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Finish Line

by Steven Gordon



	Chapter 1



	"People are animals."

	The speaker, a distinguished man in his late 30's with neatly 
trimmed straight black hair, rocked back and forth on his front porch 
as he stared out into the black night that engulfed the northern 
Virginia suburb.  He cast a lazy glance to the side.

	"People are animals," he reiterated, rocking back and forth.

	"I heard you the first time," growled his companion, a somewhat 
shorter but thinner man.  "I'm not deaf, you know."

	"People are animals, and do you know why?" the first man asked.

	"Because... they're primitive.  I don't know," said the second 
man, picking up his drink.

	"Incorrect," said the first man.   And he sat up with a gleam in 
his eyes and he said, "People are animals because they compete to 
survive."

	His name was Michael Powers, Congressman Michael K. Powers III, 
and he was a predator.  A scion of a wealthy family that made a killing 
in the tool & dye industry in the 1930's, he entered Columbia at 17, 
graduated Harvard Law at 24, and immediately joined the ranks of 
Kassenbaum & McKinney, arguably the top lawyer/lobby firm inside the 
beltway.  After a few years of hobnobbing with powerful party bosses 
and even more powerful congressmen on the Hill, Powers returned to New 
York to make a run for a seat on Manhattan's Upper East Side.  He chose 
to run as a Democrat not simply because Democrats always won there; it 
was more than that, he found their philosophy admirable.  Democrats 
werer for the poor people, for the little man.  They fought valiantly 
to shake a few dollars from stingy rich people's pockets.  This effort 
also made sense politically; Democrats spent government money to create 
constituencies which supported them at election time.  To Powers it 
seemed only natural to funnel government money to specific interest 
groups who would return the favor.  He knew that you had to give 
something to get something.  It was those puritanical Republicans he 
despised, those who called it "taxpayer money" and refused to let the 
government have any meaningful role in people's lives.

	The government was going to spend money regardless of what anyone 
said; so why not spend it in ways that best suited Powers?

	And so he ran for Congress.  Powers was bright, charismatic, 
telegenic, with all the right staffers and soundbites.  $5 million 
dollars later, he was elected in an upset, 52% to 48%, over a local 
assemblyman with bedrock ties to the community.  He had been 
unstoppable ever since.

	Michael Powers turned to his companion, his close companion, for 
Powers didn't share his personal philosophy with just anyone.  Arthur 
"Ace" Toles was one of the privileged few.  His chief of staff from the 
very beginning, Toles was the closest thing he had to a confidant.

	"So?" said Toles, yawning slightly.

	"Men are constantly in competition.  Their natural inclination is 
to get the best for themselves--the most important jobs, the most 
money, the best women...  Life is a constant struggle for these goals, 
for supply is limited even if demand is not."

	"Really?"

	"You scoff, oh cynical one, but it is oh so true.  Life is a 
constant struggle for these goodies, and yet while man is animal, he 
also must conform to the civilizing aspects of society, and not stray 
too far from its bounds, or run the risk of being shunned.  But it is a 
struggle nonetheless, no different than two tigers wrestling over the 
body of a fallen doe."

	"I didn't know tigers ate deer," Toles commented.  But for a 
moment he became more serious.  "So what's the point?"  He had heard it 
all before, of course, many many times.  But he could see that Powers 
was attempting to make a link, to something more contemporary.

	Powers, however, would not be rushed to his conclusion.  "In the 
society of man this struggle is expressed through the struggle for 
power, for power can bring all these things.  Power is good. Power is 
the ability to control your own destiny, and the destiny of others.  
Power means never having to take abuse, but being able to dispense it 
liberally, all without fear of reprisal.  Power is my name; power is 
who I am; power is what I was meant for.  And in our society the most 
power comes from the ability to command vast resources, millions of 
individuals."

	"You are, of course, talking about our political system."

	Powers grinned.  "So you have been paying attention.  Good."  He 
wet his lips.  "I've been in the House for nearly ten years.  What have 
I accomplished?"

	"You've built a power base.  You've made connections.  You've-"

	Powers cut him off with a wave of a hand.  "Building, building... 
towards what?  So that in ten more years I can become a committee 
chairman?  Thank you, but no thank you.  Congressmen are atoms.  They 
are each one equal among many.  No one has the ability to command, to 
control, not even the Speaker, not really."

	Toles sat up.  "So what are you getting at?"

	"The time has come.  To seek a position of true responsibility, 
of true power.  To better serve the people."  The last he said without 
a trace of irony.

	Toles sat up.  "The Governor's race?  Governor of New York?"

	"That is my current state of residence," said Powers dryly.  
"Think of it!  To be chief executive of one of the most populous states 
in the union.  There with my veto power I will have the lobbyists and 
the assemblymen and yes, even the congressmen, all turning to me, all 
craving my attention.  I will be one above others, the ruler of my own 
sizable fiefdom."

	Toles took this all in for a while.  "Are you sure you're ready?"

	"I've always been ready," Power replied.	

	Toles took it all in.  He paused for a moment.  "The light rail 
project... you're pushing that with this in mind."

	"Precisely."  Powers had been the guiding force behind a proposal 
to set up a light rail system between New York City, Albany, and 
Syracuse.  The regions were already linked by rail, but Powers was 
selling it as a series of bullet trains that would radically reduce 
transit times.  The only reason he called it a "light rail" system was 
to give it a more ecologically friendly name that environmentalists 
would take to.  He wished he could have fit the buzzwords "recycling" 
and "solar cooker" into the name of the project too, but there were 
limits to deception, even in Washington.  

	The rail project was not necessary.  To be more precise, it was 
not necessary for the people of New York.  But it was very necessary 
for Michael Powers.  The project would bring a lot of development money 
to New York that he, Michael K. Powers III, would get credit for.  But 
just as important was the fact that it would satisfy the needs of a 
certain construction union which was a very important contributor to 
Powers' campaign.

	"Just think about it. I'm about to get credit for bringing one of 
the largest federally funded development projects to the state of New 
York in this decade.  What better way to start a gubernatorial 
campaign?"

	"You planned this... you planned this from the start," said 
Toles, slowly realizing the implications.

	"Ace, of course!  Did you really think I planned to sit in the 
House of Representatives for the rest of my life, one of an anonymous 
435?"

	"A gubernatorial race," Toles whispered, with a faraway look in 
his eyes.  "But... the vote's tomorrow.  You and I both know it's not 
going to pass the subcommittee."

	The first hurdle for Transportation Modernization Act, as it was 
officially called, was to pass the Public Works and Transportation 
subcommittee that dealt with roads and transportation.  The committee 
had fifteen members, nine Democrats and six Republicans.  The six 
Republicans were solidly against the act on the grounds that it was a 
frivolous piece of pork.  What was their problem?  Government had to 
spend money on something; why was Powers' project less worthy than 
anyone else's?  Powers, who was the third ranking Democrat on the 
subcommittee, had persuaded the subcommittee chair to bring it up for a 
vote, but it was clear that while the chairman would vote for the bill, 
he wasn't going to stick his neck out for the proposal.  So Powers 
worked at the time honored tradition of buying Democratic votes.  It 
wasn't very difficult.  Everyone had a price.  Congressman Bowers 
wanted a Johnny Appleseed museum in his district.  Representative 
Hatcliff wanted to subsidze the building of a new office tower in 
downtown Cleveland.  But it was Congressman Shroeden that Powers most 
admired.  She wanted to build a "visitor's center" in her district for 
her constituents, essentially a $12 million dollar tribute to her.  It 
didn't take long for Powers to assemble nearly all the chits he needed, 
and it only cost him about $500 million in taxpayer money.  A bargain.  
But Powers could not budge two of the Democrats on the Committee--
Stanley Bayren of Utah and Otis Fern of Ohio.  It wasn't that they were 
any more ethical than the rest; normally, they would allow themselves 
to be bought, for the right price.  But this was a special situation.

	Bayren was the real problem.  He was number four in seniority on 
the committee, just behind Powers, and he had been a constant rival, 
ever since he and Powers had arrived on Capital Hill, almost ten years 
ago.  They had both been posted to the subcommittee at the same time, 
and since they were of equal seniority, a coin flip determined who was 
to be senior.  Powers won, and they never seemed to get along after 
that.  For Powers it was nothing personal, but perhaps Bayren didn't 
appreciate the grander scheme of Powers' neo-Darwinistic conception of 
survival of the fittest.

	Bayren opposed Powers at every turn and this bill was no 
exception.  What was worse was that he had little persuading to do to 
enlist his close ally, Otis Fern, in his cause against the Powers bill.

	The arithmetic was simple.  Six Republicans and two Democrats 
versus seven Democrats made for an eight to six majority against.  Even 
the most imaginative mathematicians from the Congressional Budget 
Office couldn't find a way to dispute that.

	Powers had been on the phone all day trying to reverse that.  Not 
by attempting to talk to Bayren or even Fern; no, there was little 
chance of getting beyond the hate.  But perhaps one of the Republicans 
could be bought.  Usually one or two of the older guard, the "get 
along-give along" types could.

	Not this time, apparently.  Either they meant what they said, or 
perhaps they had already been bought off--by Bayren.  A sinister 
thought.

	"Do you know something I don't?" said Toles.

	Powers just smiled.

	"Did you manage to turn one of the Republicans?"

	Powers shook his head.

	"What, you're going to try to end-run the subcommittee and bring 
it up in the full committee?"

	Powers shook his head.  "I already investigated that prospect, 
remember?"

	"Then what?"

	Powers shrugged his shoulders.  "There's one more night before 
the vote.  Perhaps someone will have a change of heart."

	"That's not like you, to be so... passive when important things 
are at stake."

	"There's a first time for everything," said Powers calmly.  "Have 
some more cognac?"

	Suddenly a little boy came bouncing onto the porch.  "Daddy!" he 
said, leaping into Power's arms.

	"Ha ha, there's my boy," said Powers.  He held the young man in 
his arms.  "Bobby, what are you doing out of bed?  Isn't it past time 
for bed?"

	"Michael," said a voice.  The screen door opened again, and Erin 
Powers stepped out.  She was a young, attractive woman in her mid 30's, 
just a few years younger than her husband.  She was active in her own 
causes, notably environmental issues, and while her politics rarely 
seemed to jibe with Powers', they rarely were seen arguing over 
political philosophy.

	"Hi, what's happening?" said Powers quietly.  He looked calm, too 
calm, considering the importance of the vote that was just a morning 
away.

	"Off to bed, escapee," said Erin, scooting Bobby inside.  "Do you 
have a few minutes, hon?"

	Powers groaned, immediately knowing what it was about.  "Is it 
about this Greedleaf thing?  Can't we talk about it later?"

	"Greenleaf Fund.  You never get the name right," She sighed. "All 
right, I know you have this big vote tomorrow.  We'll talk about it 
afterwards.  But no more putting it off, ok?"

	Powers gave her his solemn promise.

	When Erin had gone back inside, Powers gave a big grin.  "See?  
You even have Erin worried about tomorrow's vote."

	"Shouldn't we be?"

	Powers rocked back and forth in his chair.  The night crickets 
chirped in accompaniment. "We'll see... we'll see...."



	The House of Representatives was intended by the founding fathers 
to be the place where the common people would have their representation 
in government.  Unlike the lofty Senate, whose members were originally 
selected by state legislators, not voters, for six year terms, 
Representatives were selected for short two year terms by the people, 
for the people.  There were 435 of them in all, not counting nonvoting 
representatives from Guam, Samoa, the District of Columbia, and the 
like, and each represented a little fiefdom, a small discrete 
gerrymandered piece of Americana, representing perhaps six or seven 
hundred thousand citizens.

	But in reality there was little that was common about the House.  
Consider the setting:  Washington D.C., on the Mall in a bright day in 
May.  Go up the Potomac river, and hang a sharp right at the Lincoln 
Memorial.  See the giant statue of President Lincoln, sitting somberly, 
as if in judgment, looking to the east.  Travel east, past the shallow 
reflecting pool, and stop for a moment at the Washington Monument, the 
giant gleaming white obelisk surrounded by a circle of large flapping 
American flags.  To the left, beyond a meadow, obscured by trees, sits 
the White House, alone by itself.  But straight ahead, further to the 
east, sits in plain view the large, sprawling white domed building that 
is Capitol Hill.  It is like a little city, with its own police force, 
barber shops, restaurants, stores, and even a subway in miniature.  
From it flows the power and authority to spend hundreds of billions of 
dollars.  From it comes the formal power to wage war and peace.  From 
it comes the power to intrude into the personal lives of every citizen, 
from the death penalty to abortion to the power to take property--or to 
give it.



	On Tuesday morning one of many committee rooms start to fill up.  
It was not a meeting that was likely to attract the attention of the 
CSPAN cameras, but chairs in the audience were quickly filled 
nonetheless.  Filled with lobbyists.  The sign on the door read  
"Subcommittee on Surface Transportation".

	Congressmen and their staffers started to shuffle in.  Normally 
committee meetings were only about half attended.  Legislative 
deliberations were in motion on the House floor, but that was not where 
missing Congressmen were to be found.  No, they were usually in other 
committee meetings, or at home on campaign swings, or staying in touch 
with their constituents--one way or another.

	But the Subcommittee on Surface Transportation was bound to be 
fully attended by its members today.  Each side had marshalled its 
troops one way or another for or against Powers' bill, and was not 
about to lose simply because someone didn't show up.  As it stood the 
opposition to Powers' bill had only a one vote margin to insure its 
victory--and Powers' defeat.

	Powers walked into the committee hearing room, looking very 
unperturbed.  He wore his best $700 Brooks Brothers suit and his classy 
striped Columbia tie.  His golden cuff links reflected light in the 
committee room chamber.

	Powers moved for his seat.  He sat right next to Bayren, which 
didn't make for very warm committee hearings, but Bayren had yet to 
appear.  Powers sat down, and pretended to read his New York Times.  He 
chuckled a bit as he glanced at an op-ed by Michele Franswa, possibly 
his least favorite editorialist.





	SUPPORT THE PROFESSIONS TAX



Private Sentiments

By Michele Franswa



		New York is facing a shortage of funds.  There's a shortage 
of city revenue, while people suffer on the streets, rummaging through 
trash cans to survive.  Single men, driven to chemical dependency by 
the cruel rules of society, are unable to find jobs that meet their 
need for self-esteem.  Young people are at risk of committing crimes 
because after school activities have been cut.  The arts programs have 
been decimated, and puppet shows are down 50% over what they were just 
last year.

		And yet we have rich fatcats who work in the tall towers of 
New York while ignoring the seeds of dispair around them.  There has 
been a proposal floating around recently to enact a professions tax, 
that is, a small but just surtax of 5% on the incomes of everyone who 
works in New York who has a graduate degree.  This would require 
doctors, lawyers, and MBA's to give back to society a small portion of 
what society has given to them.  It would require them to play by the 
rules, and to help those who haven't been as lucky as they were.  It 
might wake up some of them to the fact that they obtained their 
positions of wealth and prestige through a throw of the dice, and that 
they should feel some guilt and be glad part with some of their 
obscenely large incomes.

		Instead of being thankful for a new program which would aid 
the less fortunate, the fat cats have been protesting en masse.  They 
say the money they earn is theirs and what business does the government 
have to take it away.  I have to chuckle when I hear such outmoded 
sentiments.  In modern society, everyone in the community is 
interconnected, and to deny those interconnections is to deny reality.  
As a member of society, each of those who just happen to be doing 
better has a responsibilty to help those who have fallen through the 
cracks.  Government is the ideal instrument for leveling out such 
inequalities, and the rich should be thankful that such a moderate and 
peaceful method redistribution is in place.  Would they prefer an angry 
mob robbing them of their possessions and home?  I think not.

		This is a very moderate proposal.  It would only affect the 
upper elite of this state, and only five additional percent of income 
on top of the pittance they already pay in taxes.  If they don't want 
to do it for society, they should at least be willing to do it for the 
children.





	Powers, chuckling, looked up from his paper.  Bayren still had 
not made an appearance, but Otis Fern, his number one ally, however, 
was there, one seat down from Bayren's, and he leaned to the left to 
speak to Powers.  "Howdy Mike."

	Powers nodded.  "Good morning, Otis.  How are you?"

	Fern ignored the question.  "I hear we're going to have a vote 
today."

	Powers nodded.  "You're very well informed."

	"Would you care to place bets on this one?" Fern leered.  He knew 
that his side had the votes to block Powers' bill.

	Powers shook his head.  

	"Why?  What's wrong?  Are we about to see the great Michael D. 
Powers III," and he spat out the number, like an insult, "cut down in 
front of his peers?"

	Powers shook his head.

	"Then is it just simple fear?  Fear that you've finally gonna be 
stopped, and stopped hard?"

	Powers shook his head.  "This is just a game, a game of 
competition.  We will measure and match the power of my side against 
yours.  The fittest will survive, the loser will be vanquished.  Such 
is the way with all games of life."

	"And is that what you're afraid of?  That this will show you're 
not so fit?"  Otis lowered his voice as he saw the room filling up, but 
made low chuckling sounds.  "Heh heh heh.  I'll enjoy watching you 
squirm, Mikey."

	"All right Otis," said Powers, with a steely look.  Otis, 
startled, pulled his head back.

	"All right," said Powers again.  "If you want to bet, let's bet.  
But let's have some real stakes."

	Fern looked surprised, but he took out his wallet.  "So?"

	"No," said Powers, shaking his head.  "Your chit."

	Fern immediately understood.  "So if you win..."

	"You owe me one.  I can call it in, any time, any vote."

	Fern grinned maliciously.  "And if I win...."

	"The same."

	"You got a deal!"

	Ace Toles, who had been sitting discretely in the background 
where the staffers were located, took this occasion to lean forward.  
"Congressman, are you sure-"

	Powers made a discrete throat cutting gesture, then turned away.

	The gavel banged.  "This meeting will come to order."  This was 
from the Chairman, Max Tankel, Congressman from Michigan.  He called 
the roll.  All the Republicans were there, as were all the Democrats--
with one exception.   Stanley Bayren.  Congressman from Utah.  

	The chairman ran over some routine matters, and then he said, 
"The first order of business is a vote on the Transportation 
Modernization Act.  Would anyone like to speak on the issue?"

	A dozen set of hands went up.  Evidently, people did.

	

	In a modest home in suburban Maryland, Stanley Bayren, 
Congressman from Utah, was cursing.  He had overslept and was going to 
be late for his meeting.  Dashing into the driveway he fumbled for the 
car keys.  Then he suddenly remembered he had left them in the house.



	"Mr. Chairman, this bill is pork, pure pork," said Mike Laren.  
He was the ranking Republican member, the most senior Republican on the 
subcommittee, and the sharpness of his accusatory tone surprised even 
Powers.  What was his problem?  The government had so much money, it 
had trouble spending it all.  Who cared about deficits?  If they really 
had a problem with deficits, let them raise taxes.



	Fumbling for his keys, Bayren opened the car door, got in, 
slammed it closed behind him, and turned the key in the ignition.

	The engine sputtered for a moment, then died.



	"This rail system will double the rail capacity in this part of 
New York, at a time when the existing rail capacity is often at less 
than 75% utilization."  This was one of the other Republicans.  His 
accusation was true, but what was the point?  If they trimmed every 
piece of legislation with waste in it then nothing would ever get 
passed!



	Bayren raced down the freeway.  It would be so ironic if Powers 
won this contest of wills, simply because he, Bayren, had overslept.



	"Mr. Chairman, I'd like to speak."  This came from Otis Fern, 
who, despite the absence of Bayren was still thoroughly confident, and 
enjoying this committee session thoroughly.  The Republicans had just 
finished, each sticking their knives into the legislation, and Fern 
wanted to administer the final coup de grace with a long spear.  "Mr. 
Chairman, I was against this project from the start, because of its 
environmental impact.  But there's an even more important ground for 
stopping this project:  I'm afraid we just cannot afford such wasteful 
spending, when our deficit has gotten so much out of control."

	Powers appreciated Fern's sudden concern for the deficit.  He 
smiled as he remembered reading somewhere that the National Taxpayers 
Union had rated Otis Fern as one of the top ten biggest spenders in the 
House of Representatives.  Suddenly, he was a fiscal hawk.

	But now it was the turn of Powers' and his allies.  One by one 
they got up to speak in support of his bill.

	

	Bayren raced down the beltway.  He accelerated a bit too much, 
frowned, and then put on the brake.  Nothing happened!

	He put more pressure on the brake, and he slowed down some.  
Bayren gave a sigh of relief.  He'd have to get those brakes checked 
out.



	Powers let his allies speak first.  They all effusively praised 
the bill, largely sticking to the talking points that Toles had 
provided.  Not that it really mattered; everyone's mind was already 
made up.  Or already bought.  When Powers' supporters were finished, 
Powers asked to be recognized.  The chairman nodded and Powers spoke, 
glancing occasionally at the prepared text that Toles had put together.

	"Colleagues.  The mass transportation system in our country is in 
crisis.  We have been warned by numerous blue ribboned panels that our 
infrastructure is crumbling.  Now is the time to act.  This light rail 
system will reinvigorate not only New York's economy, but the entire 
region's.  And with the success of this project we will undoubtedly 
have the means and the political will to fund others.  Now, some of you 
have raised the environmental issue.  As for those concerns, I would 
have you know that this is an eco-friendly light rail system, with 
plans for a contiguous bike path-"



	Bayren glanced at his watch, and a look of alarm crossed his 
face.  He knew the committee vote could be held at any moment.  For all 
he knew, it might have occurred already.  He stepped on the gas, but 
was forced to brake when another car swerved ahead of him.

	Only the brake didn't work.

	He pressed frantically on it, but he wouldn't slow down.  He 
swerved to the left, then to the right again, avoiding another car.  
Then the car directly ahead of him slowed down to get off of the next 
exit ramp.  Bayren was boxed in to the left, so he swerved right, onto 
the embankment, pressing the brake all the way.  But the car didn't 
slow down.  The car skidded along the rough shoulder, glancing against 
a railing, and then plowed with full force into an underpass, smashing 
uncontrollably into a support wall, and immediately burst into flames.



	"-and this is the right thing to do.  We can do it, we should do 
it, we will do it," said Powers.  "Mr. Chairman, I think we're ready 
for the vote."

	The Chairman nodded.

	"Wait."  This was from Otis Fern.  "Mr. Chairman, Congressman 
Bayren isn't here yet."

	The Chairman harrumped, his plump face looking displeased.  "Mr. 
Fern, we're nearly an hour into the meeting.  I cannot be made 
responsible for the appearance of the Gentleperson from Utah."

	"Five minutes, Mr. Chairman. A five minute recess, please?"

	Congressman Tankel, the Chairman, looked only more annoyed.  But 
he nodded, saying, "Five minutes!  Then we vote, regardless of who is 
here," he added, with a look at Fern, "and who is not."  Scowling, he 
banged the gavel.  He was the subcommittee chairman; he hated all 
delays that were not of his own making.  They had a lot of spending 
bills to take up today; at this rate, they'd be lucky to appropriate a 
piddling $10 billion before the day was over.  "Five minutes!  Five!"  
He held up five stubby fingers for those Congressman who had not 
understood him the first two times.

	There was a murmur in the audience as Fern rapidly scooted out.  
Toles whispered to Powers.  "What do you think is happening?"

	Powers shrugged his shoulders.

	Five minutes later Fern had not returned.  "The vote will now be 
called," said Chairman Tankel.  He called the vote.  "Mr. Abrams!  Mr. 
Bacon!  Mr. Eyes-"  One by one their names were called off, and each 
responded with an aye, or a nay.  

	It was still close.  All six Republicans voted against the bill, 
and all seven Democrats present voted for it.  Had Fern been present it 
would have been a tie, in which case the chairman could have broken the 
tie in Powers' favor, according to committee rules. 

	Congressman Tankel banged his gavel.  "The bill is hereby 
recommended for consideration by the full committee, on a vote of seven 
for, six against."  At that moment Fern returned, ashen faced.

	"What?" said the Chairman, immediately sensing something was 
wrong.

	"It's Congressman Bayren... there's been a terrible accident."

	A stunned silence filled the committee room as Fern related the 
sketchy details.

	Powers' expression was impassive.



	"Bayren dead!" said Toles, once they had returned to Powers' 
Capitol Hill office.  "Who ever would have figured it?"

	"Who indeed," said Powers calmly.

	Toles gave Powers a quizzical look, got a warning glance, and 
knew to drop it.  "Anyway, we've won!  We've won!"

	Staffers, hearing the commotion, raced out of their side offices.  
"We did?  We really did?"

	Two legislative staffers, Philip Niles, and John Marsten, gave 
war whoops.  The whole office was filled with energy. 

	Niles in particular was very pleased.  Finally, he had a tangible 
feeling that he was being part of something important, something 
productive.  This was why he had come to Washington.  He had graduated 
Cornell at the top of his class, with straight A's in political 
science.  He was one of those political junkies who memorized all the 
politicians in the Almanac of American Politics, who watched CSPAN 
avidly, and who thought Foreign Affairs magazine was "light reading".

	He had wanted to go to Washington because he was a true liberal 
who wanted to use the powers of government to help the poor and the 
disadvantaged.  Niles thought that it was crime that a government with 
billions of dollars to spend couldn't do more to help its most 
vulnerable citizens.  Unfortunately, coming from a well-to-do family 
where he never earned a paycheck in his life, Niles had a deaf ear to 
those who objected to paying higher taxes.  People earned plenty of 
money; they could afford to pay more.  Especially the rich.  Niles had 
a special loathing for the rich.  He envisioned fancy people in big 
mansions, surrounded by piles and piles of gold and silver pieces, 
laughing caustically while poor people were forced to keep warm outside 
by lighting fires in trash cans.  Unfortunately, Niles didn't realize 
that "the rich" as he described it was only a small percentage of the 
population, or that to raise any meaningful revenue one had to tax the 
"less rich" as well.  

	But it all seemed very reasonable to Niles.  Once his college 
professors had raised his political consciousness, he became outraged 
that the government wasn't doing more with its regulatory and spending 
authority to reengineer society so that outcomes were more "fair".  
This goal is what had driven Niles to Washington.

	Niles had obtained his coveted job on Capitol Hill with 
Congressman Powers immediately upon graduation.  Niles had had a strong 
academic record to draw on, but he suspected that his Uncle Stafford, 
who was active in Democratic party politics, may have helped him in 
getting this position.  For the past several months Niles had puttered 
about, working on small position papers, minor speeches, and scheduling 
tasks and the like.  He had begun to feel like one of the thousands of 
anonymous toilers on the Hill, without recognition, without impact.

	But now they had actually accomplished something!  The bill that 
Niles himself had written a piece of had actually passed the 
subcommittee.  Millions of New Yorkers would be riding in comfort and 
safety on the trains of the future in part because he, Philip Niles, 
was pushing this legislation to passage.  It was not the prime piece of 
anti-poverty legislation that Niles had been hoping to work on, but it 
was a start.  It was action!

	It gave him a warm feeling inside. 



	The next day Powers and Toles walked in a leafy green forest.  
Each carried a high powered sporting rifle.  This was Powers' way of 
rewarding himself.  He didn't often permit himself the pleasure of 
hunting in the great outdoors--there simply wasn't the time.

	But now he relaxed as he put his slim rifle to his shoulder. 
"Events are proceeding, and very much on schedule," said Powers calmly.  
"Now for the next step.  I want you to talk to Pringle about setting up 
a "draft Powers" committee.  You know, something that's not obviously 
connected to me."

	"Understood," said Toles.

	Powers looked through the sniperscope at a far tree.  "More 
immediately, we need a campaign manager."

	"Hey, who managed your last two campaigns?"

	Powers put down the rifle, gently squeezing Toles' shoulder.  
"Ace, this is going to be an operation on a much larger scale.  I need 
you to be in charge of organization and task management.  When I'm 
elected, you know, I'm going to need a capable chief of staff in the 
governor's office."

	Toles' eyes glowed.  "Chief of staff to the governor!"

	"Um hum," said Powers, looking through the sniperscope again, 
this time at a closer tree.  His grip tightened, his finger closed on 
the trigger... and then he stopped, lowering his weapon.

	"What?" said Toles.

	Powers took his head.  "Too small.  Not worth the shot."  He 
started walking again.

	"That was some game we bagged yesterday," said Toles.

	"Yes, it was a significant step forward.  We've won a key battle, 
but the war still has to be won.  Our next battle will be fought on 
more favorable ground, in full committee, but we must be adequately 
prepared nonetheless."

	He looked through the sniperscope again, slowing moving the 
barrel as a flock of birds moved overhead.

	"We must wait, biding our time, choosing... the... right... 
moment...." He squeezed the trigger, jerked as the rifle pushed into 
his shoulder, and watched as a squawking bird tumbled to the ground 
just feet away.  It fluttered for a moment and then became motionless, 
its bright red blood seeping into the clear green grass.

	"Very good," said Powers approvingly.  "But just the beginning.  
Only the beginning."


	Chapter 2



	Michael K. Powers III walked the marble hallways of Capitol Hill.  
His legislative aides, Niles and Marsten, tagged along, filling him 
with tidbits of information he would need for his afternoon meetings.

	Powers was walking at a brisk pace, but just outside his office 
he was intercepted by Stephanie Gould, a reporter for New York's local 
CBS affiliate.  "Mr. Powers!" she called.

	Powers' eyes lit up in instant recognition.  "Stephanie," he said 
charmingly.  "What brings you to Washington?"

	"You do, Mr. Congressman," said Gould.  "What do you have to say 
about the rumors that you are going to make the run?"

	Powers shook his head.  "I have said categorically that I no 
longer do marathons.  Stephanie, you should double check your sources."

	She made a face, lightly shaking her short blonde hair.  
"Congressman, don't play coy.  I'm talking about the governor's race."

	"Oh, that race."  Powers brightened, but then looked puzzled for 
a minute.  "Me?  Has someone been floating my name?  Why, I'm 
delighted, of course.  And flattered."

	"So you're going to run?"

	Powers shrugged.  "I have no plans to run.  This is the first 
I've heard of it."

	"So you're saying you categorically will not run?"

	"I'm saying that I haven't even thought about it, so I couldn't 
possibly have an opinion," said Powers disarmingly.  "Now if you'll 
excuse me...." he entered his office.

	"There's a Mr. Ross waiting for you in your inner office," said 
his receptionist.

	Powers nodded.  Actually, there was no less than a Mr. Toles and 
a Mr. Ross in his office.

	Ross was a large man, tall and a little heavy but by no means 
overweight.  His white hair was thinning on top but he was not nearly 
bald.  His most prominent feature, of course, was the substantial white 
beard that flowed from his chin.   He clutched a small pipe, unlit, in 
one of his hands.

	"Oh, there you are," said Toles.  "Mike, this is Willard Ross-"

	"Willard the Wizard," said Powers, shaking his hand, the one 
without the pipe.  "I've heard a lot about you."

	"Good things, I hope," said the man.  He put the pipe in his 
mouth.	

	"That's why you're here.  Tell me what you can do for me."

	Ross looked for the pipe, noticed it was in his mouth, took it 
out, tapped, it, and considered.  "Do you mind?" he said.

	"Not at all."

	"Many thanks."  They waited while Ross lit the pipe, and started 
puffing.  It was only after two smoke rings had emerged that he 
continued, looking satisfied.

	"You didn't tell me what you're in the market for," said the 
Wizard.  "But word on the street is that you're running for governor."

	"Go on," said Powers, nodding.

	"You're going to need somebody to plan your campaign strategy.  
Have you thought about what kind of ads you want?  What kind of 
polling?  What about focus groups?  How much are you going to campaign 
upstate?  Downstate?  Do you know what kind of voters you are going to 
target?  Do you know how to spend your money?  How do you plan to 
fundraise effectively?  How much will you agree to debate your 
opponents?  Under what terms?  Is debating a good or bad campaign 
strategy?  How does one debate?  How much should you expose yourself to 
the media?"

	"A lot of questions," Powers commented, grinning mirthlessly.  
"And you know the answers?"

	"To most of them, yes. Or I know the experts who do," said Ross.  
He stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "I'd be lying if I said I could 
pull it all off myself.  But with the right support people, it can 
happen.  My record speaks for itself."

	Powers turned a page in front of him.  "Your record is 
impressive.  You've helped a lot of candidates come from behind in 
races for governorships and for the US Senate.  That's why you're here.  
There's one thing, though, that I want to know about.  It concerns the 
last race you worked on, the one in Louisiana.  You worked for a 
candidate who had to deal with fliers that attacked his ethnicity.  The 
candidate won by a narrow margin, but there were rumors that these 
fliers were generated by your candidate to generate sympathy for 
himself.  What do you have to say about this?"

	Ross shrugged.  "I had no knowledge or involvement in any such an 
unethical scheme."  He paused, still stroking his beard.  "However, it 
does seem that whoever I work for seems to win, by one means or 
another."

	"That's what I want to hear," said Powers, getting up.  He shook 
Ross's hand.  "You're hired."

	Ross's eyebrows shot up.  "You're not interviewing anyone else?"

	"I knew who I wanted from the start, Will."

	"Call me Wizard."

 

	Outside the Congressman's inner office sat Niles and Marsten, 
Powers' legislative assistants.

	"What'd you suppose they're talking about in there?" Niles 
whispered conspiratorially.

	"Don't know.  Do you recognize that fellow he went in with?"

	Niles shook his head.

	Marsten looked around to see if anyone else was close by, and 
then he said, "I think he's some sort of campaign strategist."

	"Campaign strategist!  Then he is running for governor!"

	"Looks like it," said Marsten.

	Suddenly, the phone rang.  Niles picked it up, made a short 
conversation, and put the phone down.  "Gotta run," he said, getting up 
quickly.

	"What's up?"

	"That Housing and Urban Development paper is ready.  I'm going 
down to pick it up.  Listen, can you give the Congressman this report?" 
Niles indicated a black looseleaf on his desk.  "I've been working on 
it for nearly a week, and I'm anxious to get it to the Congressman."

	"Hey, I helped prepare it too, you know," said Marsten.

	"You did the footnotes," said Niles, making a face.  He dashed 
out, his suit jacket in hand.

	Nearly a minute later Congressman Powers emerged from his inner 
office.  He was shaking hands with Wizard Ross.

	"-glad to have you aboard, Wizard," the Congressman was saying.

	"Glad to be aboard," said the Wizard.  "I'll be in touch."

	When he had gone Marsten saw that his boss was smiling broadly.  
Things must be going well.

	"How are things going, Congressman?" said Marsten.

	"On schedule," said Powers, looking very pleased with himself.  
He looked on the desk.  "What's that you've got there?"

	"Oh, that's the HUD report you've been requesting.  I just 
finished it."

	Powers picked it up, started browsing through it.  "Interesting!  
Looks like a good piece of work."  He stopped, looking up.  "I thought 
Niles was working on it."

	"He helped with some of the smaller stuff, like the footnotes.  I 
provided the general direction for the report," said Marsten.

	But Powers was busy looking at the report.  "Look at this, Ace.  
Our district gets double the HUD money that neighboring districts do."

	"Double?  That's great!"

	Powers gave him a look.  "If we're getting double now without any 
effort, we should be getting triple.  It's raining government money out 
there, and we're holding a small cup instead of a giant vat."  Suddenly 
his attention was focused on Marsten again.  "Good work, John."

	"Why, thank you, Congressman!"



	Saturday was the day.  All of Powers' senior staffers were 
gathered in Power's home in suburban Virginia.  At the moment, however, 
all of them were upstairs, except for Niles and Marsten, who sat alone, 
in the basement.

	"I wonder why we're here," said Niles nervously.  He eyed a 
screen in the corner.  Were they going to watch home movies?

	"The Congressman said we were going to help on his campaign," 
said Marsten.

	"Yeah, I know, but we usually don't get included in big things," 
said Niles.

	"Maybe you don't," Marsten retorted.

	"Oh?  Then how come you're sitting down in the basement with me, 
while the others are upstairs?"

	At that moment Powers entered the basement.  If he heard their 
quarrel he gave no sign of it.

	"Gentlemen, the time has come," he said, his tone grave.

	Niles swallowed.  Marsten gulped.

	Powers ran his hand threw his full head of hair, and smiled.  
"It's an open secret that I'm running for governor of New York, is it 
not?"

	Niles nodded.

	"We've sort of gotten the idea, sir," said Marsten.

	"Well, I am.  But it still is a secret--sort of.  If anyone asks 
you, I'm officially undecided.  You dig?"

	They nodded, grinning at the Congressman's use of colloquialism.

	"Now, I'm going to need a lot of help to pull this campaign off.  
I expect to have a lot of volunteers, but I'll also need some... 
special help."

	Niles and Marsten exchanged glances.  What was he talking about?

	"Congressman?" said Marsten finally.  Was the Congressman going 
to ask them to do something illegal?

	Powers chuckled, as if sensing their thoughts.  "Gentlemen, ever 
hear of 'opposition research'?"

	The tension suddenly evaporated.  The legislative assistants 
breathed a short sigh of relief.

	"I'm going to be running against at least two opponents in the 
primary, and one in the general election.  One of the components of a 
good campaign is opposition research.  Do you gentlemen feel up to it?"

	They slowly nodded.  "But why us, sir?" Niles wanted to know.

	Powers grinned, putting an arm around him.  "You're my best 
researchers, Phil."  He took a deep breath.  The tricky part was coming 
up.  "But the sort of research I want you to do... well, I'll want you 
to go out into the field.  Get your hands dirty.  I realize you're not 
private investigators, but there will be some call for it.  The things 
you will do... will not be illegal, but could be embarrassing, 
politically, if discovered.  Kapesh?"

	They nodded.

	Powers also nodded, in approval.  "You can come in now."	

	Another man stepped in from an adjoining room.  He was a tall, 
heavyset man who had a no-nonsense expression firmly etched on his 
face.

	"This," said Powers, waiving his hand, "is Bruce Mason.  Bruce, 
these are the young men I was telling you about.  They will assist you 
in your work during the campaign."

	"Do they understand the condition?"  He spoke in a deep, gravelly 
voice.

	"Yes, gentlemen, you are to follow Mr. Mason's instructions 
implicitly.  Some of them may seem unusual but Mr. Mason knows what he 
is doing.  Mr. Mason is a private investigator who comes highly 
recommended to me, both for his integrity and his investigative 
ability.  Can you boys follow his instructions?"

	"Yes sir," they dutifully said.

	"That's good," said Powers.  "As I said before, secrecy is 
paramount.  If word of your... activities got out, I would be forced to 
deny any knowledge of it, of course.  For political reasons.  It could 
only end up hurting your own careers.  So, as I've said, secrecy is 
paramount."

	Seeing their gloomy expressions, Powers said, "Buck up!  I'm not 
asking you to blow up the UN.  Every campaign does this sort of work.  
Listen, when this is all over, I'm going to need some capable people to 
help me run the executive branch in Albany.  Those who do well in my 
campaign are undoubtedly going to be up for some senior positions," he 
said.

	That caused their smiles to return.  They were like puppies, 
easily pleased... and easily tamed.

	"Very good.  I'm glad we've got that all over with.  I'm going to 
go upstairs and call everyone down.  Bruce?"   Mason followed him.

	"What do you think that was all about?" Niles whispered.  "What 
do you think he's going to ask us to do?"

	"Don't know," Marsten mouthed in a low tone.  "But that Mason guy 
gives me the creeps.  He looks like a thug, not a P.I."

	"The Congressman says everyone does this," said Niles, grasping 
for straws.  "It can't be anything illegal."

	At that moment Powers returned, with others in tow.  There was 
Mason, of course, and Toles and Wizard Ross.  Mason seemed to be 
already acquainted with the others.

  	Wizard passed out velobound dossiers to everyone.  They contained 
pictures of prominent politicians along with an accompanying text.

	"Wizard," said Powers.  "Take it from here."

	Wizard grinned, standing in front of them.  "Welcome to the first 
of our top secret meetings."  He stooped down, pressing the PLAY button 
on a tape player before him.  The unmistakable theme from "Mission 
Impossible" started to blare from the speakers.  The Wizard spoke over 
the music.  "Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to stop 
Michael's opponents, and get him elected to the governorship.  If any 
of you are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge-"

	"Ross!" Powers barked.  His brow furled disapprovingly.

	"Oh?  Ok."  He quickly turned off the music.  "The purpose of 
this session is to study our opponents.  It is they who stand between 
us and victory.  As best as we're able to determine, there will be two 
opponents in the Democratic primary who will be opposing Mike.  On the 
Republican side there are also two individuals running for that 
nomination, and one of them will face off against us after their 
primary."

	"Anyone with serious potential?" said Toles.

	The Wizard held up a restraining finger.  "I'll take up the 
general election later.  First things first:  the Democratic primary 
challengers."  He clicked a switch, and the slidemaster next to him 
hummed to life, displaying a picture of a short, balding scowling man 
with unruly white hair jutting out from either side of his egg shaped 
skull.

	"This," said the Wizard, "is Milton Mandelbaum, Greedius 
Politicus.  For those of you who have been locked in a broom closet for 
the past ten years and don't recognize him, he's the Speaker of the New 
York State Assembly, and Michael's most serious opponent for the 
primary."

	The room was abuzz with comments.  "Does he really look like 
that?"  "He looks like a shrew."  "He looks like he ate a sour lemon."  
"Or about twenty of them."

	Wizard grinned.  "Naturally I was not adverse to selecting less 
than flattering portraits for this briefing.  We're not here to cuddle 
up to the man, you know.  Gentlemen, as I've indicated, this is to be 
our most dangerous primary opponent."  He looked down at the dossier he 
had prepared.

	"Mandelbaum, Milton.  55 years old, graduated with a B.A. from 
Yale University and subsequently a J.D. from Harvard Law.  Your school, 
I believe, Michael."

	"I take no responsibility for him," Powers grinned.

	"He graduated with honors from both, and even received Magna from 
Harvard.  That's quite hard to get, I'm told."	

	"I didn't think so," Powers commented.

	"He subsequently went to work for the prestigious firm of Weil, 
Gotshal, and Manges"

	"Wrangle, Mangle and Gotcha," Powers muttered.

	"Congressman?"

	"Nothing," he said, with an innocent smile.

	The Wizard continued.  "He became one of their best commercial 
litigators, and started making very heavy contributions to local 
Democratic figures.  Mandelbaum subsequently ran for the Assembly, won 
with little opposition, and has served there for nearly twenty years.    
When he came to the Assembly, he immediately became associated with the 
block of liberal "tax and spend" Democratic assemblymen from New York 
City who run the place.  And when I mean liberal, I mean LIBERAL!  He 
would have even put you to shame, Mike, as he was rated the biggest 
spender in the Assembly five years running.  He never met an 
appropriation that he didn't like.  After a few years of setting such a 
fine example for his fellow Assemblymen, Mandelbaum was appointed head 
of the Assembly Ways and Means Committee, arguably the most powerful 
committee in the assembly due to its tax writing power and jurisdiction 
over finance and the budget."

	"After the previous Speaker was forced to resign four years ago 
under dubious circumstances, a fight broke out among the New York City 
faction as to who they were going to nominate for speaker.  The choice 
was their's alone; the Republicans were (and are) a small minority, and 
upstate Democrats were far less numerous and powerful than their New 
York City counterparts."

	"The New York City machine was split between Mandelbaum and Mike 
Munez."

	"M&M versus M&M," Powers muttered.

	"What happened?" Toles asked.

	"Munez found himself accused of every crime in the book, 
everything spanning the range from jaywalking to child molestation," 
said the Wizard.  "None of the accusations were ever linked to 
Mandelbaum.  It was a beautifully orchestrated campaign-"

	"Why, did you work on it?" said Powers.

	The Wizard gave a hurt look.  "Munez eventually resigned in 
disgrace.  He was lucky he didn't go to jail."

	"Why should he be?  I'm sure Mandelbaum had nothing personal 
against him," said Powers philosophically.  "One position, two 
applicants, one shoved to the side, the other wins."

	"That's a very bloodless analysis, Congressman," said Wizard 
Ross.  "In any event, Mandelbaum manages the Assembly like a small 
tyranny.  He runs a tight ship, and dissidents are made to walk the 
plank-"

	"Let me guess:  committee chairmen who oppose him quickly lose 
their posts," said Powers.

	Wizard nodded.  "And more.  Then they subsequently find that in 
their supposedly safe districts they have to face a well-financed 
challenger in their primaries.  Several of the dissident incumbents 
have lost.  The rest have gotten the message." 

	"Nice fellow," Toles commented.  "Does he eat pirranahs for 
breakfast?"

	"There must be something nice about the fellow," Powers argued, 
half facetiously.

	"I've only been describing him as a politician.  Personally, he's 
said to be quite amiable, quite friendly," said the Wizard.  He paused 
a minute, as if he had said something funny.  "No, actually, I'm just 
joking.  Everyone hates him.  He doesn't seem to have any real friends.  
He's very cutting and to the quick, a person who really enjoys 
administering a tongue lashing, especially in front of the audience. In 
other words, he's a sorryful son of a bitch."

	"I can't wait for the debate."

	Wizard ignored him.  "He's very close to the special interests--
the big labor unions, mostly.  He makes sure their interests are 
satisfied, and in turn they bring out the support for him.  As I've 
already indicated he's been the biggest spender in state government in 
the past five years, and that's saying something, even for state 
government.  Anything or anyone he doesn't like he regulates to death, 
while anyone on his favorites list gets nifty tax breaks.  He is brutal 
in knocking out his enemies and generous in rewarding his friends, and 
has built up a strong base.  As a result we are facing an opponent who 
is not only at least as well financed as we are, but one who had the 
manpower of many of the unions to get the vote out."

	This Powers knew.  "What's the consensus about the frontrunner?"

	Wizard took a deep breath.  This was a delicate issue.  "It's 
Mandelbaum.  Hands down.  He has the financing, the big guns behind 
him, everything.  He's scared off just about every other serious 
challenger."

	Powers nodded.  "And my chances?"

	Wizard took another breath.  "I did a straw poll--my own, 
unscientific, with the help of two of my aides."

	"And?"

	"Most voters had no idea who either of you were, much less who 
they were going to vote for," said the Wizard.  

	"So we start on even ground," Powers muttered.  "Recommendation?"

	"Strike first, strike hard, strike early, strike often," said the 
Wizard simply.

	"That's my instincts too," said Powers.

	"He's going to try to get himself nominated at the state 
convention.  That won't prevent the primary from occurring, but it will 
make himself the presumptive nominee," said the Wizard.  "If we can't 
get ourselves nominated, we must, and I repeat we must at the least 
prevent him--or anyone--from being nominated at that convention.  I 
must warn you that he will in all probability try to destroy you, Mike, 
personally and professionally.  Neither side is going to take any 
prisoners here."

	"Very well," said Powers flatly.  "Next." 

	"And now, on to a lighter subject," said the Wizard, flipping 
through the dossier as he clicked the next slide forward.  "State 
Attorney General Alton J. Sampleton."  The picture on the screen was of 
a short, smiling man with nearly a full head of curly brown hair.  
"It's intriguing that we have a situation where the Attorney General of 
New York is running for the governorship, and that no one is taking him 
seriously, although whether that's a measure of Mandelbaum's strength, 
or Sampleton's weakness, I'm not sure."

	"Alton J. Sampleton.  Democrat.  44 years of age.  A graduate of 
Oberlin college with a degree in the liberal arts.  Embarked on not one 
but two tours of duty in the Peace Corp, one in Papua New Guinea, one 
in the Seychelles-"

	"Say what?" said Toles.

	"An island chain, in the south Pacific, I think," said the 
Wizard.

	"This guy actually chose to spend years of his life on a little 
island?" said Toles.

	"Beats the hell out of me too," Wizard Ross admitted.  "But wait, 
there's more.  He comes back, gets a law degree from Columbia-again, 
your school, Michael."

	"Undergraduate," said Powers.

	"Yes, well, while Mr. Mandelbaum was earning megabucks at Wrangle 
and Mangle--I know their nickname too!--Mr. Sampleton was working for 
legal services for the poor."

	"Including himself?" Toles sneered, familiar with the abysmal 
public service salaries.

	"He also worked for a number of other charities, including the 
National Food Bank, Helping Hand, Telecommunications for the Poor-"

	"Wait!  Back up," said Powers.  "What was that last one?"

	Wizard kept a straight face.  "He worked for an advocacy 
organization, one that lobbied state and local governments to provide 
adequate telecommunications for the disadvantaged."

	"What does that mean?  Modems for the poor?  Ham radios in 
welfare hotels?"

	"I'm not really certain," said the Wizard carefully.  "I imagine 
some of it was things along those lines.  Mr. Sampleton has 
consistently expressed concern that the so-called information 
superhighway will not have any "express ramps" for the poor.  And if 
they're left out, they may not be able to compete in the 21st century 
marketplace."

	"He wants cable TV and HBO for the slums," said Powers, with a 
starry look in his eyes.  "I think both we and the general public have 
seriously overestimated his sanity."

	"Well, keep in mind that Telecom for the Poor is only one group 
he's worked with, and the rest have been quite legit," said the Wizard.  
"But Sampleton's philanthropic odd-ball reputation has earned him a 
number of colorful names, some of which you see listed before you on 
page twelve of the report:  Simpleton, Goody Two Shoes, The Bleeding 
Heart, The Bleeder, Attorney General Moonbeam, Mush Head-"

	"Stop!" said Powers.  "That's it.  You've hit on his name."

	"Mush Head?"

	"Perfect," said Powers, giving the thumbs up sign.  "You may 
continue."

	"He ran for a seat on the New York City council, and won it by a 
close margin, as least the first time.  Then he quickly ran and won a 
race for the Assembly, where he immediately sponsored a number of do-
gooder bills.  He was the prime force, for example, behind the "Food 
Envelope" program-"

	"Food envelope?  I'm not familiar with that," said Toles.

	"It was a trial project, phased out shortly after it began," said 
Wizard Ross.  "Sampleton was trying to capitalize on the popularity of 
the food stamp program.  So he said that in addition to giving food 
stamps, the government should be giving out food envelopes--that is, 
large manilla envelopes filled with food."

	"So what happened?  Why was it cancelled?"

	"Have you ever tried to stuff a tomato into a manilla envelope?" 
asked the Wizard.  "Anyway, he also was on this telecommunications kick 
again.  He sponsored a program to give vouchers to the poor that could 
be used to invest in modems and satellite dishes and stuff like that.  
After six years of quietly going mad in the Assembly, Sampleton decided 
to run for A.G.  The frontrunner was Carnes-"

	"Oooh, Carnes," said Powers.

	"Who subsequently died during the election campaign, leaving 
Sampleton the winner simply by virtue of the fact that he was the only 
candidate remaining with a pulse," said the Wizard.

	"Once in office his madness went into remission, and he's been 
doing an ordinary if undistinguished job."

	"Surprising," Powers commented.

	"He still suffers from his earlier flaky reputation," said the 
Wizard.  "Once we get past Mandelbaum, he won't be any serious threat.  
His greatest strength, of course, is that he campaigns as Mr. Clean.  
And, as far as we've been able to discern, he is.  Clean, that is.  But 
as I've just said, I think Mr. Sampleton will be the least of our 
worries."

	Powers nodded his approval.  "Next."

	"A moment."  Wizard Ross took a deep drink of water.  "Talking is 
thirsty work.  Ok, next...  next we have the Republicans.  The 
Republican primary is shaping up to be almost as much of a dirty fight 
as the Democratic primary will be.  The leading candidate is a fellow 
named William Stratford."

	The slide machine clinked, and a grizzled, white-haired middle 
aged man appeared on the screen.	

	"If I had to describe Billy in one word, it would be rich.  
Filthy, stinking rich.  He was born into wealth.  He has a mansion, a 
yacht, summer homes (plural), horses, cars, servants... everything.  He 
is married to the former Lady Janet McCulky of-"

	"Lady McCulky?" said Powers.  "What did he do, marry Princess 
Di?"

	"He has a B.A. and a MBA from Harvard... again your school, 
Congressman."

	"Law school," Powers harrumphed.  "He probably bought his way in.  
Don't we have a Stratford Hall there?"  He paused.  "What else?"

	"Not much.  He's been a regular contributor to the Republicans, 
but we don't know much about his views, as he's never run for anything 
before.  While he's not known for the ruthlessness of Mandelbaum he 
does have money, a ton of it, and cannot be easily discounted.  He's 
probably going to be able to win the Republican primary."

	"You say probably."

	"The other candidate is far out of the mainstream."  The viewer 
clicked and the picture of a young man appeared on the screen.  
"William Dallen, Congressman from Duchess County."

	Powers groaned.  "I know this one.  Another nut."

	"But a nut of an altogether different sort," corrected the 
Wizard.  "This is no bleeder, ala Sampleton.  This guy is a committed 
conservative."  He ticked off issue positions on his fingers.  "Says he 
wants to cut taxes by a third.  Wants to fire government bureaucrats.  
He wants to bring back the gold standard-"

	"The gold standard!  What has he been smoking?" Toles wanted to 
know.

	"He wants full school choice.  He wants an amendment to the 
constitution making long term debt illegal.  And he wants to kick the 
UN out of New York."

	A gleam appeared in Powers' eyes.  "He sounds like he'd be the 
ideal candidate--to run against."

	"My thinking exactly," said the Wizard.  "What a pity we cannot 
influence the Republican primary."

	"Yes, a pity," said Powers quietly.  "He seems far the better of 
the two Bills."

	"And that's it," said Wizard Ross.

	"Yes, that is it.  This is what our quick, preliminary research 
has turned up.  Our number one task is to flesh this information out," 
said the Wizard, pointing to Niles and Marsten, who had been silent the 
entire time.  "It is my understanding that these gentlemen are to be 
our lead researchers.  Men, I command you to seek out any dirt, however 
small or insignificant you may think, on any of these men.  Your main 
focus for now should be on Mandelbaum, because if we don't get past 
him, we won't have anything else to worry about."

	"And while we're researching Mandelbaum?" said Niles.

	"We'll be running the campaign," said the Wizard smoothly.  "I 
already have worked over a preliminary list of campaign appearances, 
fundraisers, and strategy meetings we are going to need to have in the 
upcoming weeks."

	Powers nodded his approval.  "Then let us begin."



