Balance of Power

EIGHTEEN

The next morning, under the cover of showing Lara's family Camp David, Kerry again met George Callister in secrecy.

As Lara led the others on a tour, the President and Callister took a separate trail. Even in the Catoctins, the air was hot, dense, mosquitoridden, causing Kerry to fear for the weather on his wedding day.

"Your immediate problem," Kerry began, "is lawsuits. Including thirteen already brought by cities against the industry, seeking to recover the cost to the public health system of treating gunshot deaths and injuries."

Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, Callister scowled. "Those deaths and injuries are caused by shooters we've never heard of. These suits are bullshit—political grandstanding combined with blackmail, meant to extort a settlement by imposing millions in legal fees."

As they entered a bright patch of light, Kerry put on the sunglasses hanging from the neck of his polo shirt. "So," he ventured, "if the federal government sued the industry for the costs of security in public housing, that would also be bullshit?"

Callister stood still, turning to the President with a look of controlled anger. "You'd do that?"

"In a heartbeat," Kerry said evenly. "And if some demented ex-felon slaughters a roomful of schoolchildren with one of your semiautomatic handguns, and the grieving parents bring a wrongful death action, would that be bullshit, too?"

"Yes," Callister snapped. "And for the same reason. Personal responsibility."

"But it's still costly, you'll agree. Plus you can't be sure that a jury won't choose the mother of a murdered six-year-old over a company which markets weapons whose only legitimate purpose is to slaughter human beings. And if anyone thinks the Republicans can pass a bill to immunize you from lawsuits, forget it. If I can't get thirty-four senators to uphold my veto, I shouldn't have this job." Facing Callister, Kerry placed his hands on his hips. "It seems that you're caught between the SSA and a pack of cynical pols and greedy trial lawyers. Settle, and the SSA will bankrupt you with a boycott; litigate, and you'll be bled to death by legal fees, or whacked with a jury verdict bigger than your whole net worth."

Callister emitted a harsh laugh. "If you're trying to scare me, Mr. President, tell me something new. Other than that you'll sue me, too."

"It's this. I'm also your only way out."

Callister folded his arms. "You may be the President, but you don't control thirteen city governments. Let alone megalomaniacs like Bob Lenihan."

"Every one of those cities," Kerry countered, "has a Democratic mayor. They need me. So do the trial lawyers. They're both already on board."

Callister's expression betrayed complete surprise. "You're putting together a package deal?"

"Yes. For the company brave enough to take it. The one thing they don't know is the company I'm meeting with."

Turning, Callister began walking again, gazing at the trail of light and shadow cast by overhanging trees. "I don't know what you're proposing. But the SSA would put us on the cover of The Defender magazine, with me as Neville Chamberlain." Pausing, he glanced sideways at Kerry. "They'd make Lexington an object lesson. Dealers would stop selling our guns, customers would stop buying them. They'd destroy my company and end my career."

"You're headed there already," Kerry retorted. "Lexington's owned by a British corporation. They can't be happy owning a wasting asset. When they decide to sell you, who'll want to pump more money into a company which promises endless legal fees, the worst PR this side of nicotine, and an excellent shot at insolvency?"

Taking out a handkerchief, Callister dabbed the sweat off his forehead, refolding the cloth with great deliberation before returning it to his pocket. "What do you have in mind?" he asked.

"Let's find some shade," Kerry answered. "It's too damned hot out here."

* * *

They sat in the relative cool of the patio. The steward brought ham sandwiches, iced beer mugs, and two cool green bottles of Heineken.

"The first thing I want," Kerry said, "is to keep your guns from potential murderers.

"We talked about this in Washington. Federal law requires gun dealers to run background checks on buyers, so they're not selling to felons, wife-beaters, and others with a known propensity toward violence. But forty percent of guns sold are sold privately, without checks.

