Balance of Power

    There was silence, as though Harding felt stymied by her lack of ready options. "Hopefully," she ventured, "Bowden's night in jail has cooled him off. And his trial for battery is coming up—unless he agrees to a program, he'll likely get some jail time. Until then, the police will come as soon as anyone calls."

    As the motorcade slipped inside the East Entrance, the guard waved at Kerry's limousine. The iron gate closed behind him. "Assuming they can call," Kerry said.

* * *

    At a little past seven p.m., Clayton and the President sat on the balcony of Kerry's private quarters, reviewing the status of budget negotiations as evening shadows spread slowly across the South Lawn. Both were in shirtsleeves; Clayton drank bourbon, Kerry two shots of Bushmills on ice.

    At length they turned to Joan. "The counsel's office checked this out," Clayton told Kerry. "By law, you can't use the Secret Service to protect Lara's family—you'd have to go to Congress for permission."

    "And make it a cause célèbre."

    "Exactly. You could call the mayor, request twenty-four-hour police protection. But then what happens when some ordinary woman in the Mission District gets shot by her deranged ex-husband after five or six calls to the police? The San Francisco Chronicle charges you and the Mayor with favoritism and misuse of public resources." Finishing his drink, Clayton put it down. "You're in this one too deep already. I understand why, but your position's like no one else's."

    Silent, Kerry let the peaty burn of whiskey slide slowly down his throat. "I can't tell you," he remarked, "what a heady thrill it is to wind up another workday as the most powerful man on earth."

    Clayton smiled. "That's why the Founding Fathers created the federal system, and then gave us a free press. To tax your ingenuity."

    But Kerry did not answer, or even return his smile. By now his thoughts were far away; Joan Bowden's home was more vivid than the majestic scene around them. "I'll talk to Lara," he said at length. "There must be something we can do."

FOURTEEN

"What I don't understand," Kerry told George Callister, "is why CEOs of gun companies take orders from the SSA."

    Three Sundays after their initial meeting, the two men had returned in secret to Camp David, and now sat at the table on Kerry's patio. Callister allowed himself a thin smile. "Is that a challenge to my manhood, Mr. President? Or a genuine question?"

    "Both," Kerry answered bluntly. "One day Martin Bresler comes with you to the White House. The next day he's a leper, and none of you will touch him."

    Callister took a swallow of coffee, eyeing Kerry over the rim of his mug. "Running a gun company," he said at length, "is like running a gauntlet between five competing forces. If you worry too much about one, another one will take your head off.

    "Start with the public. Maybe twenty percent believe guns are sacred. Another twenty percent—which you seem to represent—thinks guns should be melted down and turned into manhole covers . . ."

    "Remind me," Kerry interjected, "to propose that."

    Callister did not smile. "The rest," he continued, "are all those folks in the middle, who go back and forth, swayed by events, and yet hold the balance of power.

    "Next are the politicians, who need the people in the middle to keep their jobs. So every time some lunatic shoots up a day-care center, you Democrats take up the cry for gun control, hoping to convince enough mothers that some new gun law will actually protect their kids . . ."

    Nettled, Kerry held up his hand. "If you're saying I'm cynical about this . . ."

    "At least I'm not questioning your manhood." There was a glint of amusement in Callister's eyes. "I accept that you're different, Mr. President. You've certainly got reason to be. But I've learned not to trust a class of people whose first priority is self-perpetuation. And I sure as hell don't trust them to be fair.

    "Frankly, I think a lot of your Democrat friends would rather keep the issue alive, and complain about the SSA, than pass a law. Others would rather take credit for passing a bullshit law which sounds good but does nothing. Because all they really care about is winning the next election."

    Whatever quarrel Kerry might have with this, he had no doubt that Callister's bleak view of politics was deeply held. "So far," he said, "we've got the public, which is fickle, and the politicians who exploit them. What makes that problem unique to you?"

    "The lawyers." Callister's voice combined disdain with resignation. "The plaintiffs' lawyers—your fervent supporters—are always looking for the next big thing. Five years ago it was tobacco: that's where they got all the money they keep giving to politicians who treat lawsuits as the American way. After tobacco, they decided to take a run at us.