	Niles returned home to his small apartment, just four blocks east 
of Capitol Hill.  What a difference a few blocks made!  The grandeur of 
the lawns and museums of the Washington Mall was replaced by the 
grundge of the decayed buildings and littered streets in a borderline 
area next to the largest civilian war zone in the country--the 
southeastern corner of Washington D.C., just blocks from Capitol Hill.  
Army doctors worked in local emergency rooms to give them experience in 
dealing with gun shot wounds.  The sounds of sirens and gunfire were as 
commonly heard as the sounds of garbage trucks and buses--probably more 
common, in fact, due to the abysmal state of social services in the 
community.  It was a sad testimony to the fact that the Rich lived in 
their own, neatly manicured neighborhoods, while allowing the poor to 
die everyday in their own segregated areas.  Why didn't the government 
get off its back and inject some real social services into the 
community?  Niles shook his head sadly as he headed home.

	Niles did not live in this war zone but neither did he live very 
far from it.  Niles resided in an old, walkup pre-war tenement made of 
crumbling brick and filled to capacity with roaches and every other 
variety of bugs.  He had large ant traps laid everywhere, especially in 
a circle around his bed.

	He would have liked to live in a better neighborhood, but his job 
as a legislative assistant simply didn't pay very much.  For now, there 
was no alternative.

	But when he got in he saw that Marie was there.  Good.  She gave 
him a brief kiss.  "How was it?"

	Marie Monstar was pursuing a graduate degree in sociology at 
Georgetown.  A slim, attractive young woman in her mid 20's, she had a 
sharp mind and an even sharper social conscience.  She had met Niles at 
a school party nearly a year ago, and they had immediately clicked.  
They both had the same interests, the same goals: to improve society, 
he through politics, she through academic research.  Six months later 
she had moved in with him, although they still had not talked about 
marriage.

	"How was it?" said Niles, repeating her question.  He paused.  
"I'm not sure how to descibe it."

	"Is he or isn't he?"

	Niles paused again.  He had taken a vow not to tell anyone 
outside the campaign that Powers was running for governor.  "He is," 
said Niles quickly.  "But don't tell anyone.  And me and Marsten are 
going to be working on the campaign.  He promised us positions in 
Albany if things go well."

	Marie immediately lept up and hugged him.  "Philip, that's 
great!" she said.  Then she saw his dazed reaction.  "What's wrong?"

	"It's the post that I've been assigned that bothers me," Niles 
grimaced.

	"What post?"

	"He wants me to do opposition research."

	"So?"  Marie looked puzzled.  "What's wrong with that?"

	Niles' frown only grew deeper.  "Nothing.  I mean, you had to be 
there, to see it.  I'm going to be working under this thuggish looking 
guy who the Congressman says is a private investigator."

	"A private investigator?"  Marie blinked.  "What do you mean, 
'says'?"

	"I'm not sure," said Niles.  "He doesn't look like a private eye 
to me.  I get a bad feeling about him."

	"Did you talk to him?"

	"Well... no...."

	"Then give it a chance.  Don't judge people on appearances," said 
Marie.  "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were guilty of 
lookism."

	"Prejudging people based on appearances," said Niles dully.  
"Yeah, but when I think of opposition research, I think of people, 
sitting in libraries, going over papers... why do we need a private 
investigator?  We're not going to peek into people's bedrooms!"

	"I don't know," said Marie.  "Don't let it trouble you for now."

	"I mean, the Congressman said that we weren't going to do 
anything illegal," said Niles.

	"There, you see?" said Marie.  She gave Niles another kiss.

	"What was that for?"

	"You've hitched yourself to a rising star, Philip.  You're going 
to go very high, very quickly.  That I do predict," she said, staring 
at him admiringly.

	"Maybe," said Niles.  "But I still have a feeling that Mason 
spells trouble."	



	Powers caught an early shuttle back home.  One of the advantages 
of being a Congressman from New York was not having to tolerate a long 
commute.  Representatives from California had to travel six or seven 
hours in a cramped airplane to make their trip home, and daily 
shuttling back and forth from the West Coast was simply an 
impossibility.  Why would anyone want to be a Congressman from a 
distant state?

	The limo service met Powers promptly when he emerged from 
LaGuardia.  Powers looked up at the dark clouds, and smelled rain in 
the air.  This was New York in the spring.  But it was home.  Powers 
got into the car, and they started off.  The car got stuck in traffic, 
of course, but Powers spent the time productively, familiarizing 
himself with some of the briefings for the next day.  He didn't even 
notice it when the limo snaked into the familiar steel canyons of 
Lexington Avenue, before turning into the exclusive part of Park 
Avenue, in the East 60's.  This was the most expensive residential land 
space in the world, square foot for square foot.  For the price of 
Powers' penthouse condo he could easily have purchased a medium sized 
mansion in Connecticut.

	When Powers got home he gave Erin the obligatory hug and made his 
way to the outside patio, carrying a drink.  It was beginning to get 
dark now and the overcast sky was dimly fading.  Powers could see the 
bright lights gleaming from midtown.  There was one shiny area in the 
middle of it all which Powers recognized as the skating rink at 
Rockefeller center.  There would be no skating in April, of course.  
Hmmm....  He wondered if Rockefeller Center would be a good place to 
have a fundraiser.  Could he pull the proper strings?  Emmet Trumbull 
was said to be on close terms with the board of trustees....

	He was distracted from all these thoughts by a piercing shriek.  
"Daddy!"

	He knew who that was!  Powers put down his Scotch, and lifted his 
son up.  "What's happening, my little man!"

	The boy babbled on inconsequentially for several minutes, talking 
about his friends, his aptitude with sports, and his favorite 
television program, GI Joe.  Bobby loved GI Joe, and would act out the 
violent machinations of the main characters.  But Powers sensed that 
Bobby was eschewing a certain topic, one which seemed to be a tender 
subject.

	"And how is school?"

	Bobby made a face.

	"Well?"

	Bobby continued to frown.  "I hate it."

	"And why is that?"

	"It's boring.  The teachers make you do stupid stuff."  He looked 
up at Powers, as if challenging him to argue otherwise.

	But Powers just nodded sagely.  "Yes, it is stupid stuff."

	"Huh?"  The child's eyebrows went up.

	"School is garbage.  Your teachers are garbage.  They are not 
worthy of you."

	"Does that mean... I don't have to go to school?"

	Powers shook his head.

	"I didn't think so."  The boy was obviously crestfallen.

	"Bobby, you must learn that we often have to do stupid things in 
life in order to succeed."

	"You don't!"

	"I don't?  I sit around all day, in an uncomfortable suit wearing 
a long piece of cloth that people in the middle ages used to wipe their 
mouths with... a tie, Bobby, a tie....  and I sit in boring hearings 
and listen to idiots drowning on all day."

	"But you don't have to take orders!  Not from stupid people!"

	"Of course I do.  Bobby, have I told you about the Speaker of the 
House?"

	Bobby nodded.  "Dunkelhead?"

	Powers laughed.  "No, Dumbellhead."  The Speaker had been a 
former weightlifter in his earlier years.  "I have to listen to 
Dumbellhead, and do the stupid things he tells me."

	"Everything he tells you?"

	Powers thought a moment.  "All right, not everything.  But that's 
because I have power.  Do you want power?"

	"I am Powers!"

	"No, you know what I mean.  Do you want power?"

	The child nodded.

	"Then you have to work hard in school."

	"But I can't!"  

	"What's wrong?" Powers asked.

	He learned very quickly that Bobby was not doing well in school.  
It was obvious that the boy had ability, but things just weren't 
working well for him.  It was the fault of the teachers, obviously.

	"Tell you what, my boy," he said.  "Let me see what I can do to 
help."  He didn't elaborate, but the wheels in his mind immediately 
were set in motion.

	Later that evening, Powers, in a more relaxed mood, sat in front 
of his PC screen.  He was playing an advanced version of tackle 
football.  The CPU was hooked up to a big screen TV which was 
surrounded by large stereo speakers.  Powers guided his Thrustmaster 
joystick carefully.  On the screen Powers' character, a large beefy 
tackle, watched as the down began.

	"Hut one... hut two... hut three... hut!"

	The ball was quickly tossed to someone on the right, close to 
Powers.  He moved to intercept, hearing both the roar of the crowds and 
the rapid squish squish of the grass underneath the tipped points of 
his spiked athletic shoes.

	He gained quickly on his opposing number, and the ball carrier, 
looking back with fear in his eyes, darted left and then right.  But 
Powers tilted the joystick minutely but rapidly each time, taking care 
not to overshoot the target.  In a split second of time he came within 
closing distance of the target, which glowed red.  Powers 
simultaneously pressed hard on two buttons on the joystick.

	There was a large, gruff, tackling sound, and Powers saw his 
opponent crash to the ground, making a solid ooof! as he hit the turf.  
The crowds went wild.

	"Sometimes I think you missed your true calling," said a voice 
behind him.

	Powers clicked for an instant replay.

	"What can I do for you, Erin?"

	"What can I do for you, Erin?" she mimicked.  "You make me sound 
like one of your constituents."

	She reached over to give him a kiss.  He complied, but quickly 
turned back to his screen.

	"What fascinates you so much about your toys?"

	"This," said Powers, watching the tackle again in slow motion, 
"is no toy.  This is a powerful 886 CPU 400 megahertz local bus ram 
accelerated bitpatterned enhanced computational array system," said 
Powers.  "This little device is more powerful than any of the largest 
mainframes from the 1970's."

	"And you use it all for games."

	Powers clicked for a new down.  "And why not?"

	"And why always a game of violence?"

	The ball flew, and fumbled.  Powers clicked for another down.

	"It's not the violence, my dear.  It's the excitement from the 
competition."

	Erin sighed.  "Survival of the fittest.  Only the best 
surviving."

	"Precisely."

	"But isn't there more to life than that?"

	"Such as?"

	"Well, since I have your attention... there's a vote coming up on 
the environmental fund reauthorization, and the Greenleaf fund is 
proposing a moratorium on industrial development-"

	"Erin!"  That was the last thing that Powers wanted to hear 
about.  Why was Erin always harping on the birds and other wild 
critters?  What about people?  Why didn't she ever care about people?  
Powers had been accused of callously favoring special interest groups, 
but at least his special interest groups were composed of people!  When 
was the last time a chipmunk made a charitable donation to his 
campaign?

	"You promised you would listen!"

	"I will... but not tonight.  Catch me later this week.  I 
promise."	  Listening to the plight of the critters always gave him a 
headache.

	Erin looked disappointed.  "You mean it?"

	"I promise," Powers repeated.  "Hey, I'm a dedicated public 
servant.  Would I lie?"



	The next day Powers was back in Washington.  The House was 
debating changes in the structure of the Veterans Administration, but 
that alone would not have persuaded Powers to fly back so soon.  No, he 
had an important meeting, with the chairman of the Public Works and 
Transportation Committee.

	Fred Talmidge was a typical Congressman.  He come to this august 
body some twenty odd years earlier.  His obedience to the leadership 
had earned him a post on key committees, including Public Works and 
Transportation.  He had worked diligently for years, attending 
committee hearings, meeting with constituents, voting as the leadership 
told him to, and accepting contributions from worthy causes.  He was 
routinely reelected from his salamander shaped district, which the 
state assembly ratified while he had been chairman of the state 
assembly redistricting committee, and Talmidge had little concerns 
about having his terms limited.

	He quickly set about to accumulate power, first as the head of a 
subcommittee and then, four years ago, as head of the Public Works and 
Transportation Committee.  Public Works wasn't like foreign affairs, or 
defense, or judiciary; it rarely, if ever, made its way into the news.  
After all, the mundane appropriation of funds rarely attracted the 
public's interest; well, at least it didn't attract the general 
public's interest.  People wanted to read about foreign affairs with 
Russia, or judgeship nominations, or battles over a $5,000 grant for 
obscene art; hardly anyone was interested in the billions of dollars 
spent annually on worthy "demonstration" projects--bridges, roads, dams 
and the like. 

	Fred Talmidge was a committee chairman and he was quite 
comfortable, having reached what he judged to be the top of his 
profession.  Now he had the power; now other congressmen came to him to 
humbly ask for favors; now they did his bidding.

	And Michael Powers knew that.  Therefore it was with a subdued 
attitude that he approached Talmidge, a role that Powers found 
thoroughly unpleasant.

	They were at Crestan's, one of the most well-known beltway 
powerlunch cafes inside the beltway.  Politicians and lobbyists sitting 
at other tables frequently recognized each other; while prestigious, 
this was a place for public meetings only.

	Talmidge yawned as he sat opposite Powers.  This is what he liked 
best about being a politician:  having others take him out to lunch.  
He knew why Powers had brought him here, of course; and, while Talmidge 
was not particularly inclined to help Powers, he was loath to pass up 
the opportunity to have a free meal.  For one thing, the shrimp was 
reputed to be very good here.

	Powers cut into his souffle.  "So how's Betty?  The kids?"

	"Fine," said Talmidge, smiling genially.  He doubted that Powers 
even knew the names of his children, although, on second thought, 
perhaps he did; Powers was reputed to have an excellent staff who were 
thorough briefers.  

	"That was a masterful piece of work on the Transport 
Authorization Bill," Powers remarked.

	"Thanks," said Talmidge.  Masterful it was indeed.  The bill had 
been so laden down with special favors to the members that there had 
been some doubt as to whether it would get passed.  But Talmidge knew 
where the bodies were buried, and he also knew how to twist the 
appropriate arms.  Passage of legislation he sponsored was particularly 
important to him, for prestige purposes; but, more importantly, these 
bills delivered big construction projects in his district, which 
pleased his constituents.  Well, the important constituents.

	"I hear you got a lot of flack about the bridge," said Powers 
quietly.  "If I may say so, you handled that well."

	"Thanks," said Talmidge, biting into his shrimp.  The seafood 
here really was very good, just as he had remembered it.

	Powers had been referring to a $40 million dollar appropriation 
for a medium sized bridge that was to connect a small off-shore island 
with Talmidge's coastal California district.  The only problem was that 
there were only some forty odd inhabitants of the island.  Opponents 
has seized on that fact and started advertising that the bridge was "a 
million dollars per person", which of course was entirely unfair.  
Talmidge had characterized it as an investment, to generally reinforce 
the crumbling infrastructure of roads and bridges in southern 
California.

	He had made the argument with a straight face, and the bill had 
passed.  But Talmidge's argument in favor of the bill was hardly 
instrumental in its passage; if Talmidge had said that he needed the 
bridge to give pidgeons a place to roost on, it still would have 
passed.  The argument, only profferred for media consumption, was 
unimportant; what was important was that Talmidge had the chits, the 
backroom votes.  If anyone voted against his project Talmidge would 
remember, and never again would even the tiniest of demonstration 
projects grace his enemies' districts.  After all, they were taking a 
stand against pork, so they said; so why then would they want any in 
their own districts?

	Talmidge changed the subject.  "And what's new with you?  
Anything I should know about?"

	Powers paused, considering what to say.  "Nothing much," he said, 
shrugging.

	"There are some people who say that you're going to run for 
Governor of New York."

	Powers shrugged.  "Idle rumors."

	"Any truth to them?"

	Powers shrugged again.  "I haven't made up my mind."

	"To busy concentrating on House work, eh?  I understand."

	They ate their respective meals for a moment.  Then Powers said, 
"There is one thing."

	"Go on," said Talmidge, already knowing what it was about.

	"The Transportation Modernization Act."

	"A monorail for every upstate New York farmer," said Talmidge.  
But he had to smile, because it reminded him of a certain bridge.

	Powers looked hurt.  "I wouldn't have expected that, not from 
you.  Remember that subway you had built in L.A. that went nowhere?"

	For a moment Talmidge's expression darkened, and Powers thought 
he was going to take his comment in a bad way.  But then Talmidge just 
chuckled good naturedly.  That project had been even more audacious 
than the bridge. Congressmen from neighboring districts had wanted 
funding to build a subway in L.A.  As it turned out, that line of the 
subway linked the suburbs to... well, to other parts of the suburbs; 
nowhere was the downtown included in the loop.  As a result few (if 
any) people actually used the subway.  Talmidge had supported the 
project because contractors in his district supported the project; he 
never inquired too closely about the specifics.  Maybe he should have.  
But he had been very busy, at the time.  "We got mass transit for L.A., 
didn't we?"

	He stressed the "we".  If memory served, Powers had voted for 
that too.

	Powers nodded.  "And that's all I'm asking for New York."

	Talmidge slowly nodded as well.  "Ok.  Raise it in the next 
session, and-"

	"Fred, I need it now."

	Talmidge looked thoughtful.  "I see."

	"It's passed the subcommittee.  Can't you help?"

	Talmidge made a sorrowful face.  "I'm sorry, Michael.  I've got 
legislation from four subcommittees being thrown up at me, plus the 
Transportation reauthorizations that we still have to get to before the 
end of the session."

	"The markup and vote won't take-"

	"It will take.  It will distract from what we really have to get 
done."

	"Perhaps a contribution-"

	Talmidge lowered his voice.  "A contribution to my campaign is 
always welcome, Michael.  I never know when I might have a tough 
reelection bid.  But I still feel constrained to tell you that my 
answer would not change."

	Powers sighed.  This pig had agreed to be taken out to lunch, and 
yet he had known all along that he wasn't going to help.  Powers 
analyzed the situation quickly.  It was not that Talmidge was being 
hostile; he had helped Powers, in minor ways, in the past.  But he 
obviously had bigger fish to fry, projects from the big boys that had 
to get through before the end of the session.

	Powers immediately switched tactics as soon as that conclusion 
had sunk in.  There was no need to make an enemy here.  "Well, all I 
can do is ask," he said.  He gave a sheepish smile.  "Do me a favor; 
don't answer now.  Give it some thought, and if the situation changes 
and an opportunity arises to bring the bill up, will you let me know?"

	Talmidge couldn't believe his ears.  Powers seemed to be giving 
in too easily.  But he nodded with a friendly smile.  "Of course, Mike.  
I'm glad you're so quick to be reasonable about this."

	"I'm a reasonable kind of guy," said Powers genially.

	When he was governor of New York he wouldn't have to take this 
kind of crap.  He would squash fools like Talmidge like a bug.  Like a 
bug!

	Revenge could come at a later time.  The question for now was, 
what was he going to do now? 



	The next day Powers had a visitor to his Washington office.  A 
rather special visitor.

	Powers was on the phone with another Congressman, trying to swing 
support on his precious transportation bill.  Then his secretary buzzed 
him on his other line.

	"Hold a minute Bill, will you please?" he said, switching lines.  
"Yes?"

	"Sigfried Bos," said his secretary.

	"Tell him I'll call him back."

	"He's here, in your outer office."

	Powers' eyebrows immediately went up.  "Send him in."

	He punched up the other line just as his inner door opened.  
"Bill, have to call you back, bye." he said rapidly.  Then, to the 
newcomer, "Sigfried!  What a pleasant surprise.  The door, please."

	The door close.  The visitor, a short, balding man in a three 
piece suit, took a chair.  "Nice office you got here."

	"First time, isn't it," said Powers idly.  Then, "What brings you 
to Washington?"

	"I heard some things about the light rail project that has caused 
me concern."  Sigfried spoke in a low, gravely voice, his dark eyes 
burrowing into Powers'.

	"Such as?"

	"That it ain't coming up to full committee this year."

	Powers looked concerned.  Could Sigfried have a bug in his 
office?  It wasn't an idle thought.  Ever since he had met Sigfried 
Bos, four campaigns ago, it had become obvious that there was little 
that this man wasn't capable of.  He was the owner of the second 
largest construction company in the state of New York, worked hand in 
glove with the biggest construction unions in the state, and received a 
large piece of the project contracts that Powers got for New York.  In 
return Sigfried had been a generous contributor to his campaign, and 
had also provided services of an... ancillary nature.

	"There's no need for concern, Sigfried."

	"So when's it coming up for a vote?" he asked bluntly.

	Sigfried was shrewd, very shrewd.  Powers sighed, and gave a sad 
smile.  "I did talk to Talmidge, and he blew me off."

	"So?  Where does that leave us?"

	"There will be a vote on it before the August recess," said 
Powers firmly.

	"How can you say that?  What do you know that I don't?" said 
Sigfried.

	Powers hardened his tone.  Talmidge he would take this from.  
Sigfried he wouldn't.  "What I know is that by this time next year I 
will be the governor of New York, with the power to deliver a multiple 
of what I've been delivering for the past ten years."

	Sigfried nodded.  "And how are you going to get elected without 
the light rail project?"

	"If I have to make do without it, I will.  But don't count me out 
yet, Sigfried.  I'll get the bill to pass."

	"How?"

	Powers put his arm around Sigfried, guiding him out of the 
office.  "Just have faith in the legislative process."

	Sigfried looked cynically at him.

	"Listen, are you going to be in town for a while?  Try the 
Smithsonian.  Air and Space Museum.  Great fun.  And catch the National 
Zoo, while you're at it."

	Sigfried looked at him.  "Am I going to be hearing from you?"

	"Sooner than you think."  He guided Sigfried out the door and 
into the hallway, and at that point he lowered his voice.  "I'm going 
to be needing your resources for this campaign... all your resources... 
if you know what I mean."

	Sigfried nodded.  "I heard you had him pay you a visit.  All 
right.  He's yours.  But you better deliver."

	"I will," said Powers, smiling as he saw him off.  He quickly 
returned to his office, being careful not to let any concern show on 
his face.

	In his inner office, as if by magic, were the Wizard and Toles.

	"I take it you saw what transpired," said Powers calmly, as the 
Wizard closed the door behind him.

	"A visit by Siggy," said Toles.

	"An important contributor?" said Wizard Ross, with a small smile.

	Powers gave a small nod.  Ross, unlike Toles, was a new member of 
his inner circle.  But could he be trusted?  He would have to be, at 
least for now.  If he proved loyal, fine.  If not... Powers had a way 
of dealing with traitors.

	"Mr. Bos is an important contributor to my campaign," he said 
simply.

	"Who has more than a charitable interest in seeing this light 
rail go through," the Wizard noted astutely.

	Powers nodded.

	Toles shook his head.  "I've never seen him come down to 
Washington before, to the offices.  He must be really worried about the 
project."

	"He has reason to be," said Powers.  "Talmidge gave me the thumbs 
down, as you know."

	"I don't see how we can turn this," said Toles.  "If we try to 
turn the other members of the committee-"

	"They won't cross the chairman lightly," Powers said.  

	"What do you intend to do?" said the Wizard.  His specialty, 
after all, was campaigning, not the legislative process.

	Powers smiled.  "I'm going to go over his head."

	"To the Speaker?"  Toles was obviously confused.

	"To his constituents?"  The image of Powers appealing to 
Talmidges' Californian voters to help him pass his pork barrel project 
for New York was rather bizarre, to say the least.

	"To his most important constituent," Powers elaborated.

	"Oh?  Ohhhhh," said Toles, knowingly.



	"What are we doing here?" said Niles.

	"Research, Phil," said Marsten.  He and Niles were sitting on the 
fifth floor of the Library of Congress, with their chairs facing the 
elevators.

	"Don't play dumb," said Niles.  "Mr. Toles told us to bring our 
work here.  And to sit facing the elevators.  And to call him when she 
comes.  Why are we doing this?"

	"Maybe the boss wants us to keep tabs on what the committee staff 
is doing," said Marsten.

	"How are we keeping tabs on the committee staff by watching the 
staff director of the Public Works and Transportation Committee come to 
the library?  Are we supposed to follow her and see what books she 
draws on?"

	"Shhh, keep your voice down," said Marsten.  "How am I supposed 
to know?  I was told the same thing you were.  No why's, only what's."

	"And how do we even know she'll show up here, today?  On this 
particular floor?"  This whole assignment had Niles irritated.  This 
wasn't the job for a legislative assistant.

	"Mr. Toles says that she frequently comes here.  Likes libraries, 
or something... Whoa, there she is now!"

	A young lady in her mid 30's stepped out of an elevator and made 
her way to one of the terminals.  Marsten immediately walked to one of 
the wall phones, and made a discrete call.

	"We're supposed to clear out," said Marsten, returning.

	"What?  That's it?"

	"Come on."

	The young woman sat at the terminal for several minutes, typing 
in her searches.  After a while she printed her information, got up, 
and went over to one of the shelves.

	She looked over the call numbers, browsing rapidly from left to 
right... someone was blocking her view.  Looking up, she saw...

	"Congressman Powers!" said the young lady.

	"You look surprised to see me, Michele.  Is something wrong?"

	Her name was Michele Conner.  She had graduated magna cum laude 
from the University of California, Berkeley with a B.A. in political 
science, and had immediately landed a job as a legislative assistant in 
the office of her local congressman.  She had worked her way up from 
licking envelopes and answering calls to briefing her boss on 
substantive issues, especially in the area of the environment and 
health issues.

	Unfortunately, her congressman had been one of the unlucky 2.5% 
who had been defeated in his bid for reelection that year, and Conner 
went scrambling for a new job.  She realized she had been lucky to get 
a job on Public Works and Transportation, especially since she knew 
very little about either subject, except what she had read in the 
newspapers--her focus in school and in her work for the congressman 
having been on the Clean Air Act and OSHA laws.  But this was before 
the Clean Air Act drove the price of electricity sky-high.  Suddenly 
people were less interested in stopping acid rain, even if it did save 
a few fish living in isolated lakes, and the Clean Air movement went 
out of vogue for a few years

	Conner had started reading up on transportation when she realized 
that virtually no one was against it and it would always be a growth 
industry.  She mastered the subject very quickly and shortly thereafter 
became an expert in the field.  And then she attracted the attention of 
Chairman Talmidge.  Impressed by her skill, he had come to depend on 
her more and more over the course of the past four years, and two years 
ago he made her staff director, when the previous staff director had 
taken a position with the Speaker's office.

	Conner and Talmidge were reputed to be... close, and it seemed 
clear that at least on technical matters he was inclined to do as she 
advised.

	Conner blinked.  "I can't help but be surprised, Congressman.  I 
rarely see Members in the library."

	"This is the Library of Congress, isn't it?  I am a member of 
Congress, aren't I?  Seems only natural to me," said Powers, hefting a 
book.

	"What are you reading?"  She looked at the spine.  "An historical 
econometric analysis of the efficiency of turbine steam engines versus 
coal burners.  Very pertinent."

	"A bit of light reading," said Powers, giving a smile with all 
his teeth.  "How are you doing?"

	"Fine," she sighed.  "The Congressman's got me doing historical 
research as well.  Wants me to look into some of the dams that've been 
built with federal money."

	"What for?"

	"He's got an idea for some new projects, but there's some doubt 
about the worthiness.  He wants to see if there's some precedent that 
can back him up."

	"Was this really his idea?" said Powers, smiling slyly.

	"What do you mean?"

	Powers slowly put his hand on hers.  "I think he wants to build 
the dams, all right, but I think this research project was your idea."

	She didn't draw back from his touch, but neither did she overtly 
respond.  "Really?" she said, a little weakly.

	Powers gave a broad smile, letting his hand play over hers.  
"You're the brains behind most of this legislation.  You're a very 
interesting person."  He reached up closer, to whisper in her ear.  
"Very interesting.  I'd like to find out more about you."

	

	The following day Powers sat in his office, the Wizard and Toles 
at his side.  He sat watching his TV screen, which was keyed into CSPAN 
as he conversed on the phone.

	"Bob?  Are you ready?  Good," said Powers.  He looked over at 
Wizard Ross, who gave a thumbs up sign.  "Green for go."  And he hung 
up.

	All eyes turned to the television receiver in the corner.  The 
announcer said, "As part of our Road to the State House series, we now 
bring you live coverage from the Committee to elect Michael Powers 
Governor of New York."

	"We should have thought of a better name," Powers grimaced.

	"Shh!" said Toles.

	"You're telling me to shush?" said Powers, amazed.

	"-I want to introduce myself, my name is Bob Pringle."  The scene 
was an august conference room in the Roosevelt Hotel.  A thin, middle 
aged man sat behind a table, flanked by several other people who stood 
behind a banner reading "Michael Powers for Governor".  A small 
audience with signs reading "People for Powers" obediently stood to one 
side.

	"We've called this meeting to announce the formation of a 
committee to convince Congressman Powers to run for Governor of New 
York.  We think that New York needs new leadership, and his enormous 
contribution to the citizens-"

	"He's a good speaker," Wizard Ross commented.  "We should use him 
as a surrogate, on the campaign."  He tapped his pipe a bit, discretely 
emptying some flakes on the carpet, and then put the stem in his mouth.

	"-lead New York to new horizons, and Michael Powers is that man.  
We hope that we can convince him to run.  Now I will be available for 
questions."

	"A short text," Powers commented.

	"I wrote it myself," said the Wizard.  "Here we can afford to be 
short, and to the point.  He's not running for office, you are." 

	"Point well taken."

	The press was there in force, making Powers confident that the 
event would be picked up in the evening news.  The first question was 
from Stephanie Gould, who had asked Powers about his intentions only a 
few days earlier.  "Mr. Pringle, has Congressman Powers asked you to 
set up this committee?"

	"Stephanie, I'm glad you asked that-"

	"He should be, I prepared the answer for him," the Wizard 
grumbled.

	"-Congressman Powers, though a dear friend of many years, is not 
connected with this effort.  I and others have attempted to persuade 
him in private to make this race.  Now we're trying to reach him in 
other ways.  He has no knowledge, before this very minute, of this 
committee or this organization."

	"A direct lie?" Powers inquired.

	"He's vouching about your knowledge.  What is knowledge?  Let 
them prove knowledge," said the Wizard, stroking his beard 
thoughtfully.

	Another questioner asked, "How do you intend to persuade the 
Congressman to run?"

	"We're going to get thousands of New Yorkers to sign petitions, 
persuading him to run."

	"Ballot petitions?" the reporter inquired.

	"And why not?  That will only underscore the seriousness of our 
intent," said Pringle.

	There were a few more questions, but the meeting was pretty cut 
and dried after that.  Powers nodded approvingly as he pressed the mute 
button on his remote.  "Very good.  Very, very good."

	"I still don't understand the purpose of this committee 
business," said Toles.  "We've never pulled one of these stunts before.  
What's the purpose?"

	"There's a number of purposes," said the Wizard, never shy about 
sharing the wisdom of his work.

	"One, we drag out the process.  By dragging out the process we 
create suspense:  will he or won't he?  And that creates press 
attention."

	"It just makes him look indecisive," Toles grumbled.

	"Au contraire.  Mike looks like the perfect candidate--a 
reluctant one.  When I'm finished it will look as if he's been 
persuaded to enter the race, and only after a groundswell of public 
support has virtually forced him into it.  It makes him look 
statesmanlike, as opposed to being a typical weasely politician."

	"And two?"

	"That was two," said the Wizard.  "And three, this permits us to 
start setting up ballot petitions, network staff, and campaign 
capabilities early on, without attracting the wrong sort of attention.  
A pretty good set of reasons, if I don't say so myself."

	"You do.  But I'm not convinced."

	"Keep an open mind, Ace," said Powers.  "I like the way things 
are going, so far."

	"Speaking of the way things are going, how are things with a 
certain staff director in charge of choo-choo's, dams, and barges?" 
said Toles.

	Powers gave him a sharp glance.  "If you must know, I happened to 
run into her in the Library of Congress yesterday, and we had a 
fascinating discussion concerning... locomotion.  And I don't doubt 
that we won't take up the matter further at a later date," said Powers.  
He snapped his fingers.  "That reminds me.  I have to call Erin about 
the party next week."  He started dialing rapidly.

	Later that day, the draft committee's announcement was picked up 
by all the local newscasts, though it was not, of course, prominent 
enough to be in any of their lead stories.  Stephanie Gould reported it 
straight, but she couldn't resist noting that while the committee 
members might be ostensibly independent of Powers, Powers probably 
wasn't terribly displeased by their actions.

	The local ABC affiliate reported it much the same way, but with a 
little twist.  Their correspondent covering the event, Oxford Frame, 
had started nosing about, and couldn't seem to get an adequate answer 
to his question as to who was financing the committee.

	"Who are your donors, sir?" he said, in a clip after the meeting 
between him and Pringle.

	"All good volunteers, sir," said Pringle, rapidly getting out of 
the way, as the camera cut back to the studio.

	Wizard Ross, watching the coverage with his boss, clapped a hand 
on Powers' shoulder.  "There's always going to be a fly in the best of 
ointments."

	"Hm," said Powers noncommentally.



	The following Monday Powers found himself cornered in a Capital 
Hill hallway by none other than Michele Franswa, a short, darkhaired 
woman with a frown that could curdle milk.

	There weren't many women that Powers minded being cornered by, 
but Franswa was one of them.  One of the most powerful op-ed columnist 
for the New York Times, she had seemed to take an almost instinctual 
dislike for Powers when he first rose to the Time's attention, years 
ago.  She thought he was "slick" and she barely hid her dislike for 
him.  Powers, who also felt that people should express their true 
feelings whenever possible, didn't hide his feelings towards her 
either.

	"Mr. Powers!  What's this about your running for governor?"

	"I'm not," said Powers, puzzled.

	"This... this draft committee," she said, walking quickly to keep 
up with him.

	"Not my doing," he replied.

	She made a face.  "Do you expect the voters to believe that?"

	"I expect them to believe the truth," he said carefully.  He was 
fairly certain that she was recording the conversation, with a small 
recorder somewhere on her person.  Time to speak very, very carefully.

	"When will you announce?" she said.

	"I have no intention of running for Governor," said Powers.  
"When I speak in English, do you understand my words?"

	"Do you think you can beat Speaker Mandelbaum?"

	Powers stopped walking, so quickly in fact that she bumped into 
him.  He stared down at her, knocking on the wall next to her head.  
"Hello, is anyone home?  You are the fifteenth marvel of New York, do 
you know that?"

	"So you're definitely vowing that you will not run for governor?" 
she asked, staying persistantly on-subject.

	Powers paused.  "Now, I never said that."  He started walking 
again.



	The following day, this column appeared in the Times





	THE TWO-BIT SHUFFLE

Private Sentiments

By Michele Franswa



		I was intending to write a column about my son, Abbie.  
He's just lost another one of his baby teeth and he's going through one 
of those darling changes that leads to adulthood.  But then I read in 
the Times' excellent B Section coverage that a so-called independent 
committee had been set up to "persuade" Congressman Michael Powers to 
run for the governorship.  This is the same Congressman Powers who had 
money appropriated to build a road to nowhere, the same Congressman 
Powers whose ears are open to all the people--if all the people are the 
special interests in the construction industry.

		Now, it is clear to me that this committee is just a sham, 
an attempt to create false public support for the Congressman's run for 
office.  This is alarming because the governorship is the most 
important position in our state.  However, the other potential 
candidate, Milton Mandelbaum, is not much better.  Rather the most 
ethical candidate on the Democratic side is Alton Sampleton, the 
Attorney General.  His assistance to the poor and needy over the years 
has been documented time and time again, and it was only last week that 
he made another sizable contribution to the non-profit Granola Fund, 
which distributes fresh fruits and preservatives to the poor.

		New Yorkers should shop carefully for their next governor.  
Listen to the candidates speak, but listen with skeptical ears.

		A correction:  Last week it was reported in this column 
that Mr. Spock testified before a State Senate committee to say that 
breast feeding in public should be permitted.  That reference should be 
to Dr. Spock, not Mr. Spock.





	"Oh dear," said Powers, looking at his crumpled copy of the 
Times.

	"It seems she's giving Mandelbaum a guidebook on how to attack 
you," the Wizard responded.

	"The road to nowhere?  The Lake Rasco affair is old news.  I 
doubt she'll get much milage out of that.  Still, it is troubling.  I 
wish I could give her the Vulcan neck pinch, or something."  Powers 
smiled at the thought of her mistake.  "Mr. Spock testifying on breast 
feeding... what an idiot."

	"Still, I think it's time we modified your position a bit.  The 
next time you speak to a reporter, here's what I want you to say...."



	The next time occurred just a few minutes later, when Powers was 
on his way to the House gym.  Another reporter caught up with him, this 
time Oxford Frame, and he had a camera crew with him.

	"Congressman Powers!" he shouted, in case Powers hadn't seen him 
and his entourage.

	"Mr. Frame," said Powers.  "What can I do for you?"

	"Are you running for governor, sir?"

	Powers looked puzzled.  "Why no."  He kept walking.

	"But what about this 'draft Powers' committee?"

	"What about them?"

	"Will they persuade you to run?"

	Powers paused, took a deep breath, and looked as if he was 
considering the issue for the first time.  After all, the cameras were 
on him now.  "Well... I suppose if they got enough signatures to get my 
name on the ballot... that would show sustained interest on the part of 
the voters."

	"Does that mean you'd run if they get enough signatures to put 
your name on the ballot?"

	Powers smiled.  "If it happened, if New Yorkers show that they 
want me to run... I would be favorably inclined.  IF it happened," he 
repeated.  "That's a big if.  And now, if you'll excuse me...?" he 
casually walked away.

	The Wizard gave him an A for his performance when he saw it on 
the evening news.



	The next day all the flags on Capitol Hill were at half mast.  
For that very Tuesday was the day of the funeral of Congressman Stanley 
Bayren of Utah.

	He was buried in a cemetery in Washington D.C., with full 
ceremonial honors.  American flags fluttered in the breeze as the most 
powerful politicians on Capitol Hill stood by during the ceremony.

	Erin, dressed in black, was sniffling.

	"Dear, why are you crying?" Powers wanted to know.

	"It's all so sad," said Erin, wiping her face with a tissue.

	"Erin, you didn't even know him," said Powers calmly.

	"I did... I think I met him once, at one of your receptions.  A 
tall fellow, with a dark complexion?"

	"Dear, that was Congressman Durlan of Montana," said Powers 
simply.

	"Ohh."  She stopped sniffling.

	Powers eyed someone in the crowd.  All the members of the Public 
Works and Transportation Committee were here, of course, as well as 
most of the staff.  Including Michele Conner.

	"Excuse me, dear, I have to give something to a member of the 
committee staff."

	He calmly walked over to where she was standing, alone, near a 
small tree.

	"Congressman," she said, looking kind of dazed.

	"You look tired," said Powers.

	"I was up late last night.  Research," she said shortly.

	"Perhaps what you need is some rest," said Powers.  He reached 
over, handed her a small note.

	She opened it, looked at the typed message.  "You're 
propositioning me?  At a funeral?"

	"Don't pretend.  You and Stanley never got along well, and you 
knew it."

	"Well... that's true."  she looked around.  "Is this invitation 
for your wife as well?"

	Powers gave a small smile.  "No, it isn't....  Don't disappoint 
me.  I'll be waiting."  He turned, without looking back, and returned 
to Erin.

	"What was that all about?" she said.

	"The light rail bill," said Powers.

	"You never lose an opportunity to lobby for it, do you," she 
marvelled.

	"Dear, you know me so well," said Powers.



	"Two fundraisers in the same week?"  Powers was thunderstruck.  
"What idiot set that up?"

	"This idiot," said Wizard Ross, stepping into Powers' office.  
Toles stood to the side.

	"Where are we going to get the donors for two fundraisers?"

	"Easy," said Ross.  "You're running for governor.  You'll see a 
lot of people coming out of the woodwork to support you."

	"They'll just be giving money to Mandelbaum too, of course."

	"Of course," said Ross, waving his pipe.  "To hedge their bets.  
But why shouldn't you get a cut of the loot as well?"

	"And how will that go over in the press?  I can see it now:  
Congressman Powers feeding at the trough of special interests twice in 
one week!"

	"That's the beauty of it," said Ross.  "The fact that you are 
able to have two fundraisers in the same week demonstrates your 
political... ah... virility.  It helps establish you as a serious 
candidate.  At the same time these will be completely separate 
fundraisers.  In fact, you will only be showing up at one of them."

	"Indeed," said Powers, with raised eyebrows.  "People are going 
to donate money when I don't even bother to show up?  Do tell!"

	"Look.  The first fundraiser is yours--ostensibly for your 
reelection effort.  The only fact which may undermine that premise will 
be the presence of many contributors from outside your district.  But 
that's never stopped you before."

	"No, it never has.  And the other fundraiser?"

	"By the Committee to Draft Powers.  Not under your control, not 
at your request.  With the solemn pledge that the money raised is only 
to be used for a gubernatorial bid on your part."

	"I think I can live with that restriction," Powers said.

	"I thought you could."  The Wizard paused, and said, "On second 
thought, we'll have both fundraisers on the same day.  The same 
evening."

	"Are you crazy?  We'll have two half-empty halls!" said Powers.

	"Trust me," said the Wizard.  "I've done a little word of mouth, 
on your behalf, and convinced certain friends in the business community 
that your race is serious.  People still think Mandelbaum is going to 
win, but they're no longer so certain."

	"Why?"

	"Because they now know that I'm working for you," said the Wizard 
simply.  He puffed a series of smoke rings that lazily floated into the 
air.

	"Modest, aren't we?" said Toles.

	"Only the truth can I speak," said the Wizard.



	Powers looked good in his tux.  And he felt good too.  The 
turnout at the fundraiser was good.  There were upwards of 100 guests 
here, and according to the Wizard, who had been spying out the other 
fundraiser, there was nearly the same number there.

	Yes, the Wizard had certainly done his job well.  The news media 
was present in force, making issue of the unheard of tactic of 
convening two fundraisers at the same time in different places.  Powers 
had caught bits and pieces of the newscasts, and the reception had been 
overwhelmingly positive, as the Wizard had predicted; anyone capable of 
having two fully attended fundraisers at the same time certainly would 
be able to give Mandelbaum a run for his money.  Only a whiny reporter 
on the local ABC affiliate had made any bones about the "independent" 
work of the draft committee.

	Powers entered the main ballroom of the famous Ritz Carlton.  It 
had an exclusive Park Avenue address to its name, not far from the 
equally famous Helmsley Building.  The other fundraiser was being held 
at the somewhat less snazzy Roosevelt Hotel right next to Madison 
Square Garden.

	Powers started mixing with the crowd.  Many strangers greeted 
him.  Just where had the Wizard found all these people?

	And they all wanted his ear.  Congressman, what will your policy 
be on easement grants near the St. Lawrence Seaway?  More money for 
prisons?  What about taming the size of the state bureaucracy?  What 
was his position on expanding nutrition programs for lower income 
people?

	Powers tried to give vague answers, acutely aware that he himself 
had not worked out many of these issues yet.  But these were donors and 
not reporters, and they seemed generally satisfied by vague assurances.  
Many of them probably didn't expect Powers to make explicit commitments 
at this point; they just wanted to establish a connection, to get 
access when and if he was elected.  Powers knew the procedure quite 
well.

	But one question struck him.  "When are we going to see some 
movement on the light rail project?"

	Powers knew that voice.  Turning around to face his questioner, 
he said, "Sigfried!  How nice of you to show up.  Long time no see.  
Come, let's take a walk."  They casually strolled down a side corridor, 
at an artificially forced pace.

	"What's happening with the project, Michael?"

	Powers spoke through clenched teeth.  "Sigfried, I'm working on 
it.  But your coming and asking me every few days is not going to help.  
It's also not going to help if we're seen together in public too often 
or too frequently."

	"It seems that doing nothing too often or too frequently will not 
help either."

	"You're not doing 'nothing'.  Mason is helping, and his 
assistance is appreciated."

	"Perhaps he could assist in the light rail matter," said Sigfried 
carefully.

	Powers shook his head.  "Not this time.  Let me handle it.  Look, 
even if this bill doesn't pass, and I win the governorship, the stuff 
I'll be able to send your way then will make this thing look like 
chickenfeed."

	"I'm aware of that.  But at the same time, I also want this 
chickenfeed, Michael," said Sigfried levelly.

	"Message understood," said Powers.  Then Sigfried handed him an 
envelop.  "What's this?"

	"This" was a check, made out for $10,000 to the Powers campaign.

	"Only the beginning.  If you deliver," said Sigfried.  Then, 
turning away, he was gone.

	$10,000!  And that was only the tip of the iceberg.



	The next day the Wizard triumphantly entered Powers' office.  
"Well?"

	"Pretty good," said Powers, nodding.  "The combined take from 
both events was just over $400,000."

	"Pretty good?  For the position you're in, I think that's great!"  
The Wizard nodded approvingly, stroking his beard.

	"Just what position are we in?"  Powers wanted to know.

	"Underdog," said the Wizard, grinning.  He checked his pockets, 
looking for his pipe.

	"The only thing I can't figure out is how with a total of over 
500 heavy hitting guests that I only raised $400,000.  Shouldn't I have 
gotten a little more?"

	"Uh... not really."  The Wizard looked evasive.

	"What does not really mean?"  Powers sized him up.  "Ross?  What 
did you do!"

	The Wizard just said, "Now where did I put my pipe?" and 
continued to frisk himself.

	"Talk!"  Powers commanded.  "What happened, did you get some 
guests to attend both parties?"

	"No!"  Wizard Ross looked offended.  "Even the media might have 
seen through that."

	"Well?" Powers waited for an explanation.

	"Ah, found it," said Ross, fishing his pipe out with a little 
smile.  He turned to Powers.  "Well, let's just say that not all the 
guests at both functions were there to make donations."

	"Suits," said Powers, getting the meaning immediately.  "You 
hired suits to show up, just to swell the body count."

	"Well, I couldn't be certain how many people were going to show 
up, could I?" said Ross.  "It worked out so well that I didn't even 
have to bring in the reserve."

	"How many?"

	"In the reserve?" Wizard Ross looked confused.

	"How many were real guests?"

	"Oh."  Ross waved his hand.  "Upwards of 75%."

	"75%?  Fully one quarter of my guests were ringers?" The figure 
stunned Powers.  Still, it could have been worse.  For a moment Powers 
had wondered whether nearly all the people he had talked to that night 
had been hired actors.  So, it had been only one out of four.  And the 
money his campaign pocketed was certainly real enough.

	"Doesn't Sun Tzu advise one to obscure the battlefield in order 
to hide the true numbers of your forces?" said the Wizard.

	"Um... I guess," said Powers, caught off guard.  "All right, no 
harm done, but in the future, can you simply keep me informed as to 
what you're up to?"

	The Wizard shrugged.  "Do you want to be informed about every 
little detail?"

	"Just little details like packing my fundraiser with hired 
suits," said Powers lightly.



	Bracer's was one of the top restaurants inside the beltway.  It 
was inhabited by congressmen, diplomats, executive branch officials, 
lobbyists, and others seeking access to power.  It was a place where 
deals were made and broken.

	Powers hoped to get a deal made.  He sat at an empty table, and 
waited, looking at his watch.  She was only a few minutes late, perhaps 
she would still come...

	It had been a calculated risk.  Her mouth had said no, but her 
eyes had seemed to say yes....

	And then she appeared.  Michele Conner appeared, in a low cut 
radiant blue dressed that exposed all of her shoulders.

	"I'm glad you could come," Powers smiled, showing no lack of 
confidence.

	"I'm not sure even why I'm here," she said, looking around as she 
sat down.

	"Of course you do," said Powers.  "You're intrigued."

	She made a face.  "Did you have to choose such a public place?"

	Powers nodded.  "This way if we're spotted it will just look like 
a business meeting.  There are advantages to being obvious."

	"Like you were at the funeral."  She gave a sly smile.

	"I go after what I want," Powers said, grinning back at her.

	She leaned close to him.  "And what is it that you are after?"

	He smiled.  "That, my dear, should be obvious."



	Three hours later they staggered into his Capitol Hill office.  
It was ten o'clock at night, and no one was around.  Conner tripped, 
half sitting, half falling into Power's couch.  "Ooops!" she said 
hysterically.

	Powers laughed as he locked the door behind them.  Then he sat 
besides her on the couch.  He slowly but firmly started touching her 
arm, working his way up to her shoulder.

	"You're kind of cute," she smiled.  Michele had had a bit too 
much to drink (at Powers urging), and she seemed drowsy, half asleep.

	"I'm a politician," said Powers.  "I have a responsibility to be 
cute."  He let his hand run down her leg.  When his hand lingered at 
her thigh, however, she seemed to sober up a bit.

	"No," she said.  "I shouldn't be doing this."

	Powers swept his hands lazing across her body.  "Shouldn't do 
what?"

	"No," she said feebly, as he reached down to kiss her.  They 
embraced warmly.

	But she still mumbled dreamily,  "You're a married man."

	Powers reached over to turn off the light.  "I'm married to my 
work."



	A week and a half later, Powers remarked, "That was fast work."

	"You hired the best," said the Wizard.  "We're just about there.  
We'll have all the petitions we'll need to get you on the ballot."

	"Of course, we'll want much more than that."

	"Of course," said the Wizard.  "I'd like to have at least 150% of 
the number that we need.  But once we cross the 100% threshold you can 
announce, if you like."

	"Should I?"

	Wizard frowned, biting his lip.  "Not sure.  We've been dragging 
this out, and I think that's been good, in a way.  But I think there 
are dangers in dragging it out too long.  Still, we may want to milk 
this for just a little bit longer...."

	The press duly took note when the draft committee acquired enough 
signatures to get Powers on the ballot.  If Powers had been hounded by 
the press before, he was absolutely overwhelmed by them now.  They 
followed him around Capitol Hill like a pack of dogs chasing a crunchy 
treat, barking and yelping at every turn.  "Mr. Powers!"  "Sir, when 
are you declaring?"  "Do you think you can beat Speaker Mandelbaum?"  
"Are you going to declare this week?"  "Does your family support your 
candidacy?"  "Can you make a statement?"

	And finally Powers turned to them and answered that last, "Yes, I 
can.  I have an announcement to make."

	The reporters all looked around.  Here, in the hallway outside 
the House cafeteria, news was about to be made!

	"Yes, yes," said one of the reporters.

	"I wish to announce... that I will be making an announcement, at 
the Roosevelt hotel, before the Committee, tomorrow, at 4 PM," said 
Powers.

	"Oh..." they collectively exhaled.  "Can't you tell us now?"

	"Yes," said Powers.

	They all visibly brightened.

	"I could tell you... but I'm not going to," he teased, walking 
off.



	All the camera crews were there.  Local and national press 
services were present.  The audience had been packed with Powers 
partisans, mostly members of Powers' local district offices and their 
friends and family.  Reporters were huddled in the back, pacing back 
and forth next to their camera crews, conferring to each other.

	"Do you think he's finally going to do it?" said Stephanie Gould.

	"Probably," said Oxford Frame.  "And about time, too."

	"What chance does he have against Mandelbaum?  He's the twenty 
ton heavy truck in this race."

	"He probably doesn't expect to win," said Frame.  "He's just 
doing this to increase his name recognition for a future race."

	"But what if he's crushed?  That could damage his career too."

	"That it could," said Frame, with a wicked smile.

	Meanwhile, to the side of the audience Powers stood, fretting.  
"Are they all here?" he asked, looking around a bit nervously.  "How do 
I look?  Are we on schedule?"

	"Yes, fine, and right on time," said the Wizard, looking a little 
distracted himself.  "Where's Erin?"

	"Here I am," she said, materializing at Powers' elbow.  "Although 
I don't see what all the fuss is about.  He's just going to-"

	The reporters looked about, sensing a whiff of news.  Boom mikes 
were immediately trained on them.

	Powers put a restraining hand over her mouth.  "Dear, no need to 
spoil the moment."  He looked around, as if waiting for a sign.  Toles, 
standing in the background, gave him a thumbs up.  They were ready.

	Bob Pringle stepped forward.  He was the advance man.  As he 
stepped up to the podium the murmur of the crowd dropped to a whisper.

	"I want to thank everyone for showing up today on such short 
notice.  As you know, we've been working furiously over the past few 
weeks to persuade Congressman Powers to run for governor.  We've put in 
a lot of time and effort, and a lot of hard work.  Last week at a 
hastily put together fundraiser we raised over $300,000 thousand 
dollars!  But more importantly has been the efforts of you, the 
volunteers.  We've seen a groundswell of support around the idea of 
pushing Mike into the governor's seat.  And now, as of only yesterday, 
I am proud to announce that we've acquired enough signatures to put 
Mike on the ballot in every county in the state!"

	The audience cheered, waving and whistling loudly.  They kept 
this up for a good minute or two, despite Bob's attempt to dampen them 
down.  Then, at the appropriate time, Toles made a subtle gesture with 
his hand, and the room went quiet.

	"And now I'm told that our candidate, Congressman Powers, has a 
few words he'd like to say himself."

	The crowd roared again as Powers took the podium.  He was happy 
to note that the cameras were covering it all.  Erin stood behind him, 
smiling serenely.  The Wizard was nowhere to be seen.

	"Thank you," said Powers.  Then he said it again, when the crowd 
made no signs of quieting down.  "Thank you," he said again, smiling 
broadly.

	He glanced down at Toles.  Toles quietly rubbed his hands 
together.  The excitement slowly abated.

	"Thank you," said Powers, for the third time.  He cleared his 
throat.  "I want to extend my deepest thanks to all of you.  You come 
from all walks of life, and all of you have volunteered your free time 
to try to persuade me to run for governor.  I find that very touching.  
I have never sought the office of governor... and nor do I seek it 
now."

	An astonished "oooh" ripped through the crowd.

	"What's he up to?" Stephanie Gould hissed.

	"Nevertheless your devotion and effort have touched me.  I was 
stunned to see how many New Yorkers want me to run.  I haven't thought 
it all through, and yet I can't lightly ignore the will of the voters."  
He paused.  "Therefore it is my decision to actively consider the race 
for governor.  In one week's time I will return, to give you my answer.  
That is my solution."

	The crowd, on cue, went up in cheers.  Erin, moving in as she was 
instructed, gave Powers a quick hug as flashbulbs popped.  The crowd 
was whipped up into a frenzy.

	That evening, Powers sat with Toles and the Wizard in his 
district office on East 72nd street, watching the evening news.

	"-the crowd went wild when Congressman Powers hinted he was going 
to announce the following week-" came Stephanie Gould's voice.  The 
scene shifted to the cheering audience of Powers partisans.

	Then the scene returned to Gould in the newsroom.  "It seems that 
Powers had a strong base of support.  Whether that will translate into 
enough to defeat Speaker Mandelbaum is unclear, but what is clear is 
that the Congressman is going to give him a run for his money."

	"Perfect," said the Wizard, giving a thumbs up sign.  "Perfecto.  
I couldn't have written it any better myself.  Turn to channel four."

	NBC was only slightly off-synchronization with CBS, and was still 
in the middle of airing the Powers story.  "The crowd was cheering 
Powers on as he said he was going to delay making his announcement 
another week," said Oxford Frame.  "What is obvious is that Congressman 
Powers is trying to drag this out, to get as much good publicity as 
possible.  But this staged event may not be enough to counter Speaker 
Mandelbaum's forces, which have a genuine base of support in the 
community.  We can only hope that this is the Congressman's last 
"announcement to announce" party, and that he will quickly get down to 
the substantive issues facing our state.  This is Oxford Frame, NBC 
News."

	"Could we have him killed?" said Powers savagely.

