Balance of Power

    Cassie met his gaze. "Because the SSA will mount their primary challenge?" she inquired coolly. "So either they'll beat me there, or weaken me for a race against Abel Randolph. And you won't raise a finger, or a dime, to stop them."

    "That's how it is."

    "Not quite." Sitting back, Cassie drew a breath. "Believe me, Frank, I'm respectful of your position. But I'm less enamored of mine than I was when I woke up this morning. Tiptoeing through sewage does that to me.

    "So you can tell the SSA to give me a little space. If you don't feel free to do that, then let them do their worst. Even if they disinter George Bolt and pump him full of embalming fluid, he won't beat me in a primary. And if that miracle occurs, there's no way on earth he'll defeat Abel Randolph in the general." Pausing, Cassie kept her voice more dispassionate than she felt. "That gives you two alternatives—a new Democratic senator who may threaten your majority, or one very disaffected female incumbent." Cassie smiled. "The last time our leadership fucked around with a Republican from New England, he left the party to become an independent. He seemed a whole lot happier than I feel right now."

    Quiet, Fasano paused to appraise her sincerity. "Some people like being pariahs, Cassie. I don't sense that in you."

    "Then give me a fit home, Frank. And the next time you want my vote, or anything from me, speak for yourself instead of for Charles Dane."

NINE

The following morning, an overnight poll showed that fifty-three percent of respondents felt the President's effectiveness was impaired, and that twenty-seven percent favored resignation. But with no denial to fuel the story, speculation began to center on its origin. Jack Slezak had given a carefully orchestrated interview stressing that his purpose was not to promote blackmail by his unknown caller, but to allow the President "time to do the right thing in a difficult personal situation." Republicans had confined themselves to muted statements of disappointment and disapproval, leaving the calls for impeachment to the more fervid of the talking heads. Democrats, still finding their way, ventured the tepid defense that the President's preelection personal life should be separate from his Presidency. On the Senate floor, as morning business opened, Fasano called for a speedy vote to overturn the President's veto.

    As Kerry watched on C-SPAN, Hampton responded. Why this unseemly haste, he asked the Senate, where there is no deadline for an override except the end to this Congress itself, over a year from now? Are the proponents of gun immunity so desperate to extinguish Mary Costello's lawsuit? Are they so afraid that if the courtroom doesn't go dark until mid-trial it will be too late to conceal who bears the blame for the murder of six people? Why not wait for the

judge and jury to decide?

    It was the best Hampton could do, Kerry thought—attempt to shift the spotlight from Lara to her sister, from abortion to the victims of gun violence. And it was a sad reminder of how much damage the President had sustained.

* * *

    Speaking to the President by telephone, Hampton sounded worried but determined. "This could happen to you, I keep telling our people. If we don't step up, we'll all be hostage to whatever has happened in our personal lives for the rest of our public lives."

    "How is that going down?"

    "They understand. But they're worried about being associated with

your so-called moral lapses. They're living in the here and now. What might happen to them will happen down the road."

    "What about the override? Can we hold our votes?"

    "I don't know. No one's told me they're jumping yet—they don't have an answer when I ask what this story has to do with gun immunity. But I'm getting foreplay from a couple of them, like Torchio and Spivey, softening me up for a potential fucking. More than a few are looking around, wondering who will be the first to flip." Hampton's tone admitted to his frustration. "The real problem's Weller—I imagine Fasano and the SSA are doing everything but plant a severed horse's head on his pillow. If he switches sides, there may be a deluge."

    Kerry felt his own discouragement deepen. "Is there anything I can do?"

    "Other than locating the blackmailer?" Hampton paused, as though groping for an answer. "You can make some private calls to senators. In your current position, public arm-twisting could blow up in your face."

    Restless, Kerry stood. "I know that. But if we lose Weller, we need to pick up a vote somewhere."