Balance of Power

ELE VEN

At nine o'clock the next morning, Sarah faced George Callister.

It was the last desultory moment before the deposition would commence. To one side of Callister was John Nolan and, separated by an empty chair, Harrison Fancher on behalf of the SSA. To Sarah's left, Robert Lenihan sipped water. Between the combatants was a silver carafe of coffee and Nolan's copy of the New York Times, displaying an article above the fold headed "Weller Expected to Switch on Tort Reform." The court reporter, young and strawberry blonde, hunched over her stenotype machine at the end of the table. Standing behind Sarah, a ponytailed technician in blue jeans and a T-shirt adjusted his video cam to focus on the witness.

Arranging her papers in front of her, Sarah surreptitiously studied the witness and his lawyer. With a casual air, Nolan chatted with Callister about the Super Bowl prospects of the New England Patriots, Callister's team of choice. As always, Nolan projected confidence, the entitlement of those accustomed to authority.

But Callister was different. For weeks, Sarah had imagined this elusive figure as a corporate version of Charles Dane, scornful of the process she was seeking to inflict on him. But the real man projected the practical aura of a midwesterner who would as happily tinker with an engine as populate a boardroom. He had a naturally gruff voice with the intonation of the Great Plains, a greying flattop to match, a nondescript blue suit, and freckled, thick-fingered hands which clasped the Styrofoam cup of coffee he brought in from the street. His grey eyes were level and his range of expressions did not lend themselves to social exaggeration. His responses to Nolan bespoke polite interest, his smile was measured, and he seemed to regard his lawyer with the detached but not unpleasant appraisal he had trained on Sarah at first meeting. He did not strike her as a man who was easily fooled, or rendered implausible in the eyes of a jury.

"Ready, gentlemen?" Sarah asked.

Callister glanced at his lawyer. "We are," Nolan answered, and the deposition began.

* * *

For the first ten minutes, Sarah established the preliminaries: that Callister was an engineer by training; that he had spent most of the adult portion of his fifty-six years in the American gun industry; that, less than a year ago, Lexington's British parent had hired him as CEO with a mandate to make the company both profitable and stable; that he had carefully reviewed the company's revenues and product line in order to chart his course. Then Sarah turned to the subject of the Lexington P-2.

"In your view," she asked, "what was the market for the P-2?"

"People who wanted firepower."

"Including criminals?"

Nolan placed a hand on Callister's sleeve. "Objection," he interjected. "Calls for speculation."

Sarah kept her eyes on the witness. "You may answer, Mr. Callister."

Callister smiled slightly. With the air of the good soldier, he responded, "You're asking me to speculate."

This would not be easy, Sarah thought—men of Callister's generation had not climbed the corporate ladder by disobeying orders, and this man knew very well the risks presented by this lawsuit. She settled in for hours of trench warfare.

"Are you aware," she said, "that tracing records compiled by the ATF indicate that—in the last two years—the P-2 has been used in more crimes than any other semiautomatic handgun?"

"I've seen those numbers," the witness answered calmly. "But you have to put them in perspective. Arguably, the P-2 outsells all of its competitors. If you sell more guns, more of them are likely to be misused."

Nolan, Sarah noticed, looked serene. Not only was Callister buttressing their defense, but he did so with a practical and nondefensive air which lent his answers credibility. "Did you," she continued, "also review Lexington's internal records of trace requests to assess the frequency of the P-2's use in crimes?"

"I did not."

"For what reason?"

Callister placed down his cup, contemplating his hands as he rubbed them together lightly. "Understand something, Ms. Dash. I've wanted to discontinue the P-2 almost since the moment I arrived. I didn't need to go rooting through our files."

Though direct and more than a little surprising, Callister's response, Sarah sensed, hinted at something unsaid. The answer—closely analyzed—was really no answer at all. Though her instincts were aroused, Sarah deferred until later the line of questioning this suggested. Instead, she asked, "Why did you want to stop making the P-2?"

