Weller cocked his head. "How would it work?"
"We'd have to think through the details. But once we get up a bill, Hampton can't oppose it and Kilcannon can't veto it. Because without lawsuits, your bill would be the families' best shot at a real recovery." Fasano smiled. "I can imagine that our Senatorial Campaign Committee might have an interest in running ads that show you meeting with grateful families. Who knows, the SSA might even finance a few of those itself."
That a cynic like Weller could look so genuinely grateful told Fasano how frightened he was. "Frank," he said in a voice filled with emotion, "I think that could really help."
"It just might," Fasano assured him comfortably. "I really would hate to lose you."
TEN
In the Oval Office, Kerry reviewed his phone messages. The last one, but the first the President answered, was from Senator Chad Palmer.
They had not spoken for weeks. "Weller's switching on tort reform," Chad said bluntly. "Fasano worked up some legislation to get him out from under asbestosis and the SSA. Fasano wants it secret until Leo meets the press tomorrow morning. But I thought you might care to know."
The magnitude of this understatement was exceeded only by the dire implications for Kerry's veto. In the House, where Speaker Jencks had set a vote for tomorrow, an override was certain, and now Fasano held a one-vote margin unless Kerry somehow found a way to steal one back. But as bad as this news was, the President was grateful to know it— what Fasano would define as Palmer's betrayal was, to Kerry, an act of grace.
"Thanks for calling," Kerry said simply. Chad did not put into words, and thus compel a response from Kerry, how sorry he was for what had happened to Kerry and Lara, or what seemed about to happen in the Senate.
* * *
"The Senate's close to terminal," Kerry told Lara. "I don't know how I can get that vote back."
This assessment was preface to what she was about to see—a TV spot hastily prepared by Lenihan's group, the Trial Lawyers for Justice. "Run it," she told him quietly.
Kerry pushed the remote button.
On the screen, the blurry faces of a man and a woman were slowly splattered with mud, each addition marked by a soft thud. And then, as slowly, the mud slid down the photograph, revealing Kerry and Lara.
This is what they've tried to do, the voice-over said, to make you forget.
"I can't believe this," Lara murmured.
As they watched, their own faces gradually morphed into a photograph from the wedding, Inez and Joan holding hands with Marie. The picture zoomed in on Marie in her frilly dress, bright-eyed with delight. Then, accompanied by the soft, repeated clicks of a camera, her face became that of David Walsh, then George Serrano, then Laura Blanchard. The picture froze on Laura, fresh-faced and blonde, a basketball trophy pressed to her cheek.
This is Laura Blanchard, the voice-over said. One more life too important to forget.
The "Civil Justice Reform Act," the voice concluded with disdain. It's not reform, and it sure as shooting isn't justice. Tell your senator to help uphold the President's veto.
Lara folded her arms, gazing at the carpet. "Where do they want to run it?"
"Any state where we have a fighting chance to flip a senator, with the telephone number for each. I'm not sure I could stop Lenihan's people if I wanted to."
With this admission of his helplessness, Kerry faced how much he was diminished—the forces of money and power on the left were overtaking him as surely as the vast resources of the SSA had overtaken Fasano. "We're approaching the time," he told Lara, "where politicians are bit players, and Presidents reduced to props."
"Like my family is, you mean." She looked over at her husband. "Do you suppose Lenihan's still angling for a settlement?"
The quietly caustic inquiry captured her own despair. After a moment, Kerry asked, "What do you want to do about this?"
"Tell them to run it. We're well beyond worrying about our dignity, don't you think?" Her tone became hard. "I won't accept that my family died for nothing. We need to keep our votes in place, then pray for something better."
* * *
At seven that evening, the telephone in Sarah's office rang.
She was still preparing for Callister's deposition, scribbling notes into her typed outline. By mutual consent, though Lenihan's was somewhat condescending, they had agreed that Sarah would stand a better chance of lulling Lexington's president into some misstep than a notorious trial lawyer who would set George Callister's teeth on edge. Immersed in the intricacies of her design, she put down her ballpoint with reluctance.
"Sarah?" the now familiar voice said. "It's Lara Kilcannon."
Sarah hesitated, looking for a way to express her sympathy. "How are you?"
The First Lady laughed softly. "Lousy," she answered. "Angry. Heartsick. Embarrassed. Feeling guilty about Mary and terrible for Kerry. Scared to death that I'll wind up being part of the reason our society keeps on killing people. All the emotions that make life worth living."
Sarah was surprised—Lara's expression of her torment in black comedic terms made her seem at once more human, and more despairing, than the grieving but collected woman Sarah had first encountered. "I've been pretty worried myself," Sarah answered frankly. "For you, and about what could happen to this case."
"You should be. Back here, things are slipping."
"The Senate?"
"Yes. The vote's set in three days, and as of now we're going to lose."
"I've been so afraid of that." Sarah paused, sorting through her emotions. "Not just because of how hard we've tried, or even because of how Mary hung in with me when I didn't think she would. But because I know about the evidence.
"We have depositions sealed in a lead-lined vault that would keep the Senate from overriding the President's veto. But I can't make them public because of Bond's order. In the guise of keeping us from indulging in selective leaks, Bond and the defense lawyers are perpetrating a cover-up."
Lara was silent. "Can you take the depositions to the judge," she inquired at length, "and ask him to change his order?"
"Even if he were inclined to change it—which he never will—it's too late. I'd have to file a motion, allow time for the defendants to respond, and then go before the judge. There's just no way to do that in three days." Sarah felt the frustration of explaining to a nonlawyer how indifferent a court could be to the ends of justice. "Besides, what can I say— that I want Bond to release the depositions in order to tilt the Senate? He knows all about the Senate and what it means. That's why he's hiding the files beneath the pious pose that the law should be above such things."
"So there's nothing you can do," Lara persisted.