	The Wizard shook his head.  "It wouldn't be worth it.  Too much 
paperwork.  Ace, what news?"

	Toles had been flipping around the other channels on a small TV 
set in the corner.  "Mostly positive--the independent networks gave 
good coverage, and ABC was ok.  We'll have to wait and see what Fox 
does, though I'm betting it will be good."

	"And what about NBC?" Powers wanted to know.

	"Even the best soup has a fly in it," said the Wizard.  "And 
tonight was class A chicken soup.  As our friend Oxford said, we just 
bought ourselves some good press."



	Powers returned to his New York penthouse that night, tired but 
relatively content.  The day hadn't gone badly, not badly at all.  He 
had had a good dinner with Erin, who had enjoyed the festivities.

	"But I still don't understand why you created all that hoopla 
just to tell them when you were going to tell them."

	"That hoopla, dear, as you call it, was the entire purpose of it.  
Just think, dear, free air time!  Supplied courtesy of all the major 
networks.  I have to do something to justify that."

	"So you cooked up a news story."

	"Exactly.  And they bought it," said Powers, beaming.  He looked 
over at Bobby, who seemed to be picking at his food.  "What's up, 
champ?"

	"Nothing," said the child sullenly.

	"Bobby got another D on one of his tests," said Erin quietly.

	Powers looked concerned.  His child was no dummy!  What was going 
on here?  "What about that tutor I got for him?"

	"I don't know," said Erin, looking worried.

	"Bobby?  Bobby, look at me," said Powers.

	The child looked up.  "What's happening with Mr. Elders?" said 
Powers.  "Is he doing a good job?"

	"I don't know."

	"Is he not explaining things clearly enough?"

	Bobby shrugged his shoulders.

	Powers sighed.  "That must be it.  The man comes recommended to 
me from a sitting deputy secretary of education.  He has not one but 
two Ph.D.'s in education, one of them from Harvard.  Yet he can't teach 
a log how to roll."  He looked quickly at his son.  "I don't blame you, 
son.  I blame myself, for picking this idiot."

	"What are we going to do?" said Erin.

	Powers frowned.  "Have you tried talking to his teachers?  
They're obviously being too hard on the boy."

	Erin nodded.  "They say he has trouble paying attention-"

	"Classic," Powers nodded.  "Deflecting the blame, putting it on 
the pupil."  He looked hard into space for a moment.  Then he relaxed, 
and nodded, mostly to himself.

	"What?" said Erin.  "What are you going to do?"

	"I'll handle it," said Powers quietly.

	"What?  With all your work for your election-"

	"I'll make time.  I'll handle it."  He turned to Bobby.  "Bobby, 
I'm going to get you a new tutor.  One who's going to tell you the 
things you really need to know, one who will make sure you get good 
grades in school, not like this current egghead I found.  Ok?"

	The child perked up.  "Ok."

	"There, that's my boy," said Powers, patting him on the head.  
"It's not your fault.  If there is a problem, it's that you're too good 
for them.  Their teaching methods don't work because they are geared 
for morons."

	"Morons!," the child chuckled.

	"You got it," said Powers.  He turned to Erin.

	"Mike, if now is a good time...."

	"Not tonight honey, I'm too tired for that," said Powers.

	She cast a quick glance at Bobby, who seemed to have ignored the 
comment.  "I was talking about the Greenleaf proposal-"

	"Oh, that.  I'm too tired for that too."

	"You promised to listen!"

	"Not now.  I have a big issues meeting tomorrow, and I can't be 
distracted."

	"If not now, then when?"  She was adamant.

	"Uh...."

	"Set a date.  Tell me a day, and a time.  Tomorrow?  After your 
meeting?"

	Powers reluctantly nodded.  "Anytime after that.  Catch me then."

	"Ok," said Erin, somewhat satisfied.  "Honestly, talking with you 
about politics is like pulling teeth."

	"I hear about politics all day every day.  I don't have to be 
lobbied in my very own home."



	The next day Powers and his top advisers gathered in his Capitol 
Hill office to discuss issues.  Every candidate had to take a stand on 
the issues, something Powers hated to do.  Why the need to take a stand 
on the issues at all?  Most of the voters weren't concerned about 
issues; they wanted constituent services, perks and pork.  Not the 
biotechnology or the Bosnia policy.	

	"Ok," said the Wizard, clapping his hands.  He passed out a bunch 
of velobinders to the assembled staff.

	"What's this?" said Powers curiously.

	"This," said the Wizard, "is an issues briefing describing 
matters of importance to New Yorkers."

	"All New Yorkers?" said Powers curiously.

	"No.  Only the ones we need to assemble a winning coalition," 
said Wizard Ross. "You can't be all things to all people.  But you can 
be many things for 51% of them.  I commissioned this study by Pierson 
Associates."

	"Pierson?  Never heard of them," Powers frowned.

	"No reason you would have," said Ross.  "Except that their 
briefings have contributed to the electoral victories of half a dozen 
senatorial and gubernatorial candidates in the last two years."

	"What do they do?" said Toles.

	"They get together focus groups, you see, that represent the 
constituent groups that are somewhat supportive of or have the 
potential to lean towards their candidate.  They're not as interested 
in a candidate's bedrock base of support, mind you; they already know 
the candidate has that bloc in his pocket.  It's the uncommitted middle 
they're after."

	"Makes sense," Powers said.

	"Well, as soon as I took this job, I commissioned this little 
study-"

	"How much did this little study cost?" Powers wanted to know.

	"$35,000," said Ross.  He noticed Powers' darkening expression, 
and immediately looked defensive.  "I did it on the cheap!  After we're 
done, you decide whether the money was well spent." 

	Tension filled the air for a moment.  Powers didn't like Ross 
acting on his own like that.  But after a moment Powers merely said, 
"Continue."

	"Pierson put the focus groups together with your candidacy in 
mind, as I instructed them.  If you turn to appendix A, you'll see who 
they are."

	Powers read from the back.  "Blue collar union workers... 
minorities... artists...  young people... women... abortion rights 
activists... teachers... bureaucrats... gays... senior citizens... 
environmentalists... consumer advocates... social workers...."  Powers 
nodded his approval.  "But aren't these groups already inclined to vote 
for me?"

	"In the general election, yes.  But you forget, we have the 
primary to get through."

	"I didn't forget."

	"The problem is that you and Mandelbaum draw on the same natural 
constituencies.  You've got to distinguish yourself from him."

	"How do I do that?" said Powers.

	"By understanding what this election is all about."  Wizard Ross 
stood to the side of a large chalk board.  "And this is what this 
election is about."  He flipped over the chalk board.



	GREED



	"This is an election about satisfying wants.  This is an election 
about promising more goodies to more interest groups than the other 
side.  You've got to out-pander the opposition.  You've got to do such 
a good job of appealing to these different groups that they will want 
to support you over Mandelbaum, no matter how formidable he may seem."

	"A tall order," Powers commented.

	"Which is why you hired the best," Wizard Ross reminded him.

	Powers was getting a little tired about this bravado.  And he was 
more than a little irked about the continued unauthorized expenditures 
of campaign funds.

	"If I hired the best, I should be the winner," said Powers.  
"What do you say to putting your money where your mouth is?"

	"What do you mean?" said Ross, looking puzzled, perhaps for the 
first time in recent memory.

	"I mean if we win, if I get elected, I'll pay you double what I 
promised."

	"And if you lose?"  But the Wizard already had a sinking feeling 
in his stomach.

	"Half," said Ross.

	"You know, one man can't determine the outcome of a race by 
himself," said the Wizard quickly.

	"He can if he's the best," said Powers evenly.  "Isn't that what 
I hired?"

	Wizard Ross licked his lips.  All eyes were on him.  Why did 
Powers have to do this publically?  And then he realized that this was 
Powers' revenge, getting even with him for spending the money on the 
study without his authorization.  He nodded, realizing what he had to 
do.  Well, better to put a good face on it.  "I agree," said the 
Wizard.  "I have no doubts as to your victory."

	"Good," said Powers.  "Incentive pay.  That should be a plank in 
my campaign platform."  He clapped his hands together.  "Now, let's get 
down to issues, shall we?"

	The Wizard, in a bit of a daze (for even he lost some of the 
races he had worked on), wondered how he allowed himself to be talked 
into this bet.  But he quickly clamped down, and continued crisply, as 
if nothing had happened.

	"Economic issues," said Wizard Ross.  "Those are the easiest.  
You support more spending on the environment.  You support spending for 
purchasing parklands, spending for pollutant retardant technologies, 
spending for waste site cleanups, spending for expanding the 
environmental bureaucracy, spending for recycling-"

	"Spending for recycling?" said Toles.  "That costs money?"

	The Wizard chuckled.  "Of course.  It costs a hell of a lot more 
than it takes in.  All that cracked glass, rusting cans, and rotting 
piles of newspaper... they have trouble finding people to take it away 
for nothing.  But it's politically popular, so that's all that's 
important."

	"Where was I?" he said.  "Ah, yes.  Spending.  Spending on health 
care, spending on family planning, spending on railroad and subway 
subsidies, spending on schools, spending on highways, spending on 
jails, spending on rehabilitation, spending on the homeless, spending 
on job training, spending on drug treatment, spending on midnight 
basketball youth leagues-"

	"Pardon me for interrupting again," said Toles.  "But isn't Mike 
going to look awfully foolish reading a long wish list like that?"

	The Wizard gave a look of pure scorn, as if to say, "You idiot."  
But he only said, "Of course the Congressman is not going to list these 
sequentially. I just did, but that was for the purpose of brevity.  He 
will endorse all these goals, but selectively.  Drug treatment at 
homeless shelters.  Job training in the slums.  Marine welfare programs 
for fishermen on the wharfs, that sort of thing.  This way he won't 
obviously appear to be such a big spender.  He won't be bragging to the 
homeless how much he's going to spend on the Long Island Railroad, or 
to the fishermen how much he's going to spend for abortion services.  
The appeals will be selective, even surgical.  That's why I brought 
these gentlemen with me."

	He indicated the people seated behind him.  "Mr. Laker and Mr. 
Taney are speechwriters, the best in the business.  And Mr. Jones is a 
political demographer with degrees in psychology and sociology." 

	"Now, if I may continue?  Where was I?  Ah, yes, spending.  Mike 
will support spending on libraries, spending on scholarships, spending 
on the state and city university system, spending on the local PBS 
stations, spending on state buildings, spending on small business 
subsidies, spending on state pensions, spending on the arts... you get 
the picture.  The entire spending list is attached as Appendix B, pages 
one through twenty two, with an index indicating which spending program 
favors which interest group."

	"Do I stand for anything else besides spending?" said Powers, 
obviously amused.

	"Of course!" said the Wizard.  "You support a woman's right to 
choose-"

	"To vote for me," Powers grinned.

	"You support the death penalty-"

	"Death on both ends," Powers commented approvingly.  "Wait a 
minute, I thought that studies show that the death penalty is no 
deterrent."

	"It isn't." said the Wizard.  "I never pretended to be arguing 
public policy here.  I'm just telling you what will get you elected."

	"Oh.  Please continue."

	"You support term limits-"

	"Wait a minute.  What if I want more than two terms?" said 
Powers, suddenly concerned.

	"Credit me with a little forethought," said the Wizard.  "You 
support term limits, but only by constitutional convention.  Do you 
have any idea what that requires?"

	Powers admitted he didn't.

	"Well, take my word for it, there's a greater likelihood of your 
tenure ending by an asteroid crashing into Albany then there is by term 
limits enacted by a constitutional convention."

	Powers nodded.  "I like it."

	"I thought you would," said the Wizard smugly.

	"But wait, what about the budget?  There's no getting around the 
fact that I am making all these spending promises.  Someone's going to 
figure out that it doesn't add up.  What am I going to do, raise 
taxes?"

	"Probably," said the Wizard, shrugging.  "But that's not what 
you'll say.  You'll say that you'll save revenues by cutting the fat 
from state government, by making it more efficient."

	"Will anyone believe that?" said Powers skeptically.

	"They will if you practice saying it with a straight face," said 
the Wizard.  "I've also taken the liberty of putting a speech coach on 
the payroll.  You'll be working with her later."

	"Well...."

	"Take my word for it.  No one likes taxes increases, not even 
most Democrats.  The only other alternative is to announce you're going 
to cut some programs.  And every time you announce you're going to a 
cut a program, you lose a piece of a constituency.  Why go through all 
the hassle when you can get away with a simple lie?" said the Wizard 
reasonably.

	"Makes sense to me," said Powers, considering.

	Powers paused for a moment, and then nodded.  "And then there is 
your foreign policy.  You're against the occupation in Northern 
Ireland.  You're appalled by the military junta in Nigeria, and think 
we should increase assistance to Chad-"

	"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," said Powers.  "Time out.  I'm 
running for governor of New York, not Senator.  I have no say over 
foreign policy."

	"So what?" said the Wizard.  "I once knew a guy running for water 
commissioner who came out in favor of the Gulf War."

	"What happened to him?" Toles asked.

	"He won, because he distinguished himself from the other 
candidates, who were hopelessly bland," said the Wizard.  "Most people 
have no idea what it is that the governor does or does not do.  Even 
the few who understand what you're running for will like you more if 
you support the same foreign policy they do, even though they 
understand that you are powerless to effect change in that area.  Don't 
you see?  That's why you're against Northern Ireland, to get the 
sympathy of the Irish-"

	"And what of the British?" Toles wanted to know.

	The Wizard waved his hand dismissively.  "They all moved to 
Canada a long time ago.  You supported increased aid to Africa because 
that's what blacks voters want.  You support increased aid to Israel 
because that's what Jewish voters want.  We'll support a variety of 
programs, including a sister cityship with Cape Town, an independence 
referendum for Puerto Rico-"

	"They just had one!" said Powers.

	"Let them have another," said Wizard Ross.  "Let them have twenty 
gross.  Say, what do you think about a fact finding trip to Nairobi?  
Dublin?  How about Tel Aviv?"

	Powers shook his head.  "It might be a good vote getter but I 
think my efforts are best focused at home."

	"Are you sure?  When David Dinkins was running for reelection as 
Mayor of New York, he put on a yarmulke and hightailed it to Israel," 
said Wizard Ross.

	"And he lost," Powers noted.

	"So he did, but despite the trip, not because of it," said the 
Wizard.  "All right, where was I...." he checked his list.  "Making the 
UN more respectful of Israel, increasing aid to Eastern Europe...."

	"What about Cuba?" said Toles.  "Getting the U.S. out of 
Guantanamo Bay?"

	The Wizard shook his head.  "The Cubans in America like our base 
there.  They want us to stay in."

	"Oh.  Then I think we should stay in too," said Powers, quickly 
reformulating his policy position.

	"Right.  But look at the broader issue.  Who cares about the 
Cubans?  Most New York hispanics are Puerto Rican, and we should be 
focusing on how to better pander to them," said Wizard Ross.

	"Sorry."

	A thought struck Ross.  "Boss, can you speak Spanish?"

	Powers shook his head.  "I know a little French...."

	"Remind me again when you run for Mayor of Paris," said the 
Wizard dryly.  "As of right now you speak Spanish, get it?"

	"How are we going to pull that off?"

	"Just leave it to me," said the Wizard.  "A good Spanish speaker 
can double or triple his share of the hispanic vote."  He looked around 
the room.  "Get it?  If any reporter asks you guys whether the 
Congressman speaks Spanish, the answer is 'Si'."

	Everyone murmurred their assent.

	"Let's see, what else do you support?  Oh, yes, crime."

	"We should have more of it?" said Powers innocently.

	Wizard Ross gave him a look.  "You support increased education 
and youth programs to prevent crime."

	"Whoa.  How does a youth program prevent crime?" said Powers, 
looking confused.

	"It keeps kids off the streets," said Ross.  "Practice saying 
that.  That's a good phrase."

	"How does it keep them off the streets?"

	"Hm?  Oh, you want the theoretical justification," said the 
Wizard, brightening.  "That's good, it's always possible you might get 
asked, especially in the general election campaign."  He frowned, 
quickly concentrating.  Finally he said, "Well... it takes kids off the 
streets, into youth centers, where they..." and he was straining now, 
"uh... work on arts and crafts... and shoot baskets... instead of being 
lured into a life of crime on the streets...."

	"Shoot baskets, not cops?" said Powers dryly.

	"That's the right kind of idea, although the slogan is a bit too 
disingenuous, even for our campaign," said the Wizard.

	"Why don't I just say that I'm for more cops and prisons?" Powers 
wondered.

	"You will say that, but in the general election," said the 
Wizard.  "Those are good things to say when running against a 
Republican.  But when dealing with the electorate in a Democratic 
primary... you need to be a little more caring, a little more touchy-
feely, see what I mean?"

	Powers nodded.

	"Just like you'll hype your gun control position now, but play it 
down in the general election."

	"We already have gun control in New York," Powers noted.

	"Then we should have more," said the Wizard.  "We should have 
more gun control, and we should also have bullet control.  If we have 
all of that, we'll push for pellet and staple gun control.  We'll dope 
up a new program, call it 'gun control plus', or something."

	"Anyway, that's about it.  I think we've covered your stand on 
all the major issues."

	"What about the minor ones?" said Powers.  "What happens if I'm 
campaigning in some piss-ant farmer town upstate, and they ask me what 
I think about the local electrical grid, or something?"

	"Well, then you have two options," said the Wizard.  "The first 
is simple.  If you have a general feeling what kind of answer they're 
looking for, just go along with it.  For example, in answer to the 
question you posed about a hypothetical energy project, I would look 
scholarly, furl my brow, as if I were really thinking about it, and say 
'Hm, the power situation.  I've heard about that.  Yes, I think the 
power system is something that needs to be improved, and the state 
government should help out in that area...' or something like that."

	"And what if I have absolutely no idea what they're talking 
about?" Powers asked.

	"Then you still have a good answer.  Say something like 'Hm, yes, 
that's a very weighty issue.  It's not one which can be quickly or 
recklessly resolved, which is why I feel it is important to have a 
panel of experts look into the issue and suggest an appropriate 
resolution.'  And note that my answer did not once refer to any 
specific subject matter."

	"So noted," said Powers enthusiastically.  "Ace, are you getting 
this down?"

	Toles nodded, scribbling furiously.

	"We'll be running continuous polling and focus groups during the 
campaign, to get a handle on what issues we should be emphasizing more 
and what issues we should be avoiding," said Wizard.  "Besides that, 
there's not much more we can discuss at this point."

	Powers nodded his approval.  "Impressive.  Well thought out."

	But Niles and Marsten, who had sat quietly through the meeting, 
were just stunned.  Cynical as they were, they were still surprised by 
how the Congressman "selected" his stands on the issues.  Not that this 
revelation shaken their resolve; if he won, they would be richly 
rewarded with plum government jobs.  At least, that's what the 
Congressman had promised.

	But Niles was still disturbed, and he left the meeting with a 
frown etched over his face.  His frown did not dissipate even when he 
got home.  He entered his apartment, and heard crunching sounds under 
his feet.  He looked down at the dimly lit floor.  It was roach bodies.

	"I hate bugs," Niles said.

	"So do I," said Marie, coming out of the bedroom.  "But what can 
we do?"  She was not earning any money as a graduate student, so they 
were forced to live on Nile's small salary.  Marie immediately noticed 
the expression on Nile's face.  "The meeting didn't go well?"

	"Oh, it went well," said Niles.  "The Congressman committed 
himself to supporting nearly a dozen anti-poverty programs.  Here, look 
at the list."  He showed her one of the appendixes.

	Marie looked over the list, and her eyes widened.  "Philip, this 
is great!  I didn't realize that Powers was such a progressive!"

	"He isn't," said Niles glumly, flopping down into a chair.  "All 
he did was sit there with his advisors, and list spending programs that 
he thought would attract votes.  He didn't really care about helping 
people, he didn't care about making any progress in reforming 
government, he was only asking one question, and one question only:  
what positions can he, Michael Powers, take in order to be elected."

	Marie sat down on the arm of the chair.  "I hope I'm not breaking 
any news to you, but most politicians are like that."

	"Yes, but this was so... so blatant," said Niles.  "He doesn't 
give a damn about helping the poor.  I know Democrats who really care.  
But Powers is just putting on an act."

	Marie considered this.  "Well, then he's doing the right things 
for the wrong reasons.  If he wins, he'll have to carry out some of 
these promises, won't he?"

	Niles, considering, slowly nodded.

	"And perhaps he'll put you in a policy making position that will 
allow you to do some good.  Don't you see, Phil, you can use him to get 
good things done."

	"Maybe," said Niles grudgingly.

	"Keep quiet about your reservations," said Marie.  "It's only the 
end results that counts.  If he gets elected, and you're in a position 
to do something positive in state government, that's all that matters."

	Niles looked up at her.  "Have I ever told you that you're lovely 
when you're smart?"

	Marie considered.  "No, but you've said that I'm smart when I'm 
lovely."

	"Come here," said Niles, giving a broad grin.  "I'll show you 
what I mean."



	The next day brought a surprise bulletin in the inter-office 
mail.  The Chairman of the House Public Works and Transportation 
Committee was amending the list of items to be dealt with in the markup 
session that was to occur the following day to include the 
Transportation Modernization Act.  Furthermore, the memo stated, a vote 
on the Act would come in the full Committee the day after that.  
Coincidentally, that meant that the vote in the full Committee would 
come just the day before Powers was to officially announce his 
candidacy. 

	"Very fortuitous," said Toles suspiciously.  "I thought Talmidge 
didn't have enough time to put it on the agenda."

	"Perhaps he found time.  Or perhaps someone changed his mind," 
said Powers.

	"Or someone changed it for him," Toles suggested.

  	Powers looked forward to the markup session.  Once the bill was 
marked up and voted on, it would go to the full House.  Of course, that 
was only the first step.  It still would have to be voted on by all the 
Representatives, and then it would have to go to the Senate, and then 
the bill would need to be signed by the President.  And all this had to 
occur before November 7, if Powers was to take any substantial credit 
for the light rail system in his campaign.

	But even the committee vote alone would be an important step 
forward.  The only thing Powers had to fear would be amendments that 
would cripple his bill's chance of passage.  He spent the better part 
of the day on the phone with his Democratic colleagues on the full 
committee trying to head off such amendments.  In the full committee 
Powers was only number seven on the Democratic side, so his clout was 
limited.  But the untimely demise of Congressman Bayren diffused the 
opposition to the bill so much that only Otis Fern vowed outright 
opposition to the Transportation Modernization Act.  That knowledge 
filled Powers with relief.  A unified Democratic front meant that the 
bill could pass even without any Republican support.

	But he still was a little jittery during the markup session.  He 
entered the committee room cautiously, walking slowly.  He met Michele 
Conner's eyes, gave a nod and a slight smile.  Then his gaze fell upon 
Chairman Talmidge, who looked at him with raised eyebrows, but said 
nothing.

	Nothing, at least, until he banged the gavel.  "This meeting will 
come to order.  Shall we dispense with the roll call, and start with 
the markup?  We have a lot of bills to go over today."

	Two hours later, after marking up a small waterway appropriation, 
the Chairman said, "H.R. 1504, the Transportation Modernization Act.  
Mr. Powers, any initial comments?"

	This was it.  "Only to reiterate what I've said before, Mr. 
Chairman," said Powers.  "This bill will permit New York State to 
upgrade its aging mass transit infrastructure.  The bill provides a 
modest sum for upgrading our rail systems."

	It was best to keep it short and simple.

	"Any comments?" said the Chairman.

	There was, from Joe Roberts, Ranking Republican and Congressman 
from Texas.  "Yes, Mr. Chairman, I have several.  Putting aside the 
merits of this proposal for the moment, I notice that there's only $20 
million appropriated for this project.  I've looked at the CBO, and the 
estimates are that the cost of this project will be at least twenty 
times that."

	"We're just funding the initial phase of the project," said 
Powers smoothly.  That had been part of his strategy.  He knew that a 
$20 million expenditure would draw less scrutiny than a $400 million 
expenditure would.  He personally did not care as to whether the 
project was actually ever built or not; if they laid down a half mile 
of track the first year and ran out of money after that, Powers would 
be supremely indifferent, Sigfried's preferences notwithstanding.  What 
was supremely important to Powers was getting money appropriated now, 
so that construction could be seen to be starting, now, before the 
election.

	"Congressman Roberts, you've often complained about the bloated 
cost of projects.  Here I suggest a moderate expenditure, and you're 
complaining it's too low?"  That brought a series of chuckles from the 
Democratic side.

	Roberts reddened but didn't back down.  "I don't doubt the 
integrity of my good friend from New York but I've seen this pattern 
before.  We've appropriated a relatively small amount of money for a 
project, then a little more next year, a little more after that... then 
we find out the true cost of the project, and we find that it's too 
late to back out, because of all the money we've already invested in 
the project.  What assurances can the right honorable gentleman from 
New York give me that this will not be the case here?"	

	Powers had to chuckle inwardly.  Under normal circumstances, 
Roberts would be correct--this would be a typical ploy that Powers 
would use.  But not this time.  He really only wanted the $20 million.  
Not a penny more than that.  But he said, "I've made no secret about 
the fact that this is a multiyear appropriation.  By funding it 
gradually we should be able to afford it.  Or would it be better to 
appropriate the whole amount in one lump sum?"  There, he was shifting 
the terms of the debate.  Powers wondered if anyone would notice the 
subtle change:  instead of the first question, whether or not to fund, 
he had reformulated the issue into one of how and when to fund.

	Roberts started to open his mouth, but couldn't think of an 
adequate response.  Talmidge took it that this particular debate was 
over, and said, "Does anyone have any substantive drafting comments?"

	This was the critical period.  If the committee members packed 
his bill with all sorts of pet perks for themselves, its chances for 
passage would dramatically dim.  But Powers had done his advance work 
well; aside from a few, technical drafting comments, no one spoke up.

	Well, almost no one.  Just when Powers thought it was all over, 
the Chairman cleared his throat.  "I have an amendment to offer."

	What was this?  Was the Chairman getting ready to back stab his 
bill?  That would be so like him.  He would ostensibly support it, but 
then attach a killer amendment to it, so he could not be blamed for its 
failure to pass.

	For a moment, Powers felt the situation could go out of control.  
But when Talmidge spoke, he merely called for an amendment to create a 
$6 million dollar grant for the University of San Diego to study flood 
plains.

	Powers heaved a sigh of relief.  The Chairman was just cutting 
himself in for a little pork.  He hurriedly seconded the motion, and it 
easily passed.

	Just when it looked as if the markup session was drawing to a 
close, however, that pesky Republican Roberts spoke up again.

	"If there's no further comment," said the Chairman, winding 
things up.

	"Just a minute, Mr. Chairman, Mr. Chairman," said Roberts, 
looking as if his trousers had caught fire.

	"Mr. Roberts?" said Talmidge wearily.

	"I have a question," he said, adjusting his spectacles on the 
edge of his nose.  "I have been reading this appropriation, and I 
notice that this $20 million is to be spent in seven different 
locations, all over New York State."

	"What's so odd about that, Mr. Roberts?" said Talmidge, not 
really caring.  Pork was pork, and why did he suddenly care how it was 
doled out?

	"Well, at each of these seven locations I estimate that due to 
start up costs and logistics it will not be possible with the funding 
that we're allocating to construct more than one tenth of a mile of 
high speed track at any one location.  Wouldn't it be better to spend 
all this money in one place?" he said, with a gleam in his eye, as if 
he knew what Powers was up to.

	Powers of course, couldn't care less how much if any trackline 
were laid.  He just wanted to be able to go to as many points in the 
state as possible and point to the bulldozers as if to say, "Look!  
Look!  Federal money!  And I got it for you!"

	But he was slow to think of a response.

	And worse yet, he could see some of the committee members on his 
side of the aisle nodding.  Disaster was in the happening!

	Chairman Talmidge looked around, seeing the sense of things, and 
said, "Maybe-"

	"Maybe that's a good idea, maybe it's not," said Powers, quickly 
cutting in.  Once the Chairman weighed in, there would be no shattering 
the consensus.

   	"Putting all of the construction funds in one place is simply a 
bad idea," said Powers.

	"Why?" Roberts wanted to know.

	"Because of... discrimination," said Powers, thinking of the 
first word that popped into his head.

	Now members on both sides of the aisle were looking puzzled.

	"Discrimination?" said Roberts.  "Explain yourself?"

	Indeed, thought Powers, how will I explain myself?  An idea 
quickly came to mind.  "Discrimination," he repeated, as he quickly 
fleshed out the idea.

	"Discrimination in that the rail line could be put in a wealthy 
community, at the expense of a poor one."

	"But your plan calls for this rail line to criss-cross the 
state," said Roberts.  "Surely all regions will be served."

	"Come now, Congressman," said Powers, some of his confidence 
returning.  "You know how projects work.  They're continually open to 
modification.  Unless the disadvantaged see tangible gains now, they 
never will."

	"Bullet trains for the poor," said Roberts, musing over the 
concept.

	And then Powers had a terrible thought.  What if Roberts 
suggested putting all the money in one location, such as next to a slum 
area?  Even Powers wouldn't be able to think of an excuse to counter 
such an idea.

	But Roberts just seemed to be staring into space, as if he were 
lost for further avenues of attack.

	The room was silent for a moment.  And then Congressman Talmidge 
said, "If there are no more comments, let us move on to the Dam 
Restructuring Act."

	It was over.  Powers had won, again.



	The vote in full committee was the following morning.  That 
afternoon Powers sat in the sprawling backyard of his rustic home in 
northern Virginia.  He lounged under the young afternoon sun, smoking a 
thick Cuban cigar.  To his side sat the Wizard and Toles, also 
similarly puffing.

	Several feet in front of them a number of birds puttered about, 
pecking on some feed that had been scattered on the ground.

	"The vote was 23 to 16," said Powers.  "It wasn't even close."  
He chuckled as he inhaled deep smoke fumes.  Then he blew out a series 
of lazy smoke rings.

	On the ground next to him the little birds puttered about.  One 
of them pecked at the feed, only to find that the feed was moist, as if 
something had gotten it wet.

	"It sounds like you had a close call in the markup, though," 
Toles commented.

	"Did I ever!  I let those two have it," he said, referring to 
Niles and Marsten.  Although he had been happy with the outcome, he had 
also been angry that the two hadn't briefed him better about potential 
attacks on his legislation.  In retrospect when he had had time to calm 
down he had realized that there was little they could have done, but at 
the same time he could only smile when he recalled the scene in the 
office.  He had stormed in, demanding an explanation.

	"What... what are you talking about?" Niles had squeaked.

	"The markup.  They tried to slaughter me!  How come you didn't 
adequately brief me on this?"

	"I... we... uh...." He looked at Marsten for support; Marsten was 
carefully looking away.

	"Uh?  I don't want uh!  I want results!  And if you can't deliver 
it, find somewhere else to work!"  That last he fairly screamed.  
Trembling, his aides slunk out of his sight.

	"Weren't you fairly hard on them?" said Toles.

	"I don't care," said Powers.  "We almost blew it in the markup 
session."

	"At worst the project would have started in just one location."

	"I want it started in as many locations as possible," said 
Powers.

	"Your instincts are correct," said the Wizard, who had just been 
blowing out some truly superb smoke rings.  He noticed one of the 
little birds walking into a shallow trickle of a reddish looking 
liquid.  "We need to announce the program in as many different 
locations as possible."

	Powers, noticing that they were running out of feed, reached into 
a bag at his side and scattered some more on the ground in front of 
him.

	"Very charitable of you," Toles commented.

	"I'm feeling in a very charitable mood," Powers commented.  "Do 
you have everything set up for the announcement tomorrow?"

	"Um hm," said Toles.  "But don't think it was easy getting a 
permit to cordon off Fifth Avenue, in the middle of a weekday 
afternoon."

	"Pah!  It's only for one block," said Powers dismissively.

	"One block in the center of midtown," said Toles.

	The Wizard asked, "What are the bill's chances for passage in the 
full House and Senate?"

	"Good, if I can persuade both of those august bodies to vote on 
the damn thing," said Powers.  "I may well be able to swing the House 
vote, but the Senate will be tougher.  I have very little influence 
within the Senate."

	"We'll do it," said Toles.  "After you got the committee to vote 
on it, I'm convinced that there's nothing that you can't do."

	One of the little birds jumped over something to get at some of 
the food.  The obstacle turned out to be the slumped body of another 
little bird.

	"We'll see."  Powers looked about at the gathered birds.  Enough 
had accumulated again.  He picked up a long shotgun at the side of his 
chair.  At this range it didn't take much aiming.

	Boom!  A whole group of birds were nearly blown into the air with 
the impact.  And then the ground was littered again with trickling 
avian corpses.

	"Like shooting fish in a barrel."

	"What's going on here?" said Erin, coming into the backyard.  
"Are you-"

	And then she saw the dead birds, and then she screamed at Powers.  
"Are you crazy?  What do you think you're doing?"

	"I don't like your tone," said Powers sharply.  He had lowered 
the shotgun, but it still lay on his lap.

	Something in his tone had an immediate effect, and Erin calmed 
down.  "What are you doing?" she said again, a bit more sedately.

	"I'm hunting.  What does it look like?"

	Erin shook her head.  "Sometimes you disgust me."  She turned, as 
if to go back inside.

	"Was there something you wanted, dear?" said Powers.

	She turned.  She had been about to talk to Powers, but-  "I was 
going to talk to you about...."

	"Well, talk away," said Powers reasonably.

	Her eyes fell on the animal corpses.  "I'm not sure I'm in the 
mood now."  She turned as if to go back into the house again.

	"Fine," said Powers.  "But I'm not sure when I'll be in the mood 
again to talk about it."  They both knew what "it" was.

	Erin was torn.  Powers was obviously bating her.  But if he was 
willing to hear about her proposal, this might be the only time.

	She turned around again to face him, steeling herself not to look 
at the ground.  It was all for a higher moral purpose, she kept 
reminding herself.

	"The Greenleaf Fund, of which I am a director member, has made 
stopping the Seton Hills project its number one legislative priority 
this year," said Erin.

	"Very commendable," said Powers approvingly.  He wondered what 
she was talking about.

	"Seton Hills?" said Toles, allowing himself to be drawn into the 
conversation.

	"A proposal to build a dam in the upper Mississippi Delta," said 
Erin.

	"What's wrong with it?" Toles wanted to know.

	"It will totally disrupt the spawning grounds of the southern 
aquatic darter-"

	"A fish?" asked the Wizard.

	"A bug,"  Powers hazarded.

	"If you must know, the darter is a hybrid of the mollusk and 
crustacean families."

	"A bug," said Powers, with knowing certainty.  "And this bug will 
be wiped out if they build this dam, is that it?"

	"Well, not exactly...."

	"Then what's the problem?" said Powers reasonably.  "Do we or do 
we not have enough of this kind of bug in the world?"

	"They will be wiped out!"

	"You just said they wouldn't."

	"The aquatic darter, no.  But the southern aquatic darter will-"

	"This conversation is getting too technical for me," said the 
Wizard.  "Say what?"

	"The southern aquatic darter is a certain type of aquatic 
darter," said Erin.

	"What's the difference?"

	"You can tell the southern darter from other darters by the size 
of its... its elongated...."

	"Ha ha ha ha!  Ah, ha ha ha!"  Powers, the Wizard, and Toles were 
laughing hysterically.  The Wizard laughed himself so hard that he fell 
out of his lawn chair.

	Erin, biting her lip, watched angrily, her arms on her hips.  
"Are you quite done?"

	Powers, straining for seriousness, nodded solemnly.  Then, 
suddenly, he started up again. "Ah, ha ha ha," he yelled, bursting out 
again with laughter.  Then he calmed down a bit.  "All right... all 
right... if I laugh any more, I'll make myself sick...."

	"This measure has already passed your committee, Michael.  I want 
you to vote against it when it goes to the floor."

	Powers, seeing her seriousness, nodded.  "All right.  I'll do 
it."  As she turned away to go inside, he added, "After all, it's not 
every day that I have the chance to make the world safe for snails with 
large genitalia."

	They burst out laughing again.  But after they had all calmed 
down again, Toles asked, "You know, this Seton Hills thing sounds 
vaguely familiar.  I think this is one of Chairman Talmidge's pet 
projects.  Are you really going to vote against it?"

	Powers shrugged his shoulders.  "I dunno."



	"And I hereby announce my candidacy for governor!"

	It was a momentous moment.  With Erin and his supporters smiling 
at his side, American flags flapping in the gentle breeze, Powers stood 
under the morning sunshine on the steps of the main branch of the New 
York Public Library.  Fifth Avenue had been blocked off on either side 
to accommodate the hundreds of Powers supporters who had shown up.  
And, in a tribute to Tole's organizing skills, most of those who had 
appeared were unpaid.  A number of them were Sigfried's people.  Some 
were volunteers from past campaigns.  Others were local Democratic 
party activists.  Powers did have some genuine base of support; after 
all, he had been repeatedly elected congressman from this area.

	Powers had chosen the New York Public Library as the site of his 
announcement for several reasons.  One, it was a majestic backdrop, a 
visual location that would enhance his stature.  Two, it was in New 
York City, which was his natural base of support.  And three, his 
presence here tied in with one of his most powerful themes:  elect me, 
and I will get you more money.

	For Powers had slipped a $50,000 grant into one of the 
appropriation bills late last year to buy the library two new 
photocopier machines, and now he intended to milk his good deed for all 
it was worth.

	"And with this grant," he hadn't named the size of the grant, or 
been specific about it in any other way, "the library will have the 
ability to upgrade its facilities and to provide better services for 
the general public.  We've done a lot in Washington for the people of 
New York.  Why only yesterday a bill came out of my committee that will 
set up a modern light rail transit system all over the state of New 
York!"

	The crowd cheered loudly, right on-cue.

	Cameras were whirring nonstop.  The morning sun was bright, the 
gentle wind airy.  A perfect day.  And Powers made sure not to ruin his 
speech by getting into specifics.

	Their good fortune continued on the evening news.  Even Oxford 
Frame, their perennial critic, had to deliver a positive story.  
"Hundreds of Powers supporters filled Fifth Avenue today to demand that 
their candidate be elected governor."  The scene cut to supporters with 
big "POWERS FOR GOVERNOR" signs chanting "Pow-ers!  Pow-ers!"

	Frame also showed clips of Powers' speech, in effect giving 
Powers free advertising time.  And the backdrop was perfect; the grand 
entrance to the New York Public Library could well have been the 
entrance to Capitol Hill.

	"It now looks like Powers could give Speaker Mandelbaum a serious 
challenge for the governorship.  We caught up with the Speaker outside 
his Upper West Side apartment."

	The scene cut to Mandelbaum running along, muttering "No comment!  
No comment!"

	But then Frame caught up to him, blocking his further egress.  "A 
powerful challenger has entered the race, and you have no comment?"

	And then Mandelbaum fairly snapped, "It takes more than a pretty 
speech to make a good governor."  And then he hurried on.

	"Yeah, it takes temperament," said the Wizard, watching with 
Powers and the others.

	"You did it!" said Erin, giving Powers a broad hug.  The acrimony 
of the day before was totally dissipated.

	"So I did," said Powers.  "But let's keep things in perspective.  
That's just the announcement.  There's still a long way to go.  And I'm 
sure Speaker M&M is not going to be a pushover."

	The Wizard nodded sagely.



	That evening, when Powers returned to Washington, he invited the 
Wizard into the large basement of his suburban Virginia home.  Laid out 
on the ground were 20 or so tanks, each nearly one foot tall, 
surrounded by plastic soldiers, miniature barbed wire, trenches, and 
fortifications.

	Nearly two-thirds of the tanks were American, by the emblem on 
their sides.  The rest were German Panzers.

	Powers stood to the side, manipulating a complex remote control.

	"The Panzers are outnumbered," the Wizard noted immediately.

	"Precisely," said Powers.  He pressed a button, and one of the 
Panzers slowly grinded forward.  Then he pressed another button, and 
another one moved forward, to the right.  "A frontal attack will not 
work."

	Suddenly one of the American tanks opened fire.  With a boom! and 
a small cloud of smoke, a shell spat out of the tank, crashing into one 
of the German half-tracks, which flipped over.

	"Casualties of war," Powers shrugged.  He moved another Panzer 
forward.

	"Say, those shells look like they could do something mighty nasty 
to human skin," said the Wizard, suddenly conscious of the firing 
angles.

	"Correct.  You'd best stay to the side."

	Powers continued.  "A frontal assault simply won't work," he 
repeated, maneuvering his Panzers.

	"Like your assault on the full committee?" said the Wizard, 
immediately understanding.

	Powers grinned, nodding.  "And before you exploit a potential 
weakness, the battlefield must be to your liking."  To demonstrate his 
point, he moved another Panzer forward, over a small ridge, where it 
would be in a position to cover other advancing units.

	"As we hope to shape the battlefield with M&M," the Wizard 
commented.

	"So you have read Sun Tzu," said Powers.

	"No, but I think a lot of his rules for warfare are intuitive 
rules of politics," said the Wizard.

	"Could well be," said Powers.  "I'm hoping that Mason's stealthy 
research will prepare the battlefield for our victory."  He whistled a 
sour tune as another Allied tank opened up, smashing into a small 
German outpost, smashing it utterly.  Powers, ignoring that, continued 
to move his units into position.

	"M&M's going to be tough to beat," Powers continued.   "All the 
betting money's still on him."

	"Except my salary," said the Wizard dryly.  "Double or one half, 
remember?"

	"Incentive pay," said Powers.  "Who can be against incentive 
pay?"

	"I can, when it applies to me."

	"I know."

	There was a silence for a moment, only punctuated by the whine of 
tank tracks.  Then the Wizard said, "We'll beat him.  If anybody can 
beat him, I can."

	"You mean, of course, that we can," said Powers dryly.

	"Of course."

	One of the Allied tanks fired again, sending a shell careening 
off the battlefield into the far wall of the basement.

	"Damn, Erin's going to throw a fit," fumed Powers.  "We just had 
that plastered and painted again recently."  Then he nodded.  "Ready."  
He pressed one button, and then stood back.

	The lead Panzer, located on the far right of the board, fired.  
It decimated an entire platoon of enemy soldiers.  Another Panzer 
fired, eliminating an enemy blockhouse.  Other Panzers moved forward.  
One Allied tank fired on a Panzer, hitting it dead square--but the 
shell bounced off.

	"Panzers have better armor," Powers explained.

	The Panzers advanced, under Powers' direction, decimating 
everything in sight.  They rapidly raced to the far side of the board, 
firing sporadically at enemy troop positions and tanks.  At some points 
they were advancing so quickly that they actually crushed enemy troops 
underneath their treads.  After a few short movements they had totally 
bypassed the main block of allied tanks to stand at the enemy 
headquarters, a large three story structure composed of blocks.

	Powers adjusted one of his controls.  The turret on the lead tank 
angled up accordingly.  "Fire!" he screamed.

	The tank belched smoke, there was an explosion, and the top floor 
of the enemy headquarters was lopped off.  Then the other tanks fired 
in succession, creating a tremendous thunderclap.

	Then there was silence.  A small cloud of smoke hung over that 
corner of the room.  When it was cleared the Allied headquarters was 
nothing more than rubble, individual blocks scattered about.

	The Wizard broke the silence first, coughing a bit as the smoke 
wafted its way across the room.

	"Heh heh heh," said Powers, watching the destruction.  "I hope we 
can do as much for M&M."

	 

	The next day Erin Powers came into the Congressman's Capitol Hill 
office, somewhat towards the end of the afternoon.

	"Philip, how are you doing?" she said, spotting Niles sitting at 
the front desk.

	Toles came out of a side office, looking surprised.  Erin rarely 
showed up on Capitol Hill.  Then he cast a glance towards Powers' 
office.  He could tell that the windows were shuttered, and yet he 
could almost make out two shadows...

	He quickly ducked into his side office, and quickly buzzed 
Powers' office.

	There was no response.

	"Come on, come on," Toles muttered.

	Then there was a response. "Y-yes?"

	"Congressman, your wife is here.  In your outer office!"

	"Oh."  A pause.  "Tell her I'll be right out."

	Toles immediately raced out into the main room.  Erin seemed to 
just be wrapping up her discussion with Niles.

	"Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I have to collect my 
husband," said Erin.  "We're going out to dinner."  She turned to the 
door to the inner office-

	"Erin, so good to see you," said Toles, quickly moving in the 
way.

	"Good afternoon, Arthur," said Erin coolly, sensing immediately 
that something was afoot.  "How are you?" she said automatically, as 
she moved to go past him, her hand already on the door handle.

	"I'm sorry, Erin, you can't go in," said Toles, gulping as he 
said it.  It was never, ever good to cross the wife of a Congressman.  
It tended to curtail one's tenure at the job.

	"Why?" said Erin, puzzled.  "I just want to pop my head in-"

	"The Congressman said he was not to be disturbed-"	

	"I'm his wife, I hardly classify as a disturbance-"

	"I'm sorry, but-"

	"Out of the way!" she thundered.

	Toles had no choice but too meekly move aside.  

	"Honestly, I'm not sure what's gotten into you, Arthur," she 
said, turning the handle.

	The door was unlocked.  She came in to see Powers sitting behind 
his desk, talking to a tall, attractive red-headed woman.

	Powers looked up, in midsentence.  "Dear?  What are you doing 
here?"

	"We're supposed to go to dinner, remember?"  said Erin.

	Powers slapped his forehead.  "I'm sorry, dear, it totally 
slipped by me.  I've been having quite a day--Ms. Truly, I think we've 
finished what we've started."

	She started to get up, standing on firm, long legs that were 
hardly covered by a short miniskirt.

	"Oh, I'm sorry," said Powers.  "Dear, this is Sarah Truly, deputy 
chief lobbyist for the Northeast Transportation Coalition.  Sarah, this 
is my wife, Erin."

	"Good to meet you," said Truly.

	"The same here," said Erin.  There was something that struck her 
as odd about the atmosphere in the room, but she couldn't quite put her 
finger on it.  Was there something that she was missing?  "Have I met 
you before?"

	"No, this is my first visit with the Congressman, a get-
acquainted session-"

	Toles rolled his eyes.

	"How nice," said Erin, as Powers escorted Truly out the door.  

	Powers said, "Sarah, we'll have to pick up on that matter another 
time."

	"Sure, Congressman.  Just give me a call," she said, swaying 
gently as she walked off.

	Erin was fuming.  "Michael, you always do that.  Always putting 
business first.  What about me?  When are you going to think about me?"

	"Dear, I'm a Congressman, with a great deal of duties to perform 
for my constituents," said Powers.  "But we're going out to dinner, 
aren't we?  So let's go."

	"Yes," she said.  But she turned to Toles.  "I wish you showed 
the same dedication at guarding his work sessions as you do at keeping 
track of his scheduling."

	"I'll try to do better," said Toles, head bowed.  But as Powers 
walked by, Toles tapped his boss gently on the back.  Powers, feeling 
behind himself, noticed his shirttail untucked, and quickly folded it 
in his pants.

	"You do that," said Powers sternly, giving him a wink.

	As they left Toles muttered, "Some days...."


	Chapter 3



	"Time to raise more money!" said the Wizard cheerfully. They 
stood outside the bright and gleaming Trump Plaza tower.

	"How in the world did you get Trump Plaza?" said Powers.  "And 
Rockefeller Center?  Both in one night?  And how much did it cost?"

	"You ask too many questions," said the Wizard.  "But in answer to 
your last question, nothing."

	"Nothing?" said Powers, refusing to suspend disbelief.

	"Nothing," the Wizard confirmed, puffing on his pipe.  "You'd be 
surprised how many individuals are truly eager to make donations to 
someone who may well become the next Governor of your fair state.  The 
space has been donated tonight for our use.  But don't think getting it 
was all that easy."

	"I won't," said Powers.  He looked nervously up at the gleaming 
tower.  "Isn't this kind of a bad image for the campaign?  All this 
glitz, I mean?  Makes me seem a candidate of the rich, you know."

	"You have a point," said the Wizard, "but you are not precisely 
on target.  Yes, the ordinary voter is resentful of the rich.  After 
all, the rich has what he does not, and envy is what America is all 
about.  However, the ordinary schmo is also impressed by the glitter 
and the pomp.  Take the British public's adulation of Prince Charles 
and Diana-"

	"Now?"

	"Ok, a bad example.  Or take the owner of the building we're 
standing in.  Donald Trump is certainly envied, but he is also looked 
up to as a role model, as someone who has made it.  Now, I wouldn't 
advise you to spread the glitz when you're out on the campaign trail.  
However, at a fundraising events, all the pocketbooks and wallets will 
expect and even demand an example of lavish consumption.  That's what 
shakes the money trees.  Agreed, it's a fine line to walk on, but this 
is the proper time and place for being fancy-fancy."

	"That's either sound logic, or the best rationalization I've ever 
heard," said Powers.  "Forget it.  Anyway, what's done is done."

	"On that you are oh so true," said Wizard Ross.  "Shall we go 
in?"

	The fancy marble floor of the Trump Tower was especially aglitter 
that night.  A man dressed in the uniform of the Queen's palace guard 
held the door open for them as they entered.  Powers was immediately 
deluged by a crowd of wellwishers.

	"Congressman!  Congressman!  So good to see you!  Where have you 
been?"

	It took Powers a half hour just to edge his way to the other side 
of the lobby, where a buffet had been set up by the waterfalls.  
Finally he got himself a gold rimmed plate, and looked about for 
something to eat.  It seemed to be fancy seafood night here--there was 
lobster, shrimp, caviar (how much did that cost?) and assorted 
delicacies.  Powers looked about.  The place was packed with a crowd of 
supporters.  And this was just the private reception before the actual 
event!

	It was the Wizard who had worked out the ingenious fundraising 
system.  "Everyone who comes--and I do mean everyone--has to give a 
minimum of $1000 per person.  A minimum."

	Powers had blinked but said nothing.  In the past his fundraisers 
had a $50 minimum.

	Then the Wizard had said, "If they want to be a Silver Circle 
Attendee, they need to donate $1,500 dollars."

	"Silver Circle?  What the hell is that?" Powers had said.

	"That means their name gets on the invitation card, and they get 
to sit somewhat near you at dinner."

	"Somewhat near?  What is somewhat near?"

	"Oh, I don't know, anywhere," the Wizard had said.  "Then there 
are Gold Circle Attendees.  Gold Circlers have to give $2500, and they 
get their name on the program card, and the right to attend the private 
introduction before the dinner at Trump Plaza."

	"Is anyone really going to pay for that?" Powers had said 
skeptically.

	"You charge enough money for anything and someone will pay for 
it," the Wizard had predicted.  "But wait, I'm not done.  Finally 
there's the Platinum Attendees.  They get to actually sit at your table 
at dinner, for a mere $5000."  He frowned.  "The problem is that there 
are 40 of those.  I guess we'll have to push some tables together.  
Have one really big table."

	"40??? Forty people had committed $5,000?" Powers had been 
flabbergasted.  "That's $200,000 right there!"

	"You're good with the arithmetic, my boy."  

	And there must have been at least 80 or 90 Gold Attendees, by the 
look of the size of the crowd.  Powers gave a low whistle.  Just what 
was he expected to do for all these people when he got into office?

	He soon found out.  One woman, a Gold Attendee, came up to him 
and said, "You're for gun control, right?"

	Powers thought rapidly.  It was still the primary, not the 
general election.  "Very much so," he said reassuringly.

	"That's just great," she said. "We need to get the guns off the 
street."

	"Exactly," said Powers, getting into the swing of things.  "We 
need less guns... and more jobs."

	Another man approached him, overhearing that last part.  "Tell me 
more about your jobs program."

	"We're going to create more jobs, for people who need them," said 
Powers.  "We're especially looking to help the unemployed, and those 
who have been shut out of the system."  He wasn't quite sure what "the 
system" was, but it always seemed to be a good thing to say.

	And, by their approving nods, he seemed to be on point with his 
comment.

	"Congressman," said an elderly man, "Watcha gunna do for the 
environment?"

	"We have to protect it, of course," said Powers.  "We need to do 
more for our trees and animals.  I am fully in favor of spending more-"

	"And what about condoms in the schools?" someone else wanted to 
know.

	He was beset on all sides!  And here was an issue that he hadn't 
even been briefed on.  "What about it?" he said guardedly.

	"Condoms in the schools.  Do you think they should be given out?"

	Powers looked around.  His questioner and others around him were 
waiting for an answer, but it wasn't evident from the question what 
kind of answer he was looking for.  "Well, it's a very complicated 
issue," he began.

	"There ain't nothing complicated about it," said the man.  "We 
need to get the filthy things out of the schools."

	"Yes, that's what I'm saying," said Powers.  "We need to get rid 
of them, of course, but the method of doing so could be complicated.  I 
mean, there are probably already laws on the books mandating 
distribution-"

	"But if you don't have a birth control program how are you going 
to protect our teens from VD?" said a middle aged woman.  "What about 
all the VD, Congressman?"

	"Good point," said Powers.  "That's why we do need a strong birth 
control program.  Children should be taught all the right things to 
do... to prevent VD."

	"Without condoms?" said the woman.

	"Well," said Powers.  The crowd was obviously divided on this 
one.  Time to shift the issue.  "It's a complicated issue.  There's no 
easy answer, but I do think we all agree that education is the answer.  
We need to get money into the schools so that our teachers have the 
resources to enrich the minds of our young people.  In fact, we can do 
this, we must do this, this must be an imperative, the imperative, when 
I am elected Governor!"

	He hadn't been aware that his voice was rising, but he was 
startled by the strong applause when he was finished.

	Suddenly Toles was at his elbow, whisking him away.  "Great work, 
Chief," he said.

	"Not everyone is born with the common touch," Powers muttered.   
"Isn't it time that we moved to the main function?"  Just then another 
person came up for him.  "Congressman, are you going to restrict our 
right to carry firearms when you're elected?"

	"I don't see any need to make hasty moves on it," said Powers 
solemnly.  Actually, for purposes of the primary, he was for stronger 
gun control.  But chances are that this fellow would never find out 
what his position on the issue was, anyway.

	And then they moved to the main fundraiser at Rockefeller Center.

	Even Powers, who was quite jaded, felt himself gasp for breath 
when he saw what had been set up.  It was 8 o'clock at night, but the 
entire Rockefeller Center was brightly illuminated.  Beautiful and 
exotic plants were scattered about everywhere.  The whole area was 
alight and alive with people.  In the center, in the recess where the 
skating rink was situated in wintertime, stood rows and rows of tables.  
A small army of smartly dressed waiters stood to the side, waiting to 
serve.

