Balance of Power

    This, Kerry acknowledged, was the beginning that he had hoped for. But its end was as unpredictable as its impact on Lara and her sister. Silent, he rested his hand on Lara's shoulder.

* * *

Shortly after seven p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, the SSA countered with a press conference of its own. Standing behind a podium, Dane's saturnine mien was solemn and stern. He spoke with a slow and measured indignation which was more impressive than Frank Fasano could have hoped—a reminder of the magnetism Dane exerted on his supporters.

    Drinking bourbon with Macdonald Gage, Fasano turned up the volume on his remote. This lawsuit, Dane began, is a moral outrage.

    This was murder. The murderer is to blame. If there is more blame to assign, it belongs to the legal system and . . . a brief pause . . . and the victims' powerful relatives, both of whom failed in their duty to protect them from John Bowden.

    Sitting beside Fasano, Gage laughed softly. It struck Fasano that anything Dane would say or do to torment Kerry Kilcannon was satisfying to Mac Gage. But Fasano himself was not so sanguine.

    But who do they blame? Dane went on. The SSA and Lexington Arms— one of America's time-honored purveyors of guns to freedom-loving citizens . . .

    "A little florid," Fasano observed. "This isn't the Fourth of July."

    The SSA, Dane continued, is not a monolith. It's four million individual Americans, lawfully exercising rights granted them by our Founding Fathers. Our members didn't know John Bowden. They didn't control his actions. They

played no role in Lexington's legal marketing of a completely legal product.

    Pausing, Dane jabbed his finger at the camera. Make no mistake, America—the monolith in this case is the federal government, deployed by a President who is using this case to destroy the very companies who make your rights a reality, and the one organization which can protect those rights from harm.

    Kerry Kilcannon's weapon is not a gun. It is a cabal of plaintiffs' lawyers, in league with the left-wing group which bears his family name, exploiting a tragedy to which, sadly, his own personal derelictions were a primary contributor . . .

    "He's on the edge," Fasano remarked. "Let's hope he doesn't say that Kilcannon has blood on his hands."

    "Doesn't he?" Gage said with quiet bitterness. "He certainly has mine."

    Defending this abuse, Dane continued, may well cost us millions. But we will never settle. We will fight this case to the bitter end—if necessary, in the Supreme Court itself—in defense of that fundamental freedom which makes all other freedoms possible: the right to keep and bear arms.

    We call on our members to support us. We call on the American people to rise up as one in protest. Staring into the camera, Dane finished solemnly. We call on the leaders of Congress to put this outrage to an end

. . .

    He was stuck, Fasano realized, and so was Kerry Kilcannon. What Kilcannon had set in motion—a race between a lawsuit and the Senate; a clash between Kilcannon and the SSA—might spin out of control, with consequences worse than anyone could imagine. Only Macdonald Gage, turning to Fasano, could feel happy.

    "Ready, Frank?" he asked.

SEVENTEEN

The following morning, as the result of random selection by computer, Sarah and Lenihan found themselves in the chambers of United States District Judge Gardner W. Bond.