"Part of the problem is gun shows, where even an escapee from Bellevue can buy a Lexington semiautomatic." Pausing, Kerry sipped his beer and put it down again. "To start, I want Lexington to require gun shows to enforce background checks before it allows its dealers to sell any Lexington guns at the show. The same thing I proposed to Bresler's group."

"That's when we were a group." Callister took a larger swallow of his beer, gazing fixedly at Kerry. "To the SSA, your proposal infringes the right of private parties to sell guns without the government knowing who they are. If a buyer later kills someone, then he should be prosecuted to the full extent of existing law—including the death penalty."

"Will the SSA also resurrect the victim?" Kerry inquired mildly. "It strikes me that my brother is still dead."

For a moment, Callister was silent. "There's also my board of directors," he finally said. "They'll claim that agreeing to this would put us at a competitive disadvantage . . ."

"By not selling to mass murderers? That's just the clientele you need." Kerry's tone became incredulous. "Why in hell should anyone without a record care about a background check? And why sell guns to anyone who does care?

"You can't want Lexington handguns used in crimes—it's bad for business, and it leads to lawsuits. So unless you do want to market guns to criminals, a background check helps protect you."

Callister considered this. "Speaking personally," he said at length, "I don't have a problem with that. Neither do some of my fellow CEOs . . ."

"Good. Because I'll also want Lexington's help in lobbying Congress for background checks on every gun sold in America."

"In other words," Callister said with a fleeting smile, "suicide. Is that all you're proposing?"

Despite his skepticism, Kerry sensed, Callister was intrigued, waiting for the scope of Kerry's design to become clearer. "Not quite." Pausing, Kerry marshalled his resources of personality and persuasion. "No civilian needs a gun that fires forty rounds, or bullets designed to kill by shredding someone's insides. That's not about self-defense—unless you're a crack-cocaine dealer in Miami . . ."

"Some people," Callister interjected, "including the SSA, think they need to defend themselves against their own government."

"Paranoia," Kerry retorted, "is not a basis for public policy. Or a license for mass murder . . ."

"Other people," Callister continued, "just enjoy owning highcapacity weapons. If I start saying some guns are 'bad,' I lose them . . ."

"Is nothing 'bad'? Are cop-killer bullets just a fun toy for hobbyists?" Kerry's voice turned cold. "Federal law limits the capacity of new magazines to ten rounds. But the old magazines hold forty, and Lexington's guns are designed to ensure that they still fit.

"That's not everyone else's fault, George. At some point, the weapons you sell become your moral choice. Make the wrong choices, and you deserve extinction."

Calmly, Callister finished his beer, placing the foam-streaked mug to one side. "What's the right choice, Mr. President?"

Kerry leaned forward. "Retrofit your guns—no magazines over ten rounds. At least make it a little harder for a mass murderer to slaughter twenty people. And stop selling bullets designed to eviscerate vital organs."

"Aside from the small matter of an SSA boycott," Callister objected, "you're asking me to change my product line overnight."

"High time. We lose over thirty thousand people each year to guns— a big chunk of those to suicides or accidents. Little kids shouldn't be able to kill themselves by accident; depressed teens shouldn't be able to commit suicide with a parent's gun; that woman you persuaded to buy a gun for self-defense shouldn't be murdered with her own weapon." Kerry paused for emphasis. "We need more than trigger locks. I want your commitment that in five years every Lexington gun will be programmed to respond only to the fingerprint of the owner. Anyone else, and the gun won't fire."

Callister nodded curtly. "You're talking about so-called smart guns," he observed in a more approving tone. "That's where I'd like to go. But they'd have to run on batteries, or computer chips, and withstand repeated firing. Have you ever put a computer chip in an oven? How many times does the battery in your watch die? If it does, are you worried that you'll die? But if you need a gun to fire, you may die if it doesn't. And if you do die, what are the chances your widow sues us for a product defect?

"These concerns are real, Mr. President. The SSA will tell you that your smart gun will never be safe, and that some bad guy with a good old-fashioned American weapon will blow you and your loved ones clean away. The technology just isn't there for us yet."

