Balance of Power

by Richard North Patterson

  The President's sigh was audible as was, now, his weariness. "I met with them, too," he answered. "I don't think they're a lost cause. In the end, they can't believe their way of life is about the bullet that killed Marie."

  His tone was etched with wonder and despair. In the end, Cassie thought, politics was a very human process and—as ruthless as he could be—Kilcannon hoped to appeal to the better angels of human nature. "I'll think on what you've said," she promised. "All of it."

  NINETEEN

  The vice president of marketing, Mike Reiner, had worked at Lexington for twenty-one years. Now he sat across from Lenihan and Sarah in the conference room of a Hartford law firm, a barrelchested man with a pompadour of steel grey hair, a seamed face and bright blue eyes which glinted with dislike for Mary Costello's lawyers. Even his paunch seemed aggressive.

  But beneath Reiner's pose of arrogance Sarah sensed a tension similar to her own. Her attempts to reach Norman Conn had not succeeded; she feared that Conn, like Martin Bresler, had been intimidated into silence. But what Conn knew could be devastating to Lexington and to Reiner, his superior. The choice for Reiner was clear: admit facts damaging to Lexington, or lie, hoping that Conn had not—and would not— betray him. As for Nolan, he must know at the least that he was defending a problem witness. But unless Lexington had broken Conn completely, only Lenihan and Sarah knew the depth of Reiner's problems.

  "For what reason," Lenihan asked the witness, "does Lexington include the P-2 in its product line?"

  Sitting beside Reiner, Nolan was impassive; only his gaze, moving between Lenihan and Reiner, betrayed the importance of this witness. But Reiner's exaggerated squint seemed meant to convey the rank stupidity of the question. Bluffly, he answered, "To expand our customer base."

  "By what means?"

  The squint gave way to a show of white, obviously capped, front teeth. "By making a semiautomatic handgun with features people want."

  "What features?"

  Reiner rested both arms on the table, expanding his personal territory. "Things like a barrel shroud. To enable you to touch the gun even when the barrel overheats."

  "Will ten shots cause the barrel to heat?"

  Nolan's glance darted to Reiner. "No," the witness answered. "It takes more than ten."

  Lenihan leaned toward Reiner. To Sarah, they seemed mirror images of self-assertion and self-regard, save that Lenihan—with his curly hair, soft chin, and more gradually sloping belly—looked far less tough than his antagonist. "Why is that a problem," Lenihan inquired, "when it's illegal to manufacture magazines which hold more than ten rounds?"

  "We can't make them," Reiner retorted, "but it's legal for anyone to buy them. Just as long as they were made before the ban."

  "Why would 'anyone' need more than ten bullets?"

  Reiner shrugged. "Why not?"

  The casual answer caused Lenihan to lower his voice. "Aren't you concerned someone might 'need' more than ten bullets to slaughter a lot of people quickly?"

  " 'A lot of people,' " Reiner rejoined, "are gun fanciers or collectors. I don't question their motives, any more than I ask why someone would want a vintage Ferrari capable of hitting a hundred eighty miles an hour."

  "Why not retrofit the gun to only accept ten-bullet magazines?"

  "Why take on the expense? We'd have to eat it."

  "How expensive would that be?"

  Another shrug. "Don't know. Not my department."

  To Sarah, the gleam in Lenihan's eye suggested a poker player sitting on an ace-high straight. "Then I'll try to stick with what you do know. Are you aware that automatic weapons are illegal?"

  Reiner's expression conveyed both amusement and contempt. "Yes."

  "Would you agree that automatic weapons can be used to kill 'a lot of people' even quicker than the Lexington P-2, because they can fire multiple rounds with one pull of the trigger?"

  "Sure."

  "Isn't the P-2 designed to be easily convertible to automatic fire?"

  Reiner covered one wrist with the meaty fingers of his other hand. "I know some people do it."

  Pulling out a videotape and crudely printed pamphlet, Lenihan asked the reporter to mark them as Reiner Exhibits One and Two. "In fact, aren't this manual and tape—showing how to convert the P-2 to automatic fire—commonly sold at gun shows?"

  The squint returned to Reiner's face, but without its former amusement. "I wouldn't know."

  "Have you seen this manual before, Mr. Reiner?"

  "I don't recall."

  "Did you," Lenihan snapped, "help the author write this manual?"

  Nolan turned to the witness. Trained on Lenihan, Reiner's bright blue eyes were chill. "I talk to hundreds of gun enthusiasts every year, in person or on the phone. I can't remember them all, or what I may have told them."

  It was the only answer he could give, Sarah knew—except the truth. "Let's take ten minutes," Nolan said abruptly.

  Lenihan shrugged. "Fine. But once a client starts to lie, it's awfully hard to stop him."

  * * *

  Recommencing, Lenihan inquired without preface, "Did you help design the Eagle's Claw bullet?"

