Richard Patterson - Balance of Power

"You and I," Cassie responded, "have always disagreed about the nature of Kerry Kilcannon. I contend he has a soul—unlike many of our colleagues, I might add. That's why he and Chad always got along." Having delivered this veiled barb, Cassie changed subjects. "His motives aside, the President was clever about one thing. He got the story over with quickly—the press won't be trying to prove what he's already admitted. By tomorrow they'll be fixated on the identity of the blackmailer. Dollars to doughnuts it's someone who's a 'friend' of ours." She smiled briefly. "And Slezak's, Kilcannon seemed to imply. That would narrow the field a bit."

At once, Cassie saw this thrust strike home: Fasano's face became a mask, and his eyes froze on her face. He knows , she thought for a split second, and the instinct for self-preservation gripped her, the fear of standing too close to Fasano too soon. Then Fasano conjured a belated smile. "Why not just say what you mean, and get this off your chest."

It was a reminder that the subject was radioactive, and that a careless word, conveyed to the wrong person, could cost her a great deal. "I've said what I had to say," she answered.

Fasano's voice and manner changed abruptly. "Eleven days ago you crossed me on a leadership vote. The next one is on Kilcannon's gun bill. For you, I'd call it sudden death."

Cassie met his gaze. "Because the SSA will mount their primary challenge?" she inquired coolly. "So either they'll beat me there, or weaken me for a race against Abel Randolph. And you won't raise a finger, or a dime, to stop them."

"That's how it is."

"Not quite." Sitting back, Cassie drew a breath. "Believe me, Frank, I'm respectful of your position. But I'm less enamored of mine than I was when I woke up this morning. Tiptoeing through sewage does that to me.

"So you can tell the SSA to give me a little space. If you don't feel free to do that, then let them do their worst. Even if they disinter George Bolt and pump him full of embalming fluid, he won't beat me in a primary. And if that miracle occurs, there's no way on earth he'll defeat Abel Randolph in the general." Pausing, Cassie kept her voice more dispassionate than she felt. "That gives you two alternatives—a new Democratic senator who may threaten your majority, or one very disaffected female incumbent." Cassie smiled. "The last time our leadership fucked around with a Republican from New England, he left the party to become an independent. He seemed a whole lot happier than I feel right now."

Quiet, Fasano paused to appraise her sincerity. "Some people like being pariahs, Cassie. I don't sense that in you."

"Then give me a fit home, Frank. And the next time you want my vote, or anything from me, speak for yourself instead of for Charles Dane."

NINE

The following morning, an overnight poll showed that fifty-three percent of respondents felt the President's effectiveness was impaired, and that twenty-seven percent favored resignation. But with no denial to fuel the story, speculation began to center on its origin. Jack Slezak had given a carefully orchestrated interview stressing that his purpose was not to promote blackmail by his unknown caller, but to allow the President "time to do the right thing in a difficult personal situation." Republicans had confined themselves to muted statements of disappointment and disapproval, leaving the calls for impeachment to the more fervid of the talking heads. Democrats, still finding their way, ventured the tepid defense that the President's preelection personal life should be separate from his Presidency. On the Senate floor, as morning business opened, Fasano called for a speedy vote to overturn the President's veto.

As Kerry watched on C-SPAN, Hampton responded. Why this unseemly haste, he asked the Senate, where there is no deadline for an override except the end to this Congress itself, over a year from now? Are the proponents of gun immunity so desperate to extinguish Mary Costello's lawsuit? Are they so afraid that if the courtroom doesn't go dark until mid-trial it will be too late to conceal who bears the blame for the murder of six people? Why not wait for the judge and jury to decide?

It was the best Hampton could do, Kerry thought—attempt to shift the spotlight from Lara to her sister, from abortion to the victims of gun violence. And it was a sad reminder of how much damage the President had sustained.

* * *

Speaking to the President by telephone, Hampton sounded worried but determined. "This could happen to you, I keep telling our people. If we don't step up, we'll all be hostage to whatever has happened in our personal lives for the rest of our public lives."

"How is that going down?"

"They understand. But they're worried about being associated with

your so-called moral lapses. They're living in the here and now. What might happen to them will happen down the road."

"What about the override? Can we hold our votes?"

"I don't know. No one's told me they're jumping yet—they don't have an answer when I ask what this story has to do with gun immunity. But I'm getting foreplay from a couple of them, like Torchio and Spivey, softening me up for a potential fucking. More than a few are looking around, wondering who will be the first to flip." Hampton's tone admitted to his frustration. "The real problem's Weller—I imagine Fasano and the SSA are doing everything but plant a severed horse's head on his pillow. If he switches sides, there may be a deluge."

Kerry felt his own discouragement deepen. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Other than locating the blackmailer?" Hampton paused, as though groping for an answer. "You can make some private calls to senators. In your current position, public arm-twisting could blow up in your face."

Restless, Kerry stood. "I know that. But if we lose Weller, we need to pick up a vote somewhere."

Hampton hesitated. "Is there any way to force Slezak to tell the truth? After all, if someone saying he was the president of the AFL-CIO had really called Slezak's office, wouldn't his receptionist remember?"

"I've thought of that," the President answered. "But imagine the reaction if I turn the FBI loose on Slezak's office? The most his receptionist will say is that he or she doesn't remember a call from one of the most important figures in the country. Implausible to you and me, but an absolute dead end. Slezak's told the perfect lie—a phone call which never happened, which no one can disprove.

"Maybe the press will get this counselor to say who she gave her notes to. Maybe in that sphere I could even get the FBI involved, and try to trace this story to its source. But whoever is involved will lie as well, and the columnist who printed it will never reveal his source. In the meanwhile, I'd be accused of unleashing the Gestapo to distract attention from my sins. As a matter of practical politics, I have to save the FBI for later." Kerry began to pace. "Even if we let them loose, I doubt the FBI could trace the story before the vote to override my veto. Or even the vote on my gun bill." Pausing, Kerry finished, "That's happening next, I suppose."

"We think so." Hampton's tone was sardonic. "Fasano may be deeply saddened by what's happened to you, but he's adjusted rather quickly to its uses."

Kerry was quiet. What had saved him from dwelling on his own personal humiliation, and Lara's, was to focus on its political aspect, the fight to regain his standing in time to save his veto. Now his feelings overwhelmed him. "You know," he said, "I could have never imagined how this would be for Lara, or for me. Or how it would feel to have it define my Presidency."

Hampton was silent. Kerry guessed at his thoughts: that, burdened by this secret, Kerry should not have run for President; that Hampton had gone out on a limb for him, not knowing what could happen; that Hampton's life as Minority Leader would be brutal, arrayed with a wavering caucus of Democratic senators against an implacable Frank Fasano and a now more compliant group of Republicans, and supported only by a President perhaps too wounded to survive. "Mr. President," Hampton said evenly, "I don't blame you for where we are. Frankly, you've been a better President than I thought you'd be—better, I'm now convinced, than Dick Mason would have been. You've given us more reason to be proud of our party than we've had in a good while."