"Two reasons." Callister's tone was impersonal but pointed. "It was drawing bad publicity, and attracting lawsuits like yours. Our industry's profit margins are too thin as it stands. The P-2 was becoming more of a problem than a solution to our problems."

There was nothing wrong with the gun, Sarah heard him saying—just with an ecology populated by gun controllers and trial lawyers. Little wonder that Nolan had chosen to produce him.

Sarah's coffee had become lukewarm. Nonetheless she sipped it, taking the moment to appraise the man in front of her while she searched for the question. Then she put down her mug, gazing at him closely.

"You just testified that you never examined trace requests received by Lexington regarding the use of the P-2 in crimes, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever attempt to do so?"

The ghost of a smile moved one corner of Callister's mouth, so quickly that Sarah wondered if she had imagined it. "Yes."

For the first time, Sarah felt her nerve ends stir. "And when was that?"

Any trace of humor vanished from Callister's face, and his level grey eyes turned cold. "After the First Lady's brother-in-law killed three members of her family and three other people who were in his way."

As Nolan watched the witness intently, Sarah asked, "Did you ask anyone to look for those records?"

"Mike Reiner."

"And what was the result?"

Folding his hands in front of him, Callister looked straight at Sarah. "Reiner told me that we had no policy about retaining trace requests."

"And therefore had none in your files?"

"That's what he reported."

"Did you believe him?"

Callister's eyes seemed chillier yet. "I believed that we had no policy. And that the records were gone."

Sarah felt Lenihan lean toward her, preparing to whisper advice. "When you say 'gone,' " Sarah asked, "do you mean destroyed?"

"Yes."

"Before or after John Bowden killed six people?"

"I had no way of knowing." Pausing, Callister spoke in measured tones. "It's important to remember, Ms. Dash, that this occurred before you filed this lawsuit and served us with a demand for the records we're discussing."

In other words, as Sarah understood the answer, no one had obstructed justice. "Nonetheless," she inquired, "did you believe that Mr. Reiner himself had destroyed the records you asked for?"

Callister's eyes narrowed. "Before or after I requested them?"

Surprised, Sarah hesitated for an instant. "After."

"Again, Ms. Dash, I had no way of knowing."

Sarah placed both arms on the arms of her chair, leaning slightly forward. "Did you suspect that?"

Briefly, Callister hesitated. "Yes."

"For what reason?"

Nolan, she saw, looked hyperalert now, but lacked the grounds, or perhaps the inclination, to interfere with Callister's answer. "I asked for other records," the witness responded, "and was told that they were also missing."

"Told by whom?"

"Reiner."

"What records were those?"

"Records showing the volume of P-2s sold in states adjacent to California." Pausing, Callister added more pointedly, "Also the invoices showing where we'd shipped the murder weapon."

Sarah glanced at Nolan. "What did Mr. Reiner tell you?"

"That no effort had been made to retain them."

"Did you happen to ask Reiner," Sarah inquired with the hint of a smile, "whether any effort had been made to destroy them?"

Callister frowned—less at the question, Sarah sensed, than at the intimation behind it. "Yes," he answered tersely.

"And what did Reiner say?"

"That he had no specific knowledge of what had happened to the records."

The edge of distrust in Callister's voice illuminated for Sarah an unexpected image of George Callister as a man caught in an environment he had begun to suspect was treacherous. "Aside from the disappearance of the records themselves, did you have any other reason to suspect that Reiner might be lying to you?"

"Objection," Nolan asserted. "Lack of foundation. I don't believe the record justifies an accusation of deliberate lying."

Slowly, Callister turned to his lawyer. "No," he said flatly. "I think 'lying' about covers it." Facing Sarah, he said, "Reiner and I had fundamental disagreements about the future of our company."

"Such as?"

"I wanted to discontinue making the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw bullet. In both cases, Reiner was adamantly opposed."

Abruptly, Sarah felt her litigator's field of vision open wide. "For what reason did you want to drop the Eagle's Claw?"

Callister paused to frame his answer. "In my view, its lethality exceeded our customers' requirements. Therefore the controversy involved in making such a bullet outweighed its utility.

