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Chairman of Judiciary. You investigate his nominees. You hold the hearings. You decide whether to make things easy for him.”
    Chad shrugged. “I don’t intend to give Kerry a pass. But I’m not going to run a witch hunt either, badgering the nominee to confess that he believes in the theory of evolution—nomatter what some of these people want. It’s time we noticed that they’re one reason we keep losing.”
    “If
that
were true,” Gage retorted, “we could never have passed the Protection of Life Act. Even a Democratic president was forced to sign it.” He jabbed a finger for emphasis. “Without Roger Bannon, the whole Court’s in the balance. Our obligation is simple—no judicial activists; no liberals on crime; no red hots for abortion.” He spread his arms. “You’re the first line of defense, Chad. For all we know, Kilcannon pops out a nominee tomorrow. Our people will be looking for us to read from the same page.”
    “Or sing from the same hymnal,” Chad responded with a smile.
    Gage’s own smile was perfunctory, an effort to appease someone who, his manner made clear, was insufficiently serious. “Will you accept a word of advice?” Gage asked.
    “From you, Mac? Always.”
    “There’s been grumbling on our side that you’re the new Chairman.” Gage’s voice became confiding. “Everyone respects you and wants you to do well, so I’ve been able to keep it down. But some feel you’re too close to Kilcannon, especially after the two of you sponsored that campaign reform bill that most folks on our side—myself included—thought would damn near put the party out of business. You’ve got amends to make, and this may be your chance.”
    The message, Chad knew, was clear enough. Once Kerry named his choice, the spotlight was on Chad—fail the test, and his chances of being the party’s nominee next time would be severely damaged. It struck Chad that Gage might equally value two distinct outcomes: defeating Kilcannon’s prospective Chief Justice, thereby raising Gage’s stock as presidential candidate, or arranging matters so that Chad diminished his own. As usual in such circumstances, Chad viewed the challenge with serenity.
    “Neither of us gets to be a hero,” he retorted, “unless the President gives us an opening, and he’s no fool. If he were, he’d still be over here with the rest of the buffoons.”
    Gage raised his eyebrows. The expression suggested that Chad’s contempt for certain of his colleagues, like so many things Chad did, was ill-advised. “Kilcannon’s not a fool,” Gage countered. “But he’s reckless.”
    “That’s what they say about me,” Chad replied affably. “And
I’ve
survived.” He did not say the rest—that the flip side of “recklessness” was cowardice, and that its costs were stiffer.
    “Look, Mac, I don’t want a liberal any more than you do. Or some stealth candidate who turns out to believe only child molesters have rights. If Kerry gets confused enough to ask my advice, I’d make that clear.”
    Gage produced a fresh smile, to suggest—despite Chad’s best instincts—that he was mollified. “Oh, he’ll ask, Chad. He’ll ask. You’ve never been as important to him as you’re about to become.”
    Or to you
, Chad thought.
    In the quiet, Gage fixed him with a bright, untrusting look. At other times Chad would have been pleased to wait him out. Silence no longer bothered him: for over two years of what seemed another life, he had been forced to live, often for days—as best as Chad had been able to measure days— without the sound of a human voice. But tonight he was anxious to get home.
    “Can I
give you
some advice, Mac? About the President.”
    Gage smiled again. “That’s only fair, and I’m eager to hear it. You know him so much better.”
    Chad ignored the implicit jibe. “Kerry may not do what you think prudent. But he’s the best intuitive politician I’ve ever seen, and he plays for keeps.” Draining his