	The crowd actually clapped as Powers came down and made his way 
to his table.  He had to resist the impulse to bow.  Taking Erin by the 
arm, he said, "It doesn't get any better than this, eh?"

	She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

	They took their place at their table, and then everyone else sat 
down.  Powers was amused to note that his table was about twenty feet 
long; meaning that a platinum attendee who had paid $5,000 for the 
honor of sitting next to him might just be able to catch a view of him 
eating from the other end of the table.

	When everyone had seated themselves it seemed that every guest 
attempted to vie for Powers' attention.  One guest, a Mr. Emile 
Sanchez, sat directly to his right, and transfixed Powers with stories 
about his bricklaying company.

	"-I'm telling you, there must have been a 110 degree heat that 
day, and the crew was sweating like pigs.  We were laying down the hard 
brick, you know, the durable industrial stuff--we don't use second hand 
material, you understand.  And anyway we run out of grout--we use that 
to line the bottoms, you understand-"

	Powers didn't understand.  But he kept nodding attentively.  They 
had all paid for his time, and he didn't particularly care who 
monopolized it.

	But other guests did, and after a while they interrupted and 
tried to get a word in.

	But Mr. Sanchez wouldn't let go.  "Just a moment," he said, to 
one of the interrupters.  "I just have to tell you about our quarry.  
It's fantastic.  I'm talking limestone, sandstone, every kind of 
fucking stone-"

	There was a tap on his shoulder.  He tried to ignore it, but it 
grew more brisk.  "What?" he said, annoyed.

	"Are you Mr. Sanchez?" said a polite man to his side.

	"Yes, can't you see you're interrupting-"

	"Sir, your car has been towed away."

	"What? How-"

	"I suggest you talk to the officers on the street," said the man. 
"They can help you."

	"Yes," said Sanchez, looking disturbed as he got up.  "I be right 
back."

	After he had left, the new man took his seat.  "No, he won't," 
said Toles, leaning forward confidentially.

	But his voice carried, and an elderly woman said, "Is this man 
responsible for getting that awfully boring man to leave?"

	"Well...." said Powers, unsure as to what to say.

	The entire table broke into spontaneous applause.

	After that Powers had a reasonably good time.  As long as he said 
"Um hm," or made other sympathetic sounds at appropriate points, he was 
left alone.  Every so often Erin tried to get his attention, but he 
ignored her.  She would have her time later.

	Powers wondered if this experience was akin to what it would be 
like to be governor.  To be mobbed by anonymous people, who always 
wanted his ear.  Even as a Congressman he had never received this much 
attention.  He wondered just how much the campaign was raking in 
tonight.

	The food was excellent.  There was filet mignon and roast lamb 
and fresh hot rolls and grapes and fruits and cakes of all descriptions 
and kinds, all served by eager to please waiters and waitresses.  
Powers eyed one of the waitresses with interest, one with long brown 
hair and a figure that could kill.  But this was business, not 
pleasure, he reminded himself.

	Overall he had a reasonably good time.  He even waved to the 
camera crews, who had been tastefully kept at a distance by the well 
heeled private security force he had hired for the night.

	Afterwards, when he arrived home, he kicked off his shoes and 
punched up the VCR.  He had set it to tape the CBS local news.

	Sure enough, he was the lead story.

	"-fundraiser not seen since the Rockefeller days," said Stephanie 
Gould.  "In no time in modern history has New York seen such 
extravagance."  The camera image panned to cover Rockefeller Center.  
"Congressman Powers, once dismissed as a gadfly of the campaign, must 
now be taken as a serious candidate, if only by judging the resources 
that are apparently at his disposal."

	The phone rang.  Powers answered it.  "Yes, Ross, I'm watching it 
now."

	"-expected to take in almost $1,000,000 dollars-"

	"What?"  Powers sat up.  "We took in 1.2 mil?  That's tremendous!  
Great!"  He hung up the phone.  1.2 million dollars.  All in one night.  
How could it get any better?



	It couldn't.  Every soup had to have its fly and the fly in the 
Powers campaign was Michele Franswa.





	ORGY OF EXCESS



Personal Sentiments

By Michele Franswa 

	

			Michael Powers thinks he can impress people by 
sponsoring big, fancy fundraisers at exclusive tourist sites around the 
city.  He may impress the special interests and the fat cats.  But he's 
not going to make a dent among ordinary, hard working people unless he 
starts paying some attention to the common folk.  What is he going to 
do to help the poor?  The homeless?  The indigent?  Pregnant and 
nursing mothers?  The mentally challenged?

			Now that Congressman Powers had raised a tidy war-
chest, no doubt we'll see a lot of slick ads about how he "cares".  But 
if he really cares he has yet to show it.  His entire congressional 
record is one repetitious story of catering to one special interest 
after another.  The only special interests he hasn't catered to are 
those which haven't contributed to his campaign--the poor and the 
needy.

			This orgy of excess that Powers staged last night may 
impress his special interests, but they also impress upon New Yorkers 
just who Powers stands with.



	The Wizard looked up from the editorial.  "Is the New York Times 
allowed to say "Orgy"?"

	"This is not good," said Powers.

	"Forget it," said the Wizard.

	"How can I?"

	"Because I told you to," snapped the Wizard.  "This bitch is 
going to attack you regardless of what you do.  As I've told you 
before, your press is overwhelmingly positive--so far.  If you don't 
believe me, look at the network news, or one of your other local 
papers."

	"But the New York Times-"

	"Has influence among the liberal-left intelligentsia.  I know," 
said the Wizard.  "But they're not going to vote for you anyway.  
They're just a little too smart to be fooled by our act.  On the other 
hand they're not inclined to support M&M either."

	"So who will they vote for?"

	"A tough call," said the Wizard.  "I think the New York Times 
vote may sit this one out.  Or they might support Sampleton in moderate 
numbers.  Don't worry about it!  Never worry about what you can't 
change.  Worry about those votes that you don't have right now but that 
you may be able to get."

	"I'm just not reconciled to the fact that there are some voters 
I'll never reach."

	"Mike, you ever hear the saying, you can't fool all of the people 
all of the time?" said the Wizard.  "It holds here.  You will never get 
the support of right-wing pro-lifers.  Likewise you'll never get the 
support of the far-left intelligentsia."

	"Hm," said Powers noncommentally.



	"What???"  Powers fairly screamed the word.

	He was in his Capitol Hill office.  All the staff were present.  
A trembling Philip Niles was telling Powers some not-so-good news.

	Niles, mistaking Powers' exclamation for an expression of 
noncomprehension, rather than one of sheer dismay, repeated the 
statement, trembling only a little as he spoke.  "Our petitions are 
being challenged in court by Speaker Mandelbaum-"

	"What the hell is going on-"

	"If we can go into your inner office, we can discuss it," said 
the Wizard, his tone more level.

	His voice had a soothing effect on Powers, enough, at least, for 
him to stop yelling and simply nod, silently going into his office 
after Ross.

	When the door was closed behind them, the Wizard said, "It 
doesn't do to have tantrums around your office staff."

	"I like it," said Powers.  He was calm now.  "It keeps them on 
their toes."

	"Maybe," said the Wizard.  "But it can also breed resentment."  
He changed the subject.  "This move was hardly unexpected."

	"Not unexpected?  Then what have we done to prepare for it?"

	"What we have done, Michael, is to gather 50,000 more signatures 
than we actually need.  I'm fully aware that New York's petition laws 
are the most archaic and complex in the nation.  Ballots can be 
disqualified on the most minute of technicalities.  But don't worry, we 
have a large margin for error, and M&M won't succeed in knocking us off 
the ballot.  All he'll do is distract our attention and energies, if 
we'll let him."

	"So what do we do?"

	"Let some of my lawyer friends handle this one.  Don't think 
about it.  You gotta remember, most of these people who gathered your 
petitions were paid professionals, not inexperienced volunteers.  They 
were paid to make sure that each petition was in order.  I guarantee, 
if M&M succeeds in knocking out more than 5,000 petitions, much less 
50,000, the sun will crash into the moon."

	"All right," said Powers.  "But I don't want to be hearing about 
any sudden eclipses."

	"You won't," the Wizard predicted.

	Powers nodded, going out into the reception area.  Niles and 
Marsten were sitting there, processing paperwork, trying to look 
invisible.  "Boys," he said calmly, "Mandelbaum has struck the first 
blow.  Has our research turned up anything on him yet?"

	Niles and Marsten looked at each other.  "Well-"

	"Well?  What does well mean?  Does well mean we've turned up 
stuff we can use?  Or does well mean we have nothing?"

	Marsten looked the other way.  Niles, unsure what to say, gulped, 
and said, in a timid voice, "Well means we have nothing."

	"NOTHING?  WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING, SITTING ON YOUR ASSES?"

	Niles was in no condition to reply.

	"WELL?"

	Finally it was Marsten who spoke, trembling slightly.  "Mr. Mason 
told us to wait until he contacted us again-"

	"WHAT?  GET ME MASON ON THE PHONE!  Never, mind, I'll do it 
myself!" said Powers, slamming his inner door behind him.

	"Boss not happy," said Marsten.

	They heard yelling from Powers' inner office. "WHAT?  FUCK FUCK 
FUCK!"

	Ross leaned over confidentially to Niles and Marsten.  "Don't 
take it personally," said the Wizard.  "Napoleon also had days like 
this."

	 Power's voice clearly carried over from his inner office.  
"WHAT?  WHY?  I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT NEXT WEEK!  I WANT TO HEAR 
ABOUT TODAY!"  And then they could hear the clear sound of a phone 
slamming down on a receiver.

	When Powers reemerged, they braced themselves.  But he just 
smiled gently and said, "I believe Mr. Mason may be contacting you 
gentlemen soon.  Please make yourselves available."

	"Y-yes."  "Yes sir," they uttered.  Powers stalked off.

	Five minutes later the phone in the office rang.  Niles got it.  
"H-hello, Congressman Powers office."

	"This is Mason," said a low, chilling voice.

	"Um, hi, how are you?" said Niles, for loss of anything better to 
say.

	"I'm coming in.  Don't go anywhere."	

	"Ok, but-"  The line went dead.

	"That was Mason," said Niles.  "He says he's coming in."

	Niles looked at Marsten.  Marsten looked at Niles.  They often 
wondered how they ended up with days like this.

	Mason showed up just a few minutes later.  Whatever rock he had 
crawled out from under obviously wasn't very far away.

	"Hi, how are you?" said Niles.

	Mason hooked a thumb to one of the side offices, and went in.

	"Oh," said Niles, following Marsten in.

	"We're going to work," said Mason simply, as they filed in.  He 
turned to Marsten.  "You.  Hop over to the FEC.  Pull everything that 
Mandelbaum has filed with them."

	He turned to Niles.  "You.  Get his tax filings.  I want all of 
it."

	Niles gulped.  "His taxes?  How do I get a hold of those?"

	"They've been released, idiot," said Mason.  "Check with any news 
organization.  I want results.  We meet here again, early tomorrow."

	He got up, started to leave.

	"Um, just a moment," Niles had the temerity to say.  Mason froze 
for a moment, as if the novelty of someone giving him an order had 
frozen him into near immobility.  He turned around, leveling a steely 
glare.

	"I... um... just wonder what we're looking for?"

	Mason said, "What planet have you been living on?  Anything 
incriminating we can find on him, of course."

	"What will that look like-"

	"Use your brain, idiot!  Shit, the way you're acting, how did you 
ever get out of Cornell, much less in the top five percent?"  And he 
turned and left.

	"You," said Marsten, imitating his rough voice.  "Do this.  You!  
Do that."

	"A regular mister charming," said Niles.  He frowned.

	"What's wrong?" said Marsten.

	"How did he know I went to Cornell, much less my ranking?"

	"Dunno," said Martsen.  "The only thing I do know is that we'd 
better get started, right now.  People are going home for the day in a 
little under two hours."

	And work they did.  Marsten ran to the FEC, persuaded a 
slumbering clerk to cough up the publically filed documents--and then 
was dismayed to find four book-sized folders of papers.  Niles got the 
information he wanted from United Press International--Mandelbaum's tax 
returns for the past two years.  And it was only a few pages long.  For 
once it was Marsten, and not he, Philip Niles, who had gotten the short 
end of the stick.

	But when he got back to the office, he was dismayed to find that 
the returns, though short, were greek to him.  There were a whole maze 
of accounting tricks and esoteric deductions that Mandelbaum had 
employed to reduce his tax burden.  Niles, who was by no means an 
accountant, much less a tax lawyer, couldn't make heads or tails of it.

	They sat there, in the office, at 2 A.M., afraid to go home, 
afraid to concede the rest of the day without making real progress.

	"I can't figure this out!" said Niles.  "I don't know what to 
do!"

	"Stop whining," said Marsten.  He looked red-eyed from all the 
papers he had been forced to read.  "Want to help me with some of these 
docs?"

	"No chance," said Niles.

	"Then stop bitching.  What's he going to do, kill us?"



	Mason did not kill them, at least not immediately.  He just sat 
there quietly, listening to their report.

	"-and I checked over all the exhibits too," said Marsten, hefting 
several ounces of documents, "and... it looks all legit."

	"All of it?" said Mason.

	There was a silence for a moment.  Then Marsten said, "All of 
it."

	"How would you know?" said Mason, sighing.  He turned to Niles.  
"Your turn."

	"Um... I pulled up the tax filings.  I think they're ok."

	"You think?  What does that mean, you think?" said Mason, his 
eyes narrowing.  "Does 'you think' mean they are ok?  Or does 'you 
think' mean you have no idea what you're doing or saying?"

	"I'm not a tax lawyer-" said Niles defensively.  

	Suddenly Mason plucked the papers from his fingers. "Neither am 
I," he growled.  "But I have a mind, and I know how to use it."

	There was silence in the room for several minutes as he studied 
the tax returns.  Niles and Marsten kept very quiet, very still.  They 
even tried not to breath very deeply or to turn their heads suddenly.

	Several minutes later Mason nodded.  "Seems simple enough," he 
said, as if everything were settled.  He got up to leave.  "Make 
yourselves available the next time I call."  And he was gone.

	"I can't wait," said Marsten.

	"I'm pooped," said Niles.  It was 10 AM, and they were red eyed 
and bleary from working all night.  "I'm going home."

	"Me too."

	Just as they were getting up Toles entered the room.  "Oh, no you 
don't.  I need that judiciary report processed before 2 PM today.  
Move!"



	"There's nothing so far," said Mason, sitting in Powers' inner 
office.

	"Nothing?  Is that what I hired you for?"

	"I have to have something plausible to work with," said Mason 
reasonably.  "I can create a mountain out of a molehill, but I need the 
molehill first.  And don't say that you're surprised that all of his 
public filings are in order.  I wouldn't have expected anything else."

	"Hm...." Powers considered this.  "He hasn't paid very much 
taxes.  Surely we can make some hay from that," he said.

	"I don't think that would be a good idea; you haven't paid very 
much to the IRS either," said Mason.  Powers gave him a sharp look; he 
hadn't released his returns yet.  How had Mason known what was on his 
returns?  Did Sigfried spy on him?  But Mason made a certain amount of 
sense about not attacking M&M on the tax issue; Powers, for one, would 
not throw rocks while he lived in a glass tax shelters.

	"I do have one other source of information," said Mason.  He 
removed some documents from his briefcase.  "The subject's credit 
history."

	Powers took the documents.  "He didn't release these to the 
public."

	"No sir, he didn't," said Mason.  "These are what I was working 
on when you first called to inquire about my progress."

	"Hm.  Quite a mortgage on his summer home," said Powers.  He read 
down a little.  "He buys a lot of antiques with his credit card... and 
prescription drugs.  I see a lot billed to pharmacies.  Any idea of 
what that's all about?"

	"No sir."

	"Still, it's interesting," said Powers.  "I'm so glad that Big 
Brother keeps records like these.  It's so helpful in being able to 
track individuals."  He continued reading.  "Well, here's something.  
He paid for a trip to the Netherlands using his credit card.  That's 
the sex capital of the world.  I wonder if he bought some pornography?"

	"We'd have to search his home-"

	"Nothing so heavy handed," said Powers.  "That's how Watergate 
got started, you know."  He sighed, reading over the rest of the list.  
Some items titillated his prurient interest, but there was nothing 
obvious that could be used against Mandelbaum.  "Keep looking," he 
sighed.

	"As you wish," said Mason curtly, heading for the door.



	Philip Niles collapsed.  He didn't even remember the walk home, 
or much else from the past few hours.  He had worked all night before 
for Mason, and then for much of the day for Toles.  Toles, showing a 
heart of gold, let him go after the report was completed, at about 3 
o'clock.

	He was soundly asleep when Marie returned from Georgetown, just a 
little after 5.

	"What's this, a corpse?" she said, amused.

	But Niles did not stir.  It was only around 8 PM that he found 
himself blinking, focusing in and out on the far wall.  A pistol shot 
echoed in the distance.

	"They're up to no good again," sighed Marie.  She turned to 
Niles.  "Awake at last!  Where were you all night?  What did you do, 
sleep the day away?"

	Niles told her the whole story, how he had spent the night 
looking at tax returns.

	"Tax returns?  You're not a tax lawyer, Phil," said Marie.

	"That's what I tried to tell Mason," said Niles.  "He treated me 
like an idiot.  But I was afraid to go home, so I spent all night 
poring over the damn stuff."

	"Poor Philip.  So you've been sleeping all day."

	"No!  Toles made me work on the day shift as well," said Niles.  
He felt his irregular cheek; he hadn't shaved in over a day.

	"All day as well?  Didn't you explain-"

	"Mr. Toles didn't want explanations; he just wanted results," 
said Niles, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

	"That's awful!  They're treating you terribly!" said Marie.

	"It's bad enough having to work two shifts.  But that Mason guy 
scares me," said Niles.

	"Can't you ask to work with someone else?"

	"Uh-uh."  Niles drank some of the coffee that Marie had brewed.  
"I was volunteered personally for this assignment by the Congressman."

	Marie sighed.  "Well, at least they're not asking you to do 
anything illegal.  You were worried about that, remember?"

	"Uh huh," said Powers.  "But I think things are just beginning."



	The following day the Wizard came in to Powers' office, his face 
gleaming.  "I come bearing good tidings!"

	"I can use some good tidings," said Powers.  "Let's hear it, 
Gandalf."

	"We shot down M&M's ballot challenge.  Mr. Mandelbaum managed to 
knock out only about 200 of our signatures.  We still have more than 
enough signatures to get on the ballot."

	"Very good," said Powers approvingly.  "Thank the lawyers on my 
behalf."

	"You'll get their bill," said the Wizard wryly.  "They're the 
best, and the best don't come cheaply."

	"So I know."

	"But I also have some good news; our crack litigators have 
launched an attack of our own against M&M's ballots."

	Powers face lit up.  Finally, they were on the attack.  "And?"

	"Don't expect too much.  Uncle Miltie has a large petition safety 
margin, as we do.  But it will give him a bit of hassle, and generate 
some billables for his lawyers."

	"Good," Powers gloated.  "But I want more."

	"More?  Then how about your first campaign appearance?"

	Powers immediately sat up.  "When?"

	"In two days.  The Rochester event."

	"Rochester?  I thought we were going to wait for next week-"

	"We're moving up the timetable.  I want you to get some good 
exposure to the electorate."

	Powers nodded approvingly.  "The battle begins."



	The campaign appearance wasn't exactly in Rochester, but rather 
forty miles to the west of Rochester, in a small cluster of farming 
communities.

	"Is there any more out of the way place that we could have chosen 
to hold this rally in?" Powers had said when he fount out exactly where 
they were going.  "I know, let's hold our rally in a darkroom in 
somebody's basement.  Then we'll really get a large turnout."

	"You think that we should hold the rally in Manhattan, right?" 
said the Wizard.

	"Or Brooklyn or Queens or-"

	"But do you realize that more than half the votes cast in the 
election will come from outside New York City?"

	"But there at least we have some population density.  Here-"

	"Here we'll just have a few farmers.  Fine.  I just want to get 
it on TV, so the other rural communities across the state, of which 
there are not a few, can see this.  Rural voters often feel, for good 
reasons, that they are ignored in campaigns.  We're going to show that 
you're paying attention to them.  Remember when Ed Koch ran for 
governor against Mario Cuomo?  He said in an interview that upstate was 
not a fit place to live.  He lost his primary by the smallest of 
margins."

	"Hm," said Powers.

	But his doubts were only magnified when they reached Rochester.  
Rochester was a moderate sized city, one that in Powers' opinion could 
have fit comfortably into a Brooklyn neighborhood.

	And then Powers said goodbye as they left Rochester.  At first 
their five car convoy was on a four lane road, and then a two lane 
road, and as the setting grew more and more rural the regular pavement 
was replaced by rocky concrete and even gravel.

	"Why don't we turn off into a dirt road?" Powers grumbled.  He 
had been against this trip from the beginning.  Like many politicians 
from New York City, he had a strong prejudice against upstate and 
upstate residents.  He felt upstate was a barren land inhabited by 
simple farmers who had little in common with their sophisticated city 
breatheren besides the fact that they shared the same governor.

	They passed farmhouses and rows of crops.  Grazing cows stood 
eating grass at the side of the road.

	"We should stop and ask them for directions," said Powers.  

	They passed one group of cows who were slowly crossing the road.  
"They should have "cow crossing" signs," said Powers.  "You run into 
one of those babies, and wham! instant hamburger."

	His unease only multiplied when they reached their destination, a 
large, open air stage on the side of the road.

	"Is this where they auction the cows?" Powers wondered.

	"Open air stage.  For summer performances," said the Wizard.

	Powers looked around.  All he could hear was the rustling of the 
wind.  All he could see in any direction was wavy lines of crops.  
"Um... I don't want to appear impolitic, but aside from our people, 
there's no one here."

	The Wizard bit his lip.  "My advance people made sure this event 
was well advertised.  It's only 2 o'clock, the rally is at three, we 
still have an hour to go.  Don't worry, people will show up."

	They set up while Powers rehearsed his speech.  "The farming 
community is very important to our state," he said.  "You put food on 
the table for all New Yorkers.  Upstate New York is the bread basket 
for the East Coast--Ross, is anyone going to buy this?"

	"Yes," said the Wizard, peering into the distance, as if looking 
for something.  "Keep practicing."

	"Farming, while an integral part of our nation's history and 
livelihood, has always been underappreciated.  The needs of farmers are 
very important to me.  My uncle owned a farm in New Jersey where I had 
pleasant memories of tending the animals and... Ross, I never was on my 
Uncle's farm."

	"No one will know," said Ross, staring down the silent road.  
"Continue."

	"I want to be known as the farming Governor.  I want to do 
everything in my power to help farmers.  With support from Washington 
not being what it used to, I think we need to enhance farm income 
maintenance programs-" Powers droned on, delivering the rest of his 
speech.  It seemed all right to him.  When he was done he joined the 
Wizard, who was standing on the road.  Still not a single car had come 
down the road, even to pass by.

	"It's twenty minutes to," said Powers.  "I'm starting to become 
concerned."

	The Wizard said nothing but whispered to an aide.

	"What's happening?" Erin asked.  She looked out at the sprawling 
corn fields, stretching as far as the eye could see.  Whistling winds 
blew from the west.  A few lazy clouds slowly moved to the east.

	"No one's coming," said Powers.

	"They'll come," said the Wizard.  His beard ruffled in the wind.

	"Then where are they, what are they doing?" said Powers.  "In the 
time we've been waiting I could have milked the cows, fed the chickens, 
and driven Uncle Jessie into town to have lunch at Aunt Bea's with Opie 
and Cooter."

	They were all silent for a moment.  Then, suddenly, a single car 
passed down the road, moving slowing as it passed by.  This was it!  
The first of many to show up!  And then the car sped up, and simply 
drove by, and then it was down the road, and long gone.

	"I've got a bad feeling about this," said Toles.

	At ten minutes to the big event Powers said, "Ross!"

	The Wizard stood still, and then he turned around.

	"No one's coming, are they?"

	The Wizard shook his head.  "I don't understand.  We had so much 
advance promotion.  Everyone in a ten town area must have known about 
this."

	"They knew," said Toles suddenly.  "They just didn't care."

	"Yes," said Powers.  "Now, the media should be here any minute 
now.  How is it going to look for the cameras when I'm standing here, 
in my first campaign appearance, on a FUCKING EMPTY STAGE?"  Powers had 
a grim expression on his face, like he was going to make heads roll 
over this one.

	"Calm down," said the Wizard, raising his hands.  "There's a way 
out of this."

	"What will we tell the media?  They're liable to find this place 
at any minute."

	The Wizard paused, his mind whirring.  "We could move the rally 
to one of the little towns around here.  That might get their 
attention."

	"What, and have a crowd of five people?  No thanks," said Powers.  
"I will never, ever campaign outside a city again.  Never."

	There was silence for a minute.  They all seemed at a loss for 
what to do.  Then the Wizard said, "I have an idea."

	Powers waited.

  	"It won't get us favorable press coverage, but neither will the 
coverage be bad.  It will, in short, be a draw.  A wash."

	"At this point I'd settle for that," said Powers.  The campaign 
workers murmurred their agreement.  "But how are you going to pull it 
off?"

	"You," said the Wizard, pointing at Powers.  "Go home.  I don't 
want to see you within fifty miles of here."

	"What?"

	"It's important that you leave.  Right now.  Before the media 
arrives."

	"All right," Powers sighed.  "Let's saddle up, everyone."

	"No," said the Wizard.  "Everyone else stays.  Everyone, get out 
your maps!"  He turned again to Powers.  "Go."

	"Aren't you going to tell me what you're doing?"

	"No.  If I tell you and you criticize it I may lose faith in this 
plan, and it's the only one we've got."

	"You don't exactly inspire confidence," said Powers.

	The Wizard looked squarely at him, and pointed to his car.  "Go."

	Powers, for lack of a better idea, went.  He and Erin got into 
their car, and started driving, leaving the others, including Toles, 
behind.

	"Are you sure this is a good idea, Michael?" said Erin.  She 
looked behind them.  "What are the others going to do?"

	"I don't know," said Powers.  "I just don't know."

	

	Toles stood there with a dozen odd staffers and the Wizard, 
standing alone among fields of corn and barley, watching as Powers' car 
departed.

	Niles looked after them.  He wished he had gone with them.  He 
had no wish to be stuck in the middle of nowhere.  The other staffers 
looked similarly uneasy.

  	Toles, speaking for all of them, said, "Now what are we going to 
do?"

	"I will tell you," said the Wizard.  He looked about.  "You!  
You, standing in back!"

	"Me?" said Niles.

	"You!" said the Wizard.  "You look young and unsophisticated.  
You, young man, will serve at the centerpiece of my plan."

	"I will?  I mean, I will," said Niles.



	The press vans arrived an hour later, at just about 4 PM.  They 
had gotten lost on some side roads, and by the time they had retraced 
their route precious minutes had been lost.  Expecting to arrive at the 
tail end of Powers' rally, they instead found an empty stage.

	"What the hell is this?" said Oxford Frame, stepping out of one 
of the vans.  "Are we in the right place?"

	"This is the right place," said another reporter.

	"Then where the hell is everybody?"

	A young man stepped out from behind the stage, from where he had 
been waiting.  He solemnly walked up to the press crews.  The press 
crew, sensing something strange was happening, immediately trained 
their cameras on him.

	"Who... who are you?" said Oxford Frame.

	"My name is Philip Niles," said the young man.  "I'm a 
congressional aide for Congressman Powers."

	"And just where is the Congressman?" said Stephanie Gould.

	"At the rally," said Niles, matter of factly.

	"I don't see the Congressman," said Gould.

	"And I don't see the rally," said Frame.

	"That's because you're at the wrong place," said Niles, 
brightening.  "It's been moved.  I was left behind to show you where 
it's been moved.  If you hurry, we can get there in time."

	The reporters exchanged glances.  "Let's go."

	Niles rode with Stephanie Gould and Oxford Frame.  "Why was the 
rally moved?" said Frame.

	"The Congressman wanted to hold it inside one of the small towns 
in the area, not in the middle of a corn field," said Niles.

	"Seems reasonable enough," said Gould.

	"But why move it at the last minute?" Frame persisted.

	"Well...."

	"And why wasn't the press informed?"

	"Uh...."

	"Oh, leave the boy alone, Oxford.  Can't you see he's just 
relaying the message?" said Gould.

	"Oh I see, all right," said Frame.  "Boy, how long before we get 
to this rally?"

	"Just a few minutes, Mr. Frame."

	A few minutes turned into a half hour, a half hour into forty-
five minutes, and finally, when they were on the verge of giving up and 
heading home, they saw a circle of small buildings ahead with a large 
sign "Welcome to Bakersville, pop. 7,428."  "We're here!" said Niles 
excitedly.  He checked his watch.  It was almost 5 PM.  Perfect.

	Shortly thereafter they found themselves in a small town green.  
A sign hung over one end "POWERS FOR GOVERNOR."  A large number of 
discarded placards lay on the ground.  A few campaign workers were 
slowly picking up trash.

	"Where are they?" Frame asked.

	"Golly, I guessed we just missed the end of it," said Niles, 
scratching his head.

	"Hold on here," said Frame.  "I'm no dummy.  How do we even know 
that anything happened here?"

	"See for yourself," said Niles, pointing at the evidence.  "I 
just wish the Congressman had stuck around a little longer.  He would 
have loved to talk to you press people."

	"Niles, there you are," said the Wizard, coming out of nowhere.  
He looked at Frame.  "Where were you press people?  We could have used 
your cameras two hours ago!"

	"I'll bet," said Frame.  He planted his hands on his hips.  "You 
don't think anyone's going to buy this, are you?"

	"Buy what?" said the Wizard innocently.

	"Let's interview some townspeople," said Frame, turning away.

	"If you can find one," said the Wizard, shrugging.  "It's pretty 
late in the day.  As you can see, most people have gone home."  He 
turned away, apparently unconcerned.

	Gould turned to Frame.  "What's gotten into you?" she asked.  
"Why would they fake a rally?"

	"I don't know," said Frame.  "But I smell a story."

	They started looking around for one of the townspeople.  But the 
town was indeed fairly deserted and all the small stores were already 
closed and shuttered.  Finally after walking two blocks in a random 
direction they caught up with a villager.

	"Excuse me, did you attend the rally this afternoon in the 
village square?"

	"Rally?  What rally?" said the man, walking on.

	Gould and Frame exchanged glances.

	They walked about for a few minutes longer, but could only find 
one more pedestrian, one who didn't know about the rally either, but 
admitted, "I haven't been into the center of town lately."

	Gould and Frame returned to their cars, just as the Wizard and 
his people were finishing packing up.

	"Had a nice walk?" the Wizard inquired.

	"No one we talked to had any knowledge of your rally," said 
Frame.

	The Wizard raised an eyebrow.  "How many dozens did you talk to?"

	"One person," said Gould.

	"Two," said Frame, glaring at her.

	"Well then," said the Wizard.  "I never claimed we had perfect 
attendence.  It's a pity that the Congressman headed back home so 
quickly.  He was at the rally, and I'm sure he would have been 
delighted to tell you more about it."

	"There was no rally!" said Frame, snorting contemptuously.

	"Be careful about what you report," said the Wizard.  "Because 
although your cameras didn't arrive in time, ours did, and we have 
footage of the rally."

	"What?" said Frame, disbelieving.

	"Have a look."  He took Frame and Gould to the back of a van 
where a TV and VCR was set up.  "I was just checking the footage before 
you stopped by."  He pressed a few buttons.

	The image of Powers appeared, speaking at a podium, reading his 
standard speech.  The image was centered on him, so little of his 
background could be seen.

	What could be heard, however, were the sounds of scattered 
applause in the audience.

	"This could be nothing.  I don't see any audience," said Frame.

	At that moment the image cut to the audience, where a number of 
citizens sat, cheering him on.  Once again the background was not 
readily determinable from the scene being shot, with the the camera 
focusing more on the people rather than the background.

	Frame said, "Interesting.  Mind if we get a copy of that tape?"

	The Wizard quickly turned off the VCR.  "Not on your life.  I'm 
not going to do your job for you.  You want to get footage, you come to 
rallies on time."

	And then he finished packing up the van and headed off.

	"It still looks fishy to me," Frame scowled.  But he could not 
easily prove it.



	Powers arrived home in time to catch the evening news.

	"And Speaker Mandelbaum spoke at a rally on the Upper East Side 
where he promised a new sort of state government-"

	"The Upper East Side.  Yeah.  And I had to be in fucking Farmer 
Brown country," said Powers, downing a stiff drink.

	The report continued for a moment, and then the camera view 
returned to the newsroom.  "And Congressman Mike Powers was campaigning 
in upstate New York today.  Stay tuned for weather, sports-"

	The phone rang.  Powers picked it up.  "Yes?"

	He listened for a moment.

	"No, it wasn't negative.  It wasn't anything."

	He listened further.  "Yes, I'm pleased we managed to avoid being 
on the receiving end of embarrassing press.  I have to confess that I'm 
curious how you pulled it off."

	He listened, silently, for several minutes.  Then his mood 
change; in any event, he burst out laughing.

	"Really?  You just edited clips from past speeches?  And it 
worked, it actually worked?  I don't believe it!"

	A short pause.

	"Ok, I do believe it, it obviously happened.  Look, I'm obviously 
grateful that we avoided a debacle.  But M&M actually got good press 
today, while I got none.  We've got to turn things around, ok?  Ok.  
See you tomorrow."

	Powers hung up the phone, grinning despite himself.

	It was in such a mood that his son, Bobby, came running up.  
"Daddy!" he shrieked.  "Were you on TV again?"

	Powers shook his head.  "How are you doing, kiddo?"  Then he 
remembered something.  "How are things in school?"

	"Great!" said Bobby.  "I'm getting straight A's now."

	"I knew you would," said Powers.  "How is Mr. Sandoval?" Powers 
had recently gotten Bobby a new tutor.

	"He's ok," said Bobby.  "We don't waste our time going over a lot 
of different stuff.  He's good.  Most of the questions we go over 
actually seem to come up on my exams."

	Powers smiled.  "That's because he's not an egghead.  He's a 
teacher who knows what he's doing.  But Bobby, this is our little 
secret.  You can't talk about Mr. Sandoval to anyone--your friends, 
your relatives, anyone.  You understand?"

	The child frowned.  It was obvious that he didn't.  But he said, 
"OK, Daddy."

	Powers smiled.  "I knew that with the proper help we could boost 
your grades in school.  Now get going.  Don't you have some studying to 
do?"

	Bobby nodded, and scooted off.  Powers' smile immediately faded.



	"Didn't work," said the Wizard, shaking his head.

	They were in Powers' office the following day.  "What didn't 
work?"

	"The ballot attack on M&M's petitions," said the Wizard.  "We 
managed to knock out about 12 of them."

	"Twelve?  Only twelve?"

	"Like I said, he had pro's getting his signatures.  I knew we 
wouldn't be able to shake them," said the Wizard.

	"Then why did we waste the money and the time?" said Powers.

	"Because you told me too," said Ross calmly.

	Powers nodded.  "I did."  He hurriedly put on his suit jacket, 
preparing to go.

	"Where're you off to?"

	"Meeting with the Speaker.  It's time to move my light rail bill 
forward for a House vote."

	The Speaker of the House was the most important member of the 
House of Representatives.  Technically he presided over the meetings of 
the House and ruled on different procedural motions.  In reality he was 
seldom present on the House floor--for one thing, most legislation was 
debated in something called the Committee of the Whole, which 
theoretically was just another House committee but actually comprised 
all the members of the House of Representatives.  When the Committee of 
the Whole was in session the Speaker did not preside over its meetings, 
even though the "Committee" met on the floor of the House itself.  
Furthermore even when the House was officially in session the Speaker 
often appointed a Speaker Pro Tem, a person whose job it was to preside 
over House sessions, and usually the Speaker Pro Tem was a relatively 
junior member of the Speaker's party.

	No, the power of the Speaker emanated not from his power to sit 
over meetings but rather his power to schedule votes on legislation.  
As the leader of the majority party in the House, in this case the 
Democrats, the Speaker had the power to schedule (or not to schedule) 
votes on any subject he saw fit.  So he spent most of his time off the 
floor in his office, plotting legislative strategy to see that the most 
important bills reached the floor in a timely manner.

	That is what Powers wanted to do, to see his bill reach the floor 
in a timely manner.  However, he was very much aware of one thing:  the 
current Speaker of the House, James Rayban, Congressman from 
California, had the political courage of a flea.   

 	Rayban had been speaker only a year and a half.  He had taken 
over from the previous speaker, who had suddenly resigned "for the good 
of the House", and, not entirely coincidentally, shortly before the 
justice department had been about to indict him on five counts of 
fraud.  Arrogance, really, had been the cause of the previous Speaker's 
real downfall; his patent disregard for the rules had caused him to 
overstep his bounds.

	Which is partially why the Democrats choose Rayban for Speaker.  
He never overstepped any bounds.  Rayban never overstepped anything.  
Rayban, politically speaking, was a piece of putty, a very cautious and 
even timid man.  Powers called him "dumbellhead" only partially because 
the Speaker was a former weightlifter.

	"So what's the story on my bill, Jim?" said Powers, meeting in 
private with the Speaker.

	"Well, I don't know, Mike," said the Speaker, fidgeting 
nervously.  A stranger coming into the room might have mistaken Powers 
for the powerful one and the Speaker for the supplicant, given the tone 
of the meeting.

	"What don't you know, Jim?" said Powers, keeping his expression 
neutral.

	"The session is rushing to an end.  If only we had the time...."

	"Of course we have the time," said Powers.  "We could pass it on 
a voice vote, without debate."

	"Oh, I don't know, you know those Republicans, they might 
object...."  Rayban looked increasingly nervous.

	"Then have a debate.  Say... an hour on each side.  The rules 
committee could see to it."

	"Yes... I suppose they could...."  The Speaker of the United 
States House of Representatives looked worriedly at Powers.  Seeing his 
resolve, Rayban said, "All right.  You'll get your vote."

	"Thanks," said Powers.  "And what about lining up support for the 
bill?"

	"Support?  Oh... you'd have to talk to the whips about that," 
said Rayban.  "Do we really need to make this a party line thing?"

	"We do," Powers assured him.	

	"Oh," said Rayban.  He paused.  "I can't really push this, you 
know.  Can't expend precious political capital.  I'll get you your 
floor vote, but you're going to have to push for it on your own, ok?"

	Powers paused, sighing.  It would have to do.



	"This had better work," said Powers.  They were outside a bar in 
Brooklyn.

	"Trust me," said the Wizard.  "This time we're going where the 
people are."

	"Better than a fucking corn field," said Powers.

	The bar looked packed; it was a Friday night, and it was bound to 
be crowded.  Just as Powers reached the door, however, the media closed 
in from where they had been waiting on the other side of the street.

	"Congressman, are we actually going to see a campaign appearance 
this time?" said one.

	Powers threw a glance at one of his aides.  "If you gentlemen can 
keep up with me."  He opened the door, entering the bar.

	Immediately he was hit by a blaring sound.  It took only a few 
seconds to identify it as a stereo going at full blast.  But the crowds 
were fairly oblivious to it, gulping down their beer as fast as they 
could swallow it while keeping their eyes glued to the TV screens on 
the wall.

	A woman bumped into him, almost sloshing beer over Powers' suit 
jacket.

	"Congressman Powers," said Powers, holding out a hand.

	"Watch where ya goin'!" she shrilled, several inches from his 
ear.

	Powers winced, turning away.  The cameras were rolling by now, 
and taking in all of this.  

	He turned to one of the patrons who was watching the baseball 
game on TV.  "Congressman Mike Powers," he said, yelling above the 
noise to be heard.

	The man said, "Yeah," but continued watching.

	Powers went over to another patron.  "Hi, I'm-"

	"Out of the way, buddy, you're blocking my view," yelled the man, 
staring at the TV set.

	The press crew could be seen snickering on the side.

	"This isn't working," Powers said to the Wizard.

	"What?" said the Wizard, looking puzzled.

	"THIS ISN'T WORKING!" said Powers, shouting to be heard.

	"Oh," said Wizard.  "Wait."

	"What?"  Powers couldn't hear him over the music.

	"WAIT!" the Wizard yelled.  He frantically took out a piece of 
paper from his pocket, quickly writing on it.  A moment later he handed 
it to Powers, and then disappeared into the crowd.

	Powers read the paper in the dim light.  What rabbit was the 
Wizard going to pull out of his hat now?  But then he discerned the 
words, and he allowed himself a small smile.

	Stephanie Gould felt a bit of pity for Powers.  He was trying his 
best to campaign, but these drunken neanderthals were just ignoring 
him.

	Oxford Frame, however, was having a field day, rapidly jotting 
down his impressions in his little notebook as he ordered his camera 
crew to film the scene.  No wonder Powers hadn't wanted the press at 
his first rally.  It must have been even more disastrous.

	After a few more minutes, however, Powers just stood still, 
perhaps watching the game with the rest.

	"He looks like he's giving up," said Gould.

	"He keeps looking at his watch," said Frame.  "I bet he's just 
looking to get out of here.  He's just waiting for a decent interval.  
Like Vietnam."

	But suddenly, something unexpected happened.

	The lights all went out.

	Actually, the lights went out, the music stopped, and the 
televisions were shut down.  Suddenly, the bar was plunged into eerie 
silence.

	There was a babble of confusion for a moment, and then the 
bartender shouted for order.  "Quiet!" he said.  "The power will come 
back on in a minute."

	They looked outside.  Other establishments all around them still 
had power.  The streetlights were still functioning, dimly illuminating 
the bar.  It became obvious to everyone that this was a localized power 
failure.

	"Call the power company," said someone.

	"What, you think they're going to come at night, for a 
nonemergency?" said the bartender.  "How much have you been drinking?"

	They waited a few minutes more, but when it became obvious that 
the power was not returning, the mumbling crowd started to move for the 
exit.

	"Wait," said Powers.  "Maybe I can help," he said.

	The crowd stopped moving.  "Who're you?" said someone.

	"Congressman Mike Powers.  Let me call the electric company.  
Perhaps I can get them moving."

	There was a murmur of general agreement.  Let the politician try!

	"Give me the phone," said Powers.  The phones, of course, 
operated on a separate power line and still functioned.  However, as he 
started dialing, he wondered if anyone would be sharp enough to ask how 
he happened to know the number of the power company.

	No one did.

	"Hello?" said Powers, speaking loudly enough to be heard.  "We 
have a power outtage here on... 1248 Broad Street."

	He paused, as if listening to someone on the other end.  "It's a 
bar."

	He paused again, and said, "I know it's late.  But we were 
watching the Yankees-"

	Powers let himself be interrupted by the person on the other end 
of the line, but he quickly spoke up again.  "Listen," he said.  
"You're a public servant.  This is Congressman Michael Powers.  If I 
don't see a repair truck here in fifteen minutes, I'm going to convene 
congressional hearings on the performance of... what?  You'll be here 
in ten minutes?  Great!"  Powers hung up the phone.

	A cheer rose up in the bar.  Suddenly all the patrons were 
cheering Powers, slapping him on the shoulders, being friendly and 
suddenly very talkative.

	"Yeah, you're running for governor, right?"  "I'll vote for you."  
"You stick up for the little guys, I like that."  "Why'd you do that?"

	Powers answered that last one.  "Because as a loyal New Yorker, I 
love the Yankees just as much as each and every one of you do."

	The crowd cheered him.  "Pow-ers!  Pow-ers!  Pow-ers!"

	And then the power came back on, although they hadn't even 
noticed the arrival of anyone from the power company.

	The patrons gave a war whoop as the televisions illuminated the 
bar, and the music returned, and the beer started flowing again.  
Powers lost their attention rapidly, but he had gotten what he wanted.  
He looked over at the television cameras, as if to say, "Did you get 
that?"

	

	Later that evening, Powers and the Wizard watched the 11 o'clock 
news.

	"-a Brooklyn bar full of cheering residents were chanting his 
name as the Congressman Powers got the electricity back on," said 
Stephanie Gould.  "Congressman Powers!  Congressman!"

	Powers' face appeared in the crowd.  Everyone around him was 
slapping his back and cheering him on.  "Hi," said Powers.

	"It seems you've turned this crowd into avid supporters," said 
Gould.

	Then one of the patrons, a fat man with a moustache, yelled, "For 
getting the Yankees back, I'd make him president."

	"Well, I was just trying to help," said Powers.  "I hope to do a 
lot more as governor.  I think that if politicians really cared, if 
they stayed in touch with the people-"

	Suddenly there was a roar as everyone cheered.  Evidently the 
Yankees had just gotten a run.

	The scene cut back to Gould in the present.  "As you can see, an 
enthusiastic crowd.  I think Speaker Mandelbaum is in for a tough 
fight.  Bob, Jane?"

	The scene returned to the anchors in the newsroom.  "If he keeps 
the Yankees going on their current streak I'll be sure to vote for 
him," chuckled Bob.

	Powers pushed the mute button.

	"Well?" said the Wizard.

	"Good," said Powers grudgingly.  "Fairly good."

	"Fairly good?  Do you realize I almost got electrocuted when I 
was fiddling with that power box in the alley?  Congressman, I studied 
science in school, but my science was political science, not 
electronics."

	"Very good," Powers conceded.  "Very, very good.  But it's just 
the beginning."  



	The next day there was an op-ed piece in the Times.



	BREAD AND CIRCUSES



Personal Sentiments

By Michele Franswa



			Congressman Michael Powers made the news yesterday.  
He wasn't talking about the economy, or the budget, or health care.  He 
was being cheered because he helped a bunch of beer guzzling bar people 
watch a baseball game.

			Politics used to be about the issues.  The candidates 
would come and state their positions, which would air in a series of 
debates.  Whatever happened to the time when we used to talk about the 
issues, instead of petty distractions?

			Now a politician is little more than an entertainer, 
elected merely if he pleases his constituents enough.  But what about 
the issues, Congressman?  What about day care, prenatal care, 
rebuilding our crumbling infrastructure, and doing something to bring a 
little dignity to the lives of the poor and downtrodden?

			They don't want baseball games, Congressman.  They 
want solutions, and they're only going to elect someone who gives it to 
them.



	"Ah, ha ha ha," said the Wizard, giving a broad laugh, as he read 
the piece in Powers' Washington office the following day.  "This will 
only help us get votes.  She should be on our payroll."

	"Um," said Powers noncommentally.  He was half reading a piece of 
legislation, half watching the midday news.

	One of the anchors was speaking.  "New York Assembly Speaker 
Milton Mandelbaum held a rally this morning in the Upper East Side 
again, in Congressman Michael Powers' district.  Is that what they call 
chutzpah, Jim?"

	The other anchor chuckled.  "You bet.  The Speaker leveled a 
serious charge against the Congressman today.  Here's Kiki Bartletts 
with our report-"

	Powers and the Wizard stared at the screen intently.

	They saw the balding diminutive figure of the Speaker, addressing 
a campaign rally.  "-my opponent, Congressman Powers, has been a great 
lecturer of the need for ethics in government.  And yet he is the 
biggest pork barreler of them all.  He inserted an amendment into a 
piece of construction legislation to build a highway to nowhere, out at 
Lake Rasco!  The only people who can use the highway are the fish!  
This legislation only aided one of the Congressman's important campaign 
contributors, an important construction company-"

	Kiki could be heard in a voiceover.  "Later, I got a chance to 
speak to the Speaker."  She could be seen standing next to the smug 
Speaker.  "Speaker Mandelbaum, these are serious charges you raise 
against Congressman Powers.  But we've seen these charges before, years 
ago; isn't this just old news?"

	Mandelbaum shook his head.  "We have new evidence that not only 
was this a wasteful expenditure of the taxpayer's money, but that there 
was language put in the legislation which would only permit one 
contractor to perform this task.  And that contractor was Bos 
Construction & Cement."

	A campaign aide stepped in the office.  "Did you see... oh.  The 
other networks are also picking it up."

	"Out!" said Powers.

	The aide scrambled.  The Wizard closed the door, bracing for the 
worst.

	But Powers was calm.  "These are old charges.  I went through 
this, seven years ago."

	"I know about the Lake Rasco project," said the Wizard.

	Powers raised his eyebrows.

	"I make it a point to thoroughly research a candidate before I 
take the job of promoting him," said the Wizard.  "Essentially his 
charge is true; you built a highway in the middle of nowhere, and you 
made sure that Bos got the contract.  Couldn't you at least have put it 
in a populated area?"

	Powers grimaced.  "I was only in my second term.  I didn't think 
very much about where to put it.  But I thought the issue was settled 
years ago.  The ethics committee looked into it, found no wrongdoing.  
How can he make this a campaign issue, after so many years have 
passed?"

	"Because he's clever," said the Wizard.  "He's able to raise an 
old issue by claiming to found a new incriminating fact to bring to 
light:  that the legislation specifically stated that only Bos could 
perform this project.  It's sort of like picking at a scab from an old 
wound."  He smiled at his analogy, looking pleased.

	"What are we going to do?" said Powers.

	"For now, nothing.  I want to take a look at the legislation that 
he's talking about.  You might call your friend Sigfried and tell him 
to keep his yap shut.  Don't say anything, just pooh-pooh it.  If we 
don't respond it may well disappear in a day or two."

	But it didn't disappear, not that day or the next. Powers was 
hounded by the press.

	"Congressman... Congressman..." one reporter chased him down the 
hallway.

	Powers kept walking.  "Yes?"

	"What do you have to say about the Lake Rasco project?"

	"That's old news," said Powers calmly, still walking.

	"What about Mr. Mandelbaum's charges-"

	"It's obviously for political benefit.  In case you didn't know, 
we're both running for the same office," said Powers.

	"Yes, Congressman, but what about the substance of the charges?"

	"There is no substance," said Powers curtly.  He reached the door 
of his office.  "And now, if you'll excuse me."

	As soon as he got in he said, "Get me Ross."

	But his receptionist said, "Waiting for you in your inner 
office."

	"We have to do something," was the first thing that Powers said.

	"I know," said the Wizard calmly.  "This thing has taken on a 
life of its own."

	"You're telling me!  They're chasing me down the hallways!" said 
Powers.  

	"You're also going down in the polls."

	"What?"  This was the first Powers had heard about polling; the 
campaign had just begun.

	"A minipoll, highly unprofessional.  But I place you down ten 
points in two days because of this."

	"Down ten points?  From what?"

	"From being down ten points," said the Wizard.

	"Great," said Powers.  "I'm 40-60 in the polls, and sinking 
rapidly.  How can I ever make that up?"

	"Whoa!" said the Wizard.  "Hold on."  He ticked off a number of 
points on his fingers.  "One.  I told you it was a rough poll.  Two, as 
I told you, you were already ten points behind when you started.  
You're the underdog, remember?  But ten points is very doable."

	"And twenty?"

	"Don't interrupt.  Three, I didn't say 40-60; you did.  My 
unscientific poll showed you at 20-40."

	"What?  40% undecided?"

	"With 30% undecided.  There's a third candidate in this race, 
remember?"

	"Mush Head," said Powers, referring to Attorney General 
Sampleton.  "At 10%."

	"Yes."

	"But what difference does it make if it's 20-40 or 40-60?  We're 
still 20 points down!"

	"Did you hit your head on the way to work today?" The Wizard 
wanted to know.  "That means there's a larger base of undecideds.  And 
support for both you and Mandelbaum is weak--the voters just don't know 
very much about either of you.  If you don't let him define you, you 
can still make up for this."

	"So what do we do?"

	As always, the Wizard was ready with the answer.  "It's simple.  
You go on Face the City, this Sunday."	

	"Face the City.  This Sunday."  Then Powers exploded.  "What?  
Are you out of your mind?  What will I do there?  Allow myself to be 
grilled by a bunch of hungry journalists?"

	"No, you will answer their questions," said the Wizard.  "You 
see, that's your problem.  You have an attitude that you're afraid of 
the truth.  The press picks up on that.  That only makes them bolder.  
It also makes you look more guilty."

	"What the hell are you talking about?"

	"There, that's better.  Righteous indignation.  Only tone it down 
a bit for the interview.  Don't worry, we'll rehearse...."



	The next day, Powers got a call.

	"Hello, Michael," said a familiar voice.

	"Just a moment," said Powers, rushing to close the door.  He 
returned to the phone, at a slower pace.  "What's up, Sigfried?"

	"Michael, I'm being called by reporters.  They're asking 
questions, Michael.  Embarrassing questions."

	"Don't worry, it won't amount to anything."

	"I'm concerned, Michael.  And some of my friends are also 
concerned.  When they get anxious it is difficult to calm them down.  
Kapeesh?"

	Powers swallowed hard.  "Tell your... friends that the best thing 
that they can do is to stay calm.  We'll only be in trouble if anyone 
blows up about this.  Don't talk to the press.  When asked about the 
project, all you know is that you won the contract fair and square."

	Sigfried changed the subject.  "I hear you're going on television 
this weekend."

	"You hear correctly."

	"Don't blow this one, Michael.  It could sink you.  It could sink 
us.  Do you see my meaning?"

	Powers nodded unconsciously, holding the phone with one hand.  "I 
understand."



	"Good morning, I'm Bob Jepson, and this is Face the City," said 
the anchor.  "Today we're going to talk with Congressman Michael 
Powers, a candidate for governor who seems to have become mired in an 
old scandal from another campaign.  He'll have a lot of questions to 
answer on that subject as well as his race for the governorship.  
Joining me today is my fellow CBS reporter Stephanie Gould and New York 
Times Op-Ed columnist Michele Franswa."

	Powers had nearly fainted when he had heard that Franswa was 
going to be on the panel.  This was something that he really feared; 
she was out for blood.  His.

	But the Wizard had been more sanguine.  "Just give her enough 
rope to hang herself with.  If she crosses the line, viewer sympathy 
will be with you, not her, and she could inadvertently tar the entire 
journalist panel as a hanging jury out to get you."

	"Would you rather trade places with me?" Powers had asked.

	"Honestly?  No, never, not for a moment," the Wizard had said.



	"Mr. Powers, Speaker Mandelbaum has raised a serious accusation 
against you," said Jepson.  "He claims that you steered federal money 
to one of your most important campaign contributors, the Bos 
Construction and Cement Company.  How do you respond to that?"

	Powers gave a gentle smile.  "First, Bob, I object to the 
characterization of this as an 'old scandal'.  Yes, in my first 
reelection campaign, I was attacked by a mudslinging challenger who 
cast aspersions on my efforts to improve the infrastructure of upstate 
New York.  I denied any wrongdoing, there was no evidence of any 
wrongdoing, the ethics committee looked into this, and they found no 
evidence of any wrongdoing, and exonerated me."