"Reiner disagreed. In his view, the P-2 and Eagle's Claw were essential to our position in the marketplace. But the fact that I'm sitting here tends to validate my judgment."

The last two sentences hinted at disgust and a certain weariness. It was the first time, Sarah noticed, that any of Callister's answers had clearly exceeded the scope of her question.

Nolan seemed to notice as well. "We've been going for over an hour," he suggested. "Why don't we take a break?"

* * *

It was fifteen minutes before the witness and his lawyer returned to the conference room. When Sarah's questioning resumed, Callister angled his body slightly away from Nolan. The two men no longer chatted about football, or much of anything else.

"Given your concerns about Reiner," Sarah asked bluntly, "did you ever attempt to independently determine what had happened to the missing documents?"

Briefly, Callister glanced at the table. "I made no such attempt."

"Why not?"

Once more his eyes met Sarah's. "Because it would have involved investigating my own vice president of marketing. After the First Lady's family was murdered, I had more pressing concerns—like keeping this company afloat. It wasn't the right environment."

Between the phlegmatic lines lay an answer of startling candor: an internal inquiry which uncovered the truth would have been devastating to Lexington's public posture and, even worse, could have generated evidence damning in a lawsuit like Mary Costello's. "So it was better," Sarah said sharply, "to believe that Reiner was dishonest than to prove it."

The cast of Callister's broad midwestern face suggested both resentment and defensiveness. "The First Lady's mother, sister, and niece had been murdered with a gun and bullets made by Lexington Arms. Aside from the terrible impact on her family, these murders could have spelled the end of a century-old business which employs hundreds of good people. I owed all my energies and judgment to the task of protecting the company and the families who rely on it."

Sarah considered him. Abruptly, she asked, "Do you know a man named Norman Conn?"

"Yes. He's a longtime employee."

"Were you ever told that Conn believes Reiner destroyed a document suggesting that the shipment of stolen P-2s, including the murder weapon, were being sold at gun shows by members of a white supremacist group?"

Callister shook his head. In an emphatic tone which suggested genuine anger, he said, "Not until last week."

Nolan held out his hand between Callister and Sarah. "I will caution the witness not to testify regarding conversations with counsel."

"Outside of conversations with counsel," Sarah persisted, "were you ever told that Mr. Reiner destroyed documents?"

"I was not."

At once, Sarah changed tacks. "Are you familiar with Martin Bresler?"

"I am."

"How are you acquainted with Mr. Bresler?"

Callister sat back, seemingly inclined, as he had not been before, to put her question in a fuller context. "Mr. Bresler," he answered, "was the head of an industry group which included Lexington Arms."

Abruptly, Callister checked himself, as though fighting any tendency toward expansiveness. "What was the purpose of Bresler's group?" Sarah prodded.

"To find a middle way between the gun controllers and the SSA." Callister shrugged, seemingly unable to explain his answer without elaboration. "From the beginning of my time at Lexington, I planned to wean us off the revenue we derived from weapons like the P-2. The idea was to market quality and safety, rather than lethality. To me, that meant things like trigger locks and smart guns—weapons designed to protect the user, and prevent accidents or misuse by folks who shouldn't have them." Pausing, Callister seemed to recall anew the promise of his plan. "President Kilcannon may not have been our friend, but he was a fact of life. The idea was to get him and the trial lawyers off our backs. By far the best way to do it was to unify a number of gun companies in a common approach, then see if we could deal with the President. Martin Bresler was supposed to be our vehicle, and the trigger lock agreement with the White House our first step."

Briefly, Sarah scanned her outline. "After that agreement, did Bresler propose a next step?"

"Yes."

To the side, Harrison Fancher watched the witness closely. "What was the next step?" Sarah asked.

Callister grimaced. Tonelessly, he said, "For our five companies to require background checks before our dealers sold any of our weapons at gun shows."

His answer, with its echo of the Bowden murders, seemed to draw the other participants closer to the witness. Even the court reporter cocked her head.

Quietly, Sarah asked, "Did you ever reach agreement with the President?"

