Balance of Power

    Kerry took both of her hands in his. "First, I want you to believe me about something—that the reason I don't want you crawling across ground glass on national television involves more than male pride, or even love for you. It's about who we are, or should be. Once you allow someone to violate your own best sense of that, you're no one. That's fatal in a person—or a President.

    "Clayton knows me far better than Kit. What he was doing, though he'd never say it, was speaking to who I am, and who I need to be." Kerry looked at her intently. "I think he was speaking for you, as well. If we don't draw the line for ourselves, how will we feel later? And what validation will we be giving to whoever decides to victimize the next First Family, or the next? What public act of contrition will they have to perform in order to top ours? However we leave this place, I don't want that to be our legacy."

    "Then it won't be," Lara answered. "Whatever else."

SIX

At nine the next morning, Sarah sat next to Lenihan at Bond's red mahogany conference table. Glancing at Nolan and Fancher, she pondered the twelve-million-dollar offer from Charles Dane which neither knew of. Mary Costello's dilemma was as complex, and as delicate, as any Sarah could imagine.

    "The first order of business," Bond said, "is to set some dates. First, for hearing defendants' summary judgment motions. And then, should the Court deny them, for a trial."

    Silent, Sarah shot an untrusting glance at Lenihan. Since his effort to settle the case around her, they had struck a wary truce, agreeing that Mary's interests—whether in going to trial or further enhancing the settlement offer—were best served by stepping up the pressure on Lexington and the SSA. Part of this strategy was to appear unfazed by politics. After all, as Sarah's hasty reading of this morning's Times had confirmed, with three days left for a veto message no senators seemed inclined to switch their votes. If that held—and Sarah could not see why it wouldn't—the Senate would sustain Kilcannon's veto.

    "Give us George Callister," Lenihan said on cue, "and we're ready to move swiftly. His deposition's all we need to oppose the defendants' motions, or prepare for an early trial. Frankly, I wish we were deposing him tomorrow. If Lexington hadn't held him out so long, we'd be in trial right now. As matters stand, and subject to your convenience, we're prepared to respond to any motions within five days of his appearance, and to go to trial two weeks later."

    "This case is too complex for that," Nolan began in protest.

    "Really?" Bond interjected tartly. "You've given me the impression that it was simple. The words 'frivolous' and 'groundless' leap to mind."

    "If aggregated in sufficient bulk," Nolan rejoined, "even frivolous arguments and groundless assertions demand a detailed rebuttal. Preparing our motions will require more time than Mr. Lenihan proposes."

    "Which brings us back to Mr. Callister," the judge replied. "Five days ago I gave you two weeks to produce him, and plaintiff's counsel complains that they still don't have a date—let alone a mutually conve nient venue." Bond's tone combined patience with a trace of judicial testiness. "I've given you all of the discovery you've asked for, whenever you asked for it—often at considerable inconvenience to Mr. Lenihan and Ms. Dash. So where do things sit with Callister?"

    Sarah expected Nolan to commence a mournful litany of difficult logistics, the intricacies of Callister's extended business travels, and then ask for another week—giving the Senate sufficient time, should Senator Fasano muster the votes, to override the President's veto. Bond knew this very well: in Sarah's estimate, the judge's show of huffing and puffing was only that. In the end, Nolan would innocently wonder aloud what possible difference one more week could make to Mary Costello, and Bond would give him the sternest of warnings that this was his last delay. Merely another piece of theater, a moment from Gilbert and Sullivan.

    "Mr. Callister," Nolan responded calmly, "is willing to interrupt his travels to assuage the Court's concerns." Turning to Lenihan and Sarah, he asked, "Would five business days from now, in San Francisco, meet your needs?"

    Three days past the veto deadline. Astonished, Sarah briefly thought to press for an even earlier date, but could find no basis for complaining. Nor, it seemed, could Lenihan.

    "Cat got your tongue?" Bond asked him. "Or do you want to hold the deposition in your living room?"

    Lenihan glanced at Sarah. "No, Your Honor. Our San Francisco office will do just fine."

    "Good, Mr. Lenihan. Then let's thrash out the remaining dates."

    Moments later, leaving the judge's chamber, Sarah glanced over her shoulder. "What was that about?" she whispered. "I expected to depose Jimmy Hoffa before we saw George Callister. Why so amenable at the eleventh hour?"