	Franswa immediately went on the attack.  "Mr. Powers,"  Powers 
astutely noticed that she didn't refer to him as Congressman, "isn't it 
true that the ethics committee did not in fact exonerate you-"

	"Michele-"

	"And isn't it true instead that they found indications of 
questionable practices, but didn't pursue the matter further because 
they didn't have the evidence to support a censure motion?"  She looked 
triumphantly at Powers, her teeth bared.  Michele Franswa had been a 
reporter for such publications as The New Yorker, the Washington Post, 
and The New York Times for over 25 years.  An ace student at Yale 
University, she had surmounted fierce competition to become Editor-in-
Chief of the Yale Daily News before going on to journalism school at 
Columbia.  Then her career really took off, and she spent the better 
part of three decades doing what she loved best, advocacy journalism:  
fighting for the helpless, the downtrodden, and exposing the fallacies 
of the great and the powerful.  Her feud with Powers stemmed from the 
fact that while he gave lip service to supporting liberal causes, she 
sensed (correctly) that his was a cynical commitment, intended only the 
garner the votes of those he was ostensibly in office to help.  And if 
she could, she was going to bring him down.

	Powers made a dry chuckle.  Ross had made him practice it, in 
front of a mirror, the night before.  "No, Michele, you've got your 
facts all wrong.  The ethics committee found no wrongdoing, look at 
their report yourself."

	"I have, Congressman, and-"

	"And the matter has been closed for seven years, until partisans 
in this race have reopened this divisive issue," said Powers.

	"Yes, but-"

	"I think we should have a positive campaign, talking about the 
issues, rather than these distractions."  Powers took a piece of 
newspaper out of his pocket.

	"But-"

  	"Let me read.  This won't take a moment.  'Politics used to be 
about the issues.  The candidates would come and state their positions, 
which would be debated on all sides.  What ever happened to the time 
when we used to talk about the issues, instead of petty distractions?'  
Do you know who wrote this, Michele-"

	"I did, but-"

	"Yes you did, and you're 100% correct, Michele," said Powers.  
"Let's talk about the issues.  Is there anyone here who wants to ask a 
substantive question about an issue that affects the great state of New 
York?"

	There was a pause for a minute.  Everyone had been geared up to 
ask highway questions.  But Powers had made it difficult for them to do 
that without appearing overly aggressive.

	Finally Jepson said feebly, "What are you going to do about 
crime?"

	Powers gave him the stock answer.  "We need a combined approach.  
We need more prisons, more cops on the beat.  But we also need to look 
at the prevention side.  We need youth programs and counseling for 
troubled teens, as well as self-esteem classes and more drug treatment 
and job training programs.  Crime is not a liberal or conservative 
issue, Bob, or at least it shouldn't be.  Working together, we can 
arrive at common solutions to our common problems."

	But then Stephanie Gould spoke up.  "Congressman, getting back to 
this Lake Rasco issue, people are still confused as to why you 
sponsored a bill to build ten miles of good highway all the way up into 
the mountains."

	Powers said, "Stephanie, Stephanie.  Some people think that when 
a road's being built upstate that probably it's going to be used by 
five or fewer people.  The fact is, Stephanie, that this road is 
heavily utilized by fishermen, environmentalists, hikers, outdoor 
enthusiasts, and geologists who now have ready access to the lake.  And 
I think it's foolish for us to say that upstate New York cannot have 
its fair share of regional development funds."

	"Hold on, Mr. Powers," said Franswa.  She waved a paper.  "I'm 
holding here the copy of your bill, which was passed into law seven 
years ago.  It stated that this construction has to be built 'by a 
construction company located in the state of New York, one that has 
between 200 and 400 employees, and one that uses ferroconcrete in its 
processes,' effectively giving the project to Mr. Bos's company, which 
was not even under an obligation to offer the lowest bid.  What, sir, 
do you have to say to that?"

	"What is it, Michele, that perturbs you?" said Powers.  He took a 
deep breath.  Now they were getting to the heart of the matter, the new 
piece of the puzzle that Mandelbaum had recently filled in.  "Does it 
bother you that I mandated that the company that built this project be 
located in the state of New York, paying New York taxes and employing 
New Yorkers on its construction sites?  Does it bother you that I 
specified a small to medium sized company, giving our small business 
owners a chance to get a piece of the pie?"

	She interrupted.  "What of the ferroconcrete?  Bos is one of the 
only companies in the area that uses it.  Effectively, sir, you handed 
over the contract to him.  What have you to say to that?"

	Powers hung his head.  Looking straight at the camera, he said 
slowly, "I am guilty."  There was a small gasp from the journalist 
panel.  This they had not expected.  Was Powers going to crack, right 
there on the air?

	But then Powers raised his chin, and still staring the camera, 
said, "But first let me tell you what I am guilty of.  I am guilty of 
trying to save lives."  He let that sink in a moment before continuing.  
"Scientific studies have shown that ferroconcrete is up to three times 
more durable than concrete normally used in road construction.  Now, I 
might not have specified the use of ferroconcrete in the construction 
contract.  A cheaper, even substandard sort of concrete might have been 
used... it might even have saved a few bucks.  But what would happen 
when cracks and potholes start to appear in the road?  What happens 
when the road starts to break apart?  There will be traffic accidents, 
of course.  Crashes, injuries, deaths.  Are the lives of people upstate 
not worth spending a little more to ensure their safety?  If I am 
guilty of anything, it's working to reduce traffic deaths!" Powers 
thundered.  "But I am not the only guilty one.  Others are guilty, 
those who would take this issue of traffic safety and attempt to 
politicize it.  Those individuals... and their allies in the media seek 
to distract attention from my candidacy, from the issues, so the 
insiders can keep the governor's statehouse, so the needs and issues of 
the day will not be addressed.  I cannot permit that, I will not permit 
that!  Ask what questions you will, say what you want about me, but do 
any of you, any of you three at all, want to talk about the real issues 
for New York?  Or shall we continue to do the bidding of those who 
would seek to obfuscate a true debate of ideas?  Let us decide once and 
for all!"

	Suddenly the sounds of clapping could be heard.  The cameramen, 
the technical and support staff, were actually clapping for Powers.  
The journalists looked startled out of their wits.  Franswa seemed 
about to open her mouth, but, wrinkling her face, said nothing.



	The morning newspapers were clear as to who won that round.  
"POWERS FIGHTS FOR HIGH GROUND" said the Daily News. "POWERS K.O.'S 
JOURNALISTS, MANDELBAUM" said the New York Post.  For the next two days 
both papers ran upbeat articles on Powers.  The Lake Rasco story was 
forgotten.  It seemed that everyone in the media was dancing to a 
different tune.  Well, almost everyone.





	HISTRIONICS UNBECOMING



Private Sentiments

By Michele Franswa

	

			Michael Powers put up a good performance last night.  
I'm told that he was well coached by his media advisors.  That does not 
obscure the fact that one of his political payback deals has been 
exposed.

			What is disturbing is the newly cowed attitude that 
the media has taken.  Michael Powers gives a speech on television where 
he takes pride in his obfuscation, where he dares journalists to 
question him about it, and everyone folds like a house of cards.

			This man is dangerous.  He is a demagogue.  He is 
reminiscent of another man in another era who could rally crowds in 
beer halls with his bombast, a dangerous man who could appeal to hearts 
but not minds.

			Let me be clear.  Milton Mandelbaum is not the ideal 
candidate.  But he brings more hope than Michael Powers.  Progressives 
of all stripes should unite to defeat him.  For his election will only 
propel New York backwards, from which it may take years to recover.



	"Well, she doesn't even call you 'Mister' anymore," Toles noted, 
putting down the paper.

	"That roundtable was a stroke of genius," Powers chortled.

	"Did I tell you?" said the Wizard.  "It was a gamble, but it paid 
off."

	"I think that applause did it," said Powers.  "How did you ever 
manage that?"

	The Wizard shook his head.  "I didn't.  I couldn't.  The best 
things in life are often unplanned.  But you're right, that applause 
was important.  It showed that the common people were on your side.  It 
justified your going on the offensive.  You did cow them.  And now look 
at this."  "This" was a poll result from the Daily News.  "72% of those 
who saw news clips from the roundtable believe you.  72 percent!  You 
don't get that high a percentage on anything, except in communist 
countries and other banana republics.  Further, a new poll has put you 
only eight points down, 31%-39%."

	"We made up all the lost ground," said Powers, unbelievingly.  
"And then some.  All in one event."

	"It's volatile, I told you that," said the Wizard.  "But keep 
your guard up, it can change just as quickly.  Now it's time we strike 
back again, this time against Ms. Franswa."

	"What?  How?"

	"I told you she'd hang herself if she had enough rope.  And she 
did.  Now we can easily label her as an unabashed partisan.  Watch."



	Two days later a letter appeared in the Times.



	To the Editor:

	

		I was very disturbed by Michele Franswa's editorial of 
earlier this week entitled "Private Sentiments: Histrionics 
Unbecoming", where Ms. Franswa compared Congressman Michael Powers to 
'another man in another era who could rally crowds in beer halls with 
his bombast, a dangerous man....'  It is an insult to Congressman 
Powers and all those who suffered the evils of the Nazi regime to 
compare the Congressman to Adolph Hitler.  It is either comparing the 
Congressman to Adolph Hitler--which he is not, having never advocated 
genocide or mass aggression of any sort--or belittling the evils of of 
the Nazi regime by comparing him to any politician that is currently in 
disfavor.  I do not agree with everything Congressman Powers says or 
does, but I think that Ms. Franswa cheapens the memory of those who 
died in World War II, as well as the reputation of your newspaper, with 
such demagogic comparisons.



								Larry Culbert

								Queens





	Powers nodded his approval.  "Is there really a Larry Culbert?"

	The Wizard nodded.  "There had to be.  They're watching this one 
very closely.  I couldn't pick an obvious contributor, either.  That 
could be traced.  By the way, did you like that touch I added about not 
agreeing with everything you said and did?"

	Powers nodded.  "It shows that even my fair-minded opponents 
think that I'm being treated unfairly.  And, speaking seriously for a 
moment, we do have a valid point.  No major politician in America is a 
Hitler.  Any such comparison is simply ridiculous."

	"Precisely," said the Wizard.  "She exaggerated for her own ends, 
and it backfired against her.  Now I wonder how Franswa feels about 
being called a demagogue?"


	Chapter 4



	Powers hadn't vocalized it, but he was getting pretty tired of 
being a whipping boy for Mandelbaum.  He had put out this latest brush 
fire, but he wondered when he was going to go on the offensive against 
M&M.  He had set up a meeting with Mason for the following day.  Where 
was he, anyway?

	At that moment, Mason, accompanied by Niles and Marsten, was in 
the Queens city hall, talking to a scrawny clerk.

	"Yeah, I got my job through Speaker Mandelbaum.  He recommended 
me.  What's it to you?" he said.  "Where'd you say you guys were from?"

	"We're doing a piece on the governor's race, for PBS," said 
Mason, giving smile brimming with the goodness of milk and honey.  
"We're working on our Mandelbaum profile right now."

	"Don't see no cameras," said the man, looking behind them.

	"PBS radio," said Mason.

	"Don't know no PBS radio," said the man.

	"You don't?  You should listen more.  1220 on the AM dial," said 
Mason.

	"And don't see no microphones," said the man.

	If there were microphones, the man wasn't supposed to see them, 
Mason thought wryly.  But he only said, "This interview is on 
background."

	"What's dat?"

	"That means we're just gathering information.  We write up the 
report to broadcast later."  Mason changed the subject, to the real 
subject.  "I'm looking for a Carl Warren.  Do you know where I might 
find him?"

	"Carl?" said the man.  Then his face shut down.  "No, don't know 
about Carl."

	"You sound like you knew him," said Mason.

	"No, don't know him."

	"Are you sure?  I understand you and him used to work together, 
when you worked on Mr. Mandelbaum's staff."

	"Don't know nuttin," said the man.  "Try Zeph Cochran, two doors 
down."  He turned away, leaving the window unattended.

	"Are we getting someplace with this?" said Niles.

	"Carl Warren was a patronage appointee of the Speaker who... fell 
out of favor," said Mason.  "Come.  Let us pursue this further."

	"Us?" said Marsten.  "You're doing all the pursuing.  What are we 
here for?"

	"To look innocent," said Mason.

	Zeph Cochran was hardly more cooperative.  At first he denied 
knowing anything about Carl Warren.  But when pressed he admitted that 
they had worked together, briefly, in the Speaker's office.

	"How briefly?"

	"Year, maybe two."

	"Oh," said Mason.  "Do you know where we can find him?  We're 
trying to locate him."

	Cochran laughed, seemed about to say no, then seemed to change 
his mind.  "Yeah.  No harm.  I'll tell you where he is.  22 Monroe 
Avenue."

	"Is that his home or work address?" said Mason suspiciously.

	"Both," said Cochran, getting a laugh.

	Thirty minutes later they knew what was so funny.

	22 Monroe Avenue was a graveyard.



	"NOTHING?" Powers thundered.  "NOTHING?  WHY AM I PAYING YOU?  
WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

	"It's still early," said Mason.  "You have to have patience."

	"HOW CAN I HAVE PATIENCE WHEN MANDELBAUM IS BOMBARDING ME LEFT 
AND RIGHT AND MY OWN STAFF OF INCOMPETENTS COULDN'T FIND A SCANDAL IF 
THEY WERE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF A CRIME SCENE!"

	"If you calm down, we can talk.  If not, I go," said Mason, 
shrugging.

	Niles and Marsten looked at each other.  No one talked to the 
Congressman like that!

	But Mason did.

	Powers stared at him for a minute.  He matched his glare.  Then 
Powers nodded, and they both relaxed, minutely.  "Go on," he said. 

	"This guy who used to work for Mandelbaum.  Warren.  Died of 
natural causes."

	"But he fell out of favor," said Powers.

	"Yeah, but if they worked on him, they must've done a good job.  
I've spent the past week trying to get leads on this.  No one, even his 
enemies, want to talk about the good Speaker, on or off the record."

	"Hm." said Powers.  "And now?"

	"We keep looking.  We try to find something," said Mason.  He 
shrugged.  "There are no guarantees.  You want guarantees, you got the 
wrong guy.  We can't create what isn't there."

	Actually, they could.  But Powers put that idea on the backburner 
for now.  He nodded.  "You may go.  But keep looking.  If he does 
something... anything... if he's jaywalked, I want to know about it."

	Mason nodded, getting up.  Niles and Marsten looked at each 
other.  They were dismissed.



	The Yamato was a top of the line Japanese battleship, one of only 
two of a kind, with thick, plated heavy metal armor and large, long 
steel turrets mounted on its hull.  The Yamato trained its gun on an 
American destroyer in its path.

	Boom!  Three inch shells burst out in a blaze of fire.  They hit 
the destroyer square on.  It exploded, belching flames as it sunk into 
the depths of Powers' backyard Virginia pool.

	The Wizard looked closely at some of the models, the largest of 
which were nearly two feet in length.  "Are these real shells?"

	"They have a little bit of explosives in them," said Powers, 
holding the complex remote in his hands.  He pressed a button, and one 
of the ships slowly moved forward.  "But each ship also has a larger 
explosive charge that is detonated by an attacking shell.  I would 
stand back if I were you."	

	The Wizard hastily did just that.

	"This is what I did to Michele Franswa," said Powers.  One of the 
American destroyers launched a torpedo. It lanced out, skimmed along 
the side of the Yamato, and hit the far side of the pool, creating a 
small explosion.

	The Wizard looked closely.  There was now a small hole there, 
leaking water.

	"Erin's gonna kill me," Powers muttered, as he continued 
maneuvering his ships.  "What's our next course of action?"

	It was Toles who spoke.  "Light rail."

	The USS Missouri, a state of the art World War II battleship, 
closed on the Yamato's left flank.  Leveling its guns, it blasted one 
of the Yamato's escorting heavy cruisers, the Congo.  The Congo 
exploded, scattering bits and pieces across the pool.  One of its 
lifeboats landed within inches of the Wizard's lawn chair.  "Hey," he 
said. 

	"Yeah, go on," said Powers, addressing Toles.

	"The Speaker is giving us a vote for the middle of next month," 
said Toles.  "But it's up to us to line up support for it."

	"What do we need?  Surely we have enough Democrats to pass this 
thing," said Powers.

	"Don't take all your fellow Democrats for granted.  Mandelbaum 
has influence, even in the House."

	Powers looked startled.  "More than I do?"

	The Hood, a British battleship that never saw action against the 
Japanese, leveled its turrets on the Yamato.

	"It's not just that.  People don't want to stick their necks out 
so close to an election.  They call it voting for pork projects," said 
Toles.

	"Of course it's pork!  But I vote for theirs," said Powers, 
reasonably enough.

	The Yamato opened fire with one shot, hitting the Hood amid 
ships.  There was a large explosion as its magazine blew up, and it 
quickly sank to the bottom.

	"I think we've got a coalition together that will give us enough 
support," said Toles.

	"You don't sound very sure," said Powers.

	The Missouri moved into position to attack the superbattleship.  
It let open a volley, one shell of which struck the Yamato's hull--and 
bounced off.  The Yamato opened fire, hitting the Missouri near the 
stern.  The Missouri spun about and started to take on water, but it 
did not explode, like the others.

	"I'd be a lot surer if we could get at least a half dozen more 
votes... say the Oklahoma delegation."

	"The Oklahoma delegation?  You mean Bill McKinney?"  Bill 
McKinney was the Democratic baron of Oklahoma, the dean of the 
delegation.  When he talked, members listened.

	"He's inclined against, but he's willing to talk to you."

	"Set up a meeting," said Powers.  Then he blinked, looking hard 
at Toles.  "There's something you're not telling me," he sensed.

	"I have set up a meeting... in Oklahoma.  He's invited you to his 
ranch next weekend.  To talk about it."

	"What???"

	"Obviously he wants to have some fun with you," said the Wizard 
dryly.

	"If I play along and act the fool, will he give me his support?" 
Powers wanted to know.

	"This I don't know," said Toles.

	"Great," said Powers.  "Just great.  I get to act as fucking 
cowboy for the weekend in hee-hawville, and for what?  Probably for 
nothing."  He slammed the remote down on the chair.

	The light cruisers Minneapolis and St. Paul opened fire.  Their 
turrets had been pointed in the general direction of the Yamato, though 
of course there was no chance that their shells would penetrate the 
thick battleship armor.

	The shot from the Minneapolis went wide, but the St. Paul hit 
went right in the infrastructure.  There was a large explosion as the 
Yamato blew up, sending fragments all over the pool.

	"Don't give up so easily.  You can never fully predict the 
results of your actions," said the Wizard.

	Powers, stunned, could only nod his agreement.



	He was still stunned, two days later, when he found himself in 
Oklahoma, riding to the McKinney ranch.  He stared at the whiteness of 
the sand outside.  "Desert," he muttered to himself, sitting in the 
back seat of McKinney's chauffeured limo.  "I've come to a shit-ass 
desert."

	"What was that, sir?" said the driver.

	"Nothing," said Powers, speaking louder.  "Just a touch of 
indigestion."

	Powers' bad feeling only intensified when the car swung into the 
McKinney ranch.  McKinney, clad in a cowboy outfit from top to bottom, 
from rodeo hat to long hard leather boots, greeted him.  "Mike my boy!  
Good of you to show!"  He chuckled as he pounded his back while looking 
at Powers' suit up and down.  "You look a mite bit overdressed, though.  
Why not change into something more appropriate?  I'll have the boys 
carry your bags in."

	Twenty minutes later Powers, in sky blue denim, sat with McKinney 
on a table overlooking his property, drinking a mint julep.

	"Quite a sight, ain't it, boy?"

	Powers didn't like being called boy but he needed this man's 
support, so he merely agreed that it was.

	"Bet you New Yorkers never get out this far west," chuckled 
McKinney.

	"I've been to California."

	"California!" he roared.  "Let me guess.  Los Angeles, San 
Francisco."

	Powers nodded.

	"Son, you've never been to the West, the real outdoors.  Do you 
some good, give you some character, some guts.  You sure need'm."  He 
watched from piggy eyes as each blow struck.

	"Um hm," said Powers.

	"Fact is I've never thought much that city boys were good for 
anything, not jack shit or fly stew.  Weak willed sissies.  You don't 
take no offense, of course?"

	Powers, keeping his face impassive, said no.

	But all the same he wondered if he could get an early flight back 
to Washington.

	Powers took this sort of abuse all weekend.  McKinney, who seemed 
to have a visceral hatred of people who lived in the big cities, simply 
loved to taunt him.  He cast doubt on Powers' masculinity, virility, 
intelligence, common sense, and his political ability.  That last hurt 
the most.

	But Powers took all the taunts and insults in stride.  Well, he 
tried to.  It was difficult for him, but he was doing this for a higher 
cause.  And at the same time an anger burned in him, an anger strong.  
McKinney was taking advantage of him.  He was using his power to abuse 
the congressman from New York.  Powers didn't like that; he was 
supposed to use his power against others, not let others use their 
power against him.

	Finally when it was Sunday and time was running out and Powers 
could take it no longer, he raised the subject that both men knew had 
brought him there but neither man had raised since Powers had arrived.  
They were sitting on his back porch, staring at some of the mares, when 
Powers raised the subject.

	"Bill, about the light rail bill-"

	"Ho-ho, the topic casually comes up," said McKinney.  "I hear 
you're running for governor of your piss-ant state, Mike.  Could this 
really be true?"

	Powers assured him that it was.  "I could really use the light-
rail bill-"

	"We all could use a lot of things, Mikey," said McKinney.

	Powers took a deep breath.  No one, NO ONE, called him Mikey. But 
he saw the natural opening.  "What do you need, Bill?" he said quietly.

	"Me?"  He gave a big laugh.  "I don't need nothing!  Nothing, you 
hear!  But I have to say, your visit has been entertaining."

	"Then give me your support," said Powers.

	"Why?" said McKinney.  "Why should I give a damn over your piss-
ant trains?"

	"Because I'm a man, like you, fighting against currents to get 
ahead.  You should admire that."

	"Admire that?" McKinney snorted.  "Some man you are.  Ever driven 
cattle over 200 miles?  Ever busted a bronco?  Look there, son, what do 
you see?" He pointed to one of his horses.

	"A horse," said Powers.

	"Not a horse, son, that's Mighty Blue.  He's bucked more men than 
a whore at a frat party.  Ever ridden a horse like that?"  The horse in 
question, a brown mare, was slowly pacing back and forth, like a 
restless prisoner.

	Powers thought hard.

	"Well?"

	"Once I had my picture taken on a pony," Powers admitted.

	"Shit," said McKinney, getting up as if to leave.

	"Wait a minute," said Powers.  "If I ride the horse, will you 
support my bill?"

	"You?" said McKinney, surprised.  "You think you can stay on 
Mighty Blue for more than 10 seconds?"

	"If I manage to hang on for 30 seconds, will you support my 
bill?"

	"Hell, if you stay on for a half minute..." he did a doubletake.  
"You got a deal."

	"Your word?"

	"I don't welch on my word," said McKinney, looking as if he had 
been offended.

	"Very well then," said Powers, starting to approach the horse.

	"Just a minute," said McKinney, giving a shout to the house.  "I 
want the boys to see this."

	"While they're coming, could I ask a small favor?" said Powers.  
He walked up to the horse.  It looked menacing up close, snorting 
dangerously as he came by.

	"Shoot."

	"I feel I have good rapport with animals after I've fed them.  
You don't happen to have a few sugar cubes?"

	It so happened that he did, in his shirt pocket.  "Thanks, said, 
Powers.  Turning his back on the curious McKinney, he faced the horse 
with an open palm.  The horse immediately came over; Powers just hoped 
his hand wouldn't get bit. 

	But he wasn't attacked, and the horse merely gobbled up the 
contents of his palm.  Powers, relieved, took a step back. 

	By this time the ranchboys had gathered.

	But Powers was now looking reluctant.  Mighty Blue was pacing 
around, moving restlessly.

	"Something wrong, son?" said McKinney.

	"No..." said Powers.  "I just realized something."

	"You're scared," he sneered.

	"No, I'm not wearing my cowboy boots."	

	"You?  Cowboy boots?" said McKinney.

	"Sure.  You didn't think I took that picture on the pony without 
appropriate accoutrements, did you?" said Powers.  He turned to the 
ranch.  "Don't go anywhere.  I'll be right back."

	"Can't wait," said McKinney, scratching his head.  What was 
Powers up to?

	Meanwhile Mighty Blue was still pacing, back and forth.

	A few minutes later McKinney realized that Powers had not 
returned.

	"He's yellow, fellows," said McKinney.  They nodded in agreement.  
McKinney scratched his head.  Could Powers have taken off?  That 
wouldn't have made any sense.

	He was just about to send one of the ranchboys in to find him 
when Powers emerged.  He wore long black boots.

	McKinney whistled approvingly.  "That's some gear, partner."

	"The better to stomp with," said Powers coldly.  He looked at 
Mighty Blue.  It had stopped moving, and was standing, almost dully, in 
the middle of the pen.  "Let's get this over with." 

	He walked over to the horse, and immediately climbed on it, like 
a pro.  McKinney immediately expected the horse to kick him off.

	But Mighty Blue did nothing.  Powers kicked the spurs, and Mighty 
Blue slowly took a few steps forward.

	"What?" said McKinney.  This he couldn't believe.

	A few slow paces later the horse reached the edge of the pen 
where everyone, speechless, was watching.

	Powers petted the horse's head.  "Nice horse," he said.  Then he 
looked at his watch.  "Look like it's been a good 30 seconds to me."  
He dismounted the still docile animal.  "Your word, Bill?"  He 
purposely reminded McKinney in front of his men.

	"What?  Sure," said McKinney.  He still looked stunned.  What had 
happened to his horse?  He was smart enough to know that something had 
happened, but at the same time he wasn't smart enough to figure out any 
of the specifics.

	"What...." he began, and then stopped, for a loss of words.

	"I just have a way with animals," said Powers.  "You know, it 
must be a big city, Easterner thing.  I think I'll be packing my bags 
now."



	The Wizard high fived him when he emerged at Dulles 
International.  "Mission accomplished?" he asked.

	"As we predicted," said Powers.  "He was clueless.  But how did 
you know?"

	"Research, my boy.  You're not the first person he's called out 
to his fiefdom to humiliate.  I found out what the pattern was--he 
usually dared people to ride his worst animal, or some such.  But 
the... ah... compound worked, in the right amounts?"

	"Like a charm," said Powers.

	"Good," said the Wizard, relieved.  "I was afraid I had given you 
too many tranquilizers.  It would have been embarrassing if your horse 
had fallen asleep on you."

	But they both laughed again as they headed home.



	The next day the Wizard introduced a new advisor to Powers.  
"Michael, I want you to meet Sylvia Plant, your speech coach."  Powers 
immediately noticed that she was attractive.  He shook the young 
woman's hand, but noticed the ring on the troubling finger.  Oh well.  
That had never stopped him before.  

	Powers said, "Speech coach?  No offensive, but I think my 
speaking abilities are pretty well-honed."

	"They are," said the Wizard.  "But a little tune up can't hurt.  
I had Sylvia here study some of your past speeches."

	"Yes, Congressman, you are a very gifted speaker," she smiled.

	"Call me Michael," said Powers, smiling broadly.

	"Michael," she smiled.  "Very well.  I'm here to help you with 
some key phrases.  I'm also here to help with some facial expressions-"

	"Key phrases?" said Powers.

	"Yes," said Plant.  She handed Powers a card.  "Read this, 
please."

	Powers read the card.  "We need community based drug treatment 
programs."

	Plant got excited.  "That was good, but it could have been 
better.  Look for the keyword."

	"The keyword?"

	"The buzzword.  In this case it was community," said Plant.  "Do 
you ever watch civic leaders speak on television?  About the needs of 
the commun-ity?"  And she stressed the end of the word.  "Did you hear 
how I stressed the 'ity' sound, like it was a separate word?"

	"I did," said Powers.  "But what of it?"

	"It's part of politispeak," said Plant. "If you speak like them, 
you'll sound like them.  People vote for people who sound like them.  
Now, say it."

	"Commun-ity," said Powers.

	"Good.  Again."

	"Commun-ity," said Powers.  "Commun-ity.  We need more drug 
addicts in the commu-ity."

	"Good, very good," said Plant.  "Now, when you speak, look a 
little down at the camera, and try to be solemn, like you're reading 
the constitution or something."  She sat down.  "Do it.  Pretend I'm 
the camera.  Do a little spiel.  Do you need it written out?"

	"Not at all," said Powers, who prided himself on his ability to 
speak off the cuff.  He consciously molded his facial expression, and 
then said, "We need more health care centers in the commun-ity.  The 
government needs to do more to keep the safety net in place, especially 
for the poor, the underemployed, and the disadvantaged.  A responsible 
budget would make this our priority, rather than the wasteful pork 
barrel spending projects as my honorable opponent as proposed."

	He stopped, looking at Plant for a reaction.  She looked 
spellbound.

	"Good, very good," said Plant.  "You naturally formed look of 
justice number four there.  Very good."

	"Look of justice number four?" said Powers, confused.

	"Yes, that's where you arch your eyebrows and you speak very 
slowly with a small smile, as if you're bringing a beautiful truth to a 
classroom of eager young children."

	"Isn't that kind of patronizing?" Powers wanted to know.

	"Yes, but it's subtle enough for our purposes," said Plant.  She 
turned to the Wizard.  "He's fine.  I think he could use a few 
pointers, especially before debating, but he's fine.  I've rarely seen 
a natural like him before."

	"High praise," said the Wizard. 

	Powers shrugged.  "I can't help being me."



	Powers' next campaign appearance was at a factory in Syracuse.  
After his first trip upstate he had been understandably reluctant to 
campaign there again.  But the Wizard had made a compelling case 
against writing off half the electorate, in this case the entire 
upstate region.

	"Why do I care?" Powers whined.  "All the Democrats are in New 
York City, anyway."

	"First of all, many of them are also upstate," said the Wizard.  
"And second of all, even more voters in the general election are 
located upstate.  You cannot afford to simply write them off."

	So Powers had gone upstate.  But he had stipulated that he appear 
in a major city... or at least, what passed for a major city, upstate.

	And so they were in Syracuse.  Powers was to speak at a plant 
that made copper wire for the telecommunications industry.  Powers 
shook hands with the hardhats, who seemed generally indifferent to him.  
And then he gave his speech in their union hall, which was packed--as 
it should have been, as the union boss here, a Powers ally, had made 
attendance mandatory for all the members.

	"Your work here is very important," said Powers, speaking to the 
mostly bored audience.  "The copper wire that you hammer here will be 
used in telephone lines around the country."  But even as he said it he 
realized it was wrong.  Fiberoptics was the rage nowadays; in fact, 
fiberoptics was replacing copper wiring.  Didn't Toles tell him that 
employment at this plant had been dwindling?

	Well, it didn't matter what he believed, or even what the truth 
was; the important consideration was making these workers believe that 
he cared, and that he thought their work was important.

	"My grandfather worked in a factory such as this," said Powers, 
continuing on with his story.  Actually his grandfather had been a 
manager, not a worker, and shortly thereafter had ended up owning the 
factory.  But there was no need to trouble these union employees with 
too many details.

	Powers droned on for several minutes, and then he turned to the 
section of his speech containing his goodies and other promises.  "You 
labor impressively, you pay your taxes, and yet the government does 
little to reduce your burden."

	There, he got the first murmuring of approval.

	"Therefore when I am governor one of my first acts will be to 
increase the minimum wage by $2 over the current level that it is now."

	He waited briefly for the applause.  There was none.  Then he 
realized that these union workers must make much more than the minimum 
wage.  Oh oh.  Time for point two.

	"I also support requiring employers to provide health care to 
their workers-" he stopped in midsentence, looking down at his speech.  
These were union employees, of course they had health care!  He rapidly 
skimmed the rest of the list.  Most of the promises were for things 
they already had.

	He looked up at the expectant crowd.  They were wondering why he 
stopped, if any of them cared at all.  But the cameras were on him.  
Looking up and putting aside his speech, he said, "But let's not talk 
about this penny-ante stuff.  What is it you want, you really want?"

	There was a silence.  Powers had been asking the question for 
real; he didn't know the answer either.  Then he rapidly thought back 
to his labor law class from law school, and it came to him.

	"Job security!  That's the key issue, that's why you unionize!  
One of my first acts as governor would be to push through a law 
stating-"

	"Hey, we already have a law stating that we can't be permanently 
replaced while on strike-" yelled a man in the audience.

	There was a scattered laughter, at Powers' expense.

	"If you'll wait, sir, for me to finish my sentence, you'll see I 
was about to say something else," said Powers, thinking rapidly.

	"Yeah?" said the provocateur.

	"Yeah," said Powers, thinking quickly.  "I want to push for a law 
that will keep plants open for five years after any union contract is 
signed.  How does that sound to you?"

	"Sounds kind of good," said the man.  "But what if management 
wants to bail out?"

	Powers was ready, thinking one step ahead.  "I'll also push for a 
law allowing employees to buy out their employer."

	"With what?" another man shouted.  "Peanuts?"

	"Subsidies," said Powers.  "We'll set up a fund for that 
purpose."

	"Yeah... yeah..." they started to murmur.

	"Where do you get the money for that?" someone in the audience 
shouted.  It was Toles, actually.

	"The money?" said Powers.  "The state government rakes in 
millions of dollars every year.  Are you saying we can't spare just a 
little of it for hardworking, decent taxpayers like yourself?"

	"No!" they shouted as one.  And then they started clapping and 
whistling, and Powers knew that he had pulled it off again.

 

	"Mr. Taney, come in," said Powers.

	A shaken young man entered Powers' office, sitting next to the 
Wizard.

	"I understand you wrote that speech that I gave yesterday," said 
Powers pleasantly.

	The young man nodded.

	"Unfortunately, I only had the opportunity to skim the speech 
before I gave it," said Powers.  "Did you realize that it was filled 
with promises that were largely irrelevant to members of a union?"

	Taney swallowed hard.  "Ahhh...."

	"Ahhh... is unacceptable, Mr. Taney."  Powers was keeping 
remarkably calm.

	"Well, I thought this was labor, and labor all had the same set 
of demands, unionized or not-"

	"Wrong, Mr. Taney," said Powers.  "Wrong.  You embarrassed me, 
and nearly wrecked the entire appearance."

	The Wizard blew a large smoke ring out of his pipe.  Admiring it 
for a moment, he slashed his finger through it, cutting it in half.

	Taney gulped.  "But in the end-"

	"In the end I thought quickly and saved myself," said Powers.  
"Or would you take credit for that?"

	"N-no," said Taney.

	"I thought as much."  He looked at the ceiling for a moment, and 
then back at Taney.  "You may go."

	"Go?"

	"You're fired, of course.  Any first year student of political 
science would not have made the blunder that you did.  I give you 
permission to leave, however, and you may go.  In the next five 
minutes.  Go!"

	Taney swallowed hard.  "But-"

	"Go!" said Powers.

	"Could I at least have a reference?"

	"A reference?  Of course," said Powers.  He quickly scribbled 
something down on a piece of paper, then handed it to Taney.  Taney 
took it, looked at it, and dropped it to the floor, saying, "I can't 
use this."

	"And I can't use you.  NOW GET THE HELL OUT, AND CONSIDER 
YOURSELF LUCKY I DON'T BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!"

	Taney got, bolting from his seat.

	The Wizard covered his face in his hands for a moment.

	"You know, it's not really his fault," said Powers.

	The Wizard said nothing.

	"Really, it's the fault of the person who brought him on board."

	"He came to me with high recommendations," said the Wizard.  "How 
was I to know?"

	"Oh, come on," said Powers.

	"Listen, Mike, you buy me, you buy my people... it's like buying 
a basketfull of apples.  Most of these apples are going to be good.  
But there's always going to be one or two which aren't so good."

	"Cut the metaphor shit," said Powers.  "I don't want another 
screwup.  I want you to personally check each speech I give, or else 
write it yourself, and I will hold you personally responsible for the 
consequences.  Clear?"

	"Clear," said the Wizard, nodding.  He turned to leave, but 
curiousity got the better of him, and he picked up the crumpled piece 
of paper, and read it.  "Mr. Taney would serve appropriately in any 
position where competence or ability is not required."  The Wizard 
chuckled, heading out the door.



	The floor of the House of Representatives quite a majestic place.  
There were hundreds of seats for all the representatives, all facing 
the elevated platform where the Speaker sat.  A rich blue patterned 
carpet draped the floor while an august high ceiling hung above them.  
Spectators watched silently in the balcony, and Powers could see where 
the network and CSPAN cameras were set up.  There was a sense of high 
drama in the air.

	For the time had come for the vote on Powers' bill.  The Rules 
Committee had dictated that there was to be an hour of debate on each 
side.  Powers, of course, would be the floor manager on his side, and 
Joe Roberts, Republican from Texas and the ranking Republican on Public 
Works and Transportation, would be leading the opposition.  He had 
approached Powers, right before the debate, exchanged cursory 
greetings, and then shook his hand.

	"What was that for?" Powers wanted to know.

	"Just to let you know that it's nothing personal," said Roberts.

	Uh-oh.  

	Then the debate started.  Powers made a preliminary statement in 
favor of the bill, and then reserved the balance of his time.

	The Republicans got up, one by one, and attacked his bill.  
"Pork!"  "Pork!"  "Wasteful pork!"  "Pork, pork pork!"  Powers felt 
like he was a spectator at a hog convention.

	Finally when it was his side's turn to speak again Powers said, 
"What's all this talk about bacon?  Haven't we voted funds for rail 
projects before?  Are not bullet trains the wave of the future?  Aren't 
they building them all over Europe?"

	"If the gentleman would yield," said Roberts.  Powers nodded.  
"We question this expenditure because it doesn't seem like the 
ridership numbers justify such an expenditure-"

	"But they would," said Powers.  "Don't you see, you're putting 
the cart before the horse.  Your figures are based on current ridership 
numbers on our antiquated transportation system.  Sure, I'll grant you 
that.  But what if we had a modern rail system?  Ridership would 
quadruple!  What my honorable friend from Texas is doing is akin to 
looking at the ridership figure for horses and buggies and using that 
figure to try to estimate the amount of usage that would go into a 
highway for cars."

	"I have to disagree with the gentleman from New York," said 
Roberts.  "But even if we grant you this point, which we do not, we are 
also troubled by the provision which states that ferroconcrete must be 
used on this project."

	And Powers felt a chill in his blood.  He knew immediately what 
Roberts was getting to.

	"Now, there are many sorts of concrete that are adequate for this 
project, many of which would allow more than one contractor to bid on 
this project." said Roberts, looking at Powers meaningfully.  "I move 
we amend-"

	"Sorry to interrupt the honorable gentleman, but I must respond 
to your statement," said Powers.  He held up a stack of papers before 
the camera.  "I have here engineering reports which indicate that 
ferroconcrete is three times safer than any other sort of concrete.  If 
the gentleman is asking me to compromise the safety of the ridership 
for a few dollars, I must forcefully refuse!"

	There was a scattered clapping in the audience.  Powers quickly 
put down the papers in his hand (he had no idea what they contained), 
and then he continued.  "As for the financial cost, as I've said we're 
only allocating $20 million dollars.  I think, no... I am certain that 
in the time that we've spent debating this the federal government has 
already spent ten times this amount of money in its daily course of 
business.  Really, this is such a small issue, let us get on and vote 
on it!"

	But Roberts wasn't finished yet.  "I yield time to the right 
honorable gentleman from California, Mr. Frasier."

	What was this?  Bill Frasier was a Democrat from California!

	"Mr. Speaker, I rise in opposition to the bill sponsored by the 
gentleman from New York," said Frasier.

	Powers stood still, riveted in shock.  He had counted on 
Frasier's votes, along with the votes of most Democrats.  What was 
going on here?

	"I don't object to the economical merits per se of this bill," 
said Frasier.  "But I am very concerned about its environmental impact, 
as are a number of my colleagues."

	Ahhh.... Powers immediately knew what this was about.  A 
Mandelbaum ploy.  There was no way in the world that a Congressman from 
California would give a damn about a railroad track in New York.  
Someone had put him up to this.  Mandelbaum.  But how had Mandelbaum 
gotten his hooks into a Congressman from California?  And how many more 
had he bought off?

	These thoughts raced through Power's mind as he listened to 
Frasier drone on.

	"Mr. Speaker, I am very troubled by this proposal," said Frasier.  
"Congressman Powers is proposing to litter the New York landscape with 
noisy bullet trains, ones that could dangerously pollute an already 
congested environment."

	"Congressman, this is a light rail system, environmentally clean 
and tested," said Powers.

	"You can call it whatever you like," said Frasier.  "But when I 
read the bill I see heavy bullet trains.  I don't see anything 
particularly "light" about these locomotives."

	"Well, we could debate the fine technical points forever," said 
Powers.  "But did you not also read the plans for a bike trail?"

	"Bike trail?"  Obviously, Frasier hadn't, which made Powers more 
convinced than ever that this was a last minute put-up job.

	"Yes, I'm sure when you read the bill, you must have seen the 
reference, in section four," said Powers.  He looked at the language 
before him.  "Section four states that a bike trail will be built 
contiguously with the light rail system."

	"What?" said Frasier.  "Do I understand the gentleman correctly?  
This rail line is going to extend for hundreds of miles!  Do you really 
expect anyone to ride their bicycle for that length?"

	Powers smiled.  Now he had him.  "Frankly, I'm surprised by the 
reaction of my good friend from California.  Cycling is proven to be 
one of the safest and most environmentally sound forms of 
transportation.  We have an Appalachian Trail for hiking that spans a 
dozen states, and yet my friend from California cannot conceive of a 
bike path just a fraction of that length.  I must relate my surprise 
that such an avid environmentalist such as yourself would have such a 
reaction."

	That shut him up.  But the battle lines were set, and this 
environmental issue was simply window-dressing; no amount of 
substantive discussion would change anyone's mind.

	Suddenly Toles, who had floor privileges, passed him a note.  
Powers read it.  "Looks like we've suddenly lost 20 votes due to M&M 
doublecross.  It's going to be a lot closer than we thought.  Nod if 
you want me to have contingency plan B prepared, just in case."

	Powers gave a curt nod.  Toles dashed off.

	The debate continued, but Powers, even as he was managing it, 
wasn't paying much attention.  What the coalition of Republicans and 
so-called environmentalist democrats were trying to do was offer a 
substitute that would gut his bill, allowing a mere $50,000 for a 
committee to further study the issue, and report back in a year.

	A year!  Obviously Mandelbaum was behind this.  Powers vowed to 
get his own revenge, in the proper time.

	When debate was cut off, it was time to vote on the substitute.  
If the substitute passed, Powers was sunk.

	Powers immediately cast his vote and started to go over to the 
other Congressmen to twist arms.  But people's minds were pretty much 
set.  

	The vote tally started at 94 for, 80 against.  This substitute 
must be defeated!

	Powers went around, rallying his support.  He yelled, screamed, 
inveigled, cajoled.

	The tally was now 139 for, 141 against.  With two vacancies in 
the 435 member House, 217 votes were needed to win.

	Powers kept going around, talking to Congressman.  He passed by 
McKinney, who gave a thumbs up.  Powers saw that he was delivering a 
large part of the Oklahoma delegation.  Well, that was something.

	172 for, 170 against.

	Some of the Democrats acted like helpless children.  Several said 
that they had promised to vote against the bill, and they couldn't 
break their promise.  A few were saying to him "Any other vote, we'll 
support you, ok?  But not this one.  We're taking too much heat."  
Powers could only wonder who was applying it.  Nevertheless, Powers 
huddled with them for several minutes.

	Finally, the vote count was nearing a close, with 216 for, and 
214 against.  The bill looked dead.

	Powers, in the middle of a huddle with the rebellious democrats, 
looked up at the vote, and saw Otis Fern standing by.

	"Otis!" said Powers.  "I'm calling in my chit.  Your vote, now!"

	"But-" Otis looked confused.  "I already voted!"

	"Change your vote!" Powers said.  He said, in a low vote.  "You 
owe me, after that subcommittee vote, remember?  Or does your word mean 
nothing?"  The unspoken implication was that Powers would let everyone 
know if that was the case.

	Fern gulped, nodding, and changed his vote.

	The vote was now 215-215.  A tie.

	With ten seconds to go, the last three votes came in.

	215-216.

	216-216.

	217-216.

	The presiding officer banged his gavel.  "The substitute is 
agreed to, by a 217-216 vote.  The amendment is agreed to."

	Powers could only imagine M&M watching this on television, a wide 
grin crossing his face as he realized that he had killed the light rail 
bill.

	Then the presiding officer said, "Next item of business.  The 
House will consider a second substitute to H.R. 1504, the 
Transportation Modernization Act.  The clerk will read the bill-"

	A lot of people looked confused as the clerk read the first line 
of the bill.  What was this?

	Powers, of course, knew what was going on.  He had had a talk 
with the chairman of the Rules Committee, the committee which set the 
terms of the debate, the length of the discussion period, and the 
number and type of amendments that would be permitted.  And the 
chairman of the Rules Committee was one man that Mandelbaum hadn't 
gotten to.

	The Rules Committee determined that there would be an hour of 
debate on each side, as was customary for a small piece of legislation.  
But the Rules Committee also determined, in its wisdom, to insert a 
"king of the hill" provision, meaning that if several different 
versions of a bill were being voted upon, the last one that passed 
would become the adopted version.  This was not an entirely uncommon 
provision.  What was an uncommon provision was the requirement that if 
a substitute to the bill passed, a new substitute would be offered, one 
with only the smallest of cosmetic differences from the original.

	At the time there seemed to be no need for it.  Powers thought he 
had had the votes to pass the original version.  But if his new version 
and a substitute had passed, this final vote would ensure that his new 
version would reign supreme.  Assuming he had the votes.

	The other side of the aisle was just starting to realize this.  
There was ten minutes of debate on each side.  The Republicans said, 
correctly, that this was just the same bill that they had effectively 
defeated minutes before.

	Powers and his allies rebutted the claims, but Powers wasn't 
really paying attention; in fact, he had Bill McKinney manage his 
side's ten minutes, while he went into a huddle with a small group of 
Democrats.

	When the vote came, Powers had nothing left to do but to stand 
and watch the tally.  This time he needed a vote for the substitute.  
His substitute.

	140 for, 155 against.  It wasn't looking good.

	170 for, 182 against.  The margin narrowed, but there was still a 
gap.

	200 for, 202 against.  The end was very near.

	And then it came.

	When the presiding officer banged the gavel, it was 219 for, 214 
against.  "The Powers substitute is passed."



	"And that's all there was to it," said Powers, relaxing in his 
office.  "When the vote for final passage came down, it was by the same 
margin."

	"By my estimates Mandelbaum turned 27 Democrats."

	"Democrats!" said Powers.  "And he's not even in the House.  He 
doesn't even have any connection to anyone outside of New York!"

	"Obviously we've underestimated him," said Toles.  "There's a 
reason that M&M has never lost an election."

	"Indeed," said the Wizard, entering the office.  "How did the 
vote go?"

	"Very funny," said Powers.

	"The only thing I don't know is how you turned it around," said 
the Wizard.

	"Mandelbaum either bought off or threatened 30 Democrats, not an 
easy feat for someone who's not even a national politician," said 
Powers.  "I had heated discussions with some of them.  In the end I got 
a few of them to fudge the issue."

	"To fudge it?" said the Wizard, confused.

	"To carry through with their original promise to vote against me.  
But when my substitute came up, they would promise to support me."  
Powers took a breath.  "I got five Democrats who promised to switch 
their votes.  Three came through.  Three was enough.  The rest stayed 
bought."  He reclined in his tall executive black office chair.  "That 
was a close one.  I won't underestimate him again."  He turned to the 
Wizard.  "Get Mason on the phone.  Tell him that if he doesn't deliver 
something this week to find himself another job."

	He muttered, "I'm tired of being the punching bag."  As he 
swiveled the chair away from them he muttered, "No... I won't 
underestimate again...."

	

	"Gentlemen, it's time to produce," said Mason.  He looked over at 
his two partners in crime.

	"What do you mean?" said Niles.  Marsten looked similarly 
confused.

	"It's time to produce," Mason repeated.  "Our employer is getting 
a bit restless.  It's time we came up with some results.  Have a look 
at this."

	"This" was a bill allocating $5,000,000 for the purchase of 
certain public lands owned by Tallon & Co., such land to be kept in its 
natural state and utilized as an environmental preserve.

	"Yes?" said Niles, after they had looked it over.

	"Do you know who the sponsor of this bill was?"

	They looked over the supporting documentation.  "Uh... it says 
here it was introduced by Speaker, I mean then-Ways and Means Chairman 
Mandelbaum."

	"Correct," said Mason.  He passed over another list.

	"And what's this?" said Niles.

	"A list of major campaign contributors.  It's alphabetical."

	"Hm," said Niles, looking it over.  "Ah, what are we looking 
for?"

	"Notice anything... unusual?"

	They looked over the list.  Marsten said, "It would help if we 
knew what we were looking for."

	Mason sighed.  Must he spell it out?  "Look for Tallon & Co."

	"Uh... don't see it," said Niles.  "Unless it's on another list."

	"Not on another list," said Mason.

	"So?  What does that mean?" said Niles.

	"Just think.  Use your brain."  Mason paused, then, seeing he was 
getting nowhere, said.  "Listen, Mandelbaum does a big favor for Tallon 
& Co.  He gets the government to buy a nearly useless piece of property 
in the wilderness for five million bucks.  Why does he do this?"

	"Um, usually this is done in return for a favor."

	"Such as a campaign contribution," said Mason.  "Correct.  But 
Mandelbaum is too smart for such an obvious link.  Otherwise bright 
guys like yourself might uncover it, right?"

	He didn't wait for an answer.  "Right.  So what did Mandelbaum 
get in return for this $5,000,000 gift?"

	"I... I don't know," said Niles.

	"That's what we're going to find out," said Mason.  "Pack your 
bags.  We're taking a little trip to Baltimore."

	"Baltimore?"

	"The home offices of Tallon & Co."



	They entered the Equitable Building in downtown Baltimore around 
3 o'clock in the afternoon.  Nodding to the guard at the entrance, they 
took the elevator to the 12th floor.

	Then Mason went to the bathroom down the hallway.  "Come with 
me," he said.

	"I don't need to go," said Niles.

	"Come!" said Mason.  He spoke in a commanding voice, like a guard 
dog barking at sheep.

	Niles, for one, began to wonder if he had something kinky in 
mind.  Mason held the bathroom door open for them, making sure they 
entered the bathroom before he did, and then, looking around, he took a 
sign out of his briefcase and taped it on the door.  It read "OUT OF 
ORDER--FLOODED", and then he entered, firmly closing the door behind 
him.

	"What now?" said Niles.

	Mason used the facilities, going into one of the stalls.  When he 
emerged, he washed his hands in a leisurely fashion.  And then he stood 
there, admiring himself in the mirror.

	After several minutes of this Niles and Marsten exchanged 
glances.  "Um... are you ready?" said Marsten.

	Mason shook his head.  He continued to stare at himself in the 
mirror.

	He was obviously mad.  Niles started to edge closer to the exit.

	"Where are you going?" said Mason sharply.

	"Um, I just thought I'd have a look outside-"

	"No looking.  Go and sit down."

	Niles went to a windowsill, and sat.

	After staring at them both for a minute, Mason took a small 
paperback novel out of his briefcase, and, leaning against the door 
leading out, started reading.

	Niles leaned closer.  It was a pulp novel!

	"Mr. Mason," he began.  Mason looked up, giving him an 
intimidating stare.  But Niles would not be silenced.

	"What are we doing here?"

	"Waiting," said Mason.

	"For what?"

	"For when."

	"When?"

	"I'll let you know."

	So they sat there.  Four o'clock, five o'clock, six, seven... 
finally, Niles and Marsten started to go stir crazy.

	Looking at each other they nodded, making a decision.  "All 
right, we're leaving," said Marsten, mustering his courage.

	Mason looked at his watch, nodding.  "All right.  Just a minute."  
He put the book back in his briefcase.

	"Would you care to explain....?"

	"Now everyone has gone home for the day.  Hopefully," said Mason.

	"Why didn't we just come later, then?" said Niles.  "Unless 
sitting in the toilet is your idea of spending a fun afternoon."

	Mason gave him a chilling glance, and Niles involuntarily took a 
step back.

	"Think, idiot.  If we came here after five, we'd have to check in 
with the guard downstairs."

	"You make it sound like we're about to do something illegal," 
said Niles.

	Mason didn't answer him.  They left the bathroom... and took the 
stairs, two flights up. Down one corridor they found a door marked 
"Tallon & Co."

	Mason took something out of his pocket, started jiggling with the 
lock.  "Watch for anyone coming," he murmured.

	"This definitely looks illegal to me," said Niles.

	"Shut up," said Mason.  There was a click, and the door opened, 
revealing darkness inside.

	Mason took out a flashlight, started poking around.

	"Why don't you just turn on the light?" said Niles.

	"Shut up.  Watch the door," said Mason.  He looked around a bit, 
going through some of the desk drawers in the inner offices.

	"This definitely looks illegal to me," said Niles.  What if they 
got caught?  They could be arrested.

	"I agree," said Marsten.  "But what can we do?  This is what the 
Congressman wants."

	"This is how Watergate got started," Niles hissed.

	Mason walked by.  "I don't want to hear any of that Watergate 
crap," he ordered, going into another cubicle.

	"Just think of the end goal," said Marsten.  "Cushy jobs in the 
governor's office.  The governor of New York State!"

	"I know," said Niles.  "But only if we survive this."

	They sat in silence for a good half hour or more, every minute 
expecting someone to come through the door.  Suddenly they heard 
footsteps, coming down the hall!

	"Get down!" Niles hissed.  They crouched behind the door.

	The footsteps got closer, closer... and then they stopped.  Then 
they got fainter, as if someone was now walking away.  In moments they 
heard the whirr of the elevator opening and closing, and then there was 
silence.

	"That was a close one!" said Niles.  "How long is he going to 
be?"  He resolved to find out what Mason was up to.

	Mason was sitting on the ground by a previously locked filing 
cabinet, rapidly skimming papers on his lap.

	Niles knelt down, putting his hand on the filing cabinet.

	"Don't do that," said Mason irritably, using his gloves to wipe 
off the part of the filing cabinet Niles had touched.  Using his 
gloves?  Mason was wearing gloves now.