"No."

"What stopped you?"

Callister crossed his arms. "All the other CEOs withdrew their financial support from Bresler's group. In essence, they fired him."

"Why was that?"

Briefly Callister seemed to wince at some distasteful memory. "They claimed Bresler was becoming too divisive."

"Did any of them mention the SSA?"

Studiously, it seemed to Sarah, Callister ignored Harrison Fancher's presence. "They all did. They were afraid that the SSA would encourage its members to boycott any company that dealt with Kerry Kilcannon. Four million members, and all of their friends, is a hell of a lot of customers to lose."

Sarah glanced at Fancher. "Did any of them tell you that they'd been threatened by representatives of the SSA?"

"Not directly, no."

"Did you ask?"

"I did not."

Pausing, Sarah replayed the tenor of Callister's answer. "Did the SSA threaten you?"

"Objection," Fancher snapped. "However pejorative in tone, the question impinges on the defendants' First Amendment right of political association—including the formulation of legislative and political strategy. Such confidential discussions are not subject to discovery."

Sarah did not move her eyes from Callister. "You may answer," she told him.

"He may not." Turning to the witness, Nolan said with quiet emphasis, "The SSA's objection is well taken, George, and the right belongs to Lexington every bit as much as it does the SSA. I'm instructing you not to answer."

Facing Sarah, Callister said, "You heard my counsel, Ms. Dash. I'm under orders not to discuss any conversations with the SSA."

"That's obstruction," Lenihan burst out.

"Mr. Nolan," Sarah interjected with a controlled professionalism she found difficult to maintain, "your objection goes to the heart of our case that the SSA conspired with others to enforce uniform conduct on the American gun industry, in violation of the antitrust laws, contributing to the murders of Mary Costello's family. You've got no basis for your instruction."

"Then take it to the judge . . ."

"You know damn well we can't," Lenihan snapped back. "By the time we get there you'll have passed this unconscionable gun immunity bill."

Nolan smiled. "Acts of Congress are your department, Bob, not mine. My job is to represent my client."

"Which one? The SSA?"

Staring at the table, Callister had seemed to turn inward—most likely, Sarah thought, out of distaste for the whole proceeding. Crisply, she told Lenihan, "Let's call the judge right now."

At once, Sarah rose, took a speakerphone from the corner of the conference room, and placed it on the center of the table. Glancing at her notes, she stabbed out Bond's number, and asked for the law clerk assigned to Costello versus Lexington Arms.

"We're in the middle of Mr. Callister's deposition," she explained. "A discovery dispute has arisen—an instruction to the witness not to answer questions essential to our case. We're hoping to speak with Judge Bond, describe the issues, and ask for an immediate ruling."

"Very well." The clerk's reedy voice was pompous with borrowed authority. "I'll find out what we want to do."

He put Sarah on hold. Silent, lawyers and witness gazed at the speakerphone as if it were a line to God. The room felt hot and close.

After a few minutes, interminable to Sarah, the clerk returned. "If there's a problem, plaintiff's counsel should file a motion. The judge says he'll rule in the normal course."

The answer struck Sarah in the pit of her stomach. "Thank you," she managed to say. The obligatory words had never felt more hateful.

When the clerk hung up, Nolan was the first to speak, the softness of his voice betraying his residual tension. "Why don't we have lunch, Sarah? The witness has been going long enough."

* * *

Eating a ham sandwich with Lenihan in her office, Sarah tried to bank her outrage. At least Nolan had given her time to think.

"There's something here," she speculated, "that Callister doesn't like."

Lenihan slumped in his chair, a portrait of frustration. "Yeah. Mike Reiner."

Sarah put down the sandwich, gazing out her window at the uneven skyline south of Market Street. "There's something else, I think. I just don't know if I can get to what it is."

* * *

Returning from lunch, Callister looked somber, all trace of humor vanished. "After your fellow CEOs cut off Martin Bresler," Sarah began, "did President Kilcannon contact you directly?"

"Yes. We met three times at Camp David."

"What did the President discuss with you?"

