Balance of Power

    Below, the woods and fields of Ohio, Chad Palmer's state, were burnished with the last colors of late fall, its farms and villages dots on the tinted landscape. As he often did, Kerry found himself imagining the lives represented by the dots. Never more than in Air Force One, crossing the American continent, did he feel the depth of his responsibility for the country he loved, the people he was sworn to serve. He brooded on this awhile longer, and then called Robert Lenihan.

* * *

    "The House will pass tort reform this week," he told Lenihan. "In the Senate there's still a logjam, mostly over gun immunity. But it could break any day—if it breaks against us, it might pass fairly quickly."

    "It never has before," Lenihan answered.

    His tone was weary but resistant, that of someone too preoccupied to accept bad news and, perhaps, resentful of Lara's—and, inferentially the President's—intercession with Mary on behalf of Sarah Dash. "This year's different," Kerry said. "Fasano's managed to unite the SSA and the business interests. We need to re-divide them."

    "What do you suggest?"

    Steeling himself for a burst of outrage, Kerry answered calmly, "That we offer the business interests a watered-down version of tort reform . . ."

    "Any tort reform," Lenihan said with indignation, "is a sellout to the big boys. What in hell do Democrats stand for if not for the average American?"

    "That's not a lecture I need, Bob. But, in this case, I plan on making Frank Fasano the 'average American's' new best friend."

    "How is that?"

    "Because I'm putting him to a choice between the business interests and the SSA. And I already know which one he'll choose." The President's voice was no less commanding for its softness. "I won't let you be my SSA. That's the difference between me and Frank Fasano."

* * *

"Lenihan signed on?" Chuck Hampton asked the President.

    Even in the motorcade shrieking toward the Blackstone, Kerry could hear the astonishment in Hampton's voice. Dryly, he answered, "With some reluctance."

    "I can imagine. Did you tell him what you have in mind?"

    "Most of it, including that your Democratic colleagues could use some cover on tort reform. But not quite all." Pensive, Kerry gazed out the tinted window at the streets of Chicago. "Unless I've misjudged both Fasano and Charles Dane, it won't matter. All I really need is to put the business coalition in motion."

* * *

It was the first time since Kerry's election that Tony Calvo of the Chamber of Commerce had been invited to the White House. That he found himself in the Oval Office, meeting privately with the President, seemed to deepen his astonishment.

    Slowly, Calvo repeated, "You're proposing, Mr. President, to limit contingency fees for plaintiffs' lawyers. And to cap punitive damages."

    The President smiled. "I hope I haven't upset you," he said wryly. "All these years, when you were complaining about punitives and greedy trial lawyers, I thought you really meant it. This is your chance." Abruptly, the President's voice became cool. "The bill Fasano's pushing is a wish list—I'd have to veto it even if it weren't a Trojan horse for gun companies. Your last, best hope to pass anything is to work with me, or wait three years for the voters to run me out of office. And seven if they don't."

    Calvo gazed past him out the window, as though imagining the futility stretching before him. "The trial lawyers have actually signed off on this?"

    "Yes. Specifically, Bob Lenihan and his group. All I need is you, Tony, and we can pass it."

    Soberly, Calvo faced him. "I assume that there's a price."

    "Only one," Kerry answered succinctly. "I'm replacing the gun immunity provision in the current bill with language providing that

none of its protections apply to lawsuits involving guns. I'll expect you to support that."

    Dismay crept into Calvo's eyes. "There's the SSA, Mr. President."

    Kerry shrugged. "The SSA got greedy, and piggybacked on your bill. That's intolerable to me."

    Somber, Calvo weighed his choices. At length, he responded. "I can't give you an answer on my own. Not about this."

    "Of course not. So talk to your allies. And then go to Frank Fasano." Kerry's voice softened. "Ask Fasano if he wants to do something for you, or just wants chits with the SSA. I hope you don't find out that I'm your only friend in town."

SIX

In the SSA's main conference room, replete with a wall display of historic handguns and rifles, Sarah Dash interrogated Charles Dane across a lacquered table.