	"I think I... there, got it," said Mason, staring intently at a 
document.  "I think we've hit the jackpot."  He took a device out of 
his briefcase, aimed it at the document, made a few rapid clicking 
sounds with it, and then carefully started to put the files back where 
he had found them.

	"What?  What did you find?"

	"Stand by the door," said Mason.  "We're leaving in just a 
minute.  And touch nothing!"

	Niles went to the door where Marsten was waiting.  "He says we're 
leaving in a minute."

	"Good," said Marsten.  "Not soon enough for me."

	"Let's go," said Mason, walking by them.  "Wait, did anyone touch 
the doorknob?"  He rapidly polished it down.  "They probably won't 
notice our visit.  But you can never tell.  Let's go."

	They took the elevator down.  "But how are we going to get out?" 
Niles asked.

	Mason said nothing, taking off his gloves and putting them in his 
pockets.  "Act natural," he instructed.

	They walked out the front entrance, past a bored guard who looked 
them over.  Niles felt like they had "guilty" stamped all over them.  
But the guard just said, "G'night."

	"Goodnight," said Mason, calmly walking out.

	They got Mason to open up a little on the drive back to 
Washington.  "What did you find?" Marsten asked.

	"Just a little document indicating that a certain Mack's 
Corporation owns a certain building on West 54th street in Manhattan."

	"So?" said Marsten.

	"By a small coincidence, Speaker Mandelbaum's law firm is located 
on two floors of that building," said Mason.

	"So?" said Marsten.

	Mason was starting to look irritated.  "I found the rental 
document.  That space is rented to Mandelbaum's lawfirm for $20 a 
month."

	"Oh."

	"That space should be going for $20 a square foot, at least.  But 
the entire property, both floors, $20 a month."

	"And how does this tie into Tallon & Co?"

	Mason stepped on the gas.  "Mack's Corporation is a dummy 
corporation, wholly owned by Tallon & Co."

	"So that was the payoff in return for the $5,000,000 favor," said 
Niles.  "A kickback in the form of free rent."

	Mason raised his eyebrows.  "Perhaps you're not quite as stupid 
as you appear to be."  He gunned the engine.  Powers must be informed, 
immediately. 



	"Very interesting," said Powers, reclining in his office chair.  
"I find your report most intriguing, Mr. Mason."  He was studying 
several photographs on his desk which detailed certain documents.  He 
pressed a button on his desk.  "Send the Wizard in."

	His campaign manager was quickly brought up to speed on events.  
The Wizard didn't ask where the photos had come from or how they had 
been obtained.  He did, however, nod slowly.  "Right.  We have to 
exploit this properly."

	"What is properly?  We hold a news conference, we slam him on 
this."

	"No.  First of all, we have no evidence."

	Powers held up the photos, looked at them, and nodded. "You're 
right.  We don't want to be showing spy photos."

	"Correct.  But the accusation, given its specificity, will still 
be valid.  However, I don't want you to make this accusation."

	"Why?"

	"In case it blows up, I don't want you connected with it.  I'll 
get a third party to do the foot work," said the Wizard.

	"How could it blow up?  We have the goods on him," said Powers.

	"Who was it who said not to underestimate Mandelbaum?" said the 
Wizard.

	"All right, so I did," said Powers.  "We'll do it your way.  But 
I don't see how he's going to wiggle out of this one."

	Powers sat up, triumphantly slamming his desk.  "We have him!"



	Niles got back late the night before and found Marie already 
asleep.  He didn't get a chance to talk to her until the following 
evening, when he returned from work.  He slammed the door closed, 
hearing the familiar crunch crunch of dead roach bodies under his feet.  
Must remember to get those swept up. 

	Marie greeted him at the door.

	"You were gone late last night," said Marie, giving him a kiss.  
"Another research all nighter?"

	"No, I was back by 12:30," said Niles dully.  "You were already 
asleep."

	"Yeah," said Marie.  She stirred some eggs in a frying pan.  She 
loved to eat eggs in the evening.  "I got up early yesterday, and had 
an exhausting day.  Were you looking at tax forms again?"

	"Um... not exactly."

	Marie looked up at him.  There was something, something in his 
tone of voice.... "What's wrong, Philip?"

	Niles shook his head.  "Don't want to talk about it."

	"Why?"

	Niles shook his head more vigorously.  "I can't talk about it."

	Marie put an arm around him.  "Hey, I thought we weren't going to 
keep secrets."

	"I can't get you involved... not with potentially... illegal... 
activity."  Niles looked at her nervously.  There, he had said it.

	Marie just shook her head.  "Philip, if you're in trouble, I want 
to know.  Now tell me!"

	His resistance already crumbling, Niles related what had 
happened.

	"We actually broke in to those offices," said Niles.  "That was 
breaking and entering, at the very least!"

	"It is troubling," said Marie.

	"What if we were caught?  That would have been the end of my 
career," said Niles.  "And what happens the next time they make me do 
this?"

	"Philip, they can't make you do anything," said Marie, looking 
into his eyes.

	"They would fire me," said Niles.  "Without references, in the 
middle of a campaign.  I'd never get another job."  He looked at her.  
"And do you know what the worst part was?"

	"What?"

	"Him.  Mason.  I get a bad feeling from him, like he kills people 
for a living.  Or that he's capable of murder."

	"Philip, I don't like the sound of this.  Maybe you should quit."

	"No," said Niles.  "I can't.  I'll play it by ear.  I'll be ok."

	"All right," said Marie.  "But I want you to be careful."

	Niles promised that he would.



	Two days later, one Wilford Callider, director of the Civic 
Coalition of New York, held a news conference.  He leveled grave 
charges against the Speaker of the Assembly, Milton Mandelbaum.  He 
stated that credible evidence existed that the Speaker, then the 
Chairman of Assembly Ways and Means, had arranged for a $5,000,000 
sweetheart deal for the corporation which gave his law firm free space 
for rent.

	The papers said it all.  "SPEAKER GIVES FIVE MIL FOR CUSHY 
LANDLORD" said the Post.  "TALLON GETS CLAWS INTO MANDELBAUM FOR FIVE 
MIL" said the Daily News.  Even the New York Times on its front page 
said, "Speaker Accused of Illegal Favortism" in a small article on the 
bottom lefthand side of the front page.

	"Ah, ha ha ha," said Powers, enjoying every minute of it.  This 
was all the media had been talking about for the past three days.  
Mandelbaum was sinking like a rock at the polls.  He made general 
denials but the issue had a life of its own.  It seemed the game was 
over even before it had really begun.

	"Don't be too confident," said the Wizard.

	"What?" said Powers.  "I know what you're going to say."  He 
rendered his best Darth Vader voice.  "Don't underestimate the power of 
the Speaker."  He laughed.  "What's he going to do, produce his law 
firm's lease to dispute the charges?"

	That very day Mandelbaum held a news conference to do just that.

	"Here are copies of my lease," he said on television, handing 
them out to reporters.

	The report cut to Oxford Frame of NBC, who said, "After 
examination it seemed that the lease was in order.  Speaker 
Mandelbaum's firm was paying $10,000 a month to rent-"

	"What?" said Powers.

	"-but I also asked the Speaker for further substantiation, in the 
form of cancelled checks."

	"Good for you," said Powers.

	The scene cut to Mandelbaum saying, "Cancelled checks?  Do you 
think I hold on to those?"

	"Surely your bank would," said Frame helpfully.

	"Sure, I got them," said Mandelbaum, passing out photocopies.

	The scene cut back to Frame.  "The checks all seemed in order.  
We went to Wilford Callider, who originally leveled these charges, and 
asked for further substantiation, but his office was not answering the 
phone."

	The scene cut to Mandelbaum, looking triumphant.  "I think this 
entire episode was fabricated by my opponents who will do anything to 
stop me from winning in a fair fight."

	"Do you mean Congressman Powers, sir?" said a reporter.

	"I'll let my statement speak for itself," said Mandelbaum smugly.

	Powers, feeling sick, shut off the TV.  He turned to the Wizard.  
"How?"

	"Forged documents, obviously.  Made up another version of the 
lease," said the Wizard.  He immediately said, "And don't think of 
using our photos.  Best to burn them; there would be too many questions 
about their source."

	Powers nodded, numbly.  Then he said, "Ok, the lease can be 
forged, between two willing parties.  But what about those cancelled 
checks?  Surely the bank will dispute them."

	"My guess is that if the bank is not an active player, they will 
at the very least keep quiet.  Or there will be an accident in the 
record vault, and certain select records will become lost," said the 
Wizard.

	"You're saying he controls a bank?" said Powers.

	"Congressman, you're not dealing with the minor league here.  
Remember, this man turned two dozen Congressmen of your own party 
against you."

	Powers kept nodding.

	"And you can bet he'll be coming after you again, and soon," said 
the Wizard.

	"I can't wait," said Powers glumly.


	Chapter 5

	

	Powers' next campaign appearance was on Wall Street, in the World 
Trade Center, to be exact.  Next to Washington, this was where he felt 
most at home.  Not with farmers on some deserted and forsaken prairie, 
and certainly not with some soon-to-be-unemployed blue collar types.

	The Wizard explained.  "We're having you meet with investment 
bankers and other wall-streeters of a similar ilk."

	"Won't that typecast me as being too pro-business?"

	The Wizard shook his head.  "Just the opposite.  I'm afraid of 
having you typecast as too pro-union.  It's a fine line to walk, 
especially for a Democratic primary, but trust me."

	"Of course I trust you," said Powers.  "What's the worst that 
could happen?  A rally where no one shows up?  A rally where no one 
pays attention?  Or a rally where my speech is programmed to self 
destruct?"

	"I wrote your speech for this event.  Have you looked it over?"

	Powers nodded.  "It's an adequate speech.  Let's go."

	He went there, and gave a mostly dull, business speech, to a 
mostly dull, business crowd.  He looked over the crowd in their fancy 
suits, and noticed how much alike they looked.  White, male, medium 
height, hair blown-dried to a T, simple grey or dark blue suits, with 
equally dead ties.

	Powers sighed, droning on with his speech.  "And so the business 
community is the vital engine that will revitalize New York into the 
next decade.  I think that sometimes we forget that it is businesses, 
and not tax revenues, that provides jobs."  That stirred their 
interest, a little.

	But now Powers got to the favorite section of his speech:  the 
goodies.  "In order to compete in this global market into the next 
decade, we need a workforce that is educated and well-trained.  And for 
that to be accomplished the government has to be a friend and not a 
foe.  I'm not merely talking about taxes.  I support lowering the 
business tax by 2%, as you may know."

	Well, if they didn't know, they did now.  Sporadic applause 
greeted him.

	"But we must do more, beyond that, to allow business to flourish.  
And I'm not just talking about reducing government regulation, which I 
think is very important to do."  Powers didn't mention that most 
regulation of securities occurred on the federal level, something the 
governor of New York had little say about, but it got him additional 
applause, so what did it really matter?

	"What I propose to do as one of my first acts as governor is to 
pass the Business Support Act.  This bill would pay a small fee to 
every new employee who was trained on the job in the specialized and 
highly technical securities industries."

	That got him a standing ovation.  Powers was effectively offering 
to pay them money for doing what they ordinarily did--hiring new bodies 
every year.  In other words he was offering to subsidize the salaries 
of the fat-cats at the top securities firms.

	And the audience knew that.  Not only did the ovation last for 
several minutes, but support in the forms of checks and donations 
flowed to Powers' aides.

	"It's important to be a pro-business candidate," Powers 
concluded.

	

	"It's time to produce your first campaign ad," said the Wizard.

	"But although we technically have a party primary, the candidate 
is really chosen at the convention before the primary," said Powers.  
"We'd be advertising to thousands to reach a select few, the delegates 
at the convention."

	"Correct, but the delegates are humans, and they watch television 
like everyone else, and they believe what they see on television like 
everyone else.  Trust me," said the Wizard.  "Or were you dissatisfied 
by the receipts from our World Trade event?"

	Powers chuckled.  "I didn't realize it was going to be a 
fundraiser."

	The Wizard nodded.  "Now let's get cracking."

	They went to a top Madison Avenue ad agency, one of the best in 
the industry.  The Gant Group handled the advertising accounts for 
Crest Toothpaste, Motts Apple Juice, and a half dozen other major 
megacorporations.  They had also produced campaign ads for two dozen 
major state and national races.

	Powers was introduced to Jose Torres, who was to be his project 
director.  Torres was a short but vibrant Latino man with a thin 
moustache.

	"So good to meet you," he said, pumping Powers' hand.  "We're all 
ready for you, come into the studio."

	They had Powers sit on a stool, doing bits of his regular 
routine.

	"We need a strong state government, one that can look after the 
needs of the citizenry," said Powers.

	"Great," said Torres, looking out from behind a camera.  "But 
raise your chin a little.  Lights!  I want them to shine on him, not 
blind him!"

	Powers ran through more of a typical speech.  Torres and his 
people seemed uninterested in what he was saying, at least for the 
moment.

	"Maybe we should have him standing," said Torres.  "He'd have 
more stature."

	"He looks more disarming when he's sitting," said one woman.

	"You're right," said Torres.  "Sitting it is."

	Powers leaned over to the Wizard.  "I don't dispute that these 
guys may be good at selling toothpaste... but are you sure he knows 
what he's doing?"

	The Wizard leaned over, giving a quick nod.

	"All right, Mr. Ross, out of the picture.  We're going to rap 
this," said Torres.  "Congressman?  Smile.  We want you to... good, 
hold that."

	A few seconds later he looked up.  "All right, we're done."

	"Done?" said Powers.  "But we haven't-"

	"Out," said Torres, propelling him towards the door.  "You'll 
have the commercial in one, maybe two days."

	"But-"

	"First is freebie.  You like, you pay, you don't like, you send 
back.  So good working with you, Mr. Powers."  He turned away.  
"Margie, where have the Fruit of the Loom people gone to?  It's nearly 
4 o'clock now, I need grape-man, apple-man, banana-man, all the 
underwear people, IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"



	Two days later, the Wizard entered Powers' office with a big 
smile.

	"Smile means good," said Powers, imitating a caveman.  "Smile 
means good... for me?" he inquired.

	The Wizard nodded, still not uttering a word.  He popped a tape 
into the VCR in Powers' office. 

	"What's that?" said Powers, not very interested.

	"Your ad."

	"My ad?" Powers had nearly forgotten about that crazy session of 
two days earlier.  "Let's see."

	A deep baritone voice said, "There's a governor's race coming up 
in New York.  The results will be important to all New Yorkers."  The 
screen was showing clips of young people, blacks, hispanics, workers, 
women, the elderly.... "There's one man who stands up for the little 
guy.  Michael Powers.  Help fight the special interests.  Elect Mike 
Powers for governor."  The scene cut to the smiling face of Powers, 
during which time a quick voice said, "Paid for by friends of Powers."

	Powers turned around.  "Pretty quick commercial, isn't it?"

	"It's the first sample," admitted the Wizard.  "It's also in a 
fifteen second block that's cheap to run and can be repeated often."

	"And what about the message?  Fight the special interests?  
Pretty simplistic, isn't it?"

	"Simple is good.  Simple doesn't tax the common mind," said the 
Wizard.  "We don't want to clutter up peoples' minds with facts and 
issues.  Some people even have stands on the issues, and we wouldn't 
want to turn any of them off by taking positions of our own."

	"Um.  Makes sense," Powers admitted.  "Go with it."

	"Your wish is my command," said Wizard Ross.



	It should have been no surprise when Mandelbaum attacked again.  
Ross wasn't surprised.  Toles wasn't surprised.  And Powers wasn't 
surprised.  But he couldn't help but be a little anxious about it.	

	The attack didn't come directly from Mandelbaum, of course.  He 
was too smart for that now.  But news reports started to surface about 
questions concerning Power's draft record during the Vietnam war, and 
Mandelbaum surrogates were stoking the flame.

	"Did Congressman Powers use favoritism to avoid service in the 
war?" said Oxford Frame.  "I have here a document provided to me by a 
confidential source stating that Congressman Powers secured admission 
into the coast guard, only one day before he was to be called up for 
service in the regular army.  I also have another letter from one 
Mitchell Stacks, then deputy commander of the local coast guard unit, 
recommending that Congressman Powers be admitted into the Coast Guard, 
with the recommendation dated two days after the congressman was to be 
inducted into the army."

	"What to make of this?" said Frame.  "We tried to contact the 
Powers campaign, but our calls have gone unanswered."

	

	"We're in trouble," said the Wizard.

	"I'm glad that I have you here to tell me these things," said 
Powers, glaring at the Wizard.

	"Tell me the story, from the beginning," said the Wizard.

	"The story?" said Powers, with a small smile.

	"The story," said the Wizard.  "That's all I want to know."

	"Ok," said Powers.  "Here's how it went.  It was 1967, you know?  
I had just turned 18, and was of prime drafting age.  They were taking 
the 18 year olds first, you know."

	"I know," said the Wizard.  "But continue."

	"Yes," said Powers.  Talking about it was never easy, even with 
close confidants.  "Well, anyway, I wanted to join up."  He stopped.

	"Of course," said the Wizard.  "Continue."

	"Well, I wanted to join up, but I wasn't sure... I wasn't sure 
the army was right for me."  He drummed his fingers on the desk, 
staring at them intently.

	"What about the navy?" said the Wizard.  "They didn't see too 
much action in combat in Vietnam."

	"I thought about that," said Powers.  "But I also didn't like the 
thought of being crammed for days on end in tiny ship quarters.  Those 
guys don't even have their own bunks, you know."

	"In the subs they don't.  I'm not sure about the other ships," 
said the Wizard.  "But you thought of something even better."

	"Yes," said Powers.  "The coast guard.  Still a way to serve my 
country-"

	"Without going very far from it," said the Wizard.

	Powers glared at him.  "Whose side are you on?"

	"Yours, of course.  I just want to expose you to just a little 
bit of what the other side is going to say," said the Wizard.  "But I 
sense there is more to your story than just enlisting in the coast 
guard."

	"No," said Powers hastily.  Then, "All right. I... got the 
impression that my draft number was about to come up.  I applied to the 
coast guard, and it seemed probable that I was going to get in... but 
they wouldn't be able to act on my admission for some time."

	"So you accelerated the process," said the Wizard.

	Powers nodded.  "I would have been admitted in any event."

	"Can you prove that?  Can we convince anyone of that?  I'm not so 
sure.  More specifics, please."

	"Mitchell Stacks was the second in command of the local guard 
base.  He was also a friend of the family.  He arranged to expedite my 
admission."

	"And what of the fact that his recommendation letter postdated 
your admission into the guard by two days?"

	"Well... it was felt that it was best to admit me immediately, 
once they had decided to admit me, I mean, and then to handle the 
remaining paperwork at a later date."

	"I see."  The Wizard sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.

	They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Powers said, "Well?"	

	"If I had known, I wouldn't have taken you on as a client."

	"What?" Powers couldn't believe what he was hearing.

	"It was going to be an uphill battle as it was.  This will make 
it nearly impossible."

	Toles looked shocked, but Michael Powers looked angry.  "I can't 
believe what I'm hearing," said Powers.  "You claim to be this great 
campaign advisor, and you can't even deal with one setback like this?"

	"I am good.  But there are limits to what I can do-"

	"No sir!" said Powers.  "You're giving up!  You're quitting, even 
before we've even begun!  If I had known what I was hiring, I most 
certainly would not have taken you aboard!  How many other candidates 
have you quit, simply abandoned when the going got rough for a few 
days?  Is that how you tally your great record, by not listing those 
candidates who've you abandoned?  Is this your great plan, to quit, and 
hide under a rock?  COME ON, SPEAK UP!"

	The Wizard looked like he was about to explode.  "I HAVE NEVER, 
EVER IN MY LIFE ABANDONED A CLIENT!"  He stood up to Powers, his fists 
clenched.

	Powers stood up to him, face to face.  "WELL, THAT'S WHAT IT 
SOUNDS LIKE YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW!"

	"WHAT CAN WE DO?" said the Wizard.  "YOU'RE GUILTY.  YOU'VE JUST 
ADMITTED IT!"

	"THEN GIVE UP!  QUIT!  BUT GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, QUITTER!  THERE'S 
NO PLACE FOR LOSERS ON THIS CAMPAIGN!"

	The Wizard's eyes flared.  For a moment there was such a tension 
in the air that Toles thought someone was about to be struck.

	Then the Wizard took a step back.  "I never said anything about 
quitting."

	Powers glared at him.  "So?"

	"What we need is a plan, a plan," said the Wizard.

	Powers slowly nodded, sitting down.  "A plan."

	"Not a plan, but a spin.  And a massive one," said Toles, 
relieved that they did not come to blows.

	"A spin," said the Wizard.  Then he sat up, as if he had gained a 
new lease on life.  "A spin!  And it will have to be a damn good one."



	Niles was walking out on the Mall, during his lunch hour.  
"Thanks for meeting me," he said, giving Marie a hug.

	"You sounded really in the dumps," said Marie.

	"I think the campaign is going down the tubes," said Niles.

	"This draft thing?  We've had presidents elected with draft 
problems," Marie scoffed.

	"I know.  But these charges against the Congressman seem to be 
sticking."  Niles looked about nervously.  "This is confidential, but 
our poll numbers are really down.  I think the whole thing could 
collapse this week."

	"What?"  Marie looked shocked.  "Well, if worst came to worst, 
you'd still be working for him as Congressman.  He could still run for 
reelection, right?."

	"Maybe.  But I just wonder if I would get fired, as a sort of 
scapegoat," said Niles.

	"Then I'd have to support you, wouldn't I?" she teased, punching 
him in the shoulder.  "Don't worry about what hasn't happened.  It may 
simply never happen."

	Niles nodded, but he looked unhappy.

	

	Three days later....

	Powers was holding a campaign rally in Central Park.  The past 
week had been a nightmare; he had been dogged with draft questions for 
days.  The media were being kept far enough away so they couldn't ask 
any questions.  The crowd, though large in size, was sprinkled with 
hecklers.

	Powers was trying to elaborate on his environmental policy, but 
his speech was periodically interrupted by individual shouts from the 
audience.  Powers was having enough trouble concentrating as it was; he 
had never quite figured out what his positions were supposed to be on 
the environment. 

	Still, he read dutifully from his speech.  "New Yorkers need an 
environment that everyone can live in-"

	"Including draft dodgers-" came a voice.

	"-a country where everyone can breath the air-"

	"Like Canada, you fucking draft dodger!"

	"-a new policy on hot air pollutants-"

	"Like hot air draft dodger windbags like yourself!" came another 
shout.

	Powers stopped, putting down his speech.  Oblivious to the 
cameras, the media, everyone, he pointed at that last heckler, a man 
wearing a red baseball cap.  "You!  Young man, come up here."

	The young man shrank back.

	"If you have the audacity to make charges, then come up here, 
face to face, and make your charges, like a man."	

	The young man did not seem inclined to go forward, but was 
propelled by the generally sympathetic crowd of Powers partisans.

	The protestor shrank even as he was given one last helpful push 
onto stage.  Powers pointed the microphone towards him.  "Make your 
accusation."

	The young man looked uncertain, but stepped forward.  "You dodged 
the Vietnam war!"

	"But where were you?" said Powers.  "Never mind.  What's your 
definition of dodging?"

	"Not serving!  You copped out with the coast guard!"

	"And serving in the coast guard is not honorable?" said Powers.  
"Young man, are you aware that units of the coast guard were sent to 
Vietnam?"

	"N-no," said the protestor.

	"Young man, are you aware that members of the coast guard were 
shot and killed in Vietnam?"

	"No," said the man, looking increasingly nervous.

	"But serving in the coast guard is not good enough for you.  Do 
you hear that, people?  He's impugning the honor and motives of the 
thousands of dedicated people who have guarded our coastlines for two 
centuries!  This young punk thinks that people in the Coast Guard are 
sissies, not fit to be called real Americans.  Am I right?"

	The crowd roared.

	"Well, for your information, there are thousands of Americans out 
there who are dedicated and decorated members of the Coast Guard and 
Naval Reserve," said Powers.  "And I won't stand here and let you 
impugn the honor of those men in blue!"  Did they wear blue?  He 
forgot.  Well, it sounded right.

	The crowd cheered.  The young man looked very unhappy.

	"Young man, I think you've been fed a lot of bull, you and your 
fellow hecklers here," said Powers.  "Now tell us the real reason that 
you're here today, the real reason you're trying to abridge our first 
amendment rights by shouting us down."

	The young man muttered, "I was told it was the right thing to 
do."

	"Told," said Powers loudly, looking at the audience.  "This is 
interesting.  Young man, who told you this?"

	"Some guy... some guy at the Mandelbaum campaign," said the young 
man.

	The crowd exploded.  Powers let them go on for several minutes.  
"NO FAIR!  DIRTY TRICKS!  FOUL MANDELBAUM!" they cried.

	Finally Powers restored order.  "It would seem our opponent has 
been busy.  But busy at what?  Campaigning on the issues?  Discussing 
the needs of New York?  No!  My opponent feels that he can win only by 
dragging my name down into the mud!  Well, are we going to let him do 
it?"

	"No!" they shouted, as one.

	"Are we?"

	"NO!" they shouted, even louder.

	"Then let's get out there and campaign!" shouted Powers.

	The crowd went wild again.  The young man slipped off the stage.  
Immediately reporters started to follow him, but they were held off for 
precious moments by crowd security, and then he disappeared.



	Toles, the Wizard and Powers watched the news together that 
night.

	"-one of the protestors admitted to working for Speaker 
Mandelbaum-"

	The scene cut to Mandelbaum, scurrying away from reporters as 
fast as his fat little feet could carry him.

	"Speaker Mandelbaum!  Speaker Mandelbaum!"  They cornered him for 
a moment.  "What do you have to say about-"

	"No comment," he said quickly.  But then, looking about 
nervously, he added, "That man was acting without sanction."  He wet 
his lips quickly.  "If anybody in my campaign told him to do anything, 
I didn't know about it, didn't sanction it.  G'bye," he said, running 
off.

	"Direct hit, amidships!" said the Wizard, laughing.  He raised 
his hand to Powers, who slapped him a high-five.

	"He can dish it out but he can't take it," said Toles, lowering 
the volume.  "It's only fortunate that that young man confessed so 
easily."

	"Yes, it was," said Powers.

	"It's also fortunate that he slipped away before the media could 
catch up to him," Toles added.

	"Yes, it was," said Powers again, grinning widely.

	"But what of future questions?  What about the recommendation 
that came two days after-"

	"You watch," said the Wizard.  "The whole spin of the thing has 
changed now.  We're ok now."

	Powers turned to him.  "And you were ready to quit, all because 
of this little thing."

	"Whoever said anything about quitting?" the Wizard wanted to 
know.



	The Wizard was correct.  For the next few days Powers was still 
asked questions about his service record.  But the issue had clearly 
reached a turning point.  An example:

	"Congressman, did Mr. Stacks show any favortism towards you when 
you obtained a position in the guard?" he was asked.

	And Powers put on a stony expression.  "Any favoritism?  Is it 
favoritism to help a young man's dream to serve his country?  Is that 
what you're trying to do?  Impugn the honor of national service, as Mr. 
Mandelbaum does?"

	"But... but what about the recommendation, that came two days 
after you were admitted-"

	"A little slow on the formal paperwork," Powers acknowledged.  "I 
know Speaker Mandelbaum wants these questions asked.  It's been shown 
that he has paid people to do so.  But these attacks on patriotism and 
national service really revolt me, and, I suspect, disgust many New 
Yorkers as well."	

	And that shut them up.  After every question, Powers would either 
subtly imply that the questioner was in the pay of Mandelbaum, or that 
the line of questioning was unpatriotic, a slur on the good name and 
proud service of the coast guard.

	And it worked.  It wouldn't have worked without the carefully 
staged event that Powers had arranged; and it certainly wouldn't have 
worked without the confession of Mandelbaum's "employee".  Now 
Mandelbaum was on the defensive.  Now the press was once again nipping 
at Mandelbaum's heels.  Well, most of the press.



	TWISTING THE FACTS



Personal Sentiments

By Michele Franswa



			Michael Powers has weaseled his way out of trouble 
again.  Not because he opposed the horrendous occupation of Vietnam, as 
many honorable women and men did; but rather that he sought the rich 
boy's way out, to see action off the coast of Maine rather than Mei-
lei.

			Once again he escaped being labeled as a hypocrite.  
Once again he came out smelling like a rose.  But when will the public 
have enough of the excuses?  When will the public finally see through 
the veneer of graciousness, the grand words, the awesome vision to see 
the foulness that lurks underneath?

			I have not a few friends who say they plan to move 
out of New York City if Mr. Powers is elected governor of the state.  I 
tell them not to leave.  This is the greatest city in the world.  We 
should stay and fight to keep it so.

			I should add that I have also become increasingly 
disappointed with Speaker Mandelbaum.  His effortless descent into 
mudslinging is to be condemned.

			The best candidate really is Attorney General 
Sampleton.  Not very much has been heard about the Attorney General in 
his bid for the governor's mansion, perhaps because he has eschewed 
showy electioneering in favor of plain, hard grassroots work in getting 
support from the people.

			It would be best for New York if the two leading 
Democratic candidates withdrew.  New Yorkers, all New Yorkers deserve 
better than this.



	"All my friends talk about leaving," said the Wizard, in a whiny 
voice.  "I can already see it, a vast exodus of lily white liberals, 
fleeing at the nearness of your contaminating cynicism, fleeing across 
the George Washington bridge, clutching their small poodles in one arm 
and little jars of grey poupon in the other."

	"At least she didn't call you Hitler this time," said Toles.

	"At least some good came of our counterattack," said the Wizard.  
"Mandelbaum's dirty tricks have turned her off to his candidacy.  We're 
splitting the vote, Mikey."

	"Don't call me Mikey," said Powers automatically.	 "When are 
we going to get even with this bastard?"



	"Where are we going this time?" said Niles, as he and Marsten 
hung to the upholstery in the back seat while Mason gunned the engine 
of his ancient Buick.  They were riding about somewhere in Nassau 
County, on Long Island, as far as Niles could see.

	"The funny farm."

	"Get serious."

	But Mason would say no more.  It was only when he pulled over to 
the side of the road in front of a sign that read 



	Gonzalas Mental Hospital

	Speed Limit 15 MPH



	that Niles and Marsten realized that he had been telling the 
truth.

	"Why are we here?" said Marsten.

	"I have reason to believe that our friend the Speaker spent some 
time here," said Mason.

	"Mandelbaum?  You're crazy!" said Niles.

	Mason looked at him.  Niles shrank back.  Then, quick as a snake, 
Mason grabbed Niles by the neck, pulling him close, face to face.

	"Uh... uh!" said Niles, starting to choke.

	Mason spoke slowly.  "Be careful.  Be very, very careful."

	He let Niles go, flinging him back against the car seat.

	Niles, coughing, eyed him warily.  He started to tremble.

	"Now," said Mason pleasantly, continuing as if nothing had 
happened, "I have reason to believe that Mandelbaum has spent some time 
here."

	"How do you know that?" said Marsten, speaking in a somewhat more 
respectful tone.

	"I don't know that; I said that I suspected it.  I came across 
some information that would seem to indicate that to be the case."

	"What sort of information would that be?" said Marsten.  "He 
wouldn't just go about leaving such documents around."

	"You are correct," said Mason.  He did not elaborate further.  
"We, all three of us, are going to enter this institution."

	"Us?  How are we going to get in there?" said Marsten.

	"We're doctors, from the state health board."  Marsten opened the 
glove compartment, took out three ID's, handed one to each.

	"These are photo ID's," said Niles.  "Where did you get a picture 
of me?"

	Mason did not answer.

	"These look real," said Marsten.  He looked at the name on his.  
It said, "Dr. O'Brien."

	"They are," said Mason.  His ID read "Dr. Chandra."

	"We could get in trouble if we get caught," said Niles. The name 
on his ID was "Dr. Daystrom."  Who had thought up these names?

	"Then we shouldn't get caught," said Mason.

	"Why do you even need us?" said Niles.  "Can't you go in, 
yourself?  We'll wait in the car."

	Mason gave him a look.  "This time, you are necessary.  This is 
what I want you to do...."

	The car pulled up to the gatehouse.  The mental hospital was 
bordered by a sturdy fence.  To keep people in.  Perhaps to keep them 
in, if they were caught impersonating state officials.

	If they were discovered, and if they tried to escape, they would 
be apprehended.  And prosecuted.  Their careers would be over.

	The police sentry at the guardhouse peered at Mason's ID.  "State 
Board.  Here for an inspection," said Mason, sounding bored.

	Niles wondered how he had ever agreed to do this.  He had started 
out performing some questionable tasks, but this was definitely 
crossing the line.  They were impersonating government officials!

	The guard peered closely at them.  He checked his clipboard.  
"Ain't nothing here about an inspection."

	"It's a surprise inspection," said Mason.

	The guard checked his clipboard again.  "I still don't have 
anything."

	Mason started to wonder if this man was an inmate, rather than a 
guard.  "It wouldn't be a surprise, otherwise."

	The guard shook his head.  "I can't let you in, without an 
appointment."

	Mason raised his voice.  "Can I have your name?  This needs to go 
into my report, for the governor."

	The guard bit his lip.  "Hold on."

	He went inside, spoke on the phone.

	"This isn't going to work!" Niles hissed.

	"Shut up," said Mason between clenched teeth.

	"Let's go!" Niles implored.

	Mason turned around.  "If you blow this, I'll-"

	At that moment the guard returned.  Mason shifted position to 
face him, his expression neutral.  "Yes?"

	"Drive right up, the main building.  Dr. Ripley, the deputy 
administrator, will see you."

	"Thank you so much," said Mason, as the stick barrier in front of 
the car was slowly raised.

	Dr. Ripley was skeptical.  A middle-aged woman, with two advanced 
degrees in psychology and psychiatry, she had learned from an early age 
never to take anything at face value.  She had had no notice of any 
inspection, surprise or no, and the two men with Dr. Chandra seemed too 
young to be government officials, much less doctors.  Dr. Ripley peered 
at their ID's.  They looked real enough.

	"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she said.  If this was really 
a surprise inspection, they could be on a fishing expedition.   Better 
to show them as little as possible and get them on their way.

	"Inspection," grunted Mason.

	"Of course," said Ripley.  She would take them to the A ward.  
That was where the less difficult cases were, as well as her best 
staffpeople.  Wait, was Johansen on duty today?  No, today was his day 
off.  Good.  Johansen could be a bit brutal at times.  "Come this way," 
she said, starting to walk.

	But Mason was not moving.  "Where are we going?"

	"I'll show you one of the wards, where you can see some of the 
patients-"

	"If you don't mind, I prefer to avoid a guided tour," said Mason.

	"Very well, but-"

	Mason started walking, in the opposite direction.  He walked down 
the corridors with such a purposeful stride that it almost seemed as if 
he knew exactly where he was going, even though he obviously had never 
been on the grounds before.

	Mason strode along at a brisk pace, turning right then left then 
right again.  Then he stopped before a door marked administration and 
entered, finding himself in a room filed with filing cabinets.  A 
secretary looked up as they entered.

	"There are no patients in here-" said Ripley.

	Mason spun about.  "I would be concerned if there were.  I would 
like to see your financial records."

	"Our... financial records," said Ripley.  She indicated some 
cabinets against the wall.  "They're there... but why...."

	Mason quickly scanned all the filing cabinets, as if he didn't 
believe her.  Pausing for just a moment he suddenly stopped, as if in 
thought, incidently staring down at one of the filing cabinets.  
Casting a quick glance at his associates he continued his review of the 
cabinets, arriving at the one that Dr. Ripley had indicated.

	He opened one of the drawers and started leafing through the 
files.

	Ripley looked about uncomfortably.

	Mason read silently for a few minutes.  Every so often he would 
say, "Hm...." or slowly nod his head.  Finally, he looked up.  "Dr. 
Daystrom, Dr. O'Brien, you gentlemen had better have a look at these."  
He started for the door.

	"What did you find?  W-where are you going?" said Ripley.

	"I'm going to take up your kind offer to examine one of your 
patient wings," said Mason.  "Would you like to accompany me?"

	"Of course," said Ripley.  She cast a glance back at Niles and 
Marsten, then turned to her secretary. "Marge... assist these gentlemen 
while I'm gone.  We'll be back soon."

	"Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes," said Mason, glancing at his 
associates.

	Marsten nodded.

	After they had left, Niles and Marsten resumed examining the 
financial records.  Once a reasonable minute or two had passed, Marsten 
said, "Are these all your financial records?"

	The secretary said, "All the ones for the current fiscal year, 
yes."

	"What about last year's?"

	"Oh, that would be in the other records room, down the hall, 
right around the corner-"

	"Could you show me?" said Marsten.

	The secretary looked about.  That would mean leaving Niles alone 
with the records.  But these was no way to get around such a reasonable 
request; besides, these were official state investigators.  She nodded, 
and Marsten exited, saying, "I'll be back in a few minutes." 

	"Right," said Niles.

	The secretary took Marsten to another room.  "Those filing 
cabinets, along the wall there," she said, turning to return to her 
post.

	"Just a moment," said Marsten hastily.  "Can you show me how 
they're organized?"

	Niles burst into action the minute Marsten and the secretary had 
left.  He turned to the filing cabinet that Mason had subtly indicated 
to them moments earlier.  He opened up the top drawer, and sure enough, 
it contained patient records, in alphabetical order.

	"M... M... M...." said Niles, speaking aloud in the empty room.  
"Mabus... Matsui... Melcher... wait, go back-"

	And he found it.  A single page with the tab "MANDELBAUM, 
MILTON."

	And that was it.  The page was blank.  Niles searched 
frantically, to see if the rest was misfiled.  But unlike the other 
voluminous patient files, there was no other information to be found.

	At that moment the secretary returned, followed closely by 
Marsten.  "Really, Mr. O'Brien, I have to be getting back to my... what 
are you doing?" she said, seeing Niles rummaging in the patient files.  
She looked surprised.  "I don't care where you're from, those are 
confidential patient files."

	Niles, instead of acting guilty, became accusatory instead.  "I 
can see why they're confidential," he said, holding up the Mandelbaum 
page.  "This file has been purged."

	"Purged?  Let me see."  She looked quickly at the name on the 
page that Niles held, and then moved to the filing cabinet.  The 
secretary, not a great follower of politics, even in her own state, 
found that the name only remotely rang a bell.  She looked for a few 
moments, then gave up.  "Well, it must be here, somewhere," said the 
secretary.  "But look here, put that page back.  You're not supposed to 
be looking through those files, those are confidential patient files.  
If Doctor Ripley sees, she's going to blow her top."  Plucking the page 
from Niles' hand, she put it in the drawer, and slammed the cabinet 
closed.

	"But what about this name?"

	She glanced at the drawer.  "I am not permitted to tell you the 
specifics concerning a former patient." 

	A former patient!

	Just at that moment Mason and Dr. Ripley returned.   Ripley was 
surprised to see everyone, including her secretary, standing about in 
the middle of the room, as if in intense discussion.

	"Well?" said Ripley.

	"We've concluded our business here," said Marsten.  "We have 
enough to make our report."

	"Good," said Mason.  He turned to Ripley.  "Thank you for your 
cooperation. We'll be on our way now."

	Ripley looked surprised.  This seemed too easy.  "You're... 
welcome."



	They were driving west on the Long Island Expressway, back to New 
York City.  "Well?" said Mason.

	"He was there," said Niles.  "I saw a file with his name on it."

	"And?"

	"That's it.  The rest of the file was gone."

	Mason shook his head.  "Incompetents."

	Mason seemed to be referring to Mandelbaum's people.  "How do you 
mean?" said Niles.

	"They had the ability to steal the file outright; but they were 
kind enough to leave a reference that Mandelbaum had been there."

	"But we don't know why, for how long, or when, and we don't have 
any proof," said Marsten.

	Mason was smiling, which was rare for him.  "For now, we have 
more than enough."



	"All right, what have you been doing now?" Marie demanded.

	She knew that something was afoot every time Niles had that 
pained expression on his face.  It was a new look for him, something 
that he had acquired only since the campaign had begun.

	Niles closed his eyes as he spoke.  "We impersonated state 
officials and searched the records of a mental hospital to find that 
Mandelbaum had at one time resided there."

	Marie gave a low whistle.  "I don't know which is more shocking--
that the Speaker of the New York Assembly is a mental, or that you've 
committed a crime that could get you ten years in the slammer."

	"It's no laughing matter, Marie!"

	She nodded, quickly becoming serious.  "I agree.  I think you 
should quit."

	"No!" said Niles.  "I'm in it deep enough already.  I might as 
well get something out of it."

	"What?"

	"A post in the governor's office.  If I quit now, I get nothing," 
said Niles.  "You were the one telling me to use Powers, to try to make 
some good come from it."

	"That was before I learned how he was using you," said Marie.  
"First he has you breaking and entering, and now impersonating state 
officials.  What will be next, murder?"

	A chill went down Nile's spine.  He thought of Mason.  "I don't 
know."

	"What are you going to do?"

	"I don't know," Niles repeated.



	Michael Powers was very pleased.

	"A mental hospital?  Interesting," said Powers, a small smile on 
his lips.  "I trust you will pursue the matter further."

	"Yes sir," said Mason.  He turned and departed.

	"A pity we don't have more substantiation before the debate," 
said Powers.

	For the Powers camp and Mandelbaum's people had finally agreed to 
a debate, to occur on the very next day.  This had followed days of 
hectic negotiation between the two campaigns.

	Mandelbaum had obviously agreed to debate only because Powers had 
been closing in the polls.  Still, even with a willingness to debate 
the specific terms of the debate took a long time to nail down.  An 
example:  the Wizard wanted both Powers and Mandelbaum to sit close to 
each other, in part because Powers was so much taller than Mandelbaum.  
Mandelbaum's people wanted two podiums, faced far apart, with a little 
stool for Mandelbaum to stand on.  They had finally compromised on 
having two podiums, but Mandelbaum's feet would have to be on the same 
level as Powers (although the Wizard was willing to bet that M&M would 
wear his tallest elevator shoes for the event).

	Another example:  the two camps quarrelled over the level of 
lighting in the auditorium.  The Wizard had observed that brighter 
lights made Mandelbaum sweat profusely, giving him a less-than-candid 
demeanor.  The Mandelbaum camp was acutely aware of this, and at the 
end an electrician was called in to arbitrate and determine the precise 
level of lumens that would drape the debating stage.

	On a somewhat more substantive note, the two sides also quarreled 
over the debate format.  The Wizard wanted each of the candidates to 
ask each other questions, without the benefit of a moderator.  
Mandelbaum wanted a moderator armed with a bevy of restrictions backed 
up by a determined panel of questioners.  The predictable compromise 
was that there would be a moderator, alone, who would ask questions.

	Leo McCain of CNN was set to be the moderator.  It was he who had 
once asked the now famous question of a pro-life presidential 
candidate:  "Governor, if you came home to discover that your daughter 
was brutalized and raped and wanted an abortion, what would you do?"

	"All right, we need this one," said the Wizard.  "We're almost 
even in the polls now, just four points behind."  He looked about 
nervously as aides applied make-up to Powers' face.  "Not so much!" he 
barked.  "We don't want him to look like a circus clown."  He took a 
deep breath.  "Are you ready?  Did you remember everything Sylvia 
said?"

	Powers did.  Sylvia Plant, his speech coach, had paid a quick 
visit earlier in the day, honing different aspects of his tone with 
him.  She had also made him practice one of her favorite buzz words, 
"Safe, legal, and rare."  She had turned to Powers, and commanded, "Say 
it!"

	Powers had raised his chin.  "I want abortion to be safe, legal, 
and rare."

	"Again!"

	"Abortion is an intensively private issue, one that should be 
safe, legal and rare."

	"Again!"

	"Abortion should be safe, legal, and rare," Powers had said.

	Plant had stood back, nodding thoughtfully.  "Pretty good.  Now, 
say it one more time.  Remember to pause after the word legal, and to 
give that little smirk when you get to rare."

	"Smirking?  Are you sure?"

	"Trust me.  Now, again!" she had barked.

	"I want abortion to be safe, legal... and rare," Powers had said, 
giving a small smile.

	"Perfect," Plant had responded.  She then turned to Wizard, "He's 
fully prepared on the abortion issue."

	Powers blinked.  He watched as they applied makeup to his face.  
He gave a small smile.  And rare.  It came naturally, now.

	It has been said that politics is just another form of combat.  
This statement could not have been any less true when applied to the 
battle of such seasoned political titans as Michael Powers and Milton 
Mandelbaum.  The Speaker came out from one side of the stage, Powers 
from the other, and they shook hands, forcing wide smiles.

	That was the last time that evening that either showed any sign 
of congeniality towards the other.

	"Welcome," said Leo McCain.  He made brief introductions, and 
then started with the questioning.  McCain had been selected by both 
camps after much negotiation.  He was perceived to be neutral--that is, 
he would be equally antagonistic to both Powers and to Mandelbaum.

	He pitched M&M a standard question on gun control.  Mandelbaum 
used it as a forum to attack (who else?) Michael Powers.

	"I'm glad you asked that question, Leo.  Because gun control is a 
very important part of crime prevention.  My opponent has voted twenty 
three times in the House of Representatives to increase the supply of 
guns on the streets.  Twenty three times!  The good Congressman has 
also been invited to join the N.R.A., and he has stated that he finds 
gun control, and I quote, 'a necessary evil.'  What's so evil about it, 
Congressman Powers?"

	Powers was scribbling madly on the writing pad before him.  He 
wasn't writing down Mandelbaum's attack points; rather, he was doing a 
quick sketch of a short balding man hanging from a noose, with 
socketless eyes and blood dripping from his neck, even as Mandelbaum 
continued with his tirade.

	But Mandelbaum wasn't finished.  "I on the other hand strongly 
support gun control.  We need to get those killing weapons off the 
street!  Our young people should be holding diplomas, not pistols!" he 
thundered.

	The audience clapped loudly; at least, the half that had been 
allocated to Mandelbaum's forces did.

	McCain turned to Powers.  "Mr. Powers, would you like to 
respond?"

	This was it.  All eyes were on Powers.  The lights, the cameras, 
everything.  Millions of viewers.

	Powers cleared his throat.  "Quite frankly, Mr. McCain, I don't 
know where do begin.  My friend the Speaker has made a lot of half 
baked accusations.  I don't know about these twenty three votes he's 
referring to.  Everytime the issue has come to the House floor I've 
voted for gun control.  I can't imagine what votes that promote gun use 
that he's referring to... perhaps my support for funding the armed 
forces and cops on the beat," said Powers, his eyes twinkling.  "And 
yes, I was invited to join the NRA... as were all other members of 
Congress.  It was a standard NRA publicity gag.  But like all the half-
truths you've heard, what my opponent didn't tell you was that I 
declined.  As for gun control being a necessary evil, well, yes, I said 
that.  And it is.  We should be living in a society where young people 
don't blow each other away.  We should be living in a society where 
such preventative legislation is unnecessary.  We should be spending 
more time healing the wounds of the commun-ity rather than breaking up 
fights.  It's a pity and a shame that the younger generation is killing 
itself like this.  That's what I meant by a necessary evil, and I stand 
by it!"

	The Powers partisans burst out into applause.

	McCain banged for attention.  "May I remind the audience that 
applause only reduces the time available for each candidate to speak?  
Please refrain and hold your applause until the end, please."

	But Powers noted that McCain didn't protest when they were 
applauding Mandelbaum.

	"A question for Congressman Powers," said McCain.  "You have said 
that abortion should be safe, legal, and rare.  Would you care to 
elaborate?"

	The bastard.  Powers winced.  He had stolen one of his best buzz 
phrases.  But Powers resolved to forge on. 

	He took a deep breath.  "Safe, legal, and rare," he said, giving 
a small smile.  "It's not just a motto.  It's been the reality in New 
York for the past twenty years.  I've won plaudits by womens' groups 
for supporting abortion rights for all my tenure in public office.  
I've consistently supported a woman's right to choose.  I've especially 
been proud of my support for the right to abortion for poor and 
indigent women.  I wish my opponent could say the same.  He voted 
against a bill last year that would have provided ten million dollars 
to help provide for family planning services, including abortion."

	Mandelbaum quickly cut in, even as McCain was turning to let him 
speak.  "Not true, untrue!  The bill in question was part of a larger 
appropriation, one that would have hurt New Yorkers by providing 
diminished funding in other areas.  Congressman Powers is purposely 
distorting the record-"

	Well, he has a thin skin, Powers quickly realized.

	"And Congressman Powers loves to parrot his safe, legal and rare 
line, like a parrot reading a bumper sticker-"

	Powers jumped in.  "Mr. Mandelbaum, are you mocking a woman's 
right to choose?  Could it be that you're actually against abortion 
rights?"

	"There you go again, putting words in my mouth," said Mandelbaum, 
pointing a stubby finger at Powers.  "Let me speak for me, Congressman, 
and you speak for you."

	"Gentlemen," said McCain.

	"Don't try to interpret or read my thoughts, Congressman, and 
concentrate on your own dissembling," said Mandelbaum, continuing to 
point a stumpy finger at Powers.

	"Gentlemen!" said McCain, restoring order

	The sparing went on like that for two hours.  Mandelbaum would 
attack, Powers would coolly respond... and then Mandelbaum, more often 
than not, would fly off the handle.  This was a man who was accustomed 
to ruling without dissent.  He ruled the Assembly with an iron hand and 
was unused to tolerating any attack of any kind.  But if Mandelbaum 
lost points for decorum he gained points for his relentless attacks on 
Powers.

	Another example:  

	Powers was asked what he would do for the homeless.  A number of 
ideas came to mind, most of them witty, but none appropriate for this 
debate.  Instead, Powers recited his prepared text.  "It's an 
abomination that people are forced to live on the streets.  Every 
person should have the right to a home.  That's why I support full 
funding of the McKinney Act to give a sense of dignified justice to the 
women, children, and families living on the streets."  Powers blinked, 
realizing he had intended to say "dignity and justice", but he had 
mangled it.  Oh well; as long as he inserted the precise buzz words, 
their specific rendition was not so important.

	Powers didn't think that his statement left him open to attack, 
but it did.  Anything he said was attacked by Mandelbaum.  If he had 
said, "I like daisies and roses," Mandelbaum would attack him for 
ignoring other kinds of flowers.

	Mandelbaum immediately reached for his throat.  "This is what is 
wrong with Washington," he said.  "Most of you are unaware of the 
McKinney bill, passed a few years ago in the name of a Republican," he 
said, giving a dark glance towards Powers, not the first of many.  
"This bill provided some paltry sums for the homeless.  At so-called 
fully funded levels this bill would only provide some $20 million 
dollars for the homeless in New York."  Actually, of course, what one 
meant by fully funded was a matter of debate.  But Mandelbaum saw no 
need to get bogged down in details.  "Twenty million dollars!  That, 
for all the continuous needs of all the thousands, yes, thousands of 
homeless New Yorkers.  That's the way Washington works.  They give aid 
in an eyedropper and quickly declare a symbolic victory.  I, on the 
other hand, have long proposed allocating at least $400 million dollars 
a year to help the homeless-"

	"Hold on," said Powers, interrupting.  "That $20 million figure 
is all wrong."

	"You're interrupting," said Mandelbaum.

	"You've interrupted me all night," said Powers.  "New Yorkers are 
sick and tired of your distortions.  Twenty million?  The figure for 
New York is more like $700 million.  So the figure that you want to 
spend pales-"

	"$700 million?  Where did that come, out of thin air?"

	As a matter of fact, it came from the very same place that 
Mandelbaum's $20 million figure had come from.

	"Look it up," Powers snapped, confident that Mandelbaum could not 
do that during the course of the debate.  "I've supported the homeless 
for years-"

	"Gentlemen," said McCain.

	"You mean you've made noises about supporting the homeless," said 
Mandelbaum.  "I'm the candidate who truly supports increasing 
homelessness-"

	"Increasing homelessness?  So, is this your real strategy?" said 
Powers, curling his lip.

	"You're... you're distorting...."  Mandelbaum red in the face 
with rage, was choking to get his words out.

	"Gentlemen, we're not making progress," said McCain.

	"But we are," said Powers, brightening.  He looked into the 
camera.  "Speaker Mandelbaum has just said that he wants to work to 
increase homelessness.  A slip of the tongue, perhaps?"  He shrugged.  
"The poor of New York can only hope."

	And that's the way the entire debate went.  Since the candidates 
had few substantive different positions on the issues, they each tried 
to attack each other on small points and each one tried to prove that 
he was the true champions of the downtrodden.

	After the debate the Wizard rushed to where network reporters 
were camped.  It was time to give out the spin.  The spin, after all, 
was more important than the debate itself.

	Stephanie Gould eagerly sought his attention.  "Mr. Ross!  Mr. 
Ross!  How do you think Congressman Powers did-"

	"Fabulously!  He set the facts straight about this campaign," 
said the Wizard.

	"But what about all the attacks?" said Gould.

	"Naturally, we were appalled by the ferocity of Speaker 
Mandelbaum.  Does this man truly have the temperament to be governor?"

	"Congressman Powers also did his share of attacks," Gould noted.

	"Steph, check the tapes.  More often than not Mike was responding 
to the Speaker's unprovoked aggression.  By the way, what do you think 
of Mandelbaum's plan to increase homelessness?"

	"He did seem to slip on his words," said Gould.	

	"You're being quite charitable.  Mike Powers has always been 
clear what he stands for, and that's why people have always been clear 
in standing for Mike Powers," said the Wizard.   The cameras turned 
away, and he quickly made his way to another network.

	Oxford Frame was interviewing one of Mandelbaum's toadies.  "And 
our man clearly won this debate," said the surrogate, in a voice that 
was small and whining.

	"Not so," said the Wizard, stepping into camera range.  "I've 
just gotten the results of a spot poll we've conducted.  It shows that 
nearly three quarters of viewers thought Mike Powers won the debate."	

	"No one will believe that," said the surrogate.

	"You mean you don't," said the Wizard.  "Our poll also shows that 
the Congressman, who was seven points behind before this debate, is now 
dead even with your man."

	"Gentlemen," said Frame, trying to get a word in edgewise.

	"The only poll that counts is the one taken at the convention," 
said the surrogate.

	"Which is coming up soon," said the Wizard.

	"Gentlemen," said Frame, trying to reestablish control.

	"Oxford!" said the Wizard, as if seeing him for the first time.  
"Would your viewers be interested to know that elements of the 
Mandelbaum campaign are already submitting their resumes to the People 
for Powers campaign in anticipation of the convention?"

	"A lie!" snapped the surrogate.

	"Sticks and stones," the Wizard chided.

	Frame mouthed to the cameraman, "Are you getting this?"