Callister hesitated, eyes narrow with thought, as though still reluctant to divulge his private conversations with the President of the United States. "A potential agreement, brokered by the President with the thirteen cities who'd sued us, to end their litigation against Lexington Arms." His tone took on the edge of self-justification. "A single hundred-million-dollar verdict would wipe out Lexington Arms. The legal fees alone could drain us of our profits. If the President could offer a way out, I thought we should explore it."

"What was Lexington's side of the deal?"

"Though I couldn't admit that to the President, he was asking for a lot of what I thought we should do anyhow. Phase out the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw. Require background checks at gun shows." Briefly, Callister grimaced. "He also wanted us to retrofit our weapons to accommodate only magazines with a maximum of ten rounds."

This tacit reference to the murder of Marie Costello prompted Nolan to glance at Callister. "Did the President propose anything else?" Sarah asked.

"Not directly. But he acknowledged that we'd need money to offset the phaseout of the P-2, and suggested that it was possible to obtain a federal research grant from the Justice Department to help us develop smart guns—guns designed to fire only in response to the 'fingerprint' of the actual owner."

"What was your reaction?"

Callister ran a hand through the grey stubble of his crew cut. "That it would be hard to reach agreement without support from other gun companies, but that it was still worth trying." He looked briefly at Harrison Fancher. "I thought if we could agree on the outlines of a deal, in private, I could try to bring in some of the other manufacturers. So I told the President I'd take it to our board of directors."

Gazing at the pen she twisted in her fingers, Sarah pondered her next question. "Before you went to the board, did you discuss President Kilcannon's proposal with anyone at Lexington?"

"I didn't want the negotiations leaking. But I spoke with Ray Stipe, our general counsel." Pausing, Callister added in a neutral voice, "Also with Mike Reiner."

"George," Nolan interjected, "were your discussions with Mr. Stipe for the purpose of obtaining legal advice?"

"They were."

"Then they're covered by the attorney-client privilege and I instruct you not to disclose them."

Callister nodded, then turned back to Sarah. "Mr. Stipe aside," she inquired, "why did you consult with Mr. Reiner?"

"He was our VP of marketing. Much of the implementation of our agreement would have been up to him."

"Did Reiner express a view of the President's proposal?"

"Yes. He was vehemently opposed."

"Oh what grounds?"

"That the President was asking us to be the canary in the mine shaft." Callister's tone became cooler. "Reiner had helped develop the P-2 and the Eagle's Claw, and thought they were essential to fighting off our competition. He said accepting Kilcannon's plan was tantamount to suicide."

"Were Mr. Reiner's objections the reason that Lexington did not reach agreement with the President?"

"They were not," Callister answered firmly. "In my view the P-2 and Eagle's Claw were a dead end, and my job was to wean us from trying to outdo the other guys in making deadly weapons and lethal bullets. So I told Reiner I was going to the board."

"And did you?"

"Yes. I didn't want to put anything in writing. So I verbally outlined the President's proposal and asked them to consider it."

"What was the board's reaction?"

"There was a lot of uncertainty and concern. But they authorized me to meet further with the President."

"Did that happen?"

Callister seemed to draw a long, slow breath. "No."

"And why not?"

"Because I received a phone call from Charles Dane."

"Concerning what?"

"He said that he'd heard about my negotiations with the President, and requested a private meeting."

At once, both Nolan and Fancher seemed hyperalert, poised to intervene. Pausing, Sarah sought to frame a question which would avoid an instruction not to answer. "How did Mr. Dane learn about the negotiations?"

"I can't imagine it was Stipe." Callister summoned a tight smile, more to himself than for Sarah. "That leaves Reiner, or a member of our board."

"Did you meet with Mr. Dane?"

"Yes. At the offices of the SSA."

At the corner of her eye, Sarah watched Nolan. "Was anyone else there?"

"No." Callister's voice was flat, his features immobile. "Dane said he wanted to work things out alone."

Tensing, both Nolan and Fancher eyed the witness. Sarah glanced at one lawyer, then the other, and calmly asked, "What did Dane say to you at the meeting?"

