"Maybe this one," Kerry answered. "But only if he gives me what I need."
* * *
Sarah had a date—rare since the Costello suit had propelled her around the country—and anticipation of dinner with Jeff Weitz, a longtime friend who seemed intent on becoming more had, for once, left her eager to leave the office. And so when the telephone rang she hesitated, glancing at the caller ID panel before deciding to answer.
"Private," it said. Sarah recalled her resolve to miss no calls, and the reason for it. As if the thought itself would be a jinx—as it had been for two weeks now—she answered with little hope that this call would be different.
"Is this Sarah Dash?" her caller asked.
Though she had heard it only once before, the man's high, reedy voice gave Sarah goose bumps. "Yes."
"We talked earlier." Whether from an accurate sense of his importance, or the belief of an unstable mind that his reality was central to the world's, her caller seemed to know how intently Sarah had been waiting for this moment. "I saw that film of the President at the gun show, and felt we have a bond. There are things I need to tell you."
She would be late for her date with Jeff.
TEN
"Cassie Rollins hasn't budged," Dane told Fasano over breakfast at the Metropolitan Club. "When was the last time you talked to her?"
"Ruckles did. I'm prepared to make this a loyalty test, but I thought I'd save myself until you'd done your worst. What is your worst, by the way?"
Dane held the pepper shaker above his eggs, frowning as only a few black specks broke loose despite a vigorous flicking of his wrist. "A mass mailing, to start—every person in Maine who bought a hunting license, went to a gun store, bought a concealed carry permit, or is registered as owning a pickup truck . . ."
Fasano laughed aloud. "That would work in my state. Especially the trucks."
"The mailer should start hitting tomorrow," Dane continued in a satisfied tone. "Then comes a half-million dollars in spots. We put Cassie's face on the screen, tell everyone about the threat to gun rights and ask if she's standing up for Maine values . . ."
" 'Call Cassie Rollins,' " Fasano intoned.
"Exactly. We'll put her office number on the screen and ask her constituents to let her have it."
Fasano spread marmalade across his English muffin. "We want to scare Cassie—but not kill her. I'm not willing to lose a senator because you want tort immunity."
Shrugging, Dane contemplated the scattered flecks of pepper. "When are you scheduling a vote?"
"I'm going to have to deal with Hampton, who seems to have cast his lot with Kilcannon. But what I'm thinking now is that tort reform comes first—maybe in two weeks."
"That'll give us time." Looking up from his plate, Dane added pointedly, "And give you time with Cassie."
* * *
Three days later, Air Force One swooped down into Portland, Maine. Kerry traveled from the airport followed by a horde of local media, commencing a day of public exposure no amount of money could buy and only a President could command. His first public meeting was with a victims' rights group; his second with members of a police union who supported gun control; his third with the widows of three former officers who had been killed by felons with guns. "My dad was a beat cop," he reminded each audience. "There were nights I stayed awake until he came home, worrying about what might happen." He did not mention that the fear he felt was for his mother, not his father, or that, in the guilty recesses of his soul, he had wished that his father would never come home again.
His last stop was for dinner with local hunters. They met in a rustic restaurant outside town, with long, family-style tables and a deer head on the wall. In a work shirt and jeans, Kerry sat amongst them, working on pot roast, potatoes and a Budweiser. Leery of the cameras, the hunters were quiet and unanimated. After a few edgy moments, Kerry cut to the core.
"Here you are," he said pleasantly, "stuck with the President of the United States, trying to be polite. Even though pretty much all of you voted against me."
A few of the men looked sheepish; one shifted in his chair. In front of Kerry, a large, gentle-looking man with a seamed face repressed a nervous smile. "It's not that hard to figure out," Kerry continued amiably. "It was because of guns, right? The gun lobby kept saying I'd take your guns away."
As did others, the man across from him avoided his gaze. "That's okay," Kerry assured his listeners. "That's why I'm here. I don't even take it personally.
"Why should I? Six years ago, you turned down a good man who wanted to be your senator—Sam Towle—who had the guts to vote for the assault weapons ban. And I bet a lot of you remember hearing that Sam and the assault weapons ban would take your guns away."
Eyes still averted, the man across from Kerry permitted himself a more reflective smile. When Kerry glanced around the room, more faces seemed to have opened to him.
"So let me ask you this," Kerry went on. "Since Sam Towle helped pass the assault weapons ban, how many of you have missed a day of hunting season because of it?"
There was silence, a few more smiles, expressions newly alert and engaged. "Because if you did," the President told them, "you should keep on voting against folks like Sam and me every time you get the chance. But if you didn't—if all you've missed is giving Sam Towle a fair shake—then you've got to figure the SSA lied to you to get him."
Pausing, Kerry jabbed at the table with his index finger. "Well, they did. They lied about Sam, and then they lied about me. And now they're clogging your mailboxes and flooding the airwaves with more lies about these gun bills, trying to scare Senator Rollins with what they did to Sam.
"I won't try to speak for Senator Rollins. But their latest lie involves asking you to defend the right of a criminal or a wife-beater to walk out of prison, cross the street, buy a weapon you'd never think of using and kill whoever suits him.
"If that's got anything to do with hunting deer, it's escaped me." Pausing, Kerry permitted himself a smile. "I know one thing—when people keep on lying to me, I do my damnedest to get back at them. Maybe you've heard that's how I am."
There were quiet chuckles around the room. "We've heard rumors," someone said.
Sitting back, Kerry spread his arms. "So ask me anything, and tell me what's on your mind. Because I don't want to leave here until we've gotten straight with each other."
Three hours later, Kerry was still there, drinking beer and talking. No one else had left.
ELE VEN
In a stark motel room just off a highway interchange outside of Hartford, Sarah waited for her caller.