  As though to relieve an aching joint, the witness squeezed his wrist. "I only gave advice. From a marketing perspective."

  "From a marketing perspective, what's the purpose of the Eagle's Claw?"

  "To have more stopping power." Assertiveness returning, Reiner combined his squint with another show of teeth. "If you're faced with bad guys, you want to eliminate the threat."

  "By killing them?"

  "By stopping them." Reiner's rough eastern-accented voice thickened with disgust. "If you have to defend your family, you're not worried about making these fine distinctions."

  Nolan placed a pen to his lips. Pausing, Lenihan smiled with a pleasure which struck Sarah as close to sensual. "Are you aware, Mr. Reiner, of a single successful use of the P-2 against a rapist or an intruder?"

  Reiner frowned. "I don't collect that kind of information."

  "No?" Lenihan said with incredulity. "I'd think 'that kind of information' would really help your marketing."

  Reiner shrugged. "Maybe it would."

  "Would it also help if a police department bought Lexington P-2s?"

  "Maybe."

  "Isn't that 'the kind of information' the Vice President of Marketing might want? Or does your driving lack of curiosity extend to the police?"

  "Objection," Nolan cut in. "Stop harassing the witness."

  "Forgive me," Lenihan answered with exquisite politeness, and trained his eyes on the witness. "Does any police force in America use the Lexington P-2?"

  "I don't know."

  "What about military forces, whether at home or abroad."

  Reiner hesitated. "The South African security forces did . . ."

  Lenihan smiled. "Before apartheid ended?"

  "Yes."

  "Little wonder. Who uses it now?"

  "We have a contract to sell P-2s to the government of Myanmar."

  "The dictatorship of Myanmar, you mean. For what is euphemistically described as 'crowd control.' "

  Reiner's fingers tightened on his wrist. "I'm just a workingman. I don't do foreign policy."

  "Or foreign slaughter? Like the recent killing of twenty protesters against the 'government' of Myanmar."

  "I don't know what they used."

  "Why not? I'd think that would be one hell of a tool for marketing . . ."

  "Skip the editorial comments," Nolan snapped. "You can conduct this deposition with courtesy, or we can leave."

  Smiling, Lenihan answered, "We'll give Mr. Reiner every courtesy, John. Because we'd just hate for him to leave." Turning back to Reiner, he asked, "Isn't it true that American police or military forces don't buy the P-2 because it's not accurate enough?"

  The armpits of Reiner's dress shirt, Sarah noticed, were stained with damp circles of sweat. "It's designed for rapid fire, Mr. Lenihan. If you fire enough, you get the job done."<
br />
  Lenihan laughed aloud. "That's why we're here."

  * * *

  By eleven a.m., after the witness's second break, the room had begun to feel stifling. Only Lenihan seemed cheerful.

  "Isn't it true, Mr. Reiner, that the design of the Lexington P-2 is based on a prior model, the P-1?"

  "Basically."

  "Why do you no longer make the P-1?"

  "Because it was outlawed by the assault weapons ban."

  Lenihan's eyebrows flew upward. "So how is the P-2 different from the P-1?"

  Reiner gave a brief, scornful laugh. "We eliminated the perforated barrel which helped prevent jamming, and the threaded barrel, which allowed the user to screw on a silencer. All we needed to comply with that stupid law was to make our prototype inferior."

  "Federal law," Lenihan pointed out. "After the P-2 replaced the P-1, didn't California ban it?"

  "But Congress didn't," Reiner shot back. "So we can sell in other states . . ."

  "In fact, didn't you use the ban in California to market the P-2 in Nevada?"

  Flushed, Reiner unknotted his tie. "We didn't have to use it. Prohibition created a pent-up demand."

  Sarah noted Nolan's frown, a tightening of lips. Press Reiner on that, she silently implored her cocounsel. Lenihan airily let it pass—or, she feared, was too fixated on his own design to notice. Pointing to the SSA magazine lying open in front of Reiner, he said. "But you did write this ad, calling the P-2 an 'endangered species, banned in California'?"

  Reiner gazed at the printed words. "Yes. Because it's true. California banned the gun, and then Kilcannon was elected President. Buyers should know they had an opportunity they might not have later."

  "Including buyers in California?" Lenihan asked pleasantly, and Sarah realized that her co-counsel had missed nothing.

  "I wouldn't know," Reiner answered, and glanced at the gold Rolex dangling loosely around his wrist. "If it's not time for lunch, I need to use the powder room."

  Lenihan hesitated, a predator interrupted. Glancing at Nolan, Sarah wondered again if he knew what Conn had told her, and how much trouble his witness faced.

  "Sure," Lenihan answered, his amiability restored. "Just don't forget to use soap."

  * * *

  When the questions resumed, Lenihan—to Sarah's surprise—abruptly changed the subject. "Concerning this advertisement, did you contribute the language saying that the Eagle's Claw 'opens a massive wound channel'?"

