Balance of Power

    "How uncharitable," Palmer observed. "Larry's becoming Tim Russert."

    Clearly, Larry, Callister hedged his bets—and it backfired. He never considered that President Kilcannon and his legal surrogate, Sarah Dash, would use his calculated lies to practice the politics of smear and victimization against American gun owners.

    Kilcannon and his followers smear us because we're the most dedicated upholder of every decent American's right to defend themselves and their families against murderers, rapists and child molesters—the scum of the way-too-permissive society exemplified by the Kilcannons. Then the President tries to advance his true agenda—confiscation—by pretending to be the victim of the big bad SSA.

    "Pretending?" Allie said.

    Dane's voice filled with scorn. In the Kilcannons' narcissistic world, everything is about them, everyone is after them, and anyone else is responsible except for them. So let's call a spade a spade. They had the affair. They aborted their unborn child. And now they want the four million law-abiding members of the SSA to pay for their immoral conduct that sickened decent people everywhere . . .

    In profile, Chad saw Allie's eyes brim with tears. "It's hard to watch this," she told her husband. "It's too much like what they did to our daughter."

    I call on every patriotic American to reject these ugly machinations, and to urge their senators to support the reform of our civil justice system.

    The telephone beside Chad rang. At first he ignored it, and then saw the identity of his caller flash up on the iridescent panel of the phone.

    "Watching Larry King?" the President asked.

    "Never miss him." Chad hesitated, then added softly, "Dane's making a mistake, Mr. President. More than that, I'm deeply sorry."

    "I know that, Chad." The President paused in turn. "I need your help on this. What's at stake transcends the Civil Justice Reform Act."

    "That's the problem," Chad answered. "This is way too personal to me, and there are a lot of things at stake. I need time to think it through."

    The President's laugh was quiet and without humor. "You and I have twenty-four hours. That's how much time Fasano's given us."

FOURTEEN

For Kerry, the predawn hours were punctuated by two events.

    The first was Lara rising from bed, treading softly to the bathroom and carefully shutting the door. Though muffled by running water, Kerry heard the quiet but unmistakable sound of his wife becoming sick.

    He waited until he heard Lara splashing more water on her face. Then he slowly opened the door.

    Dabbing her face with a towel, Lara saw him in the mirror. "Can I get you something?" he asked.

    Her skin was pale, Kerry saw, and her expression was wan. But she managed to smile at his inquiry. "Maybe a new stomach?"

    He tilted his head. "What about a different life?"

    Closing her eyes, she gave the briefest shake of her head, swallowing as though she still felt sick. "It's not that," she answered in a weak but insistent voice. "If stress did this to me, I'd have never survived Kosovo. I'm coming down with the flu again."

    Perhaps that was all it was. Lately, they had both been more prone to colds. But Kerry felt again the cost to Lara of marrying him, the tragedy, and now the misery which had followed. So much had happened since Slezak's warning; that they had so little time to absorb it, or do anything but cope with its impact on his Presidency, struck Kerry as inhuman.

    Putting his hands on Lara's waist, he rested the side of his face against hers. She smiled again in the mirror. "Don't get too close," she advised. "You'll catch it."

    "Are you going to be all right?"

    Her eyes, reflected in the glass, seemed to query how he meant this. "You might call down for some ginger ale," she answered.

    Kerry left it there.