Balance of Power

    Beginning among the Democrats, a deep roar of approval issued from the well of the House, swelling as members applauded with both hands raised aloft for the President to see. Utterly still, Kilcannon made no move to leave. And so President Kilcannon, the commentator intoned, has launched a personal crusade against gun violence in America . . .

    "Eighty-eight percent," Kit said. To her utter surprise, her eyes had welled with tears.

* * *

    Dane turned from the screen. "We can't let him split off Lexington," he told the others. "The little bastard means to pressure George Callister."

    "We stopped Callister before," Fell answered.

    "It'll be harder now." Dane turned to Campton. "Get onto the Internet. Ask our members to e-mail Congress, especially Democrats. And tell them how to reach everyone on Lexington's board."

    Campton nodded. "How do

we respond?"

    "With care. Fasano's right about that. The line should be that we sympathize with Kilcannon, but that he's drawn the wrong lesson—you should be able to pass down a gun to your eighteen-year-old son, or sell one to your next-door neighbor, without putting them through a background check. This isn't a police state, after all. At least not yet.

    "As for safety locks, he's proposing the 'Criminal Protection Act.' Think some rapist will wait for his victim to fiddle with a safety lock?"

    "Kilcannon's overreaching," Campton agreed. "But what's the right lesson?"

    "Tougher law enforcement. John Bowden should never have been out on bail. We support better domestic violence records, and stiffer sentences. Period."

    After five minutes, Wolf Blitzer was saying, the applause for President Kilcannon continues unabated. On the screen, Lara Kilcannon gazed down at her husband.

    This is the crest, Dane promised them. Tomorrow begins the fall.

    "As soon as you can," he ordered Fell, "set up that meeting with Fasano."

* * *

    Hours later, having said goodbye to the families, Kerry and Lara lay in bed.

    "You were right about Mary," she told him. "Bob Lenihan has approached her about suing Lexington Arms."

    Kerry laughed softly. But he had begun to feel the residue of a sustained adrenaline rush—a vague depression, the first echoes of self-doubt. In a quiet tone, he told Lara, "I did the best I could."

    "The best anyone could," she assured him. With that, knowing that he needed this as much as she, Lara slipped into his arms.

THIRTEEN

The next morning, after a lengthy telephone call with the Secretary General of the United Nations, Kerry greeted Bob Lenihan in the Oval Office. "Your speech was perfect," Lenihan assured the President. "As incisive as a final argument to a jury."

    Why was it, Kerry wondered with some amusement, that even Bob Lenihan's compliments sounded like self-praise. "This jury," he answered wryly, "is considerably larger. And in the case of their elected representatives, a good deal meaner and more self-interested. I needed to make them wonder if voting against me might not be riskier than they thought."

    Lenihan smiled. "Seems like you succeeded."

    And so, this morning, it did. The editorial reaction across the country was uniformly favorable, and the media's overnight polls confirmed Clayton's instant soundings. Congress, Alex Cole reported, already had been inundated with phone calls, faxes, and e-mails, in which—for once— support for Kerry outnumbered the dire warnings of gun rights supporters. "For now," Kerry cautioned Lenihan. "But the Speaker and Frank Fasano have just started to dig in."

    Lenihan sat back, as though soaking in the sunlight through the windows of the Oval Office. But even in repose, his imposing frame and visage—square jaw, restless blue eyes, determined pouter pigeon's mouth—reminded Kerry of a man bent on consuming everything around him. Others found this feral aspect close to frightening; Kerry accepted Lenihan's boundless self-absorption as the necessary engine of a plaintiffs' lawyer's makeup, which—albeit with caution—the President could usefully employ. "That's what I wanted to talk about," Lenihan said at last. "The long haul. Has Lara thought about suing Lexington Arms?"

    Kerry summoned an expression of mild surprise. "A wrongful death action? There's no way, Bob. It would make last night's speech—in fact, everything we say or do—look like we're bent on lining our own pockets."

    Lenihan's blue gaze was shrewd and appraising. "I understand, Mr. President. But it really is too bad. The part of the speech I most enjoyed was when you summarized Lexington's paltry response to the murders, and then set up this guy Callister. By the time you're through with him, I'd bet there'll hardly be a prospective juror in America who won't be hell-bent on taking Lexington to the cleaners."

    Kilcannon smiled briefly. "Is that what I was doing last night? Poisoning the jury pool?"