"Same objection," Fancher cut in, turning to Nolan and the witness. "The question seeks to probe confidential discussion of political and legislative strategy protected by the First Amendment. The SSA requests that Mr. Callister not answer."

"So directed," Nolan told his client.

Sarah kept watching Callister. "Would you classify your meeting with Mr. Dane as a 'confidential discussion of political and legislative strategy'?"

Callister folded his hands, gazing silently at the table. At length he looked up at Sarah with a new aura of equanimity. "Not in the main."

Sarah smiled faintly. "Then when you answer my questions, please leave out the 'confidential discussions of political and legislative strategy.' "

"Objection," Nolan snapped with rising annoyance. "It's impossible to segregate what may be a general discussion from the legislative and political discussions which are intertwined with it. I direct the witness not to answer any questions about his private discussions with Mr. Dane."

Sarah turned to the witness. "Do you think you can separate 'legislative and political discussions' from whatever else you and Dane talked about?"

"I believe I can, yes."

Nolan grasped Callister's wrist. "As counsel for Lexington Arms," he said in a peremptory tone, "I am directing you not to answer Ms. Dash's questions, or to attempt to distinguish what is confidential from what is not."

Callister stared at Nolan's hand. "You've given me your advice, John. I get to decide whether or not to take it."

Removing his hand, Nolan turned to Sarah. "I request a break to consult with my client."

Sarah forced herself to remain low key. "Mr. Callister?"

"You can take a break," Callister told Nolan. "I'm fine."

In a tone of alarm, Fancher interjected, "I protest the continuation of the deposition without time to discuss with Mr. Callister the implications of your questions for the First Amendment rights of Lexington and the SSA."

Shrugging, Callister turned to Sarah. "Go ahead, Ms. Dash."

Ignoring Fancher, Sarah asked, "During that meeting, Mr. Callister, what did Mr. Dane say to you?"

"Several things," Callister answered in a calm, incisive voice. "That anyone who dealt with President Kilcannon was selling out the Second Amendment. That if Lexington made this deal he would use the SSA's newsletter, the Internet, and grassroots organizations to urge every American gun owner to boycott all our products and every gun dealer to bar us from their stores. That the SSA magazine would refuse to run our advertisements, and that other gun publications would follow suit.

"With respect to private lawsuits like this one," Callister went on, "our defense is financed by the Heritage Fund, which is principally funded, and therefore controlled, by the SSA itself. Dane warned me they wouldn't fund the defense for any company who cut a deal with Kilcannon." Turning to Fancher, Callister said evenly, "At the end of his summary, Mr. Fancher, your client promised me that settling with the President would lead to the destruction of Lexington Arms. I didn't take that to be a 'First Amendment discussion of political and legislative strategy.' "

Sarah felt as stunned as John Nolan and Fancher. Callister's tone suggested a man who was finally and inexorably fed up; that his last response delivered the SSA to the edge of an antitrust violation seemed to concern him not at all. "In connection with his threats against Lexington," Sarah managed to inquire, "did Mr. Dane mention your fellow manufacturers?"

Callister turned back to her. "He asked if I remembered Martin Bresler. Then he wondered aloud if I didn't think the others would be happy to carve up the market share of someone who'd just sold them out." Briefly, Callister's voice betrayed his bitterness. "But just to be sure I didn't strike a deal, someone leaked the negotiations to the Washington Post.

"All of a sudden, there were demonstrators in front of our company, and I was getting death threats on the Internet." Pausing, Callister finished quietly, "The day before the President's wedding, the board ordered me to pull the plug."

Sitting back, Sarah surveyed the scene in front of her: Callister, now dissociated from the lawyers, Fancher scribbling notes with the fury of a slasher, Nolan, straining to cope with a loss of control which, in his experience, surely was unprecedented. "George," Nolan said in a strained voice, "your testimony has implications far beyond the concerns of the SSA. You have obligations to your company."

Callister turned to him with a look of mild disdain. "Yes," he said simply, "I do."

