Balance of Power

    "Good. Because here's my precondition." Leaning forward, Chad's eyes locked Fasano's. "I'll put your language in the bill, and I'll support it. And then we'll tell the world exactly what we're doing. No tricks."

    Fasano considered him, and then shrugged with apparent resignation. "All right, Chad. Have it your way."

    At that moment, the last piece of the puzzle became clear to Chad. Fasano had never intended to proceed by stealth—that was too fraught with risk. Chad had responded as Fasano had intended: Fasano could now inform the SSA that their enemy, Chad Palmer, had forced him to abandon a tactic he had never intended to pursue beyond Chad's committee. All Fasano wanted was a head start on Kilcannon.

    "No," Chad corrected him. "It'll be your way, all along. At least until the end."

* * *

    The following afternoon, with the floor of the Senate virtually empty, Majority Whip Dave Ruckles caused the filing of the "Civil Justice Reform Act."

    Neither Ruckles nor Fasano was present, nor anyone else of note. In theory, Senator Ruckles should have stood up during morning business and announced his intention to introduce another sterling piece of legislation. Or, during some other hour when the Senate was in session, the senator might have asked unanimous consent to introduce a bill, a courtesy routinely granted.

    From Ruckles's perspective, the problem with these standard processes was that they provided immediate public notice of a bill. For this bill no one spoke. Instead, Ruckles instructed the secretary for the majority, a veteran of such shortcuts, to hand the bill to the parliamentarian with the word "live" written on the upper-right-hand corner—code that the bill should be filed as if by a senator speaking.

    Seated at his marble desk beneath that of the presiding officer, the parliamentarian received the bill with a figurative wink. It now became his job to refer the bill to the appropriate committee. But just to make sure, Ruckles's emissary had already arranged for the parliamentarian to dispatch the bill at once to the Commerce Committee, chaired by Senator Palmer.

ELEVEN

For Kerry, the last Tuesday in September was typically busy—appearances with police chiefs to promote his gun bill; a brief visit to a Head Start program; a meeting with the Israeli foreign minister; a luncheon speech on human rights; an interview with the New York Times; a telephone call with the chairman and the finance director of the Democratic National Committee. But, as always, Kerry insisted on exercise: he had just completed six miles on the treadmill when Chuck Hampton called from the Senate.

    Sweat running down his face, Kerry took the cell phone from his assistant, his free hand clutching a chilled bottle of springwater. "The tort reform bill you were expecting dropped," Hampton told him. "Very quietly. They sent it straight to the Commerce Committee—the minority counsel was looking for it, and he's already read it through."

    Kerry finished taking a deep swallow of water. "What's in it?"

    "A corporate wish list—I'm sending a copy to your legislative people. But nothing which would immunize gun companies."

    "What about language tailored to protect the industry?"

    "Not that we can see. Still, a lot can happen between introduction and a final vote, a good bit of it in committee. Palmer's scheduled a hearing."

    "Already?" Kerry said with real surprise. "When?"

    "A week from now."

    "Jesus." Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Kerry asked, "Can you stall it?"

    "Not easy," Hampton replied in a dubious tone. "I can object to the hearing. But that's hardball, and invites retribution. There's nothing here to warrant all that."

    "Not on the surface. But this is about guns, Chuck—trust me on that."

    From Hampton there was the silence of reflection. "If it is," he said slowly, "then it seems like Palmer's playing ball with Ruckles. Or, more likely, Fasano."

    Though Kerry did not care to think so, Hampton might well be right. "In that case, they'll likely slip something in before the committee sends it to the floor. Have our counsel keep an eye on it."

    "I will. And you might want to give your friend a call."

    "Oh," Kerry said softly, "I intend to. After I've given this some thought."

* * *

    In late afternoon, Kerry and Clayton met on the fly with Jack Sanders and the Director of Legislative Affairs, Liz Curry.

    Liz spread the pages of the Civil Justice Reform Act, annotated in red pen, across the President's coffee table. "It's like Chuck said," Liz told him. "A corporate wish list, a nightmare for plaintiffs' lawyers—limitations on class actions, caps on attorneys' fees and punitive damages, the works. You can hear their opening line: 'plaintiffs' lawyers are maggots.' "

    "And defense lawyers never are?" Kerry asked sardonically. "You know what this is about, Liz? Social class, and privilege.