Balance of Power

FOUR

Sarah Dash and Lara Kilcannon met in the solarium.

Sarah had never visited the White House. But she understood that this area was the First Lady's domain; that, for reasons of politics, Lara could not conduct her business in the West Wing; that she did not wish Sarah to be seen at all. For Sarah's part, no one but the Director of the Kilcannon Center knew that she was here.

Briskly crossing the room, Lara took Sarah's hand. "For two weeks," she said with a smile, "I didn't miss a day of the Tierney trial. Though I imagine you could have done without the cameras."

At once Sarah felt at ease. "I hated them," she acknowledged. "And the media as a whole—the total invasion of privacy, this sudden interest in my personal life. I still can't pass through an airport without people coming up to me. Some of them are supportive. Others call me a babykiller. All I want is to crawl into a hole."

This seemed to strike a chord. "Too late," Lara said with sympathy. "But everyone I know admires what you did. I know that Kerry was very glad to hear you'd joined the Kilcannon Center. He thought you were wasted in corporate law."

Kerry, Sarah thought. Already she felt the seductive power of the White House; on meeting, Lara Kilcannon referred to the President as though Sarah were an intimate. Though this flattered Sarah, it made her wary. The Tierney case, and its impact on the Masters confirmation, had taught her much about politics at the highest level—most of all that it was intoxicating, and that those who entered this world often pay too dearly.

The thought brought her up short, and back to the First Lady. Lara Kilcannon was quite beautiful, with pale skin, black hair and deep brown eyes more sensitive than television conveyed. In another context, Sarah might have given in to the fascination of meeting her. In this context, she must redouble her efforts to keep her wits about her, mindful of the crosscurrents between the Kilcannons' aspirations, and her own.

"Mrs. Kilcannon," Sarah ventured, "before we start . . ."

" 'Lara,' " the First Lady requested good-humoredly. "I know there's

a place for protocol. But 'Mrs. Kilcannon' sounds like one of those sour oil paintings they've hung on the first floor."

"Lara," Sarah corrected with a smile, "you want this conversation to be confidential. Does that mean, in your mind, that it's covered by the attorney-client privilege?"

Lara's own smile reappeared, more faintly. "It does. For now, let's assume that I'm a potential plaintiff in a wrongful death action against Lexington Arms. As is my sister Mary."

"And you're considering asking the Kilcannon Center to represent her, or you. Or both of you."

The First Lady nodded. "The Kilcannon Center has been counsel in numerous suits against the gun industry. We think you can best represent our values."

Our values, Sarah thought. There was something more beneath the surface, beginning with Lara's pretense—which she clearly meant for Sarah to see through—that she herself was considering a lawsuit. Bluntly, Sarah asked, "Does Mary agree?"

A certain sadness, Sarah thought, surfaced in Lara's eyes. Watching, Sarah found her sense of caution tempered by a deeper feeling—that, for Lara, something still to be said occasioned genuine pain.

"I don't know," Lara answered simply. "I haven't talked to her yet."

* * *

Sarah Dash, it was already clear to Lara, had a grasp of the unspoken and an intuitive sense of people. There was no point in attempting to delude her, and Lara had no heart to try. "The painful truth," she continued softly, "is that, on a visceral level, Mary holds us both responsible for what John Bowden did. At least for now."

Speaking this aloud, Lara found, deepened her sense of sorrow. For a moment, she felt the impulse to express her misgivings about what she was about to ask, both of Sarah and of Mary. But though Sarah seemed to regard her with sympathy, this was not the reason that Lara had asked her here.

"The President," Lara told her, "has a personal interest in a lawsuit."

For a moment, Sarah was quiet. "In the lawsuit," she asked, "or in its conduct?"

"Both," Lara answered. "I think it was Clausewitz who said that war is diplomacy by other means. This lawsuit would be politics by other means."

"How so?"

