Balance of Power полностью

    "Three months," Dane retorted, "is too much time. As soon as Kilcannon's people figure out what's in the bill for us—and they will—he'll try to rally support like he's been doing on his gun bill. The more time he has, the more our opposition hardens."

    "Frank didn't say," Landon interposed, "that there was nothing you can do to make this easier. I think there is."

    Dane turned to Landon. "Such as?"

    "Start with the House of Representatives. Let Tom Jencks pass the tort reform bill without the gun immunity clause. Keep that language out of the Senate bill you send to Palmer. That way, there's nothing for Kilcannon's people to spot . . ."

    "And we get nothing for our investment . . ."

    "But then," Landon continued smoothly, "a few days before passage, someone like Paul Harshman inserts your gun immunity provision in the bill to be voted out of Palmer's committee. It's easily done. Suddenly the bill coming to the floor includes what you want, and, with luck, it will be a while before the President and Hampton notice that. Let alone rally support.

    "With enough luck, they'll be too late. And once your bill passes the Senate, we go back to the House, wherein Tom Jencks swiftly inserts the gun immunity language."

    Silent, Fasano watched Dane evaluate Landon's suggestion. At length, he turned to Fasano. "There's just one glaring problem. Palmer. Committee chairmen are dictators. And the last time I saw him he told me to go fuck myself."

    Fasano smiled. "Sounds like Chad. I'll talk to him about you."

    "Palmer," Dane objected, "is in the way . . ."

    "I'll deal with Palmer," Fasano snapped. "You take care of Lexington."

    "The sine qua non is to keep everyone together—Lexington, the SSA, and all the other entities in our great antilawyer, pro-job, pro-consumer coalition." Looking from Landon to Dane, Fasano paused for emphasis. "Our only chance of surviving Kilcannon's veto is to keep the gun provision in the final bill, forcing every senator to vote 'yes' or 'no' on the most sweeping reform of civil justice ever to pass the Senate."

    Thoughtful, Dane seemed to withdraw from the conversation. "Is there any chance," he mused aloud, "that Kilcannon could be persuaded not to veto such a bill?"

    For the first time since the meeting began, Fasano was surprised. "One that wipes out Mary Costello's lawsuit? That's a primal challenge to everything he holds dear."

    At this, Dane looked up at him with eyes so placid that it took Fasano aback. "Still, Frank, your life would be much easier if you never had to get to sixty-seven."

EIGHT

That night, Frank and Bernadette Fasano attended a party at Cal Carlston's imposing home in Observatory Heights.

    In her seventh month of pregnancy, Bernadette's feet were swollen, and the prospect of politically centered chitchat struck her as less entrancing than normal. But it was her firm belief that husband and wife should not lead separate lives, and a point of pride that—consistent with the demands of motherhood—she was there to support her husband whenever the occasion merited. This was one such evening: Carlston, a lobbyist whom the defense and pharmaceutical industries had made wealthy beyond Bernadette's imaginings, was throwing a dinner for Republican governors salted with conservative intellectuals, members of Congress, major donors, and other party luminaries—an event her manwho-would-be-President had felt it unwise to miss. So she had hastily fed the children, pulled her most soignee late-maternity dress from the closet, and sallied forth with Frank, a cheerful advertisement for their still-blossoming nuclear family.

    On arrival, they idled in a line of cars waiting to be valet parked. Frank turned to her and promised, "We'll make it an early night."

    Bernadette's smile mingled skepticism with fondness. "That was easier to believe when you were less important. I can always find someplace to sit."

    Leaning over, Frank kissed her still-smiling lips. "I'm incredibly important," he told her, "but you and our baby are precious."

* * *

Frank had meant it, of course. He felt so lucky in Bernadette that sometimes he pitied those politicians, like Kerry Kilcannon, whose spouses had their own agendas. But one of Frank's weaknesses was to count on the elasticity of his wife's good nature. And so, it was well past the time he had meant to leave—after hours of hearty handshakes, kisses on cheeks, confabs with governors whose support he deeply wanted, and calculated candor with columnists—when Senator Macdonald Gage pulled him aside.

    Glancing around Cal Carlston's massive drawing room, Fasano saw Bernadette settled on the couch, listening in apparent fascination to the ever-courtly Kelsey Landon. Briefly, Fasano wondered whether Landon and Gage were functioning as a tag team, and then turned his full attention on Mac Gage.

    "A grand coalition," Gage remarked. "That's what you sold the SSA?"

    "Of course. It won't work any other way."