you explain the relevance."
"All right," Sarah answered. "I want to know whether Mr. Dane persuaded Kirk to spy on Martin Bresler in return for the promise of a job." Pausing, Sarah spoke more slowly. "If you want a further explanation, Mr. Fancher, I believe that the SSA controls the American gun industry—including Lexington, a former member of Bresler's trade association group. I believe the SSA blackballed Bresler. I believe the SSA threatened Callister. I believe the SSA seduced and bludgeoned other manufacturers to keep them from following Callister's lead.
"I believe, in short, that Mr. Dane and the SSA are ultimately responsible for the murder of Mary Costello's family." Turning to Dane, Sarah said softly. "As part of the process which led to these three murders, Mr. Dane, I think you engaged Mr. Kirk to help you keep gun companies from freely making their own political and economic decisions—including imposing background checks which might well have prevented a tragedy. So I'm asking the reporter to read back the question, and then I'm asking you to answer it."
At once, Fancher stood, nodding toward Dane. "This is harassment," Fancher said in a tone of outrage. "Mr. Dane's deposition is over. If you want him back, go to the judge."
With that, Fancher and Dane—the latter expressionless—left the room. Turning to Nolan, Sarah said, "I guess that leaves George Callister."
SE VEN
From the start, Frank Fasano had known that the meeting was trouble.
The three other chairs around his office table were occupied by Tony Calvo of the Chamber of Commerce, Mary Bryant of the National Association of Manufacturers and, perhaps more worrisome, John Metrillo of the National Federation of Independent Businesses—the insurance brokers, shoemakers, pizza restaurant owners, and other individually owned enterprises whom the Republicans claimed to represent.
Dark-haired, burly, and intense, Metrillo spoke in a rapid-fire staccato. "We've wanted tort reform for years," he told Fasano. "Now Kilcannon's offering us something real. Until he's gone—whenever that is—it may be the best we can do."
There was no point ducking the issue. "Not for the SSA," Fasano answered. "Dane's the one who got this bill up and running in the first place. But for that, Kilcannon wouldn't have offered you what little he has."
Clasping his hands, Metrillo leaned forward, intent on Fasano. "Look, Frank—we'll support gun immunity, which we never have before. You can tell Dane that. It just has to be in a separate bill . . ."
"Which Kilcannon will veto with impunity."
"Not our problem," Metrillo answered with a shrug. "For years our members have been asking if we'll ever accomplish anything. Whatever his motives, the President's offered us a lock . . ."
"More
like a poisoned chalice," Fasano answered in mordant tones. "You damned well know why he's doing it—to split the business community from the SSA by using you as pawns."
"Spare us, Frank." Metrillo's tone was brusque. "I'm not ashamed of winning, and I don't give a damn how."
Fasano looked to Calvo and Bryant, broadening the dialogue. "Then let's define 'winning.' For me, it's passing a bill that gives you what you really want."
"Over Kilcannon's veto," Calvo countered. "All he needs is thirtyfour senators to uphold it, and we get zip . . ."
"Kilcannon," Mary Bryant interrupted, "is delivering the trial lawyers. We want you to deliver the SSA."
Though angry, Fasano took his time. "Ever since I reached the Senate," he told them, "your organizations have played both sides. On a national level, the SSA gives only to Republicans. So now I'm supposed to shaft Dane at your convenience."
"Before you 'shaft' him," Metrillo answered, "you might want to talk to him. We're hoping he'll see the point of having us as his allies."
Mirthlessly, Fasano laughed. "I'll urge that on him, John. Unfortunately, Charles Dane is steeped in American history. From Benedict Arnold forward."
* * *
With a slow, theatrical turn of the head, Charles Dane looked at the grandfather clock in one corner of his office. "At this time yesterday," he told Fasano, "Sarah Dash was trying to nail me to the cross. Now you want me to provide the nails, and the time she needs to use them."
"That's a little melodramatic," Fasano answered with a sardonic smile. "I hope the first Easter after your death won't prove to be too big a disappointment."
Dane studied him coldly. "You weren't there," he answered. "I was. And you're extremely lucky that Dash doesn't know to ask about you and Marty Bresler. Unless, that is, she was sandbagging me."
This sobered Fasano. "All the questions about Bresler," he ventured. "Where's that coming from?"
Dane's shrug resembled a twitch, suggesting anger suppressed. "We'll see," he murmured, and then spoke with renewed authority. "You brought these people in, Frank. And now you want them to cut ahead of us in line. It's us who came to you, and now it's us who's been sued. Spineless country clubbers like Calvo and Metrillo couldn't deliver their own mothers at the polls, let alone help you maintain control of the Senate. Only we can do that."
Beneath Dane's show of confidence, Fasano knew, he was worried. Only Fasano, by delivering gun immunity, could preserve Dane's power, both inside and outside the SSA. Fasano picked up a silver letter opener on Dane's coffee table, studying its ornate handle. In a neutral tone, he said, "Metrillo promises to support a separate bill."
"Fuck Metrillo. And fuck you, Frank, for wasting my time with drivel."