	"So what are the real results?" said Powers.

	It was the following day.  He and the Wizard were fishing on a 
small pond on the very large estate of the Truitts.  The Truitts were 
the majority owners of TruittCo, the largest pharmaceutical giant in 
the northeast.

	"Thirty percent thought you won, thirty percent thought he won, 
the rest either didn't know, didn't care, or were brain dead," said the 
Wizard.  Both of them had fishing rods in the water, but so far they 
had gotten nary a bite.

	"In other words, a draw."

	"The best you could hope for, right now.  M&M is a real piranha, 
if you haven't noticed."

	"I have," said Powers.  "It was as if two animals had squared 
off, each circling and growling, each trying to bite off the neck of 
the other.  Blood was shed but neither was the victor.  And what of our 
standings?"

	"Actually, that's the funny part.  I didn't have to lie to old 
Oxford.  We did pick up a point or two.  We're now two or three points 
behind M&M."

	"But still behind."

	"In striking distance.  This contest could go either way."

	"But this isn't even the primary yet.  We still have the 
convention."  Powers touched his rod.  He was getting impatient to 
catch something.

	"That's the problem."

	"What's the problem?"

	"The convention.  M&M already has close to 40% of the delegates 
sown up, that we know of."

	"40% that we know of?  He may already have a majority!"

	"Unlikely, but possible," the Wizard conceded.

	"Then what the hell are we doing about it?"  Powers hands moved, 
of their own accord, to a small pouch on the floor of the boat.

	"Nothing we can do.  He'll be nominated by the convention, maybe, 
but that's not binding, and we'll stop him in the primary vote-"

	"Not binding, but it confers the mantel of the Democratic party 
on him!  I may never unify the party after that!" said Powers.  He 
fiddled with something in the pouch.  "I want him stopped, at the 
convention."

	"That's not in our power.  You should know that it's important to 
know which battles to pick.  That's not our battlefield.  We would 
lose, big time."

	"I want him stopped," said Powers, removing something from the 
pouch.  It was a small brown stick with an electrical device implanted 
on the side of it.

	"I cannot do the impossible," said the Wizard, shrugging.

	Powers adjusted the electrical device.  It was a timer.  "Then 
perhaps Mason can.  Have you ever seen the movie Highlander?"

	The Wizard admitted that he hadn't.

	"It's the story of a race of beings who are competing for a great 
prize."  Powers rapidly depressed several buttons.  Then he sealed the 
item in a hollow plastic tube, and, with a mighty heave, tossed it 
overboard.

	"Only one could get the prize," said Powers.  The item sunk 
quickly beneath the surface of the lake.  "So each warrior has to chop 
off the heads of the other competitors.  Until only one was left."

	There was a muffled explosion.  The boat rocked slightly, 
startling even the Wizard, who had been half expecting it.

	Ripples of water came to the surface.  As well as the floating 
bodies of a dozen freshly killed fish.

	"Only one can survive," Powers repeated.

	

	Powers' next campaign appearance was at Niagra Falls.  This time, 
though, they were wise enough not to alert the press.

	"We'll bring our own cameras, and give representative footage to 
the press, afterwards," said the Wizard.

	"Why?" said Powers.

	"Because there aren't going to be many people there.  We don't 
want them to take footage of a half-empty rally."

	"Then why go there at all?"

	"Don't you see, it's the symbolism," said the Wizard, looking 
excited.  "You're keeping up the momentum after the debate.  You're 
Mike Powers, looking gubernatorial standing in front of this powerful 
and unstoppable monument to nature."

	Powers nodded.  "I like it."

	And it worked quite well.  The cameras were kept aimed on Powers.  
He gave his speech, and paused in appropriate places to accept 
applause.  It was amazing how much noise one or two staffers with taped 
applause recordings could generate.  When it was all done and Powers 
looked at the edited version he said, "Do you think they'll catch on?"

	"Never.  We never showed the audience, only their applause.  They 
might be suspicious, naturally, but they'll be no evidence to compare 
it with," said the Wizard.

	Only one day had transpired since the great debate between Powers 
and Mandelbaum before Mason deigned to grace Niles and Marsten with his 
presence again.  A large part of Niles groaned, but he only said, 
"What's up?"

	Mason hooked a thumb to the door, and in a few short minutes they 
were in his car, driving through downtown Washington.

	"We're going to the offices of the Trigna Insurance Company," 
said Mason.

	"Why?" said Niles nervously.  Were they going to do something 
illegal again?

	"This company is the one that provides medical insurance for 
Mandelbaum and his family," said Mason.

	Niles and Marsten didn't ask how Mason had found this out.  They 
didn't want to know.  But Niles did ask, "And what are we going to do 
here?"

	"I want to see where certain reimbursements went during the time 
that Mandelbaum was in the mental hospital."

	"I thought they wiped those records clean," said Niles.

	"The records at the hospital were wiped," said Marsten.  "Don't 
be an idiot.  Can't you see, he's trying to trace the records from 
another source?"

	"I just don't want to do anything illegal," Niles whined.

	"It's standard campaign work," Mason grunted.

	"But no more impersonations, no more breaking and entering," said 
Niles.

	Mason didn't respond.

	"Don't be a wuss," said Marsten.

	"What's gotten into you?" said Niles.

	"You've got to be a team player," said Marsten.  "Didn't you hear 
the Congressman say that he was going to reward us for this?"

	"Some actions aren't worth a reward," said Niles.  Sure, he 
wanted to get ahead.  He would love to have a job on the governor's 
staff.  But not by skulking around, and performing criminal acts.  He 
couldn't believe that other campaigns did this.  Surely this was not 
the casual actions of other campaigns.

	Mason looked in his rear view mirror but said nothing.

	

	"Special investigator E.M. Dirksen, Department of Health and 
Human Services," said Mason, flashing his badge.

	The clerk behind the desk was suitably impressed.  "What can we 
do for you?"

	"We're investigating the insurance industry, doing spot checks 
for fraud."  Seeing the look on the man's face, Mason added, "This is 
just a routine regulatory investigation.  If you'll be kind enough to 
show us where your files are...?"

	The files were stored on computer.  Mason kept the man occupied 
while Niles and Marsten searched.  Mason had told them exactly what to 
look for.  He kept the man engaged in lively conversation, so he would 
not look too closely at what Niles and Marsten were doing on the 
screen.

	After several quick minutes, Marsten jotted something down on a 
pad.  Then, depressing several keys, he wrote down several more things.  
Then, nodding, he stood up. 

	"Well?" said the clerk.

	"You'll be informed," said Mason curtly as they departed, rather 
quickly.



	"You were right," was the first thing Marsten said when they were 
safely back in the car, driving back towards the Capitol.  "He made a 
series of payments to that mental hospital on Long Island, about 
seventeen years ago."

	"We don't have even a hardcopy, your notes don't prove anything.  
We need proof!" said Mason.  He stopped the car on the side of the 
road.  He looked back.  "I hope you have something else," he said, in a 
chilling voice.

	Marsten nodded.  "I also have a series of payments to a certain 
psychiatrist."

	"A name?"

	Marsten nodded.  "And an address.  In Manhattan"

	Mason nodded.  "Excellent work.  Superb!"

	Marsten said, "Then you'll tell the Congressman?"

	"I certainly will," said Mason.  "Good work is rewarded."

	Niles shot Marsten a dirty look.

	"Pack your bags, gentlemen.  We're taking the shuttle up to New 
York."



	Dr. Sarah O'Conner had a small office on the Upper West Side of 
Manhattan, in the basement of a tall apartment building.  The office 
had its own tiny entrance which was apart from the main building 
entrance on the other side of the structure.

	At ten o'clock that night Mason fumbled with the lock.  This time 
all of them were wearing gloves, and all had flashlights.

	"Hurry up," hissed Niles, looking about nervously.

	"Shut up," said Marsten.  "Your anxiety is only attracting 
attention."

	Mason looked at Marsten.  "I begin to like you."  Then he turned 
back to the lock.  There was a click and the door slowly wheezed open.

	All the lights were off, of course.  This being the small office 
of a sole practitioner, there was little chance of them being caught 
there that night.  Still Mason posted Niles by the door, while he had 
Marsten assist him in the search.  Niles bitterly noticed the subtle 
pecking order that was emerging, and he resented it.  If he had to 
commit illegal acts, at least he should be able to make some 
substantive contribution to the effort.

	What was he saying?  Why was he involved in any illegal ventures 
at all?  How had he gotten involved in any of this?

	He heard Marsten muttering, "They may have gotten to these files 
as well...."

	"No!" said Mason.  He held up a sheaf of handwritten papers.  
"Jackpot!"

	They looked over the papers quickly.  It was a gold mine of 
information, some of it in Dr. O'Conner's own handwriting... and some 
of it in Mandelbaum's!  In it he admitted to feeling "secret lusts" for 
all the women around him in his workplace, and how he spent more and 
more of his time thinking about things he would do with them.  This 
seemed to take a physical toll on him, for he also discussed how at 
times he couldn't relieve himself, and sat, almost paralyzed, on the 
toilet for hours on end.

	"It says here that the Doctor recommended that he go to the 
mental hospital for a short stay as a voluntary inmate, to resolve... 
his obsessive feelings towards women as well as his physical 
difficulties in relieving himself."  Mason chuckled with glee.  
"Mandelbaum, the great Mandelbaum, with potty troubles!  We have him!"

	"But we need evidence," said Marsten.

	"What more evidence do we need?  This is his own handwriting!"

	"But how do we relay that....?"

	"Oh, I see."  How to reproduce these documents?

	They actually found a self-service photocopy center that was 
still open, up in the 90's not far from Columbia University.  The 
attendant may have found it odd that three individuals were alternately 
chuckling and cackling as they photocopied like madmen at 1 AM, but he 
said nothing to them about it.

	The copying took a long time; there were a lot of papers.  But by 
3:30 AM they were done, and they easily returned the papers without any 
trouble.

	The attendant noticed one thing, though; all three gentlemen were 
wearing gloves.



	"We have him!" Powers yelled.  "We have him!"  He clinked 
champagne glasses with Toles, the Wizard, Mason, and Niles and Marsten.  
"Three cheers to Mr. Mason."

	"Three cheers to Mason!" they cried.

	"Thank you," said Mason calmly.  He was still cold-blooded about 
it.  "I trust this serves your purposes?"

	"Serves my purposes?  Mr. Mason, this is all we need!" Powers 
cried.  He had read over the material that morning.  "This man has been 
all over the board.  He's been harassing women for years, anonymously 
sending them obscene letters, birthday cards with condoms in them, 
and..." he chuckled loudly, "hiding in stalls in ladies rooms with a 
polaroid!"  They all laughed.

	"Mr. Marsten located some of the information we needed," said 
Mason.  "He was quite instrumental."  He said nothing about Niles, but 
the silence spoke volumes.

	"So?" said Powers.  He put an arm around Marsten.  "Stick around, 
young fellow.  We just may have a place for you in the governor's 
mansion!"  He burst out laughing again.  "We have him!  We have him!"

	"But how to take advantage of this information?" said the Wizard.  
"Do you intend to have it leaked to the press?"

	"Never," said Powers.  "Not in a million years."

	"Never?  After all the pounding you've taken from him?" said 
Toles.  "What about the Lake Rasco issue?  What about the draft issue?  
What about the debate?"

	Powers waived his hand.  "I'm a live and let live kind of guy, 
with a very forgiving nature.  I'm not the type to be vindictive."

	"Meaning?" said the Wizard.

	"I want him taken alive," said Powers. 


	Chapter 6



	Powers, oddly enough, had never been to the statehouse before.  
He considered Albany a small, out of the way place, that never would 
have gained any prominence had it not been for the fact that the seat 
of the state government was located there.  Even with the legislature 
and governor's mansion and accompanying encampment of lobbyists he 
considered it a small and provincial town, compared to the huge, rich 
colossus to the south, New York City.

	Powers sat in Mandelbaum's empty office, waiting.  That was part 
of the indignity, of course, being kept waiting while Mandelbaum bid 
his time.  He had made the trip all the way to Albany, in person, 
alone.  Not even the Wizard accompanied him.  Surely that would peak 
Mandelbaum's curiousity.

	And it did.  Not a few eyebrows went up when he appeared in 
Mandelbaum's outer office.  Rushed consultations were made, and in the 
end Mandelbaum agreed to meet with him.  For five minutes.  He was a 
busy man, after all.

	And Powers was kept waiting.  He didn't mind.  This was the last 
indignity he would ever have to take from Mandelbaum.  And he was about 
to inflict one or two indignities of his own on the Speaker of the 
Assembly.

	Finally Mandelbaum came in, shutting the door behind him.

	"Powers," he said, pumping his hand briefly.  Then he went behind 
his desk.  The little man looked rather imposing sitting in his large 
office chair.  "You got a lot of guts, showing up here alone."

	"Yes," said Powers.

	"Let's cut to the quick, I'm a busy man.  You've got five 
minutes.  What's it all about?"

	"First of all if you're recording this conversation I strongly 
suggest you turn the recorder off.  If what I have to say gets out it 
will not rebound to the advantage of either of us."

	Mandelbaum looked startled, but swung his chair away momentarily 
and fumbled in his little vest.  Powers heard a small click, and 
Mandelbaum turned back to face him.  "A sensible precaution," he said.

	Powers nodded.

	"Now, state your business."

	"Capitulation," said Powers.

	Mandelbaum's eyebrows shot up.  Powers coming here, alone, it all 
made sense.  He was giving up.  "You're giving up?  I can't believe 
it!"  He gave a broad smile.  "Why?"

	Powers shook his head.  "I'm not giving up.  You are."

	Mandelbaum frowned.  "You lost me."

	Powers said, "I know about your little stay on the funny farm."

	Mandelbaum looked sick.  "You can't prove that."

	"No, you were most efficient in wiping their records," said 
Powers.  "However, you were less careful with your psychiatrist."

	"No," Mandelbaum whispered.

	"Perhaps you've known her for years, and were more trusting."

	"You're bluffing," Mandelbaum said.

	"Really?"  Powers took a paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and 
started to read.  "And then I went after Olivia.  She was a new 
assembly aide on Ways and Means.  I started to send her condoms with 
messages like 'get ready, I'm coming in' and 'try this on for size'.  
In fact, that made it harder for me and I had to sit on the toilet for 
hours on end-"

	"STOP!" Mandelbaum screeched.  "STOP!" He yelled.

	"Certainly," said Powers.  He folded the paper away, putting it 
in his pocket.  "This is in your handwriting, of course.  I trust you 
understand the ramifications if this were ever to fall into the hands 
of the press."

	Mandelbaum just sat there.

	"Not only this race, but your entire career would be over.  And 
what would your wife say?"

	All the blood drained from Mandelbaum's face.  "Don't do that.  
I'll do anything you want.  Anything."

	Powers nodded.  "I knew you would."

	"You want me to quit the race," said Mandelbaum.

	Powers shook his head.  "I wouldn't think of it.  Not for the 
world."



	The next day Powers sat at home in his Manhattan penthouse, truly 
relaxed.  He felt truly at ease, more so since before the campaign had 
started.  He lazily watched the seven o'clock news, Erin at his side.

	"-the Mandelbaum campaign has suddenly agreed to a second debate 
with Congressman Powers.  The agreement to have a first debate was 
weeks in the making, but this agreement to debate again came very 
suddenly.  It would seem that Speaker Mandelbaum must have something up 
his sleeve-"

	Powers chuckled, pressing the mute button.  It wasn't Mandelbaum 
with something up his sleeves.

	"What's so funny?  Why has Mandelbaum suddenly agreed to debate 
you again?" said Erin.

	"Perhaps there are some things that he wishes he could do 
differently from the first debate," said Powers.

	Bobby wandered in.  Powers hit the sofa besides him, and the 
young lad took a seat.

	"He'll try to cut you to ribbons again," said Erin.

	"I don't think it will be as bad as that," said Powers.  "In 
fact, in some ways, it may be kind of pleasant."

	"You're crazy," said Erin.

	"Crazy!" Bobby giggled.

	"Who asked you?" Powers smiled.  "How's it going, sport?"

	"Good.  Baseball season is starting!"

	Powers listened avidly to stories about his son's little league 
team.  It seems that Bobby was in contention to become a pitcher.

	"Go for it, sport," said Powers.  "You can do anything you set 
your mind to."

	"Yeah," said Bobby.  "But Burt Mills is also angling to be 
pitcher."

	"There's always going to be competition, Bobby," said Powers.  
"There's always competition for anything that's worth anything."

	Bobby nodded, not quite understanding.  "Are you going to come to 
watch my games?"

	"I will," Powers promised.  "But the campaign...."

	"Come to a few," said Bobby.

	"I will," Powers promised.  He was used to making promises.



	Mandelbaum was wearing a hearing aid during the debate.  It was a 
small, transparent device in one ear, but the media noticed.  Evidently 
the Speaker had had a chronic hearing problem which had suddenly flared 
up.

	"Nothing to worry about," said a spokesman for the campaign.  
"It's just his left ear, and the device just amplifies everything a 
bit."

	Otherwise it was not seen as an issue in the debate.

	Leo McCain was back again, as was the same format.  It was like a 
replay of the previous debate.

	But the Speaker no longer looked confident.  He looked nervous, 
distracted.

	By contrast Powers was beaming.

	The debate began.  Powers answered the questions put to him in a 
forthright, smooth fashion.

	Mandelbaum, by contrast, fumbled over his responses.  He looked 
very nervous, and at times seemed to purposely pause in mid-sentence, 
touching his left ear, as if his ear troubles were distracting him.  
Not once did he attack Powers.

	And Powers politely returned the favor.  Afterwards the reporters 
would remark how civil this debate had been.  Powers hit all the 
questions out of the ballpart.

	On abortion:  "I support a woman's right to choose.  Abortion 
should be safe, legal... and rare."  (Smile.)  On the budget:  "We can 
balance the budget by cutting the fat in Albany.  Increased efficiency 
can yield the revenues that we need."  On transportation:  "My light 
rail bill has recently passed the House of Representatives.  When it 
passes the Senate we will begin the largest modernization of the 
infrastructure of New York State since the canals were put into place 
around the Great Lakes in the 1800's."

	And Mandelbaum even agreed with him at times.  After Powers 
talked about his light rail bill, Mandelbaum got a pained look on his 
face, scratched his left ear, and said slowly, "I hate to admit it, but 
Congressman Powers has the right idea with that light rail bill."

	"He has?" said McCain, startled.

	"Yes..." said Mandelbaum.  His words were halting, and his face 
looked like he was sucking a lemon.  "Smile," said a little voice in 
his ear.  "You look like you're in a hostage video.  Smile, damnit, or 
everyone will find out about your personal problems, potty boy."

	Mandelbaum gave a weak smile.  "Yes... the light rail idea will 
greatly benefit New York...."

	"And Powers deserves credit for getting it passed," said the 
little voice.

	"No," Mandelbaum whispered under his breath.

	"Say it!  Or the New York press will find a very long fax on 
their machines tomorrow morning, Mr. Condom Man."

	Mandelbaum sweated.  "And I have to give credit where credit is 
due, Powers did a good job on this," he said.

	McCain raised his eyebrows.  What was going on here?

	But Mandelbaum did not praise Powers any more that night.  But 
neither did he attack him.  Instead he gave continued to give halting, 
fragmented answers to questions, and looked on the verge of collapse.

	After the debate the Wizard was not forced to manufacture poll 
results; the networks reported their own.

	"85% of respondents thought that Michael Powers won the debate," 
said Stephanie Gould.  "Only 7% could say the same of the Speaker.  
This is astounding.  Speaker Mandelbaum looked on the verge of 
collapse, really off the ball tonight-"

	On NBC Oxford Frame was saying the same.  "And at one point he 
praised Michael Powers!  He may have been trying to be gracious, but it 
almost looked as if he were endorsing the man.  In fact, a spot poll by 
NBC now shows Powers 15 points ahead among viewers-"

	"It's over," said the Wizard, entering the Powers' living room.  
He carried a small walkie-talkie in his hands.

	"Not quite," said Powers.  "There are still some formalities to 
be wrapped up, at the convention.  But you are correct.  The nomination 
is mine."  He chuckled.  "I never thought it would have been this 
easy!"

	The Wizard laughed.  "And I never thought I would have the 
opportunity to control an opponent during a debate!  It was like a 
boxing match where I could direct the opponent to just stand there and 
take the punches!"

	"And it's much more effective than simply getting him to drop 
out," said Powers.  "Now that we've... debated again, my stature has 
risen, and his has sunk.  A great gift from our good friend Mr. 
Mandelbaum."  He laughed again.

	"Yes," said the Wizard.  "Free air time where your opponent 
praises you is usually hard to come by."

	And they both laughed.  The nomination was Powers' for the 
taking.  Technically, Mandelbaum had a majority or near majority of the 
delegates to the convention.  However, Powers had a feeling that 
Mandelbaum would be only too glad to throw his support to Powers.  In 
the spirit of unity.

	They laughed for a very long time that evening.



	"That debate was wild," said Marie, chortling as she and Niles 
walked in the zoo.  The National Zoo was a relatively quiet place, even 
on weekends, a good place to get away from it all.  Two giant giraffes 
loomed over them, casting a shadow.

	"Um," said Niles.  "It wasn't what you might think."

	"How do you mean?"

	"We blackmailed him, honey," said Niles.  "We broke into his 
psychiatrists office, we found incriminating records, and we 
blackmailed him.  That debate was a put-up job."

	"What?" said Marie.  "You used personal records concerning his 
mental hygiene to blackmail a candidate for governor?"  She looked 
shocked.  "Philip, how could you?"

	"I... I don't know.  I just did what they told me to do."

	"Don't you have a mind, Philip?  Can't you resist doing anything 
they say to you?"

	"Lower your voice."  Niles looked about.  The crowd milling about 
the animal cages seemed to be ignoring them.

	"Look, I don't like doing these things," he said.  "But it's 
gotten to the point where I have too much invested.  Think of my 
future."

	"Future?  What kind of future do you have working with criminals 
like that?"

	"Just bear with me a little longer," Niles pleaded.  "It's almost 
the beginning of August.  There's just three months left.  Once this is 
over, things will go back to normal."

	They passed a lion's cage, and dangerous dark eyes stared out at 
them.

	"I hope so, Philip," said Marie.  "Because I don't like what 
you're turning into."



	Tavern on the Green was a very fancy eatery.  Located on the 
western edge of Central Park near 67th street, it was one of the most 
elegant restaurants in the city.

	Michael Powers chose to have lunch there with the Wizard and 
Toles, as part of the continuing victory celebration.  The media didn't 
know it yet, the public certainly didn't know it yet, but Powers did:  
victory was his.  Mandelbaum had cut himself down in that debate, and 
the sound of his fall simply had yet to reach the masses.

	The trio chuckled as they ordered fancy steak lunches, with side 
orders of shrimp.  The bill would go into the triple digits, but Powers 
didn't care; he was in a generous mood.

	He was in such a carefree mood, however, that he didn't notice 
someone staring at him, two tables away, until the Wizard joggled his 
elbow.  "I think we've got company," said the Wizard.

	"What?  Who?" said Powers, looking over.

	He saw a tall blonde man sitting in the company of several 
formally dressed men at the far table.  The man had a steely gaze, and 
quickly matched his with Powers'.

	Powers, not in a mood for a test of wills, quickly looked away.  
"Is that...."

	"Him," said the Wizard, nodding.

	Toles looked over at the far table.  "Stratford."

	Stratford.  Their probable Republican opponent in the general 
election.  Stratford was the rich millionaire who was, according to all 
accounts, the leader in the Republican primary against his rival, 
right-wing congressman William Dallen.  If Stratford won his primary 
than he would face Powers in the fall election.

	Stratford nodded incrementally at being recognized.  Powers 
returned the favor.

	"What's he doing here?" said Toles.

	"I don't know, it's a restaurant, maybe he's eating lunch," said 
Powers.

	Stratford's luncheon meeting, having started before Powers', 
broke up just before Powers was starting dessert.  As the participants 
made their way to the exit, Stratford purposely made his way to Powers' 
table.

	"Oh oh, guess who's coming to lunch," Toles whispered.

	Stratford stood over Powers chair.  "Congressman Powers?" he 
said, extending a hand.

	Powers shook it.  "Mr. Stratford."

	"Bill, to my friends," he said, giving a winning grin.

	"Mike," said Powers.  "What can I do for you?"

	"I've been following your race rather closely," said Stratford.

	"I'm flattered," said Powers dryly.

	"You propelled yourself from a distant second place to become the 
probable nominee of your party."

	"It's not going to be that probable," said Powers.  "My opponent 
still has the largest share of delegates dedicated to our state 
convention.  Everybody knows that."

	"But what everyone doesn't know is that your opponent plans to 
throw his support, and his delegates, behind you at the convention."

	"That's a pretty interesting theory," said Powers, maintaining a 
straight face.  "I'd be interested to know how you arrived at that."

	"Oh, I just have my ears open," said Stratford.  He turned a 
steely gaze at Powers.  "Would you like a word of advice?"

	"Constantly, when it's free."

	"I'm not so easy to blackmail, and attempts to do so have often 
backfired on the party making the attacks."

	"I don't understand your meaning."

	"Of course you don't," said Stratford.  "It's been a pleasure, 
Mike."  He departed, nodding at each of them.

	"Spooky character," Toles remarked.

	"How the hell did he know what we did to Mandelbaum?" Powers 
wanted to know.  "Is it general knowledge?"

	"No, it isn't," said the Wizard.  "In fact, it's a closely 
guarded secret.  The only people who know it are sitting at this table, 
plus Mandelbaum and one or two top people in his campaign."

	"Then how....?"

	"Isn't it obvious?  He has spies of his own," said the Wizard.  
"We're going to have to be very careful with this one.  Very, very 
careful."

	Powers nodded.  "And I want Mason to start researching him 
immediately."

	Toles replied, "But he said-"

	"I don't care what he said.  Everyone has a skeleton in his 
closet, it's just a matter of finding his."

	"Just be sure he doesn't find any of ours," said the Wizard, with 
a meaningful look.



	The Convention!  The Democratic State Convention was held in a 
sparkling Manhattan hotel on Sixth Avenue, just a few blocks short of 
Central Park.  Traffic was snarled up for blocks as police patrolled 
the perimeter and fancy VIPs pulled up in large black limousines.  A 
few hundred feet beyond the police in every direction young women in 
tight boots and miniskirts plied their trade in unusually large 
numbers--many of their brethren had flocked from the Upper East and 
West Side to service the burgeoning needs of the Democratic Convention.  
A number of young men were also patrolling the street corners, 
practically bulging out of their tight spandex outfits, undoubtedly 
also present for a sport other than cycling.

	The delegates to the convention were largely white, male, and 
wealthy--at least, that was the profile of the delegates of the Powers 
and Mandelbaum campaign.  Each of them had a number of women and a 
sprinkling of blacks and hispanics in their respective groups.  But it 
was only the delegates for Attorney General Sampleton, the third and 
often forgotten candidate for the Democratic nomination, who had a 
respectable number of women, blacks, hispanics, and gays in his 
delegation.  The problem was that his delegation numbered some seventy 
members, less than 10% of the delegates and certainly less than the 
number needed to be nominated.  Thus he was ignored by the media, and 
rightly so:  what chance did he have to become governor anyway?

	Word started to drift through the convention the first day that 
Mandelbaum was going to quit the race.  This caused quite a sensation, 
to say the least, although since his disastrous performance in the last 
debate he was still, in blunt numbers, the leading candidate of this 
convention.

	The Wizard planned it as best he could.  First Mandelbaum's 
senior people, acting under his direction, released that little tidbit 
of information which hinted that their leader might throw himself on 
his proverbial sword.  In the media frenzy that ensued, where the stark 
question was "Why?", the answer that was most frequently leaked was 
"Personal reasons." (Short, but concise.)  

	Another reason given was "To spend more time with his family." 
(The number one reason given by politicians with skeletons in their 
closet--they suddenly develop a new found affection for their wife and 
kids, especially if their reason for resigning was their new found 
affection for someone else.) 

	Or how about "He believes that he can do more good in the 
statehouse as Speaker, and he intends to run again for the Assembly 
instead."  (After all, which would one rather be, Speaker of the 
Assembly or Governor?  Never mind that someone else was already running 
for the Democratic nomination for the Assembly seat in Mandelbaum's 
district; he would step aside for the good of the party once Mandelbaum 
decided to make a comeback.)  

	Another favorite of the desperate Mandelbaum campaign was "He 
realized that this campaign was more nerve wracking than he thought it 
would be."  (This last sentiment, oddly enough, was closest to the 
truth.)

	Naturally nearly everyone in the Mandelbaum campaign was in the 
dark as to the real reason for this resignation.  Privately the Wizard 
wondered just how much Mandelbaum had told his senior aides who were in 
on his plans from the weeks before.

	Mandelbaum made his announcement on the morning of the second day 
of the convention.  He did this because Powers ordered him to.  Had 
Powers ordered him to go wandering out among the convention crowd in a 
clown suit passing out party favors while wearing a big sign labeled 
"Kick me", he was confident that the Speaker would have done so.

	The night before the Speaker's announcement Powers met privately 
with the Speaker.  Mandelbaum looked downcast, and not without reason.

	"Everybody's asking me why I'm doing this," he said, looking at 
his shoes.

	"Personal reasons," said Powers.

	"Whenever someone says personal reasons they know there's 
something behind it," snapped Mandelbaum.  Evidently he wasn't totally 
broken.

	Powers took a deep breath.  "Well, which do you prefer, saying 
'personal reasons', and letting them be suspicious but unknowing, or 
would you prefer 'sexual harassment combined with chronic potty 
problems'?  Be honest.  You're getting out of this awfully easily."

	Mandelbaum nodded, mumbling something.

	"What was that?"

	"I guess you want me to resign my post as Speaker, because of 
my... difficulties," said Mandelbaum.  It was the least he would 
expect.

	"Nonsense!" said Powers.  "I not only want you to remain in 
office, I want you to run for reelection."

	Mandelbaum perked up.  "What?  It doesn't bother you that...."

	"I can think of no one better than yourself to be in the 
Speaker's chair when I'm governor," said Powers.  "I'm sure we'll have 
a harmonious working relationship."

	A chill went down Mandelbaum's spine.  "You mean...."

	"I will expose you, but only if you don't run for reelection," 
said Powers cheerfully.  "You've caused me a lot of damage.  If I were 
vindictive, I would like nothing better than to see you dragged through 
the mud, poor, disgraced, and unemployed.  With lice.  And 
constipated."  Powers smiled at the thought.  "I'm certain that you've 
done some not so good things to your opponents in the past.  And even 
worse than I'm doing to you, though there is no need for us to discuss 
that now."  Powers paused.  "However, I am thinking only of the good of 
New York.  And the good of New York dictates having an Assembly Speaker 
who will work closely with the governor.  I'm certain that will be the 
case here, eh?"

	Mandelbaum nodded dumbly.  "But what about that youngster already 
running for my Assembly seat?"

	Powers laughed.  "We'll get him a job on the water commission or 
something.  He'll be happy to resign after we've explained to him that 
it's for the good of the party."  Or else, Powers thought grimly, the 
young man would be given other reasons, and other incentives.  "And 
then once he rejects the nomination your county committee will appoint 
you to be the nominee."

	Mandelbaum nodded.

	Powers handed him his speech for the next morning.

	As Mandelbaum read through it, tears welled in his eyes.

	"I'll be watching tomorrow morning," said Powers.  He left the 
room, leaving behind one of the most powerful politicians in the state, 
a broken man.  Under his total control.

	Powers could only smile.  He was unstoppable now.



	"And so, for the good of New York, I must decline the opportunity 
to run for governor of New York," said Mandelbaum, in closing. It was a 
real tear-jerker, with Mandelbaum on the verge of breaking down several 
times.  His wife and children hung by his side.

	Powers fidgeted, watching the television.  There was one 
important part of the speech left, one important part that Mandelbaum 
had to read.  He unconsciously pressed the fast forward button on his 
combined remote control just as the camera focused on Mandelbaum's 
rotund face, as if this were something taped that he could fast 
forward.

	The crowd was obviously dismayed by this announcement, but 
Mandelbaum continued.  "I have one more announcement to make.  I am 
leaving the race, but there is still one capable candidate, indeed 
one... superior candidate who is worthy of endorsement.  Michael 
Powers.  Therefore I... endorse Congressman Powers, and turn over all 
my delegates to him."

	And this was the last that anyone saw of Mandelbaum for a long 
time.  He departed, even before the end of the convention, to an 
unknown retreat for two months, and only reappeared when the 
legislature came back into session in the fall, after all the commotion 
had abated, and after he was no longer dogged by reporters who would 
ask him embarrassing questions.

	After Mandelbaum's speech the day was made for Powers.  
Expectations started to build concerning his acceptance speech, which 
would be aired at six o'clock, just in time for the evening news.  The 
mechanics were simple enough; with Mandelbaum holding some 45% of the 
delegates, and Powers holding upwards of 30%, the majority was his for 
the taking and his nomination was assured.

	All throughout the day politicians of every stripe came up to the 
podium in the convention hall and praised Michael Powers.  They were 
fellow congressmen, state assemblymen, state senators, state 
committeemen, a number of mayors, and a sprinkling of state party 
officials.  But around 4 PM the politicians stopped coming up and the 
"common people" approached to give testimonials.

	Powers and the Wizard had worked out the list the day before.  
The idea was to have people from all walks of life come to the podium 
and endorse Powers.

	"Let's see," said the Wizard.  "We have the white male union 
worker, the left handed feminist nationalist, the white male investment 
banker-"

	"Scratch the investment banker," said Powers.  "Can't you find me 
a small businessman, preferably a black or a woman?"

	The Wizard checked his list.  "Um... how about a Native American 
shopkeeper?"

	"Perfect," said Powers.  "Continue."

	"A short male social worker with Tourette's-"

	"Tourettes?"

	"Sickness that causes involuntary cursing and swearing," said the 
Wizard.

	"And this man is going to give a speech on my behalf?"

	"Trust me, it will highlight the fact that the disabled support 
you," said the Wizard.

	"Very well, continue."

	"Let's see, there's an overweight Long Island pediatrician-"

	"Overweight?" Powers inquired.

	"To show your support for people of size," said the Wizard.  he 
continued.  "A prosperous albino farmer, a balding interior designer, 
an office manager with a speech impediment, a construction worker with 
only one hand, a bus driver who also has the plus of being a dwarf-"

	"Easy, we're doing the nominating speeches, not the Special 
Olympics," said Powers.  "Strike the midget.  I don't think we have to 
worry about the dwarf vote."

	"Check.  A woman with breast cancer, a young florist with AIDS, a 
homeless man with tuberculosis, a middle aged man with prostate cancer-
"

	"Strike the cancer man.  No one talks about prostate cancer."

	"-a groundskeeper from a poor family, a school teacher from 
upstate, and a former convict who rehabilitated himself and now owns a 
thriving toilet paper and trinket factory."

	"Sounds good," said Powers, nodding.  "Did you write their 
speeches out?"

	The Wizard nodded.

	"Then they should have no troubles giving good speeches."

	But as it turned out, one of them did.  One of them, the albino 
farmer, had trouble with some of the larger words.

	"And it is imper-tive that we have governor of state who will 
work to make this a state of equality.  Because of my white skin and 
white eyes, I have been discrim-ated against.... diff-culty in getting 
workers from the comm-ity to work on my farm.  As a matter factly-"

	Someone came and whispered into the albino's ear.

	"And please vote Mike Powers," said the albino.  He was 
immediately greeted with thunderous applause.

	In fact, every speech was greeted with large applause.  At 
certain points during every speech the speaker would pause, and receive 
a significant amount of clapping.  The audience knew when to do this 
because each floor manager had the scripts of each speaker, complete 
with narrative such as "Pause here for clapping."

	Oxford Frame, seeing one of the floor managers of the convention 
subtly cuing his portion of the audience when to clap, approached the 
man from behind and waited.

	The floor manager put his script down for a moment during a lull 
in speeches as someone caught his attention.

	And then Oxford Frame scooped it up.  Walking away quickly, he 
read inside, and saw the directions for clapping.  What a scoop this 
would be on the air!  This would certainly puncture the myth of the 
spontaneity of the convention.

	Meanwhile, in a booth above all the other media booths, a team of 
men sat with binoculars, cameras and audio pickups, watching the 
proceedings below.  A few of them, however, were set to watch 
particular individuals in the audience.

	One of the men peered out of his binoculars.  "Mr. Mason, Frame 
just grabbed one of the scripts."

	"What?" said Mason.  He picked up his binoculars.  Frame was 
making his way back to the television booth.  He picked up his walkie 
talkie.  "Units two and three.  Intercept Frame.  He has a script.  
Repeat, intercept."

	Philip Niles had been having a good time at the convention.  He 
was keenly interested in politics and enjoyed mixing with the 
conventioneers.  Some of the most powerful Democrats in the state were 
here for this event.  And for once he hadn't had to get involved in any 
skullduggery.  He was technically under Mason's command at the 
convention, but so far Mason had been leaving him mostly alone.

	The only trouble was that he had to stick with John Marsten.  
Mason, he judged, had had a corrosive influence on Marsten.  He had 
become more abusive and more competitive than ever before.  And Niles 
hadn't missed the fact that Powers was showing more favoritism towards 
Marsten.  Marsten would surely get a post in the new administration, 
perhaps at a subcabinet level.  But what would become of he, Philip 
Niles?

	"Stop spacing, you look like an idiot," snapped Marsten.

	This was the new Marsten.  "Eat shit and die," replied Niles 
coldly.

	Just then their earpieces crackled.  "Units two and three.  
Intercept Frame.  He has a script.  Repeat, intercept."

	They scrambled.  "He's on his way back to the NBC booth.  Stop 
him."

	And what then?  Niles thought.  They quickly caught sight of the 
reporter, slowly but steadily making his way back to his booth.

	"Bump into him," said Marsten.

	"What?"

	"Bump into him.  Hard," said Marsten.  "Don't be an idiot.  Not 
now."

	Niles did as he was told.  He pushed ahead until he was just 
inches away from Frame, and then he rammed him.

	Both nearly fell to the ground, and Frame was pushed against 
someone else.

	"Oh, I'm sorry," said Niles, helping Frame up.

	"Watch where you're going!" said Frame, dusting himself off.  He 
got up, looking around.  His script!  It was gone.

	"Hey!" he said, turning about.  But Niles and the other man were 
already gone, lost in the crowd.

	"You got the script?" said a voice in their ears.  "Good work, 
Marsten."

	Good work, Marsten?  It was Niles who had distracted Frame.

	So this was his job.  Acting as a junior assistant thug.  Would 
things ever get better?  Niles could only hope that once the campaign 
was over that things would return to normal.  Perhaps he could get some 
sort of policy position on the governor's staff.   Only that thought 
kept him going.

	Meanwhile, currently at the podium was the social worker with 
Tourette's.

	"We need to create a new... a new... a new fucking state of 
affairs!" said the man.  "Fuck the system!  Fuck the status quo-"

	The networks, which were broadcasting this live, were rapidly 
bleeping out his words, while the anchors explained the handicap that 
the speaker was operating under.

	Bob Pringle sprinted up to the stage, and put a steadying hand on 
the speaker.

	That seemed to have an effect.  "Mike Powers cares about people 
who are differently abled.  When I volunteered to work on the campaign, 
I was frank about my disability.  His campaign embraced me."  The man 
swallowed heavily, as if another spasm was about to occur.  "Shit!  
Shit!  Fuck! Fuck!  Fuck!"

	Meanwhile, in a hotel suite upstairs, the Wizard and Toles were 
meeting with Alton J. Sampleton, the only remaining candidate.

	"But you've got to endorse Mike," the Wizard pleaded.  "It's for 
the good of the party."

	"That's not the way I see it," said Sampleton.  He turned to his 
campaign manager, Emile Glidden.  She nodded in agreement.

	"But Powers is going to be nominated by 80% of the delegates.  
You have no chance of being nominated.  For the good of the party, come 
together," the Wizard implored.

	"There is the primary," Sampleton reminded him.  "The primary 
voters can overturn the judgment of this convention."

	"But why the need for a divisive primary that you will surely 
lose?"

	"Because I believe in democracy," said Sampleton.  "A candidate 
for state office should be chosen by all Democrats, not just the party 
bosses."

	"But you'd lose even a primary vote," said Toles.

	"That remains to be seen," said Sampleton.  "But even if I do, I 
will have forced the campaign to focus on the issues."

	"What if... what if we could arrange to get you a good position 
with the governor's office?  Maybe in the cabinet, even?" said the 
Wizard.

	Sampleton looked shocked.  "Sir, are you offering me a bribe?"

	"Not at all.  I'm just looking to see if we can't put together 
a... unity ticket."

	"I cannot help you," said Sampleton, looking away.  "May I be 
blunt?"

	"Please," said the Wizard.

	"Michael Powers is a cynical politician who cares nothing for the 
poor.  I have labored throughout my public career to help the poor.  I 
will never, ever join forces with Michael Powers."

	"Ever, like never, is a very long time.  A change in conditions 
may bring about a change in heart," said the Wizard.

	"Always in motion is the future," said Sampleton, sounding more 
than a little bit like Yoda.  "But for now we have nothing further to 
discuss.  Good day, sir."

	At 5:52 PM the last speaker was wrapping things up.  This was the 
ex-felon who had gone on to reclaim his life and become the prosperous 
owner of a toilet paper and paper trinket factory in the South Bronx.  
"I started with nothing," said the man.  "I had just gotten out of jail 
for committing major crimes."  The Wizard, when writing the man's 
speech, purposely didn't mention the crimes, sexual assault and 
attempted murder, because that would have distracted attention from the 
elegance of the speaker's tale.  "Then I got a small loan, and opened 
up an Everything For $1 Store.  I spent the next seven years scraping 
by, selling GI Joe dolls made in China, little figurines, flashlight 
batteries, pocket combs, and potato chip clips.  But my best sales came 
in toilet paper, diapers, sanitary napkins, but especially toilet 
paper.  So I got together with several other investors in the community 
and bought out this local toilet paper maker who was going out of 
business.  That was five years ago.  Now we are prosperous employers in 
the Bronx, which, as you know, is an economically disadvantaged area.  
We provide enough toilet paper in the space of a month to clean the 
bottoms of every man, woman, and child in the Bronx for a year."  
(Brief applause.)

	The toilet paper entrepreneur continued.  "I made it to the top 
by working hard, and fighting against being disadvantaged.  And that's 
why I support Mike Powers.  He's a man who supports the hard workers, 
the people who believe they can make a difference in the community.  He 
believes in fighting discrimination and social justice."

	The Wizard winced.  That was supposed to be against 
discrimination and for social justice.  Oh well.

	"He believes in New York.  That is why he is the man for our 
state, for our times."

	The audience clapped hysterically.

	The Wizard let the applause go on for several minutes.  He stood 
to the side with Powers.  "Are you ready?" he whispered.

	Powers nodded.  The Wizard gave the thumbs up, and the applause 
died down.

	Powers stepped to the podium.  It was six o'clock.  Exactly.

	"Thank you, thank you very much," he said.  "You, my loyal 
supporters, make it all worth it."   He took a deep breath.  This was 
it.

	"People have asked me why I'm running for governor.  Some people 
say that I have to have my head examined to put myself through the 
grinder.  But I say there are a million good reasons for running.  I 
want a New York where health care is affordable.  I want a New York 
where good housing is available.  I want a New York that fights for the 
rights of unions, and the little guy.  I want a New York where-"

	And on and on.  The Wizard, who had personally drafted this 
speech in close consultation with Powers, called it "the chicken in 
every pot speech."  Powers continued on for some time, knowing that he 
was being carried live by all the major networks and most of the minor 
ones.  If anyone was watching broadcast television at that moment, they 
had a choice of either watching him on any channel or Dr. Who on 
Channel 9.  (Later the Nielsen ratings would show a record surge for 
Dr. Who; still, Powers garnered over 75% of the local viewing 
audience.)

	And finally Powers closed his speech.  "And that's why I'm doing 
this, to improve the lot of all New Yorkers.  Governor Marchese has 
given us eight years of Republicanism, and we've had enough of it.  The 
time has come for all of us to unite to make a better, brighter New 
York!"

	Powers basked in the applause when he was done.  Erin and Bobby 
suddenly materialized at his side.  He smiled broadly.  The crowd kept 
cheering his name:  "Pow-ers!  Pow-ers!  Pow-ers!"  This was what 
politics was all about.

	Oxford Frame sat in the television booth, above the fray, and 
commented, "The crowds are still continuing to cheer Congressman Powers 
after he wrapped up his acceptance speech.  Joining us now to comment 
on the events that have transpired are Mitchell Gant of the New York 
Daily News and Willard Ross, campaign manager for Michael Powers."  He 
turned to the Wizard.  "Mr. Ross, all the applause during the day 
looked spontaneous, but hasn't everything, down to the applause, been 
meticulously planned and plotted in advance in scripts distributed to 
the floor leaders?"

	The Wizard frowned.  "Oxford, our man has just been nominated to 
be the next governor of the state of New York, and you're worried about 
when people are clapping?  Can't you see they love him!  Next 
question."

	"Mr. Ross, not everyone loves Congressman Powers," said Gant.  
"The Sampleton camp, for one, has not endorsed him; instead, they 
intend to continue the race.  What do you have to say to that?"

	The Wizard turned to Frame.  "Ox old fellow, can your cameras pan 
into the audience?  They can?  Good?"

	Obediently the cameras panned into the cheering crowds.

	"Now who down there looks unhappy?" said the Wizard, confident 
that Sampleton's picayune delegation would not be noticed.  "The fact 
is, the party is solidly behind Mike.  He made a pitch to get everyone 
on board, for everyone to join together for unity's sake.  Speaker 
Mandelbaum graciously accepted, for the good of the party.  Mr. 
Sampleton could not subsume his ego for the same purpose.  So he and 
his mighty 5% have decided to walk.  So we're forced to have a primary.  
We welcome the primary, as a matter of fact.  We're certain that we'll 
win, and we'll just have that much extra media attention that we can 
use to focus on the issues."

	"We have here a statement from Emilie Glidden, Mr. Sampleton's 
campaign manager, stating that the people and not the party bosses 
should be allowed to pick the nominee," said Frame.

	The Wizard laughed.  "The fact is, the people do support Mike.  
Sampleton is trying to act as a spoiler.  The only interests he is 
serving are those of the Republicans.  But I say again:  we're not 
afraid of the primary, bring it on!  Then we'll see how many of the 
people support Mr. Sampleton."

	"One more question," said Gant.  "Congressman Powers has not 
chosen a candidate for lieutenant governor."

	"So?" said the Wizard, getting a cold feeling in his stomach.

	"It's customary for the candidate nominated at the convention to 
select his choice for lieutenant governor.  It's kind of strange that 
the Congressman has not made a selection."

	The Wizard sighed.  "This is what I mean when I refer to the 
obstructionism of Mr. Sampleton.  A number of party leaders were 
telling Mike to do just that, to name his running mate on the spot.  
But although he is now legally the party's choice for the top office, 
he now has to face the primary.  He didn't think it was right to select 
his running mate before the primary voters have spoken.  Since 
Sampleton has forced this primary, Mike wants to wait until the people 
have spoken before going further."  He got up, signaling the end of the 
interview.

	The Wizard, of course, did not give the real reason why Powers 
hadn't selected a running mate.  As Powers had put it, there hadn't 
been just one reason for delaying, but a million.

	Powers had had a meeting the night before with Fabulant Truitt, 
the heir to the pharmaceutical fortune.  He wanted his 35 year old 
daugher, Carla, nominated to be lieutenant governor.

	Powers had hemned and hawed, stating that there were a number of 
qualified candidates, and what were Carla's qualifications?

	Truitt had named two:  one, that Carla had been active in social 
work for ten years, and had worked in the New York City housing 
administration.  And two, he would donate $500,000 to the campaign if 
she were nominated.

	Powers had promised to consider the request.  But he had 
indicated that her chances of being nominated would be increased if 
either of her characteristics were strengthened.

	In other words, he was stalling to jack up the price.  Powers had 
hoped to sell the office of lieutenant governor for a price of at least 
three quarters of a million dollars.



	The campaign released new poll results after the convention 
showing that Powers was ten points ahead of Sampleton.

	"Only ten points?" Powers thundered.  What was wrong here?  
Hadn't they run a good convention?  Sampleton was a nothing candidate.  
If they couldn't get a better bounce then that, how would they ever 
beat Stratford?

	"Easy chief," said the Wizard.  "That's what we released to the 
public.  The actual figures are more like twenty percent."

	"That's a little better," said Powers.  "Oh, I see, you undercut 
the figures-"

	"So the troops don't get complacent.  Correct," said the Wizard.  
"I'm still looking to get double my pay, not half, remember?"

	"Every time you remind me," said Powers.  "So what's our campaign 
strategy for Stratford?"

	"Whoa, one thing at a time," said the Wizard.  "We've got to take 
care of Mush Head first.  Have you seen this?"  "This" was a copy of 
the op-ed page of the Times.  Inside was a particularly long op-ed 
piece.



	SAMPLETON FOR GOVERNOR



Private Sentiments

By Michele Franswa



			I try to watch closely what my children are seeing on 
television.  Generally when I'm not supervising them I lock out all 
channels except for PBS and Nickelodeon to protect their minds from 
exposure to filth and violence.  I am sad to report that I failed in my 
duty yesterday when PBS let me down.  

			They were airing a speech by Michael Powers, now the 
presumptive nominee of the Democrats to become the next governor of New 
York.  My daughter, Winnie, who I joyously gave birth to just nine 
years ago last week, came over and tugged on my apron.  I was 
supervising the housekeeper, who was baking cookies for Winnie's class 
play the following day.  Winnie wanted my attention.  There was this 
"nice man on TV who was promising everything to everybody."

			I immediately raced to the television and sent the 
children out of the room, but the damage was done.  Michael Powers 
seems to be able to cast an irresistible spell over anyone who hears 
his voice.  He creates these fairytale-like myths of what he has done 
for New Yorkers when in reality he has done little more than dispersing 
bits of pork for the special interests.

			I sat down and watched his speech but was not moved.  
His speech was impressive but the sentiment behind it wasn't.  He 
talked of day care and prenatal checkups but he's done nothing for 
pregnant women since he went to Washington.  He says he's for the 
homeless but he's done nothing for them either.  He says he's for more 
AIDS research but he's done little beyond voting for token increases.

			In short, as I've indicated in this space before, he 
represents the status quo.  

			I've been in communication with Attorney General 
Sampleton's campaign manager, Emilie Glidden.  She's an honest woman 
who has served selflessly for the last ten years on the AIDS Action 
Fund, who has tirelessly given a decade of her life for health issues.  
She says that Alton Sampleton is a sincere man.  She says that before 
his government service he has worked for years to aid the poor, labor 
in the peace corp or to offer his volunteer services to local food 
banks.  He is truly a man who, not just by his words but by his 
actions, stands for the downtrodden.

			I talked to a lot of ordinary Democrats during and 
after the convention who say that Michael Powers, though nominated by 
the party bosses in the wake of the self-destruction of Speaker 
Mandelbaum, doesn't represent them.  Sampleton's standings in the polls 
aren't very high now, but if progressives rallied around his candidacy, 
he could beat the special interests, and provide a true contrast to the 
Republicans.  This is what should be done, not just for our generation, 
but for the children of the next.



	"So?" said Powers.

	"Don't take her lightly," said the Wizard.  "She doesn't control 
many votes, of course, but she represents a stream of intellectual 
thoughts among many Democrats that we cannot lightly ignore.  We still 
haven't resolved all their doubts about you, and if we just ignore 
Sampleton entirely, it could be our undoing."

	"But for now the nomination is still ours to lose," said Powers.

	"Correct," said the Wizard.  "But let's still keep... what did 
you call him?"

	"Mush Head," said Powers.  "That's my favorite name for him."

	"Yes, let's still keep Mush Head in mind."



	"Let me get this straight," said Powers, the following day.  
"We're holding a fundraiser tomorrow, only we're not going to make any 
money off of it?"

	"You are correct, sir," said the Wizard.

	"Here's another idea," said Powers, furious that he hadn't even 
been told about it in advance.  "What if you are employed by me during 
the campaign, but I don't pay you for your work?"

	"Easy, chief," said the Wizard.  He stroked his beard 
thoughtfully.  "The purpose of this fundraiser is not to make money."

	"That's funny.  I thought that's what fundraisers were for."

	"Normally, yes.  But our cash reserves, while not endless, are 
not in bad shape.  And we can afford to do this."

	"Do what?"

	"A charity fundraiser, of course," said the Wizard.  "We're 
getting bashed by the Democratic left, those who truly care about the 
poor.  Well, the money raised at this event will go to the poor."

	Powers looked confused.  "Then why will anyone pay to come?"

	"To curry favor with you, of course, just as in a regular 
fundraiser.  But instead of having the media decry your hobnobbing with 
the fatcats, you'll get good press, and hopefully undercut Mush Head's 
base of support."  The Wizard added, "The proceeds will be donated to a 
homeless shelter, a soup kitchen, a fund to plant trees in the Sahara, 
and a group that is researching the causes of Short Attention Span 
Disorder.  All of whom are very grateful, and will make positive 
statements to the media on your behalf."

	Powers looked decimated.  "We get no money from this?"

	The Wizard put an arm around Powers.  "Think of the positive 
press, my boy!  Think how much money that would take to buy.  But in 
answer to your question, we do make a little money off of this."

	"We do?  How?"  Powers immediately brightened.

	"Well, all the proceeds go to the charities.  That's clear, 
that's in our bulletin.  But those are net proceeds.  Of course there's 
overhead, administrative costs-"

	"How much?"

	"20%.  Of which we keep about half that.  Not bad.  Think of it 
as a small bonus."

	"I will," said Powers.

	The event was held in Windows on the World, the classy restaurant 
on top of the World Trade Center.  Powers wisely decided to come late 
and leave early, but when he got there he at least cherished the 
thought of the outstanding night view.

	The view was great--for one who could see through two acres of 
thick, milky fog.  For all that mattered they might as well have been 
underground.

	"Isn't this marvelous, Michael?" said a beaming Erin, grabbing 
his arm.  She had been thrilled when she heard that part of the 
proceeds were going to plant trees in the Sahara.  Powers himself had 
to admit it was a bold stroke; that was two constituencies right there, 
black voters and environmentalists.

	"Yeah, real nice," said Powers.

	"You know, I'm really looking forward to seeing what else you're 
going to do for the environment when you get elected."

