Balance of Power

    "Because you'll gain from it," Fasano answered in an even tone. "Your nominees to Republican seats on various commissions. That farm bill . . ."

    "Kilcannon can give me that stuff," Chad scoffed. "You're not President yet. There's a limit to what you can offer me, and nothing I'd sell my soul for."

    "Nothing?" Fasano responded quietly. "What about something Kilcannon dearly wants to give you, but can't? Unless I let him."

    Watching the Majority Leader's expression, a study in opacity, Chad understood that this was where Fasano had been leading. With instinctive caution, he asked, "What might that be?"

    "Let me answer you this way, Chad. Suppose you refuse to help me. What happens to your new campaign reform bill—this plan you have for public financing in all federal elections, driving corruption from our politics?"

    Fasano's tone and phrasing, Chad knew, were intended to convey far more than irony. Chad kept his own voice matter-of-fact. "You'd rally votes against it. You'd try to keep it from the Senate floor—all you'd need is forty-one votes to sustain a filibuster . . ."

    "Or," Fasano amended, "I'd tack it on as an amendment to the alternative gun bill you've just derided, and force Kilcannon to veto it."

    No one had raised his voice, Chad reflected. But suddenly the space between them felt taut, almost stifling. Softly, Palmer said, "Forget it. I'd torpedo that abortion before it ever gets to Kerry."

    Fasano shrugged. "You understand my point. I have a thousand ways of killing what you want. Turn me down, and that becomes a matter of principle. Or our caucus will think that you can roll me."

    Chad stood, hands in his pockets. For a reason he did not fully grasp, he walked to an end table near his couch, and reangled his photograph of Kyle. For a time, he found himself studying his daughter's face.

    "What is it you're offering, Frank?"

    "A straight up-and-down vote on your signature bill. I'll oppose it,

of course. But all you need for passage is fifty-one votes." Gazing up at him, Fasano finished, "You're pretty close, Chad. I've counted the votes."

    "So have I. Maybe I get to fifty-one, but no way I get to sixty. Every right-wing group in the party opposes my bill—the Christian Commitment, the right-to-lifers, and especially the SSA." Pausing, Chad spoke more quietly. "Your offer's meaningless. Somebody like Harshman will mount a filibuster, and those same groups will find forty senators to support it. My bill will never come to a vote."

    "I promise you it will. Just keep Chuck Hampton on board, and peel off our moderates. I'll keep Harshman and the SSA in line." Pausing, Fasano smiled. "If you help me out with barring suits against gun companies, I'll have the capital to do that."

    Palmer sat again. "You've already talked to the SSA, haven't you? And Harshman."

    Fasano shrugged. "You think you can 'clean up' American politics. Personally, I think your solution is misguided. But this is the only chance you've got."

    For a time, Chad stared at him in silence. "The path you've taken here," he said at length, "is truly mind-bending. You've married the business lobby to the gun nuts. You've gotten the opponents of my reform bill to promise not to filibuster. You've told the SSA you're going to cut a deal with me.

    "It's a riverboat gamble by way of Machiavelli. Pull it off, and you'll be the unquestioned leader of our party. Unless, of course, the House passes my bill." Now Chad summoned a smile of his own. "By the way," he finished casually, "I hope you told Tom Jencks that shafting me in the House won't be quite as easy as he thinks."

    Sitting back, Fasano laughed with what seemed to Chad a quite genuine amusement. "I'm glad to see," Chad remarked affably, "that your spirit of adventure remains intact. Because if Jencks screws up, the rightwing vultures will be dining on your corpse." Pausing, Chad spoke with sudden softness. "Why does this remind me of a dinner I once had with Kerry Kilcannon, where we made a deal on Caroline Masters? The time when one of us was too clever by half."

    At once, Fasano became deeply sober. "About Kilcannon," he said at length. "No warnings. No cooperation. No notes thrown over the fence. The precondition of my deal is that you cut our President off." Fasano's gaze intensified. "Sell us out to Kilcannon, you'll be beyond my help. In our party, pariahs always are."

    Palmer gazed at him, his tone remaining soft. "How many times, I wonder, did Mac Gage try to scare me. I've lost count. Just like I stopped counting all the other hacks who tried it before Gage.

    "They looked at me, and saw themselves. They never understood that a pack of Arabs taught me an involuntary lesson: that there are far worse things in life than any politician can inflict." Pausing, he turned to Kyle's picture, and then back to Fasano. "At least now. Can you get your arms around that one, Frank?"

    Fasano's eyes were somber. "Of course."