Nodding, Kerry repressed his sense of foreboding. "We will," he assured his lawyer. "And unless Mary goes along with this, there won't be more than one."
* * *
When Kerry returned to the Oval Office, he called in Clayton Slade. "Did you check those military contracts?" the President asked.
"Yes. Lexington supplies sidearms to the Army. Chiefly for military police."
"Put a stop to it, as soon as possible. Our version of the SSA boycott, a modest attention-getter." Kerry sat back. "Also, I want a report on how long it would take for the Anniston Army Depot to start making M-16s. I'm not in the mood to keep subsidizing companies who think they owe their highest duty to the SSA."
"I'd watch it," Clayton admonished. "The gun folks will say you're abusing your power, and screwing around with national security."
"That," Kerry answered sharply, "depends on how well Anniston can make an M-16. As for abusing my power, I'm simply using it. When companies like Lexington stop making bullets like the Eagle's Claw, I'll use it some other way."
After a moment, Clayton shrugged. "At least we can look into it. Why was Avi Gold here, by the way?"
Kerry smiled fractionally. "To give me legal advice. Of a personal nature."
Clayton folded his arms. "Avi Gold," he said emphatically, "was not here to revise your will."
The President's smile vanished. "True. But if I told you what we talked about, it wouldn't be privileged, would it?"
Clayton studied him. "Have it your way, Kerry. But have a care. For your sake, and for Lara's."
THREE
Shortly before six o'clock in San Francisco, Sarah Dash glanced at her watch.
She was still at the office, and would be for several hours. Four months into her new job as a trial lawyer for the Kilcannon Center for Social Justice, Sarah found it as demanding as her past life at Kenyon and Walker, the city's premier corporate law firm, but far more compelling. Looking back at the last year, Sarah realized, this sea change in her career had been inevitable.
In January, Sarah—despite the resistance of the inner circle at Kenyon and Walker—had taken on the pro bono representation of Mary Ann Tierney. The pregnant teenager, fearful that giving birth to a hydrocephalic child would impair her ability to bear more children, had sought a late term abortion over the opposition of her militant pro-life parents. The televised trial which resulted, pitting parent against child, became a race against time, wherein Sarah sought to invalidate an act of Congress before Mary Ann was forced to deliver. But the trial court ruled against her; only in the United States Court of Appeals, by virtue of a landmark opinion written by Judge Caroline Masters, did Mary Ann prevail. This result, a stunning triumph for Sarah, had nearly caused the Senate to reject President Kilcannon's nomination of Judge Masters as Chief Justice. The fact that the aborted fetus proved to have no cerebral cortex did little to reduce the bitterness.
But for Sarah, the Tierney case proved that, at thirty, she was a gifted and resourceful lawyer. The other lesson came to her more slowly: having acted on her beliefs, she was no longer satisfied to spend her days meeting the needs of corporate clients. The Kilcannon Center was a perfect fit: its San Francisco office needed a lawyer to lead its lawsuits against the gun industry; Sarah believed that, given the SSA's influence over Congress, lawsuits were the only method which might force the industry to reform. From her first day, Sarah had felt emancipated.
And so she remained at her desk, a compact young woman with dark curly hair, liquid brown eyes and, she acknowledged, a social life which could use some work. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would keep her dinner date. Tonight, she would make the legal brief she had drafted all it should be.
But first she had an hour of TV to watch. Like other women her age, she found Lara Costello Kilcannon—only two years older than Sarah herself—a compelling figure. And like almost everyone she knew, Sarah had seen the videotape of the murders. She felt sorrow for the Kilcannons, anger at the weapons used against Lara's family. That her own career had become a war against such weapons made watching Lara Kilcannon irresistible.
Promptly at six o'clock, Sarah switched on her office television.
* * *
In the library of the White House—where, three weeks ago, she and Kerry had disclosed Joan Bowden's problems—Lara faced Cathie Civitch.
With ten seconds until airtime, Cathie gave her a smile meant to be encouraging. But it did nothing to alleviate Lara's tension and betrayed Cathie's own. Despite all of her past success, Cathie no doubt knew that she would be best known for what transpired in this one hour.
In turn, Lara knew that Cathie would be well prepared, and familiar with the viewpoint of the SSA—her questions would be respectful, but probing. Lara had steeped herself in the complex issues surrounding the gun debate, but had not tried to anticipate questions which were personal. Lara's life had been based on self-control and careful planning, but that would not work here. The audience expected self-revelation; the knowledge left her edgy, and a little sick inside.
* * *
Upstairs, in his office, Kerry watched. Lara had insisted on doing this alone.
This, Cathie Civitch said, is the first time Americans have heard from you since the tragedy.
Lara gave a small shrug of the shoulders. I haven't been ready, she said quietly. I wasn't ready to lose my family.
The abruptness of what happened was just so startling—three of the people I loved most were gone, and I hadn't said goodbye, or said the things one needs to say. And Marie . . . Briefly, Lara paused. I just want to hold Marie. And I can't.
Only someone who knew her as well as he, Kerry reflected, would know how much this cost her. And he could do nothing.
* * *
At six-eleven, Frank Fasano left the floor of the Senate and entered his office suite. Macdonald Gage was already there, watching Lara Kilcannon.
"How's she doing?" Fasano asked.
Gage's eyes did not move from the screen. "See for yourself."
Were it in my power, Lara told Cathie Civitch, no one else would ever have to feel as I do.
"Here it comes," Gage said. "This is going to be her cause."
But they do, Lara continued. On the day my family died, eighty-seven more Americans died from gunshot wounds. We don't know their names; we don't see their families on television . . . Abruptly, Lara seemed almost to snap, anger and emotion overtaking her. Since then, how many families have lost a child, a father, a husband, or a wife? And how few of the survivors can even find an outlet for their grief?