Balance of Power

    "By my count, that means sixty-seven senators will have to spit in the President's eye. Or, as Kilcannon will have it, on the graves of the First Lady's family." Turning to Landon, Fasano continued, "You can do the math as well as I can, Kelsey. I've got fifty-four Republicans. I can count at least five who are up for reelection next year and don't want Kilcannon's very warm breath on the backs of their necks. They'd sell their souls not to cast this vote."

    Kelsey Landon smiled. "You remind me of what my predecessor used to say: 'Half my friends are for it, half against, and I'm all for my friends.' Except that your friends are in this room, and we're all for you."

    For Fasano, the soothing bromide eliminated all doubt—the SSA had engaged Kelsey Landon not just as an advisor, but to bring all the pressure at his command to bear on Frank Fasano. For a brief, intoxicating moment, Fasano imagined telling them both to go to hell. Then he weighed yet again the political impracticality of offending the SSA, the risks and rewards—both monumental—of waging this fight against Kerry Kilcannon.

    "I don't like these lawsuits," he said to Dane and Landon. "And Kilcannon's fully capable of running this lawsuit from the White House. But you're asking me to put five seats at risk—which, as it happens, would lose us the majority."

    "You wouldn't have a majority," Dane said bluntly, "without our help. In the last election cycle, the SSA gave the Republican Party over $2.5 million in soft money and spent millions more in support of progun candidates. We turned out our people in nine close Senate races, and you won six."

    By whose count? Fasano wondered. "Charles," Landon told him in a soothing voice, "knows that you'll need protection. I believe he's prepared to give it."

    "To begin," Dane said, "we'll put up more money than we did the last time—at least four million."

    The bargaining, Fasano knew, had begun. "What else?"

    "Anything that's legal." Dane's voice was cool and businesslike. "After all, this is the last election before Chad Palmer's misbegotten campaign reform bill takes effect. We'll form groups to run 'independent' ads to support any senator who votes our way. We'll run an onslaught of radio and TV ads at the grassroots level. We'll tell our members to send the most generous checks they can to senators of our selection, and to the Republican Senatorial Campaign Committee."

    "The problem," Fasano told Dane, "is that it'll be the SSA versus the President, with Kilcannon calling us SSA stooges . . ."

    "One more reason," Dane retorted, "for you to pass this now. The election's not for thirteen months. By that time, the Costello shootings will have cooled off—especially if there's no lawsuit. And we're much too smart to resurrect the issue in an election year.

    "Most of our ads won't even be about guns. We'll hit the candidates who run against your people on crime, antiterrorism, prayer in school, lowering taxes—whatever works from state to state. The way the law is now, the Democrats won't know who ran them until six months after they've lost.

    "Even

you won't know, Frank. But you'll still have your majority, maybe bigger. And that will make you the preeminent leader of your party."

    At this unmistakable allusion to his Presidential prospects, the room became silent. Kelsey Landon had stopped smiling.

    "You know what Charles can do," Landon said at length. "Not just with money, but by turning out his people.

    "If Republican senators don't go along, he'll invest in Democrats who will—in Montana, the Dakotas, the South, or wherever gun companies are key employers. He'll engage the folks who work in the chain of distribution: dealers, distributors, employees. He can rally four million members, not to mention reaching the nearly forty million households which own guns . . ."

    "Our message is simple," Dane interjected. "Today it's the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw, but tomorrow it's your

gun. Right now, we could gen erate mail, calls, and faxes ten to one in our favor on any gun immunity bill we propose.

    "I've made our own head count of shaky Republicans and persuadable Democrats. Do your damnedest, Frank, and we'll help get your sixty-seven votes. After that, Kerry Kilcannon won't be the most powerful man in Washington. It'll be you." As Dane leaned forward, his gaze, penetrant and unblinking, impelled attention. "As for us, if we can quash this lawsuit, and then defeat Kilcannon's gun bill, we'll bury gun control for a generation. Maybe for good and all."

    Fasano stared at him. "Not if you bring a bill Kilcannon can claim is meant to 'quash' the memory of a murdered six-year-old. Then it would be about the Eagle's Claw. You'd be better off trying to put a cap on damages."

    "That's not enough," Dane shot back. "The legal fees alone are bleeding the industry to death. And we don't want Kilcannon using Bob Lenihan to root around in Lexington's files, or interrogate its employees."