  "Yes, because it's true."

  "And that the P-2 is designed to deliver 'a high volume of firepower'?"

  "Yes," Reiner repeated with a defiant edge, "because it's true."

  "Who were you trying to appeal to? Skeet shooters?"

  Reiner folded his arms. "Gun collectors. It's not my business to judge their reasons."

  "But you already know what their reasons are. For example, did you also write that the P-2 'can be used to initiate combat in offensive-type situations'?"

  "Yes."

  "Who were you appealing to there? The government of Myanmar?"

  Once more, Reiner rested his forearms on the table, but, it seemed, more heavily. "Guns," he said, "have a variety of uses . . ."

  "Weren't you trying to appeal to someone with plans for—or fantasies about—a military-style assault?"

  Reiner shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with fantasies."

  "Or plans, I suppose. Are you aware of any shooting competitions which feature the P-2?"

  "Not to my knowledge."

  Lenihan smiled. "What about competitions between drug dealers? Are you aware of any drug dealers who use the Lexington P-2?"

  "I don't hang out with drug dealers."

  "Do drug dealers," Lenihan persisted, "use the P-2?"

  "I don't know what drug dealers use."

  "Isn't it true, Mr. Reiner, that Lexington paid the producer of the ABC series Strike Force to feature the Lexington P-2?"

  Reiner eyed him with disdain. "Everybody does product placement."

  "In the case of this particular product," Lenihan asked pleasantly, "who was portrayed using the P-2?"

  Reiner held his gaze. "The drug lord."

  "And did you approve the script?"

  "I don't specifically recall."

  Lenihan smiled. "Really? Why don't you reflect on that one over lunch?"

  * * *

  Lenihan sipped iced tea. "I'm saving that for dessert," he said in response to Sarah's question. "I want to squeeze him dry before he knows how bad things are."

  That made sense. "Unless he already does. Does Nolan know, I wonder?"

  Lenihan's smile was grim. "Unless they've flipped Norman Conn, neither of them knows. But we've already got enough to do some real damage."

  Though this was true, Sarah found it more dispiriting than hopeful. "You know what sucks, Bob? Unless the President can kill gun immunity, none of it will matter."

  * * *

  Before continuing, Lenihan hung his suit coat loosely over a chair. Reiner's tie remained loosened, and he had rolled up his sleeves. Even Harry Fancher was in shirtsleeves; only Nolan remained buttoned up.

  Again, Lenihan leaned forward. "Are you aware," he asked the witness, "of any states besides California which ban the P-2?"

  "No."

  "But you are aware that the P-2 is commonly used in crimes in California?"

  "Commonly? How would I know?"

  "But you were aware—even before the Costello shootings—of at least one crime where a P-2 was used in California."

  Reiner frowned. "Yeah—the day-care center in Oakland. The media called us for comment."

  "How many kids died in that particular incident?"

  "Four."

  "Where did the shooter get that gun?"

  "I don't remember knowing. We didn't sell it to him."

  Lenihan stared at him. "Aren't you at least curious? After all, don't you commonly receive tracing requests concerning guns used in crimes?"

  "We get some."

  "Specifically, don't the legal authorities involved provide the make and serial number of the gun, and ask you to identify the dealer or distributor you shipped it to."

  Reiner emitted a sigh of boredom and weariness. "Yes. But I'm not involved. There's no legal requirement that we retain trace requests."

  "No? Didn't the ATF specifically, in writing, ask you to retain them?"

  If Reiner was unaware of Conn's betrayal, Sarah knew, this was his first hint that something had gone badly wrong. Nolan glanced at his client with new keenness, his expression suggesting that he sensed, rather than knew, that there was trouble. "It's our policy," Reiner answered in a monotone, "to discard nonessential records. But I have no specific memory of that kind of letter."

  "Or ordering it destroyed?"

  Once more, Reiner squeezed his wrist. "No."

  "What about tracing requests from California? Did you order them destroyed?"

  "I have no specific memory," Reiner repeated, "of ordering documents destroyed."

  Lenihan regarded him with a skeptical smile. "Do you have a more specific memory of learning that the ATF lists the P-2 as the leading semiautomatic handgun used in crimes?"

  Almost imperceptibly, Reiner seemed to relax. At least, Sarah sensed him thinking, this question was based on public information. "I pay no attention," he answered. "We sell a lot of P-2s, so some of them show up in crimes. Not our fault."

  "Even if those same figures show that many of those crimes occur in California?"

  The witness hunched his shoulders. "Not our fault."

  "Even if you suggested to the promoter of the Las Vegas gun show— the show where Bowden bought his gun—that he place his ad next to yours?"

  "If I did that, I don't remember it."

  Lenihan considered him. "When," he inquired, "did you first become aware that the gun John Bowden used to kill six innocent people was part of a shipment stolen by a paramilitary group called the Liberty Force?"