"One of the harsher lessons Kerry's learned is that there are powers a President doesn't have, or can't exercise because the political price is far too high." Pausing, Lara heard the bitterness beneath the softness of her voice. "We couldn't protect Joan's privacy—the media wouldn't allow it. We couldn't use the Secret Service to protect her life—the law wouldn't allow it. We couldn't get background checks at gun shows—the SSA wouldn't allow it. And now Kerry can't be seen as using the legal system to advance a 'personal agenda.' That's what saving lives is called when a President's relatives are murdered."

Perhaps out of respect for Lara's feelings, Sarah paused before asking, "What does the President want from this?"

"The same things I want," Lara said firmly. "To expose the facts behind the development and marketing of the gun and bullets that killed my mother, sister and niece. To split Lexington off from the industry, and show that the SSA can't protect it any longer. To find out where the murderer got the gun. To keep building support for the law Kerry wants enacted. In short, to coordinate the legal and the political, without publicly acknowledging his role."

"And how would we accomplish that?"

Briefly, Lara hesitated. "Through me."

Sarah's gaze grew contemplative. "I admire you," she confessed. "You don't know how much. Part of me wants to help you in any way I can.

"But the more cautious part has to question my own motives. Am I so young—or ambitious—that I'd take direction from a President without knowing where it leads? Or so flexible that I'd put his interests ahead of my presumptive client's?"

The questions, Lara thought, reinforced her good opinion of Sarah Dash. "None of the above," she answered. "You simply care about this issue for its own sake."

"Same problem," Sarah rejoined. "Mary might wonder when caring about the issue takes precedence over her. She can find a host of able lawyers to represent her interests."

"That's the problem. One may have already found her. Robert Lenihan."

"Bob Lenihan?" Sarah said in surprise. "He's more than able. He's spent the last ten years extracting a fortune from my old firm's corporate clients."

Lara nodded. "Then you know that he also has his own agenda— notoriety, political influence and money. Do you really think you'd have less concern for her than he might?"

Sarah gazed at her in open curiosity. "Just how," she inquired, "will you go about shouldering aside Bob Lenihan?"

Nothing but total candor, Lara realized, would satisfy Sarah Dash. "We won't. That's not in Kerry's political interests—he needs the plaintiffs' lawyers, and their money, as a counterweight to the SSA. What we envision is that you and Bob Lenihan will serve as Mary's cocounsel . . ."

"Wait," Sarah held up her hand, her tone combining humor with incredulity. "On top of everything else—including enough political and familial complications to challenge Machiavelli—you'd be throwing me in a scorpion pit with an egomaniac with twenty more years' experience, a talent for treachery and manipulation, and all the motive in the world to turn these gifts on me."

Lara found herself smiling. "I think that pretty well states it," she said wryly. "Or, perhaps, understates it."

Despite herself, Sarah began to laugh. "Please," she said, "don't try to oversell this. It's so attractive on its own."

* * *

Once more, Lara Kilcannon transformed before Sarah's eyes. While still pleasant, her expression became serious, her voice soft. "I know this is a lot to take in. All that I can tell you is that I'm not asking just for Kerry's sake. Or I could never ask Mary to consider how best to value the family we both lost."

Pensive, Sarah composed her answer. She had not fully gauged the pitfalls of the First Lady's proposal, most of all entering the world of Kerry and Lara Kilcannon. But that they had invited her was compelling. At heart, Sarah agreed with them—the case was far bigger than Mary Costello. It was the case of any lawyer's career: the chance to establish moral, if not legal, responsibility for the death of Lara's family and, by doing so, to transform America's relationship to guns. "If Mary wants to meet me," she said at last, "I'd explain that I'd be taking this on as a cause; that her lawsuit would be a political weapon; that whatever money she might recover is not my sole concern. After that, it's up to her."

For a moment, Sarah imagined the relief she saw on Lara's face warring with her deeper worries about Mary. "Thank you," the First Lady said simply.