Balance of Power

    A somewhat imperious moderate Democrat from California, Betsy had been caught between her advocacy of gun control and her ties to the high-tech overlords of Silicon Valley, an important base of financial support, for whom tort reform was fundamental protection from shareholder suits. Fasano had expected her to split the difference by supporting both Kilcannon's gun bill and Fasano's tort reform measure. But the film clip of Kilcannon confronting the seller dominated the morning news in a seemingly endless loop. When Fasano looked up from the color photo of Kilcannon at the gun show on the front page of the New York Times, the clip had been succeeded by a live interview with Senator Shapiro.

    As usual, Betsy looked buttoned-down, her dark brown coif as disciplined and controlled as she was. In good conscience, she was saying, I have

to question whether giving legal immunity to the Eagle's Claw bullet can really be called "reform."

    Across from him at the breakfast table, a weary Bernadette held Frank Junior, his small head with its sparse black hair resting at her breast. "I'm not sure what I think about the politics," she told her husband. "Or the law. But that target of the Kilcannons was disgusting."

    That, Fasano thought, captured neatly what Betsy Shapiro was reacting to; with a stroke of intuition, Kilcannon had reduced gun immunity from the abstract to the personal. "Anyone who makes or sells that kind of stuff is crazy," he agreed. "But that's got nothing to do with tort reform." Excusing himself, he went to his den and called Lance Jarrett.

    It was only six o'clock in California, but—as Fasano had known he would be—the president of the world's largest chipmaker was up and running. "Is this about Betsy?" Jarrett asked gruffly.

    "Yup. She seems to have forgotten you."

    "Betsy Shapiro hates guns," Jarrett said. "So do a lot of Californians. All your pro-gun, pro-life crap doesn't sell too well out here."

    Fasano laughed softly. "As opposed to all your pro-business,

anti-tree-hugger stuff? We appreciate your financial support, Lance. But if we want to control Congress, we need to turn out votes in states you fly over on the way to St. Moritz—like Kansas or Maine or Arkansas— where pro-gun and conservative Christian voters make a difference. As for California, you've tried to play it safe by backing Democrats like Betsy. It's time to see if your strategy pays off."

    "In other words," Jarrett rejoined, "you want me to lean on our senior senator."

    "You're one of her leading fund-raisers. She might appreciate knowing how you feel, and hearing from your mutual friends in the Valley."

    Jarrett was quiet. "Kilcannon really hurt you," he said at length. "Maybe you can't get past it."

    Fasano felt his jaw tighten. "You'd better hope you're wrong. Unless you're willing to take that feeble compromise Kilcannon was hawking to the Chamber of Commerce."

    "Of course not," Jarrett answered scornfully. "I just don't understand why your bill turned into the Gun Protection Act."

    "Because that's the price," Fasano snapped. "I don't tell you how to make chips, so don't tell me how to get you protected from specious lawsuits for the rest of recorded history. All I need is for you to help me realize your dream. As for Betsy, your dream should be her dream—the high-tech community is too important to ignore. Your fellow CEOs, venture capitalists, and investment bankers should be calling her day and night."

    For a few seconds, Fasano waited for a reaction. "All right." For a man accustomed to command, Jarrett's tone became unusually respectful. "I'll get to work this morning."

* * *

    That afternoon, with great reluctance, Fasano left Bernadette and the baby to meet with his Majority Whip, Dave Ruckles.

    They counted votes over soft drinks in Fasano's office. "What's the damage?" Fasano asked.

    Lean and alert, Ruckles was the perfect operative: a fierce conservative, an indefatigable fund-raiser, a gimlet-eyed counter of votes—and, in Fasano's estimate, neither bright nor supple enough to displace Fasano himself. But he also knew that, in Ruckles's mind, this was a not-toodistant dream, and one which Fasano hoped Ruckles would think was best served by helping the Majority Leader replace a President they both disliked. "I don't know yet," Ruckles admitted. "I think what Kilcannon's done on tort reform is keep the critical votes in play—some of our people, and swing Democrats like Shapiro, Torchio, Coletti and Slezak."

    "It's a problem in two parts," Fasano reminded him. "We want to pass tort reform with the sixty-seven votes we'll need to overrule Kilcannon's veto, and this gun immunity provision's got us stuck around sixty. But first we have to keep Hampton from getting the fifty-one votes he needs to pass an amendment stripping gun immunity out of the final bill."