Fasano placed down the opener. Softly, he said, "Watch yourself, Charles."
"You watch yourself." Pausing, Dane adopted a cooler tone. "You and I both know these people have nowhere else to go. If you tell them that the only tort reform bill you're supporting protects the gun industry— and gets them what they want instead of this sop that Kilcannon's throwing them—they'll fall back into line, and try their damnedest to override his veto . . ."
"He's setting us up," Fasano interrupted. "Kilcannon expects all of us to do exactly what we're doing. Once we do, he'll make us pay."
"No choice, Frank. We just ride it out."
"Before we do, consider this. In return for Kilcannon's acceptance of gun immunity, we offer to make guns subject to the consumer protection laws. Kilcannon's always whining that there are no safety standards for guns . . ."
"No," Dane snapped. "Period. Putting the industry at the mercy of the consumer gestapo is the first step toward ending gun rights in America."
"Everything," Fasano retorted, "is the first step." His voice crackled with impatience. "By your logic, the income tax is the first step to confiscating our money, and the death penalty the first step to Nazi crematoriums. Has it ever dawned on you that society stands on a continuum, not poised on a slippery slope?"
Dane settled back in his chair, his face and voice emotionless. "You know our price—this bill. If Kilcannon wants to veto, he'll be digging his own grave."
Fasano studied him. "Electorally, you mean."
"In ways he hasn't contemplated," Dane answered. "And won't until it's far too late."
* * *
"The SSA," Fasano told Tony Calvo, "accuses you of selling them out to Kerry Kilcannon. Somehow, Dane finds it incongruous for me to broker the deal."
Over the telephone, the only clue to Calvo's feeling was his silence. "Did you try the consumer protection angle?"
"Yes. Are you familiar with the phrase 'dead on arrival'?"
"You can pass this bill," Calvo said in desperation. "Kilcannon will sign it . . ."
"Kilcannon," Fasano interrupted, "won't see it. Because I won't bring it to the floor. As of now, this bastard compromise of yours is roadkill."
Calvo's voice rose, the last vestige of resistance. "If so, I'll have to inform the President. And tell him why."
Fasano gave himself a moment. "You do that, Tony. Why surprise him? It's exactly what he expects from you.
"So run off and see 'the President.' And after that, I sincerely suggest you get behind my bill."
* * *
On the next afternoon, to the surprise of the White House press corps, Kit Pace announced that the President would hold a press conference.
Fasano and Gage watched on CNN. As usual, the press room was jammed; as usual, the President appeared confident and relaxed.
The Republican leadership in Congress, said David Bloom of NBC, supports a ban on so-called therapeutic cloning. What is your opinion of its prospects?
Kilcannon smiled at this. About the same as my opinion of its merits, he answered. Considerably lower than my opinion of the good sense and goodwill of the American people.
The distinction between cloning human beings—which all of us oppose—and using science to combat spinal cord injuries, or diabetes, may have eluded the sponsors of this bill. But I doubt that it eludes the average American. Let alone the millions to whom this new science may offer relief from suffering.
"Kilcannon," Gage complained, "always makes things sound so simple."
"No," Fasano answered. "He always makes us sound so simple."
On the screen, Kilcannon pointed toward John King of CNN.
Rumor has it, Mr. President, that you offered the business community a compromise on the Civil Justice Reform Act. Is that true and, if so, could you describe the status of negotiations?
"It's a setup," Gage murmured. "The White House must have fed King the question . . ."
"It's all a setup," Fasano corrected. "He didn't just wake up this morning, and decide it was a swell day for a press conference . . ."
Dead, Kilcannon was answering. And it's a shame. The proposal I offered—cutting legal fees, and capping punitive damages—would have afforded real protections to the hundreds of thousands of Americans who run small businesses, and the millions they employ . . .
"This whole thing," Fasano observed, "has been like being under hypnosis. I knew the President was going to push me off a cliff, and still I couldn't move . . ."
Every major representative of American business, Kilcannon continued, was in favor of this compromise. There was just one problem: it no longer wipes out the existing right of victims of gun violence to seek justice from the gun industry and the SSA. So the SSA—Senator Fasano's constituency of one—instructed him to keep the bill from ever coming to a vote. And Senator Fasano, mindful of the millions of dollars the SSA gives to his own party, has complied . . .
Gage stood, as though propelled by rage. "What about the trial lawyers, you little hypocrite . . ."
Those who own small businesses, Kilcannon said, have learned a bitter truth: that the party who claims to speak for them is a wholly owned subsidiary of the Sons of the Second Amendment. And that the senator's seeming haste to protect their interests is a cover for the one intere
st that really matters . . .
The moment, Fasano found, was no less unpleasant—indeed, perhaps more so—for its complete predictability. "The SSA," he said, "is getting all they asked for. And more."
For my part, the President concluded, I will veto any so-called tort reform which is a smoke screen for the SSA. I urge the Republican leadership to put an end to this unseemly race, and to join us in the slow and patient effort to lift the burdens of litigation from America's honest businesspeople . . .
Fasano laughed aloud.
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