"You'll get there a lot quicker," Kerry responded evenly, "with a twenty-million-dollar research grant from my administration."

Callister raised his eyebrows. "That's part of the deal?"

"There's more. You're worried about a boycott. By law, I can't make promises. But I'm confident you'd be seriously considered to get a much larger share of military weapons purchases, as well as by the FBI, the ATF, and the Secret Service. For what it's worth, all thirteen cities have committed to arm their cops with a greater percentage of guns from whoever signs off first."

Callister emitted a long, silent breath. "You've been busy," he said slowly. "What else are you prepared to offer?"

"A complete settlement of all thirteen lawsuits, for ten million dollars in fees for the plaintiffs' lawyers." Briefly Kerry smiled. "For everyone but your lawyers, it's a bargain. You'd spend more on them in a year."

Callister's eyes held an answering amusement. "Any other incentives?"

"Several. While Lexington is transitioning to smart guns, its agreement to limit capacity, ban cop-killer bullets, and plug the gun-show loophole will all minimize future lawsuits. This administration won't sue you either. Between the thirteen settlements, and a whole new customer base, you'll become the envy of your peers." Kerry's tone became cool. "At some point, one or two of them will stop toeing the SSA line. And then we'll break those bastards for good and all. Before they take you with them."

Callister sat back. "In your brave new world, Mr. President, more people will wind up owning more Lexington guns. Is that really what you want?"

Kerry shrugged. "If they're not the wrong people, and their guns are safer, I can live with that."

For a good while, Callister was silent. "You seem to have answers for everything, Mr. President."

"Yes. I want this done."

Thoughtful, Callister adjusted his glasses. "It won't be easy. Even if I think it's worth it, I'd have to persuade our British parent and my own board of directors. For that I need total secrecy." He stood, restless. "If this gets out before we're ready, any deal's dead. The SSA would have no choice but to destroy us."

"Any leak on my side," Kerry answered softly, "and the leaker will envy Martin Bresler."

For an instant, Callister stared at him. "I believe you."

"Well, then?"

Silent, Callister gazed at the valley beneath them. There were voices, and then Lara and her family appeared on the trail to the patio, Marie running ahead.

Reaching the patio, she briefly glanced at Callister, then ran up to Kerry. "We're going swimming," she informed him. "Will you go?"

"Absolutely." He nodded toward Callister. "Marie, this is Mr. Callister."

Callister smiled. "Hello, Marie."

Managing a faint "hi," Marie sought refuge from her shyness by sitting in Kerry's lap. "Hello," Lara said from behind them.

As Callister turned, Kerry noticed—as he often did—the effect Lara's beauty and self-possession induced in others. When she extended her hand, he took it with a certain deference. "I'm George Callister," he said. "I think I'm supposed to say 'congratulations' to the President, but 'best wishes' to you."

"That sounds about right," Kerry observed. "Or maybe just 'good luck.' "

Lara smiled at Callister. "Thank you," she said and then, in turn, introduced Inez, Mary, and a somewhat subdued Joan Bowden.

Callister greeted them, then allowed that he was needed elsewhere, and that they should enjoy their afternoon. "We intend to," Inez told him. "This is quite an experience."

"For me, as well," Callister answered dryly.

With that, he said goodbye to Lara's family. Kerry walked him to his car, two Secret Service agents trailing at a distance.

"You have a nice family," Callister remarked. "Though I hope they forget they ever saw me here."

From his tone, Kerry inferred that "family" carried great weight with George Callister. "Do you have children?" he asked.

"Two. A boy, seventeen, and a girl, thirteen. And neither one much trouble." Stopping near his car, Callister added, "If it comes out that I was here, think you can get them police protection?"

Though this was offered with a smile, its undertone was not as jocular. "From some maniac with a gun?" Kerry answered. "It's quite a world we live in, isn't it."

Callister considered this, and then extended his hand. "I'll see what I can do, Mr. President."