How much more clearly do we discern the true depth—in every sense of the word—of our President's all-too-personal commitment to the taking of unborn life?
How much more naked, now, is the contradiction between our First Lady's concern for "saving lives" when the murderer has a gun, and the taking of an innocent life which God himself had placed into her hands . . .
There was no turning back, Fasano knew. Not when even a sanctimonious blowhard like Bob Christy could touch the viscera of Fasano's own deepest convictions. Dane had played this brilliantly: the armies of the cultural right—the fundamentalists, the antiabortionists, the avatars of traditional values—were as essential to his party as the SSA and, in their fresh revulsion for Kilcannon, would demand no less than his emasculation. It was now Fasano's unavoidable task to accomplish this while maintaining the aura of a statesman.
The appalling truth, the Reverend Christy was saying, is that Lara Kilcannon used her own family to promote a cynical, secular, antilife, progovernment agenda, asking us to mourn for her six-year-old niece after killing her own unborn child . . .
Fasano turned him off.
EIGHT
At one o'clock that afternoon, Fasano took a call from Charles Dane.
The media was in full cry, although not, thanks to Fasano's crisp directions, with the help of a single Republican senator. Nor, as of yet, had any Democrats save Hampton leapt to the President's defense. On CNN, a pro-life woman sparred with the president of a leading prochoice group, personifying the war of ideologies which, Fasano thought, would inevitably diminish the Kilcannons by virtue of its subject matter.
"It appears," Dane said blandly, "that God has smiled on us."
The irony held a pointed subtext—the deliberate intimation, in Fasano's view, of their mutual complicity. "Have you and God been in touch?" Fasano could not resist asking.
"No need, Frank. He speaks to me through the Reverend Christy. The Christian Commitment is going national with ads calling the Kilcannons morally unfit to lead us. Your political base hasn't been so galvanized since Kilcannon crammed Caroline Masters down their throats." Dane's tone became imperative. "They understand that overriding Kilcannon's veto is their first chance to strike while this is hot. Gun rights is now the issue which will break the little bastard for good and all."
Beneath this conversation, Fasano thought, was another: that Dane had set Kilcannon's downfall in motion; that Fasano's tacit knowledge made Dane the new proprietor of a corner of his soul; that—at least for this political moment—Fasano must carry out the SSA's directives. "My obligation is to win," Fasano parried, "not to schedule the quickest possible vote to override.
"On the final vote for passage, I carried our entire caucus except for Leo Weller. Kilcannon only had thirty-four votes—all Democrats. The votes you need may have to come from there. Before I schedule an override vote, I want to know that the votes are there."
"Vote," Dane snapped. "Singular. Weller's ripe for the picking—this scandal gives him cover for turning on Kilcannon, a distraction from his screwup on asbestos. Schedule the override and we'll make sure you win. All you need to do is keep Palmer and your fucking moderates in line, and get this done. Then the very next order of business will be defeating Kilcannon's gun bill."
Dane's insistence on haste made Fasano wonder again whether something about the Costello lawsuit concerned him or, now, whether Dane worried that this morning's scandal might in time be laid at his door. But there was objective sense in his demand. In the aftershock of Kilcannon's exposure, the political leverage belonged to Fasano, not Kilcannon, increasing the pressure on Fasano to deliver for the forces whose support he needed to become President himself. Dane had devised the perfect trap, pitting him against Kilcannon like two scorpions in a bottle.
"Deliver me Leo," Fasano told him, "and you'll get your instant vote."
* * *
It was nearly six before Cassie Rollins arrived at Fasano's office. Winter darkness had fallen, and the black rectangle of Fasano's window framed a distant, spotlit view of the Mall. Somehow Cassie knew that it was cold outside.
"Well?" Fasano inquired.
The monosyllable carried the reminder of her betrayal on gun immunity, an intimation that she must earn her way back into her leader's good graces or face banishment to some senatorial Siberia—or worse, the humiliation of a primary loss, the end to her career in politics.
"How are you going to play this?" was Cassie's blunt response. "We can't keep quiet forever."
Fasano shook his head. "My staff's preparing a statement. You can read it if you like."
"Give me the Cliff Notes."
"The A-words—adultery and abortion—never cross my lips. This problem is a lack of candor, and its real victim is the American people, including the next generation, who are losing trust in those who seek to lead them. As for me, I don't want to dwell on the President's personal life. I'm simply 'as disappointed as I expect the rest of the country is.' "
It was shrewd, Cassie thought. "No freelancing," Fasano continued, "from Paul or anyone. I'll expect all of you to 'echo the sentiments expressed by the Majority Leader' and then soberly proceed to override Kilcannon's veto, and send his gun bill to defeat. That should about do it for his Presidency."
Balling a fist, Cassie rested it beneath her chin. "Where do you suppose this story came from?"
Fasano shrugged. "The important thing is that nobody think that we played any part in it. That's why we all need to be as sober as an undertaker."
"That won't be hard for me," Cassie answered quietly. "I feel sorry for the Kilcannons—both of them. From what I can see, every conservative so-called journalist is swarming to Fox News to complain about Lara's ethics. But in my experience with her as a reporter she always played it completely straight. No one's ever claimed that she cut Kerry any breaks."
Fasano gave her a wintry smile. "Or Kilcannon's former wife."
"Believe me, Frank, I'm not going to be out defending their affair. But if a lifetime of marital fidelity were the test of fitness to serve in the Senate, there'd be only you and me left to turn out the lights. And that's only because I've never been married."
Fasano's smile compressed. "I don't love this, either. But we didn't make Kilcannon do it, and this is business. Where do you stand on his veto?"
"Where I stood before. I don't like gun immunity, but on balance I favor the final bill. So you've got my vote to override." Cassie gazed at him intently. "As for what's happening to the President, I don't like the feel of it. Not just because of the blackmail and whose interests it serves—a thought which, by the way, does not lead me to the Chamber of Commerce or their friends in the business community. It's that there are too many moving parts here, too much I don't know."