Balance of Power

    "Over Kilcannon's veto," Calvo countered. "All he needs is thirtyfour senators to uphold it, and we get zip . . ."

    "Kilcannon," Mary Bryant interrupted, "is delivering the trial lawyers. We want you to deliver the SSA."

    Though angry, Fasano took his time. "Ever since I reached the Senate," he told them, "your organizations have played both sides. On a national level, the SSA gives only to Republicans. So now I'm supposed to shaft Dane at your convenience."

    "Before you 'shaft' him," Metrillo answered, "you might want to talk to him. We're hoping he'll see the point of having us as his allies."

    Mirthlessly, Fasano laughed. "I'll urge that on him, John. Unfortunately, Charles Dane is steeped in American history. From Benedict Arnold forward."

* * *

    With a slow, theatrical turn of the head, Charles Dane looked at the grandfather clock in one corner of his office. "At this time yesterday," he told Fasano, "Sarah Dash was trying to nail me to the cross. Now you want me to provide the nails, and the time she needs to use them."

    "That's a little melodramatic," Fasano answered with a sardonic smile. "I hope the first Easter after your death won't prove to be too big a disappointment."

    Dane studied him coldly. "You weren't there," he answered. "I was. And you're extremely lucky that Dash doesn't know to ask about you and Marty Bresler. Unless, that is, she was sandbagging me."

    This sobered Fasano. "All the questions about Bresler," he ventured. "Where's that coming from?"

    Dane's shrug resembled a twitch, suggesting anger suppressed. "We'll see," he murmured, and then spoke with renewed authority. "You brought these people in, Frank. And now you want them to cut ahead of us in line. It's us who came to you, and now it's us who's been sued. Spineless country clubbers like Calvo and Metrillo couldn't deliver their own mothers at the polls, let alone help you maintain control of the Senate. Only we can do that."

    Beneath Dane's show of confidence, Fasano knew, he was worried. Only Fasano, by delivering gun immunity, could preserve Dane's power, both inside and outside the SSA. Fasano picked up a silver letter opener on Dane's coffee table, studying its ornate handle. In a neutral tone, he said, "Metrillo promises to support a separate bill."

    "Fuck Metrillo. And fuck you, Frank, for wasting my time with drivel."

    Fasano placed down the opener. Softly, he said, "Watch yourself, Charles."

    "You watch yourself." Pausing, Dane adopted a cooler tone. "You and I both know these people have nowhere else to go. If you tell them that the only tort reform bill you're supporting protects the gun industry— and gets them what they want instead of this sop that Kilcannon's throwing them—they'll fall back into line, and try their damnedest to override his veto . . ."

    "He's setting us up," Fasano interrupted. "Kilcannon expects all of us to do exactly what we're doing. Once we do, he'll make us pay."

    "No choice, Frank. We just ride it out."

    "Before we do, consider this. In return for Kilcannon's acceptance of gun immunity, we offer to make guns subject to the consumer protection laws. Kilcannon's always whining that there are no safety standards for guns . . ."

    "No," Dane snapped. "Period. Putting the industry at the mercy of the consumer gestapo is the first step toward ending gun rights in America."

    "Everything," Fasano retorted, "is the first step." His voice crackled with impatience. "By your logic, the income tax is the first step to confiscating our money, and the death penalty the first step to Nazi crematoriums. Has it ever dawned on you that society stands on a continuum, not poised on a slippery slope?"

    Dane settled back in his chair, his face and voice emotionless. "You know our price—this bill. If Kilcannon wants to veto, he'll be digging his own grave."

    Fasano studied him. "Electorally, you mean."

    "In ways he hasn't contemplated," Dane answered. "And won't until it's far too late."

* * *

    "The SSA," Fasano told Tony Calvo, "accuses you of selling them out to Kerry Kilcannon. Somehow, Dane finds it incongruous for me to broker the deal."

    Over the telephone, the only clue to Calvo's feeling was his silence. "Did you try the consumer protection angle?"

    "Yes. Are you familiar with the phrase 'dead on arrival'?"

    "You can pass this bill," Calvo said in desperation. "Kilcannon will sign it . . ."

    "Kilcannon," Fasano interrupted, "won't see it. Because I won't bring it to the floor. As of now, this bastard compromise of yours is roadkill."

    Calvo's voice rose, the last vestige of resistance. "If so, I'll have to inform the President. And tell him why."

    Fasano gave himself a moment. "You do that, Tony. Why surprise him? It's exactly what he expects from you.

    "So run off and see 'the President.' And after that, I sincerely suggest you get behind my bill."

* * *

    On the next afternoon, to the surprise of the White House press corps, Kit Pace announced that the President would hold a press conference.