"After the Costello murders," Sarah cut in, "did you take any further action?"

"George," Nolan repeated, "I'm imploring you to take a break."

Callister turned from him. "I went to the board," he told Sarah, "and said enough was enough. The shooter had used a P-2, and the eleventh Eagle's Claw bullet in a forty-round magazine had killed that little girl I'd met at Camp David. It was past time for reaching an arrangement with the President, if that was even possible with all that had happened." Callister's tone grew soft. "I knew Kilcannon would do everything in his power to destroy Lexington Arms unless we gave him what he needed, and that was what I told them."

His quiet statement, with its implicit reference to the lawsuit, reminded Sarah of her first call from Lara Kilcannon. It seemed a long time ago. And for most of that time, she had assumed that George Callister was as callous as Charles Dane. Softly, she said, "Why couldn't Lexington reach agreement with the President, Mr. Callister?"

"Lord knows I tried. In fact I told the board I'd resign unless they authorized me to discontinue the P-2 and Eagle's Claw." Callister gazed at the table, as though drawn into memory. "I guaranteed them there'd be more lawsuits coming—if not from the First Lady or her sister, then from the other families, and that the victims had too much public sympathy for us to risk a trial. But before the board could hold a vote, Dane called to ask for a second meeting . . ."

"Mr. Callister," Nolan said formally, "I'm forced to admonish you to consider the legal implications of your actions here today. By ignoring my instructions, you're acting in conflict with the interests of your company."

Callister shrugged. "Someone is. Maybe you should hear the rest before you decide it's me."

Tense, Sarah sensed that what was to follow would dwarf all that had come before. "At the second meeting," she asked swiftly, "what did Dane have to say?"

"That the SSA's objective was to get rid of Kerry Kilcannon. Rather than make a pact with the devil, I should just get out of the way and let them work with the Republicans on a tort reform bill which would get us off the hook."

Sarah heard Lenihan laugh softly. "That conversation," Fancher protested, "is the epitome of political and legislative strategy . . ."

"Did you respond to Dane's suggestion?" Sarah broke in.

"Yes. I said that Congress had never passed a gun immunity bill and sure as hell couldn't now. And that Kilcannon would veto it if they did."

"How did Dane react?"

Briefly Callister glanced at Fancher. "He said that the SSA would commit whatever resources were needed to pass tort reform in both houses of Congress. Then he told me something that I couldn't understand: that Kilcannon could be handled if he got in the way."

The last words of his answer hit Sarah hard. At once, she was intensely aware of the video cam focused on George Callister. "Did Mr. Dane tell you what he meant by that?"

"Not at first." Callister's voice was gentle, his eyes bleak. "I told him he was crazy to think that Kilcannon could be 'handled' after what had happened to his wife's family."

"How did he respond?"

"That I didn't need to worry, because they had personal information which concerned both the President and the First Lady."

The room, and everyone in it, was completely still. In the silence Sarah noticed the soft whir of the video cam. "Did you ask him to elaborate?"

"Yes. All that Dane said was that they could never survive it, and they'd be foolish to try."

Fancher had stopped taking notes. Absently, Nolan scratched the bridge of his nose. Quietly, Sarah asked, "Do you now know what Dane meant by that?"

Callister nodded. "The morning the abortion story broke I called Dane, demanding to know if this was what he'd meant. He just laughed, and asked me why it mattered when the President had just become a eunuch." At last, the witness turned to Nolan. "You're the lawyer, John, not me. But I always thought that blackmail was a crime."

When Nolan did not answer, Callister told him, "Maybe the board will get rid of me for this. But right now your choice is to represent this company and not the SSA. Or I'll fire you along with Reiner."

* * *

When the deposition was over, Callister said to Nolan, "I'd like a word in private with Ms. Dash." It was not a request.

They stepped out in the hallway. Callister stood over her, the briefest glint of humor appearing in his level grey eyes. "If you happen to speak to the President," he requested, "tell him that the Prime Minister worked his magic. And that now we're as square as I can make us. From here on out, both of you are on your own."