	"You are?"

	"I know just who to nominate for your environmental positions-"

	"Hold it, hon," said Powers.  "I can't show favoritism, just 
because someone is a friend of my wife."

	"But these are good people, committed to the environment!" said 
Erin.

	"I'm sure they are," said Powers.  Committed, that is.  But he 
would have no use for them in his administration.  "But they'll have to 
go through a screening committee, like everyone else."

	"Oh," said Erin, downfallen.  But then she said, "I'm still 
looking forward to what you can do as governor.  Have you given any 
thoughts to expanding the Adirondacks?"

	Powers admitted that he hadn't.

	"By the way, that reminds me, that Seton Hills project is coming 
up for a vote soon.  You're going to vote against it, right?"

	"Of course," said Powers miserably.

	"That's my Michael," said Erin.



	The minute that Powers got home he immediately poured himself a 
stiff drink.

	"Dear, what are you doing?" said Erin.

	"Just taking a drink," said Powers.  Scotch swigged in his mouth.  
He needed to wipe the taste of those terminal do-gooders out of his 
mind.  Powers had smiled for the guests and for the cameras.  But he 
felt too sick to even watch it all replayed on the nightly news.  He 
just wanted to be governor; why did he have to mix with all these 
crazies?  

	One of which included his wife.

	What was with them?  The purpose of life was to care for and to 
advance oneself, plain and simple.  If you start looking out for other 
people, who's going to look out for number one?  No one.  Powers 
considered himself a do-gooder, only his charity had a constituency of 
only one.

	Himself.

	Powers was gulping down a second drink when he saw Bobby 
wandering around, and he brightened.  "What are you still doing up, 
partner?"

	Bobby immediately launched into one of his little league stories.  
Powers listened avidly, allowing his mind to float.

	"And you missed my first two games, Daddy!" said the child 
accusingly.

	"I'm sorry, I've been tied up campaigning," said Powers.  "I'll 
catch one of your games, I promise.  Have you become the pitcher yet?"

	"Haven't you been listening?  Burt Mills and I are switching off.  
The coach says he hasn't decided yet.  He's a worm, Daddy.  He's not 
half as good as I am."

	"Then I'm sure you'll get the position," said Powers, his 
attention elsewhere.



	Powers' next campaign appearance was at the New York City Bar 
Association.

	"Lawyers are a very important constituency, both as a source of 
funds and as a voting base," said the Wizard.  "The vast majority are 
Democrats and they are vote in great numbers.  There are more lawyers 
per square foot in Manhattan than anywhere else in the world. In the 
world, Michael!"

	"I heard you," said Powers.  "Obviously Manhattan is a place 
where we could put some cluster bombs to good use.  But what am I 
promising these people?  Money?"

	"Not primarily.  Although they would love to hear you say that 
you would allocate more legal funds for the poor."

	"But what else can I promise them?  Government subsidized 
shephardizing services?  Buying out West's federal reporter system and 
distributing the books free to lawyers?  Or do they expect me to 
nationalize LEXIS and WESTLAW and provide those for free as well?"

	"This is no time for humor, Michael," said the Wizard sternly.

	"On the contrary, this is precisely the time for humor.  Just 
what do these guys want?"

	"You're going to speak before trial lawyers, Michael."

	"Ooooh," said Powers.  That spoke volumes.

	"They don't want or need your subsidies, Michael.  That stuff is 
all chickenfeed to them.  Here is a list of things you're promising."  
He handed over a piece of paper.  "And it won't cost the government a 
cent."

	Powers' eyebrows went up as he read the list.

	Four hours later....  Powers stood before a number of well-
dressed attorneys at the elegant building that housed the bar 
association.  He was in the middle of his speech, and the topic was 
justice.

	"The courts have improved their access in recent years to those 
litigants seeking redress under our civil code.  However, the situation 
could be considerably better.  Consider product liability cases and 
discrimination suits.  After the arduous process of proving a 
preponderance of guilt, the plaintiff is awarded merely compensatory 
damages, and perhaps punitive damages.  But does that really set things 
right?  I think that in certain heinous cases there should be double, 
even triple punitive damages!"

	The audience clapped warmly.  Given that most cases were taken on 
a percentage fee basis, that meant double or even triple fees for them.

	"Another area that has gone unaddressed is the topic of emotional 
distress.  Currently an individual can only recover damages in most 
instances where physical harm can be shown.  I think that if 
psychiatric testimony can show merely psychological harm, that damages 
should be awarded there as well."

	"Furthermore, since psychological harm is difficult to gauge, I 
think that in cases where the defendant is found liable, it should be a 
panel of psychiatrists and not juries that set the damages for 
emotional distress."

	That really got them clapping loudly.  It took several moments 
for Powers to quite them down for his third and final point.

	"And finally, there is the issue of statutes of limitations.  
These cumbersome and archaic rules prevent legitimate cases from being 
brought to court, simply because an arbitrary time deadline of a few 
short years has expired.  I think the current system of statutes of 
limitations should be replaced by a new system... call them flexible 
statutes of limitations, that would take into account the circumstances 
of each case before deciding whether it would be fair to invoke such 
statutes."

	And then the lawyers went wild.  This would permit them to bring 
more cases than ever before.

	By the time his speech was over, Powers had them eating out of 
his palm.  And the money started flowing into his campaign like never 
before, donations from newfound lawyer supporters.  Powers got good 
press out of the event, too; he was portrayed as seeking "legal reform" 
to help the disadvantaged better obtain "justice".

	After the meeting Powers, sitting in his district office, nodded 
with satisfaction.  "You see?  This is better than a charity 
fundraiser.  We get the money and the good press."  Everything had been 
going well now, ever since Mandelbaum had been defeated.

	The Wizard, seeing him in a good mood, nodded, and said, "I have 
some other news for you."

	"Yes?"

	"Our lawyers have examined Sampleton's ballots."

	"And?" Powers felt a rising excitement.

	"So many are probably invalid that we stand a good chance of 
getting him off the ballot."

	"Great!"  The news kept getting better and better.  Then he saw 
the Wizard's expression.  "What's wrong?"

	"We can't do it."

	"Why not?"  Powers was puzzled.

	"Oh, we could do it, but we shouldn't."

	Powers looked angry.  "Since when did you acquire a set of 
morals?"

	"I haven't yet," the Wizard assured him.  "But knocking him off 
the ballot, while handing us a tactical victory, would led to a 
strategic blunder."

	"How so?"

	"Think of an example from military strategy.  You have superior 
forces, encircling a small segment of your opponent's army.  You can 
easily close in and slaughter them."

	"Yes," said Powers, his eyes blazing.  "That's what you do."

	"Which will typically inflame the rest of the enemy's army, 
forcing them to fight harder."

	"Oh," said Powers.  "You mean if we knock him off the ballot it 
will generate sympathy for him."

	"Precisely.  And come election day his supporters may simply stay 
at home.  Or even vote for Stratford."

	"I see," said Powers.  He mulled this over a bit.  "Are you sure 
this man is no threat to my nomination?"

	The Wizard paused.  "I'm not in the business of giving 
guarantees.  But at this point, although he might be capable of a 
little trouble... I don't see how he could get it from you."

	Powers nodded.  "Then we will be gracious today.  But let us hope 
that this show of mercy does not become a continuing trend, because I 
do not like it already," he grimaced.



	When Powers returned home Bobby was there, ready to regale him 
with stories of his little league.  Powers had been relieved that 
Bobby's school troubles had seemed to recede in the distance, and that 
baseball was the lad's largest quandary at the moment.  But Bobby 
brought disturbing news:  Burt Mills, his child rival, had been 
appointed pitcher instead of Bobby.

	Well, there wasn't anything that Powers wouldn't do for the 
child.  He called the coach personally.  The coach was impressed by the 
attention but remained adamant.  He said that the child with the best 
skills would be pitcher, and on that issue Powers found him immovable.  
However, he also said that Bobby would be used at times as a relief 
pitcher, and his view was always open to reassessment, subject to 
improvement on Bobby's part.

	That was all Powers needed.  He immediately made another phone 
call.  "Hello, is this the general office of the Yankees?  Good.  This 
is Congressman Michael Powers, and I'm trying to track down a certain 
individual.  Perhaps you can help me?"  There was a pause.  "Thank you, 
I appreciate your support on the campaign trail.  I just need one 
little phone number...."



	"Let me get this straight," said Powers.  "I'm going to do a 
television advertisement, all in spanish?"

	"Yes," said Jose Torres, his media advisor.  "You understand 
perfectly."

	"Have anyone told you that I do not speak a word of Espanol?" 
said Powers.

	"You just said a word!" said Torres, smiling gleefully.  "That 
was a word!  Anyway, I have spoken to your Mr. Wizard-"

	"Has someone called my name?" said Ross, entering the production 
studio.  "Ah, good, Mike, you got here on time."

	"I thought this was an English language commercial," said Powers.  
"Was this another one of those little things that you forgot to tell 
me?"

	"Could be," said the Wizard.  "I've been so absent minded 
lately."

	"Can you explain to me, then, how I am going to speak in 
Spanish?" Powers wanted to know.  "Are you going to dub my words?"

	"No," said the Wizard, offended by the suggestion.  "It's not so 
difficult.  Watch."  He picked up a card.  "Read the beginning part."

	Powers read it.  The card was not written in any Spanish he knew.  
The first line said, "Ola.  Me nombray soy Miguel Powers."

	"Ola, me nombray soy Miguel Powers," said Powers.

	"Perfecto!  Perfecto!  Muy Bueno, Senor Powers!" said the Wizard.

	"What language is that?" said Powers.  "Because I know that's not 
Spanish."

	"Well, that's Spanish, but translated into phonetic English.  You 
just read it literally, as if it were English, and you'll be fine," 
said the Wizard.

	"One thing though," said Torres.  "Speak in a deep voice.  Es mas 
macho."

	"What?" said Powers.

	"It's more manly when you speak in a deep voice," said the 
Wizard.

	So Powers read from the cards.  He had no idea what he was 
saying, but he spoke with a deep voice, and made the proper inflections 
where told to.  In the end when he saw the tape he was surprised.  If 
he didn't know better even he would believe that he was speaking 
Spanish naturally.

	"But what if someone engages me in Spanish on the street?" said 
Powers.

	"You're a politician," said the Wizard.  "If you don't know how 
to avoid an unwelcome question at this point, even I cannot help you."

	"Oh."

	But it was a proper concern, for just a few days later when 
Powers was walking on the streets of Manhattan a man, recognizing him, 
said, "Amigo Powers!  Como Esta Usted?"

	Powers blinked, then realized he was being addressed.  "Thank, 
you, thank you for your support," he said automatically.  He looked 
across the street, waiting for the light to change.

	But the man wasn't done yet.  "Como esta?" he said again.

	"That's a good point," Powers conceded.  "I think we need to 
appoint a committee to look into that issue at a later date."

	Recognition suddenly dawned on the man.  "No comprende Espanol 
usted?"

	The light changed to green.  Powers figured out that the man was 
getting suspicious.  So he scraped together anything, anything at all 
he knew in Spanish. "Guacamole enchiladas y loco Tijuana pizzeria," 
said Powers, quickly moving on.

	"Senor Powers es un poco loco en el coco," muttered the man as he 
left.



	The next order of business was for Powers to solidify his base of 
support.  The Wizard again used a military analogy, one that Powers 
could relate to.

	"You're a battleship.  You've taken a number of hits to your hull 
during previous battles, and you've patched up the major ones.  But you 
still have a number of small leaks in the support structure of your 
outer hull, and those have to be located, and patched up."

	"So how do we locate weaknesses in our base of support?" said 
Powers, comprehending immediately.  He was always a quick learner, 
especially if things were explained to him in ways he identified with.

	"Focus groups!" said the Wizard. He took Powers to downtown 
Manhattan where one of his associates, a Mr. Jones, was running a rap 
session with youngsters.

	Powers, the Wizard, and Jones sat behind a two way mirror 
watching a live interview being conducted in an adjoining room.  "These 
are a random sample of young people being interviewed in there.  
Listen."

	"How do you feel... about Michael Powers?" the interviewer asked.

	There was a long silence.  

	"How do you feel... about Michael Powers?" said the interviewer 
again.

	Finally one of the young people spoke up.  "He's... he's running 
for office, right?"

	The interviewer nodded.  "Go on."

	"I... don't follow what happens in the Senate very closely," said 
the youngster.

	"This is what I pay good money for?" said Powers.  "What work if 
any do you accomplish here?"

	"Shh!" said Jones.  "We've already identified one point; that the 
young people are not getting your message."

	"Great, put me in a music video," Powers grumbled.

	The interviewer continued.  "What sort of politician would you 
like?"

	The room was silent again.  One of the teenagers said, "Could you 
repeat the question?"

	"What would you like to see, in your politicians?" said the 
interviewer, deliberately speaking in baby paces.

	"Uhhh..." said the one who had spoken.  "That he cares about 
young people."

	"And our issues," said another, speaking up.

	The interviewer pounced on that.  "What are your issues?"

	"Um... you know, that he cares, that he cares about people like 
us."

	"There you have it," said Jones, from behind the partition.  
"They want to know that you care."

	"I've had enough," said Powers, getting up. 

	The Wizard darted out after him.  "You're doing good work," he 
yelled back to Jones.



	The Wizard was insistent that Powers do more to appeal to younger 
voters.  He forced Powers to campaign at a youth center.  They talked 
it up in the car on the way there.

	"I'm from the older generation," said Powers.  "Just what the 
hell is a youth center?"

	The Wizard looked surprised.  "It's a place where young people 
can play sports, arts and crafts, dance... you never had a youth 
center?"

	"When I was a kid we played stick ball on the street.  That was 
our 'youth center'," said Powers wryly.

	"You mean your millionaire parents sent you all the way to 
Brooklyn to play stick ball in the street?" said the Wizard.

	Powers gave him a dark look as the car pulled up to the curb.  "I 
haven't been prepared with a script.  What am I to do?"

	"You won't be giving a speech.  There won't be any crowds here.  
I just want you to mix and mingle with the young people..."

	Powers turned around to see the car behind them.  "While the 
camera crew takes pictures, right?"

	"Precisely," said the Wizard.  "We'll splice it and run it as one 
of our commercials.  Showing you with young people.  Showing them you 
care."

	"Groovy," said Powers, still grimacing.  He got out of the car.  
Toles and the camera crew emerged from the other one.

	Powers coughed as he entered the building.  The marijuana fumes 
were strong and unmistakable.  Strong musclebound youngsters wearing 
ripped clothing stood uneasily in the hallways, eyeing them.

	"Ross," said Powers, giving an artificial smile.  "Et-gay the ar-
cay eady-ray to go-ray."

	"We're not leaving," said the Wizard.  "Not without the footage."

	They went into a basketball court.  A number of street youth were 
playing ball, rapidly pounding a jumpy orange ball against the ground.

	"Hello!" said Powers, as they played.

	They continued to play ball.

	"Congressman Powers here," said Powers, coming up to the edge of 
the court.  One of the players came close to Powers, and body checked 
him, pushing him back.

	The players stopped, in mid motion.

	Powers looked at them, and realized that he was surrounded by 
very strong and agile young men.  "My mistake," he said rapidly, edging 
towards the door where the camera crew had already exited.

	Powers quickly step marched towards the exit.  But the Wizard 
just as insistently took his arm and pulled him into another room.

	They went inside and were immediately assaulted by the noise of 
large boom boxes.  Bearded youngsters in jean jackets were smoking 
reefers.  Others were making out with their women.  One of them took a 
knife out of his pocket.  "What you want here, man?"

	That was enough.  Toles, Powers, the Wizard, and the camera crew 
quickly left the room.  The people they had interrupted got up, and 
slowly followed.  Powers and his people beat a hasty route to the exit 
from the youth center.

	"The car!  The car!  Get in the car!" screamed Powers, looking 
back over his shoulder.  The youth were following slowly, but stopped 
when Powers reached the relative safety of the car.

	But even in the car, the Wizard was adamant.  "I'm not quitting 
without my footage."

	"Fine.  You go back in there with the cameras," said Powers.  
"I'm not setting a foot in there."  He looked anxiously out the window, 
as if expecting the young people to rush the car at any minute.

	"I agree, the venue isn't right, but I still want to see you in 
scenes with young people," said the Wizard.  He frowned for a moment, 
then he nodded.  "Got it."



	They looked at the footage the next day, after it had been 
edited.  They saw scenes of Congressman Powers taking off his jacket 
and genially shooting some hoops with some teenagers.  They showed him 
in a cafeteria talking with young people about their problems.  And 
they showed him solemnly going "Um hm, um hm," as teens discussed the 
issues of the day.

	"We need politicians to care, know what I mean?"

	Powers nodded.  "You don't want to be left out."

	"Yeah, you got it.  I mean, people think we're young, and so they 
can ignore us."

	Powers nodded.  "I'm not so old, I remember how it was."

	And so on.  When the clip was over, Powers nodded for the lights 
to be turned back on.

	"Could any of you tell that those scenes were shot in a private 
school?" the Wizard inquired anxiously.

	They all shook their heads.  

	"Or that Powers was with the same five kids the entire time?"

	They shook their heads again.

	"Good work, Wizard," said Powers.

	"It was just lucky that your staffers in your district office had 
teenage children," said the Wizard.  "But they were very cooperative."

	"That they were," said Powers.  "I always relish contact with the 
younger generation."  But then he looked sternly at the Wizard.  "But 
never, ever again will I go anywhere that will put my life at risk.  I 
don't care what the gain or the cost is.  Get me?"

	"I got you," said the Wizard.  But he couldn't help but smile.  
"However, I have to warn you that you may not find your next campaign 
stop entirely to your liking."

	"Where are we going, to the bottom of a coal mine?  Or inside a 
condemned building?" Powers asked.

	"Not really," said the Wizard.  "I was thinking more of a 
homeless shelter."

	"A homeless shelter?  Dream on!" said Powers.  He laughed, even 
at the thought.

	At that moment an aide entered his office.  It was Kerry Joy, a 
new legislative assistant that Powers had hired on now that Niles and 
Marsten were preoccupied with their... nonlegislative duties.

	"Congressman, here is that House report you were asking for," 
said Kerry, with a bright smile.  She had long blonde hair and gleaming 
white teeth.

	"Thanks," said Powers.  He watched her slowly as she walked out 
of the office, swaying slightly with every step.

	"Think about work, Mike," said the Wizard.

	"I am," said Powers.  "But Kerry Joy... that's like a name of one 
of those women out of a James Bond movie."  He seemed lost in thought 
for a moment.

	"Mike?"

	"Yes?" said Powers, snapping out of it.

	"I was thinking you might spend the night there."

	"Where?"

	"In the homeless shelter."

	"What?  Have you gone out of your mind?" this was from Toles, who 
had just entered the room.

	"It would make a great campaign gimmick," said the Wizard.

	"No, no, no, and no," said Powers, being as direct as he could.

	"It would cut into Sampleton's base of support," argued the 
Wizard.

	"Hey, that's one base of support he can keep."

	"It's not just the homeless, Mike.  It's all the people who 
sympathize with them," said Ross.

	"And will they sympathize with me when I'm stabbed in the middle 
of the night?  Forget it."

	"Mike-"

	"FORGET IT.  SUBJECT CLOSED!"  And that was Powers' last word on 
the subject.

	Sampleton, however, was not idle during that time.  He was 
running a highly virtuous campaign, appearing with women's groups, the 
handicapped, minority voters, good government coalitions, and others, 
just as Powers was doing.  The only difference, of course, is that his 
stands on the issues weren't for show; he meant what he said.  And 
Powers, with some good reason, worried that the voters, stupid though 
they were, might subconsciously pick up on this difference between 
them.

	Powers spent some time analyzing what went into the earnest 
sincerity that Sampleton seemed to project.  Sampleton had such a 
simplicity to himself, such a simple honesty that sold well with the 
voters and yet Powers could not put his finger on how Sampleton 
projected this image.  If Powers could figure out just how it was done, 
he would bottle it, mass produce it, and sell it--after first using it 
on himself, of course.

	Sampleton promised if elected to forgo all perks, promising to 
drive himself to work (in his own car), and not to reside in the 
governor's mansion.  Not to live in the governor's mansion!  Powers had 
to hear it twice to believe it.  Instead, Sampleton vowed to convert 
the governor's mansion into a homeless shelter, while he, Sampleton, 
would rent a modest apartment in Albany.  Naturally the governor's 
private plane would be sold.  But someone asked him what would happen 
to the governor's domestic staff that worked in the mansion:  would 
they be fired?  Sampleton's campaign responded that as for the 
governor's chauffeur, maids, butlers, and chefs... they could either 
find new jobs, or acquire a talent for serving the homeless. 

	Another curious thing about Sampleton is that he refused to 
attack Powers.  Sampleton ran a very positive campaign.  All he would 
talk about was how he would improve the lives of the poor and the 
downtrodden.  But he seemed to mean it.

	And then Sampleton started to pick up endorsements.  At first it 
was good government groups, and consumer affairs organizations.  But 
the day the New York Times (as opposed to merely Michele Franswa) 
started to editorialize in favor of Sampleton was the day that Powers 
started to become seriously concerned.

	He was even more concerned when Toles and the Wizard brought him 
the latest poll results. 

	"What's going on here?" said Powers.  The polls showed 45% of 
voters supported Powers, 40% Sampleton, with 15% undecided.  That was 
an enormous surge for Sampleton.  "This guy has a tenth of the budget 
we do and one twentieth of the staff.  And yet he's surging.  In 
another week he'll be ahead of me!"

	"Quite probably," said the Wizard.

	"Quite probably?  Is that all you can say?  Are you really 
itching to find another job?" said Powers.

	"I warned you," said the Wizard.  "I said that you needed to 
undercut his base of support.  You refused."

	"What are you talking about?" said Powers.

	"Spending a night in a homeless shelter."

	"Oh that," said Powers.  He changed the subject.  "How is he 
doing this?  Is Mandelbaum behind this?"

	"Not that we can see," said the Wizard.  "He's on a retreat 
somewhere, trying to put himself back together.  I don't think he's in 
much shape to direct anything.  Besides, he knows that if we ever did 
trace anything back to him-"

	"-that he would be revealed as the potty man," said Powers.  "I 
see.  Then what accounts for my weakness?  I mean, if this idiot can 
threaten me, then what happens when I go against Stratford?"

	"Remember, the two are totally different situations," said the 
Wizard.  "Here you're only dealing with the Democratic primary 
electorate.  Now, our friend the Simpleton has merely exposed one of 
your weaknesses among this electorate:  that you're perceived as 
insincere by some."

	"INSINCERE?  IF I'M INSINCERE IT'S ONLY BECAUSE I'VE BEEN 
PRESENTED THAT WAY!"

	"Easy," said the Wizard.  "I can put a dress on an elephant and 
make it dance, but don't expect everyone to tap you on the shoulder for 
a waltz."

	"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?"

	"Only that you're a strong candidate as a whole, but you do have 
weaknesses, like any other candidate," said the Wizard soothingly.  
"And your weakness is that some, and I repeat, some, people don't view 
you as sincere.  I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't tell you the 
truth."

	Powers exploded.  "YOUR JOB ISN'T TO TELL ME THE TRUTH.  YOUR JOB 
IS TO GET OUR THERE AND LIE!"

	"That's what I was trying to do when I suggested your campaign 
visit to the homeless shelter-"

	That snapped Powers out of it.  He visibly calmed down.  "That 
homeless thing again.  Why?"

	"It's one thing to visit a homeless shelter.  But to sleep 
overnight?  That shows commitment.  That shows sincerity."

	"Ug," said Powers, wrinkling his nose.  He thought about it for 
some moments.

	"What if I get raped?"

	"We can't have armed guards surrounding you, naturally, but we'll 
have campaign aides close by at all times."

	"What about at night?  I could get man-raped at night, you know."  

	"As I said, you'll have aides."

	"AIDS?"

	"Staffers around you."

	"Even when I sleep?

	"Even when you sleep."  The Wizard, a bit weary, sighed.

	Powers thought about it some more.  

	"What about the sheets?"

	"What about them?"

	"I don't want to sleep on some sheets or mattress that has been 
infected with lice and the cough-coughs of some druggies' 
tuberculosis."

	"We'll bring our own sheets and cot."

	"Hm..." said Powers.  There was another long silence.  Then, "Do 
you really think this will be a big boost?"

	"A big boost," the Wizard confirmed.

	Powers nodded reluctantly.  Pointing an index finger at the 
Wizard, he said, "Very well.  Make it so."

	Still, Powers was more than a little uneasy when the night came.  
Even though he was supposed to eat dinner in the shelter, he had a 
hearty supper that night at home.

	The cameras were waiting for Powers at the entrance to the 
shelter when he arrived.  The reporters had a small pool going among 
themselves over whether and how long Powers would actually last that 
night.

	"Hi, hello," said Powers, waving to reporters.

	"Hi, hello," said a scraggly bearded man in a black winter coat 
that used to be white, as he imitated Powers.

	"Niles!  Marsten!" said Powers, and his aides drew close.

	Niles had been thrilled when he had learned that the Congressman 
was going to spend the night with the homeless.  Finally, to be with 
some of the people that this campaign was going to help!

	He was less delighted to learn that he and Marsten were drafted 
as bodyguards.  Bodyguards?  They were to take turns taking shifts that 
night guarding Powers.  Ostensibly they were just staffers joining in 
Powers' sleep-in, but in reality their cots were to be set right next 
to Powers', and one of them would be on alert at all times.  And this 
annoyed him.  Powers was acting as if the homeless were all a bunch of 
criminals.

	Powers had talked privately to them the night before.  He had 
inquired if either of them had ever taken martial arts classes.  Both 
had to admit that they hadn't, although Niles had taken a semester of 
Tai-Chi once.

	Their lack of prowess in the physical arts had concerned Powers 
greatly, until the Wizard had intervened.

	"Look guys," the Wizard had said.  "Can you scream?"

	"Well...."

	"Can you scream?" said the Wizard.

	"Of course," said Marsten.

	"If something happens, scream," the Wizard had said.

	"Great," Powers had replied.  "This way I'll be awake while I get 
man-raped."

	"Don't worry," the Wizard had said.

	"Look who's saying don't worry?" Powers had replied.  "Do you 
volunteer to spend the night with us?"

	"I'm not the one running for office," the Wizard had said.  "My 
presence wouldn't do any good."

	"Great," was all Powers had said.

	Powers slowly walked into the homeless shelter.  The Warren G. 
Harding homeless shelter was located on the Upper West Side of 
Manhattan, and, the Wizard had assured him, contained a better class of 
homeless than most.  Yeah, right.

	Powers was greeted at the door by Rich Snyder, the director of 
the shelter.  Snyder, busy scratching his hair, suddenly held out his 
hand to shake Powers'.

	Lice, Powers immediately thought.  Instead of shaking hands, 
Powers gave a friendly nod.

	"So good to have you here, Congressman," said Snyder, lowering 
his outstretched hand.  It quickly returned to the back of his head, 
scratching and rooting about.  "You don't know how many politicians 
just breeze by for a ten minute photo-op."

	"I know," said Powers, wishing he could do the same.  He entered 
the dingy shelter, looking down constantly as if he were afraid of 
stepping into something.

	The shelter was actually the basement of the office that 
disbursed the government welfare checks.  It was decrepit and dark, and 
it smelled bad, too.

	Snyder saw the expression on Powers' face.  "You get used to it.  
The sewer line runs right along here.  Occasionally we get a little 
leakage."

	"Um hm," said Powers.  He looked at all the people around him.  
Nearly all the men, and, almost without exception, were bearded.  Some 
wore winter clothes, even though they were indoors and it was at the 
height of the August warm season.  And all of them stank.  Powers knew 
this immediately when he had passed within just feet of any of them.

	And then there were the eyes.  Some had dull orbs, as if there 
were nothing behind them.  Others had eyes that glittered, as if a wild 
instinct lay behind them, waiting to spring.  Powers immediately felt 
he knew which ones were taking their valium and which ones weren't.

	"Come, you must be hungry," said Snyder.  He guided Powers over 
to the serving line.  "It's so good to have you here," he said again, 
scratching his hair.  He removed something from it, inspected it for a 
moment, made a frowning face, and rubbed it against a wall.

	Powers avoided looking at the man entirely.  He instead watched 
as a bored looking man with snake hair and a prominent cold sore 
running over his lower lips ladled food on his tray.

	Slop!  A brown, meaty substance dropped in one compartment.  
Slop!  Gruelled corn landed in another.  Slop!  Powers looked curiously 
at the runny pink substance.  Jello.  It must be jello, he decided.

	Niles and Marsten, who weren't smart enough to have eaten before, 
also watched in horror as they were served their food.  Powers looked 
around at the assembled reporters.  "Any of you guys hungry?"

	Oxford Frame made sure he was out of camera range.  Then he shook 
his head no.

	"Yum yum," said Powers sarcastically, as he sat down at a table, 
but first discretely checking the bench underneath him.  You never 
knew.

	Snyder sat opposite him.  Niles and Marsten were about to join 
them when two homeless men sat next to Powers, flanking him.  The 
Wizard, who had been hovering about in the background, look horrified.

	"We have such plans for the shelter," Snyder babbled, "If only we 
had the funds.  We want a day care center, a drug treatment facility, a 
jobs placement program... what's wrong, you're not hungry?"

	Powers was just toying with his food.  He started to pick up one 
of his utensils, which he saw was light orange in color.  Rust.  
Hopefully it was rust.

	Powers was instinctively untrusting of the dark, meaty substance:  
who knew what or who it had been?  Powers had heard stories about 
homeless people eating hot dogs that in their former lives had been 
Pomeranians or Cockerspaniels.  He dug into the corn pile, only to 
notice partially buried speck near the top of the pile. Uncovering a 
kernel revealed a small winged corpse, approximately mosquito-sized.

	The Wizard looked horrified.  Powers was playing with his food 
while the cameras watched.

	"Don't you want to eat?" said Snyder.  Then something 
particularly irritating happened to him, and his hand went right behind 
his left ear, scratching quickly.

	"I can't," said Powers.  He looked into the cameras, for effect.  
"I'm appalled," he said slowly.

	"This is not a meal fit for people," said Powers.  "Where are the 
fruits?  Where are the vegetables?  Do you know how much cholesterol is 
in this... meat?  Do you know how much fat?  Where are the nutrition 
labels?  And the corn.  Is it organically grown?  Do you know how much 
pesticides there must be in that?"

	"Ahhhh," said Snyder, still scratching.

	Powers faced the cameras again.  "One of my first acts, no my 
first act as governor of this great state will be to get healthful food 
for the homeless!  Some people think that the homeless are animals, 
that they can't be expected to eat better than dog food!  But I say 
that dignified diets is the first and most important way to bring 
dignified lives back to the homeless, to get them off the streets and 
back into soci-ety as a part of the commun-ity again," he said, his 
voice thundering.  And he made sure to stress the "ity" sounds, for 
good measure.

	The homeless, who had no idea what he was talking about, started 
clapping like mad.  Some of them started jumping on tables, making 
"root root" sounds.  The homeless man to Powers' right said, "Yeah, 
that's the way," as he put a supportive hand on Powers' shoulder.

	The suit, of course, would have to be dry cleaned.  Twice.  And 
checked for fleas, lice, and ticks.  Could one give a tuberculine test 
to clothes?

	After that Powers had them eating out of the palms of his hand.  
Figuratively speaking, of course; he would sooner feed a rabid llama 
from his palm than he would one of the homeless.  And of course his 
main goal had been accomplished; he had gotten out of eating dinner.

	The Wizard nodded to himself.  That Powers was one sharp thinker.

	After "dinner", Powers went around to talk to some of the 
shelter's regular denizens.

	"Hi, I'm Mike Powers," said Powers to a woman who had her back 
turned away from him.

	"Go 'way, man," she said, turning slightly towards him.  A 
syringe half hung out of her arm.

	"Oh," said Powers.  "She must be taking her medication," he said 
loudly to the cameras behind him.  "I fully support methadone 
treatments and esteem counseling for recovering addicts."  He 
remembered what Ross had said to him about appearing concerned.  "We 
need more compassion carrots and fewer threatening sticks, people."

	Powers, walking along, addressed another man.  "I'm Congressman 
Powers, hello," he said.

	A bearded man with spacey eyes replied, "Congressman Powers, good 
to meet you!"

	Finally, Powers thought, a normal person.  Then the man said, 
"I'm Senator Tinkle!"

	"Good to see you, Senator," said Powers, quickly moving on.  He 
addressed the roving cameras that were following.  "We need more mental 
hygiene personnel to assist these people in leading normal and 
dignified lives."  He spoke to another young man.  "Hello, I'm Michael 
Powers."

	"Powers?  Watcha gonna do for us?" said the young man, obviously 
little more than a teenager.  He too had a crazed look in his eyes.

	"Well, there are many sorts of rehabilitation programs, 
especially for young people, such as arts and crafts, midnight 
basketball-" 	

	"Gimme!" said the man.

	"We will," said Powers, with a forced smile, the only kind he had 
been employing that night.  "But it will take time to set up the 
programs-"

	"Gimme!" said the young man.

	"Well, as I've been explaining-"

	"Gimme!" yelled the man.  "GIMME GIMME GIMME!"  He got up, and 
moved threatenly towards Powers.

	Powers took a step back, suddenly in real fear of having his 
personal space violated.  And perhaps more.  But before his fears could 
materialize, Snyder stepped forward, grabbed the man by the arm, and 
picked up a small ball from his cot.  It made a small squeaking sound.

	"Squeaky!" said the man, grabbing the toy.

	Powers quickly moved away.  "Obviously, the homeless need 
entertainment, like anyone else.  I would suggest sports and dance 
programs.  Perhaps we could have a roving band of Shakespeare 
performers, going from shelter to shelter...."

	Powers kept up with this for some time.  The answer was always 
the same:  more money, more funding, more programs.  Every answer he 
gave had the words "dignity" "justice" and "fairness" sprinkled in.

	Finally it was time for bed.  Snyder guided him to the showers.

	For a moment Powers thought he was being taken to the sewer.  
Large toe-sized bugs crawled across the floor.  Green fungi grew 
everywhere.  A lone man stood in one of the stalls with the water 
running, but he was wearing clothes, his legs were spread apart, and a 
yellow stream was descending to the ground.

	"No thanks," said Powers.  "I already bathed today."

	There was no getting out of sleeping there, however.  The camera 
crews were on the verge of departing, but if Powers wasn't there when 
they returned in the morning, there would be a scandal.

	Powers looked down at his cot.  He had been assured that the 
sheets were his own.  Still... he looked over at Niles and Marsten, who 
had cots flanking his.  One of them would be awake constantly.  They 
better be.

	They all slept in the large main room, where cots were lined up 
in rows.  Powers took off his jacket and tie and gingerly settled into 
his cot.  It felt like an ironing board.

	"We've been so cheered by your presence today, Congressman," said 
Snyder.

	"Likewise," said Powers gingerly.

	"We'll talk more in the morning," said Snyder.  "If there's 
anything you need at night-"

	"Yes?"

	"There's a guard on duty at the front desk, down the hall, two 
doors down," said Snyder.

	"What a relief," said Powers.

	After he departed the media went their own ways, and quickly too.  
"Sleep soundly, Congressman," said Frame, not able to resist giving a 
dig.

	"Yah," said Powers.  He turned to Niles and Marsten, after the 
others had left.  "You guys know what you're to do?"

	They nodded.

	"If either of you fall asleep, I'll kill you," said Powers 
softly.  "Then you'll be fired."

	"Is everyone all set here?" said the Wizard, getting ready to 
head off.

	Powers just gave him a dirty look.  The Wizard shrank away.

	And then the lights went out.

	Well, not entirely out.  There was a distant light on the far 
wall so that the room, while not in total darkness, was merely very 
dim.

	Powers lay back on his cot.  He wondered how he would ever fall 
asleep.  He gripped his hard metal flashlight like a weapon.

	Niles and Marsten were hardly happier; they were wondering who 
would protect them.  Niles was particularly unnerved to see two glassy 
eyes, staring at him, reflecting in the dim light.

	"Grrrr," he thought he heard.

	"You hear that?" said Niles.

	"Shut up," whispered Marsten.

	"Mason's not here.  You don't have to act like a jerk," said 
Niles.

	"Grrr," was the sound again. 

	"It's probably someone snoring," said Marsten.

	"With his eyes open?" whispered Niles, staring at those two 
points of light.

	Powers, however, was oblivious to this, and despite himself fell 
quickly to sleep.

	But it was an uneasy sleep, and, tossing and turning, he dreamed 
about rats, rats climbing up the side of his cot, squeaking, 
squeaking....

	And then Powers realized he did hear squeaking sounds.  He sat up 
in bed immediately.

	The squeaking sounds stopped.

	Powers shifted minutely to look around.  He heard the squeaking 
again.

	"Ah!  Ah!" said Powers.  They were all around him!

	Immediately not one but two sets of flashlights clicked on, 
pointed at him.  "Congressman?" said Niles.

	Powers jerked up.  He heard the squeaking sound again-

	The squeaking of his cot.

	"Oh," said Powers, feeling foolish.  But now he had rallied the 
other animals in the zoo.

	"Stop the noise, man," said one.

	"We don't want sounds," said a menacing voice.  "The night is not 
the time for sounds.  You'd better stop!"

	Powers got the message.  "Ok, false alarm."

	He lay back in his rickety cot.  It was some time, however, 
before he fell asleep again.

	This time he dreamt again, only it was a dream of being chased by 
the homeless.  He was strapped to a chair while Rich Snyder plucked 
fleas and dirt from his scalp and transferred it all to Powers' hair.

	Snyder picked at a particularly irritating scab, and then, with 
nameless crap encrusted under his nails, rubbed his hands in Powers' 
scalp.  "It's for the good of the commun-ity," he said, saying it 
exactly as Sylvia Plant would.

	And then as Powers' scalp started itching, a grunting drooling 
homeless man wandered onto the scene.  "Mine!" he said.  "All mine!  
Gimme gimme gimme!"

	And Powers, tied to the chair, could only say, "I don't got."

	"GIMME GIMME GIMME!" said the man, leaning close.

	Powers nearly passed out from the smell of the man's breath.

	And then the man suddenly reached down and grabbed him, below the 
knee, and Powers felt his clammy flesh touch his ankle.

	"Ah!" Powers cried, waking up.  For there was a cold touch around 
his ankle!  He was being raped by a homeless man!

	He cried out again, springing out of bed.

	"Niles!  Marsten!" he cried, spinning about.  Had they fallen 
asleep?

	"Wha-what?" said Niles.  He was supposed to be on guard duty, but 
the suddenness of the event had surprised him.

	"Turn on the light!  Turn on the light!" screamed Powers.

	Niles clicked on his flashlight.  His beam cast on Powers' empty 
cot, and all the homeless started sitting up, grunting and yelling 
profanities.

	And something glistened in the light, on Powers' cot.  A silvery 
metallic object.  What was it, a knife?  A hypodermic?

	He peered closely.  It was a flashlight.  His flashlight.

	"Fuck, man!"  "You want to die!"  "No noise!!!"  "Jail!"

	Powers tuned out the screams of everyone around him.  It was 
going to be a long night.



	But even long nights have endings, and this one ended 
unremarkably.

	"Wake up... wake up...." he heard, and felt someone shaking him.

	"Wha?  No, No!" he cried.  Then he opened his eyes, and 
consciousness returned, and he saw himself staring into the bearded 
face of the Wizard.

	"What?  What time is it?"

	"Eight A.M.  Time to get up.  Most people have already had 
breakfast," said the Wizard.

	"We thought it wiser to let you sleep," said Niles.  He lowered 
his voice.  "We stood watch over you, though.  The media people are 
here again.  Please don't have another outburst, Congressman."

	Powers glared at him, but said nothing.  Rich Snyder approached 
him, followed by the ever present cameras.  "Ah, how did we sleep?"

	"Delightful," said Powers, his morning voice cracking a bit.  
"I've really enjoyed this opportunity to get closer to the homeless.  
You know, by living your life, even for a night, I feel I have a 
greater understanding of your issues and needs."

	"Excellent," said Snyder, starting to scratch again.  "We still 
have some breakfast, if you like."

	"Thank you, but there's no time to lose, I have to go out and 
fight for your rights," said Powers.  "It's a difficult life."

	"I understand," said Snyder.  He extended his hand, the one that 
had been scratching his head most recently.  "Farewell."

	Powers looked at the assembled cameras.  Then at the hand.  
Memories of his dream returned to him.  The Wizard looked at him 
anxiously.  Shake it, he mouthed.

	But Powers only turned to the cameras, and said, "Could I have a 
moment, alone, please, with Mr. Snyder.  This is a very moving moment, 
and I have something I'd like to say to him, in private.  One moment, 
please?"

	The cameras reluctantly turned away, panning on the rest of the 
shelter.

	"Yes?" said Snyder expectantly, hand still outstretched.

	Powers picked up his jacket, dusted himself off.  "Something I've 
been meaning to say."

	"Yes?"

	Powers checked that the cameras were pointed away.  "G'bye," he 
said, quickly walking off.



	"SO WHERE'S MY BOOST?  WHERE'S MY BOOST IN THE POLLS?" Powers 
screamed.

	The press coverage from his one night stand had been very 
positive.   Footage of him had been aired (free!) on television, 
showing him talking to the homeless, listening to their concerns, and 
eating with them... well, talking to them while they ate.  But that 
distinction was not readily apparent.  And most commentators remarked 
how compassionate Powers had been to make this gesture to focus 
attention on the homeless.

	The best soup, however, always had one fly.



	DECEPTION UNBECOMING



Private Sentiments

By Michele Franswa



			I fear for my youngest child, my son Abbie.  He's 
only six years old, and that's a crucial age for a youngster.  Child 
psychologists are unanimous in agreeing that a child's formative years 
are between the ages of five and fifteen.

			I do everything I can to protect my children.  I make 
sure they eat the right foods--oat brans, legumes, other wholesome 
fruits and vegetables, and, on occasions, cherry yogurt pops.  I also 
exhibit the same level of care in protecting their young minds.

			Which is why I'm very disturbed by the candidacy of 
Michael Powers.  Governor Marchese has been the Republican presence in 
Albany for the past eight years.  But despite his Republican 
shortcomings he's also been a leader in focusing attention on prenatal 
care, family planning, and domestic violence shelters.

			His would-be successor on the Republican side, 
William Stratford, is a Republican of an altogether different kind:  he 
is just another rich millionaire who wants the office as another trophy 
on his wall.

			And the probable Democratic nominee is an animal of a 
different sort:  Michael Powers, the political chameleon.  He pays lip 
service to championing the rights of the poor and minorities, when in 
reality his political outlook is little different from Stratford's.

			Take his stand on homelessness.  He's done little in 
his five terms in congress to deal with this major issue.  Then, 
suddenly, several months before the election, he decides to hold a 
sleepover at a homeless shelter. Powers garners immediate media 
attention for himself, and gets himself anointed the king of 
compassion--for one news cycle, at least.

			But do not be fooled.  One night in the shelter means 
nothing.  If this man becomes governor, my son, Abbie, and my daughter, 
Winnie, will grow up in a cynical public environment, where favors are 
bought by the rich and powerful while the silent poor suffer.

			Don't let this happen to the children.  The children 
are the voice of the next generation.  Band together behind Attorney 
General Sampleton, for improved nutrition programs, improved schools, 
family planning clinics, and prenatal day care.  That's our only 
choice. 

	

	"Ha!" said the Wizard.  "Look, look at her last paragraph!  
There's no such thing as prenatal day care!"	

	"A typo," said Toles.  "I think she means prenatal care and day 
care."

	"All of which obscures the real issue," said Powers.  "What's 
happened to my slide in the polls?"

	The Wizard cleared his throat.  "The polls are 45% for you, 40% 
for Sampleton, and the rest undecided."

	"That's... that's unchanged from before!  It's all been for 
nothing!  I spent one night in a shit hole, and it was all for 
nothing!"

	"Easy," said Ross.  "It wasn't for nothing.  You were sliding in 
the polls.  Now we've got you stabilized.  Now we can fight back."

	"Fight back," said Powers.  "Fight back, yes.  What is Mason up 
to?"



	Mason and his aides were examining all of Sampleton's financial 
records.  One pile contained those they had obtained through the public 
disclosure system.  A second pile consisted of those they hadn't.

	Mason spent most of his time studying the latter pile.  By now 
Niles and Marsten had learned not to ask where he obtained his 
information from.  Mason, though, was distinctly unhappy as he studied 
the documents.  How could any major politician be this clean?  He was 
going through his pile for a third time, just to make certain that he 
wasn't missing anything, when Marsten spoke up.

	"This is curious," said Marsten.

	"What?" said Mason.

	"In 1975 he was living in a fancy apartment on the Upper East 
Side," said Marsten.

	"So?"

	"In 1975 he was just back from the Peace Corps.  He was working 
for Telecommunications for the Poor."

	"What for the poor?" said Mason.

	"Telecom--it's a group that lobbies for public and private 
donations to get electrical equipment for poor people.  You know, 
modems, satellite dishes, descramblers."  Marsten looked at one of the 
documents.  "His organization's literature stated that the 
communications highway of the future should have exit ramps for the 
poor."

	"So what's your point?" said Mason, in that chilling voice.

	Niles watched closely.  Perhaps Marsten, for once, was about to 
take some abuse from Mason!

	"Well, he had just graduated from law school, and returned from 
two tours in the peace corps," said Marsten.  "And then he went to work 
for this Telecom group.  It says here that his salary was $30,000 a 
year, before taxes.  Then how did he afford to live in a $14,000 a year 
apartment?  It's possible, I grant you, but unlikely that he would be 
living in such a place on such a meager salary.  I mean, he also has to 
pay for food, and other necessities, and pay taxes-"

	Mason, still frowning, looked over the figures.  "You're right.  
It's suspicious, at the very least.  Perhaps our mister clean has a few 
skeletons after all."



	The newspapers got hold of the story the very next day.  
According to anonymous sources, Sampleton had somewhat mysteriously 
seemed to live very well during his days in public service.  Where had 
the money come from to support him?

	The answers were forthcoming, the same day.  Sampleton held a 
news conference, and he gave the issue a thorough airing.

	"I'm very disturbed by these distracting charges against me that 
are based on events that occurred more than two decades ago.  The 
answer to the question of how I supported myself in those times was 
very simple:  my family gave me grants.  Now, if I had gone into 
corporate law, I would not have needed such grants.  But as it so 
happened I had a desire to strongly dedicate myself to public service.  
The remunerative aspects of public service in the US are disgracefully 
low.  But this did not deter me, or my parents.  They respected and 
supported my decision to work for the poor.  I stand by what I did then 
because it was the right thing to do, and if salaries in the field of 
public service were a little more competitive I am hopeful that more 
young people would enter the field."

	Sampleton took a breath.  "In order to distinguish lingering 
questions, I will release not just the remainder of my financial 
records but those of my parents as well, which will document these 
grants fully.  And now, since you're all here, I'd like to talk about 
an environmental issue that's often neglected, drylands policy-"

	That did it.  Sampleton's disclosure of his parent's finances 
served to well document the money transfers.  Although to some this 
disclosure may have made Sampleton seem like just one more rich 
playboy, his spin on the controversy had turned out to be a good one, 
gathering more rather than less sympathy for his campaign.

	"And what have we accomplished?" Powers wanted to know, two days 
later.  He was at home, talking on the phone to the Wizard.

	"A torpedo hit, across the bow.  A delay, a distraction," said 
the Wizard.  But he wasn't happy either.

	"I'm supposed to debate this man in two weeks, and so far we have 
nothing on him."

	"If you're looking for a Mandelbaum style debate where he's 
working with you, forget it," said the Wizard.  "That was a one time 
thing only."

	"I want results," said Powers.  "Keep me informed," he said, 
hanging up as he saw Bobby and Erin coming into the living room.

	"Something wrong, dear?"

	"It's that idiot Sampleton," said Powers.

	"I'm sure you'll do fine," said Erin, with a smile.

	"Daddy!" said Bobby, caring little about the course of the 
campaign.  He jumped up and down for attention.  "Guess what happened?"

	"What?" said Powers.

	"I got to pitch some for the team!"

	"You did?" said Powers, giving a weak smile.

	"That man you got to coach me, that guy from the Yankees-"

	"You got a Yankees pitcher to coach Bobby?" said Erin, her 
eyebrows raised in disbelief.

	Powers shrugged.  "One of the coaches owed me a small favor."

	"Anyway, I'm pitching now, half the time."

	"Half the time?" said Powers, disturbed.

	"Yeah, the coach says he wants us both me and Burt Mills to pitch 
for a while, until he sees who's really better," said Bobby.  "I hope 
he picks me, though!"

	Powers looked at the lad.  It was obviously very important to 
him.  He stroked his son's head.  "He will, Bobby... he will...."



	"Where are we going?" said Marsten, as he and Niles sat in the 
back of Mason's car.

	"The Grand Imperial," said Mason.  

	"What's that?" said Niles.

	Mason just looked back at him with a scornful look on his face.

	"That's the biggest hotel in Washington, idgit," said Marsten.

	"What're we doing there?" said Niles.

	Mason, with uncharacteristic aplomb, answered forthrightly.  
"We're going to get ourselves a hooker."

	They parked the car just around the corner of the hotel in a lot 
and walked the rest of the way there on foot.  As they reached the 
hotel Niles started to go up its steps but suddenly noticed that Mason 
and Marsten were not following.  They were walking to the corner, just 
past the hotel.

	"What gives?" said Niles.

	"Shut up," said Mason.  They came to the corner and saw several 
young women in mini-skirts and short furs.

	"I'm looking for someone," said Mason, displaying a wad of bills.

	"I can help you, fella," said one of them, with tall black boots.

	"I'm looking for Belinda," said Mason, stone faced.

	"Belinda not here."  The woman made a face.  "She's too classy to 
hang around with us."

	"I can see that," said Mason.  He looked bored.  "A twenty to the 
first one who can tell me where Belinda is."

	"Twelvth floor, room 1208," said the woman promptly.

	"Good," said Mason, peeling off a bill.  "I'd hate to go there 
and find it's the wrong place, though."

	"You find her there," said the prostitute reassuringly.

	They left without comment, and entered the hotel, squinting a 
little under the bright lights at the entrance.  They walked out from 
under the red carpet and decorated guardsmen at the entrance into the 
cool marble interiors with fancy glass partitions along the walls.  
Leafy green trees stood by trickling fountains that decorated the main 
lobby.

	In the elevator Marsten said, "We're looking for a fancy hooker, 
is that it?"

	Mason nodded.

	Niles wondered what he was doing here.  He was a legislative 
assistant!  No where in his job description did it say that part of his 
official duties were picking up hookers for the boss.  Why did Powers 
have to get them involved?

	They knocked on the door.

	Niles was surprised to see a normal looking young woman answer 
the door.  She was dressed in a conservative dressing gown and didn't 
look like a hooker; at least, she didn't wear the characteristic gaudy 
clothing worn by her ilk on the street.

	"What can I do for you gentlemen?" she said, with just a trace of 
an accent.  British, maybe?

	"I'd like to talk," said Mason.  "If you're Belinda."

	"Yes," she said.  "Just talk?"

	"Just talk," said Mason.

	"A pity," she said, looking them over.  "Ten minutes, forty 
dollars."

	"Done," said Mason.

	She made sure he handed over the money first before they entered.  
She didn't seem at all intimidated by the fact that she was alone in 
the room with three men.

	"Now what can I do for you gentlemen?" she said, with just the 
hint of a smile.

	"Nothing, for us," said Mason.  "But we'd like you to help out a 
friend of ours.  I have a friend, one named Alton-"

	He went over the details.  Niles was surprised; they weren't 
getting a hooker for Powers.  They were getting a hooker for Sampleton!

	They haggled over the price.  Belinda, of course, knew what she 
was getting into.  She wanted $1,000, up front, and $2,000 extra for 
afterwards.  The $1,000 up front was for the seduction.

	"Do you think you'll have any difficulty persuading our friend to 
cooperate?" said Mason.

	"I've never failed yet," said Belinda.  "You just leave that to 
me."

	"Very good," said Mason, getting up.

	"Just a minute," said Belinda.  "What did you say your name was?"

	"I didn't," said Mason.  "Just be there at the appointed time."  
He handed her $1,000 in cash while a speechless Niles looked on.

	This really stunned him.  They were hiring an expensive hooker to 
seduce a political opponent, all for the purposes of blackmail.  Niles 
felt a little sick. 

	The event was to take place the following week, just two days 
before the Powers-Sampleton debate.  If Sampleton could be turned by 
then he would be fodder in the debate.

	The actual event where Belinda was to contact Sampleton was at a 
fundraiser that Sampleton was holding at Tavern on the Green.  It was a 
festive event; with Sampleton's recent surge in the polls, he had 
become competitive with Powers, and he now had a shot at being 
nominated in the primary.  All his biggest supporters were there 
including Emilie Glidden, his campaign manager, who watched over 
developments approvingly.

	Sampleton milled about, shaking hands with supporters, meeting 
with people... and then one woman, studying him flirtatiously, caught 
his eye.  He slowly worked his way over to her.  "Hi, how are you?" he 
said, shaking her hand, already prepared to go on to the next guest.

	But Belinda held his hand for a moment, stroking it.  "It's so 
good to meet you," she said, in a deep voice.

	Sampleton stood still, as if hit by a lightning bolt.  "I don't 
think I know you," he said.

	Sampleton's voice was instantly transmitted into a van that was 
parked on Central Park West.  Mason, sitting in the back of the van 
with earphones, listened closely.

	"My name is Belinda,  Belinda Gray.  I work with Soup Kitchens 
Anonymous."

	"Really?  I'm not familiar with that group," said Sampleton, 
showing some interest.  "Tell me about them."

	And she did, drawing heavily from the prepared script that Mason 
had given her.  They had certainly bought good talent; Belinda told her 
story well.

	The two were still talking a half hour later.  An aide tugged 
Sampleton's shoulder.  "Sir, the other guests want to see more of you," 
he said, walking off.

	"Oh," said Sampleton, as if that broke him out of a spell.  "I've 
been a terrible host.  I've got to mix more with the others-"

	"Wait, don't go," said Belinda.  She put a hand on his arm.

	Sampleton looked at her hand.

	"I've got something I want to show you," said Belinda.  

	"Yes?" said Sampleton, his voice cracking momentarily.

	"I have a great photo album... of the homeless," said Belinda.  
This hadn't been in her script; she had thought this up on her own.

	"I'd like to see it, sometime," said Sampleton.

	"Come over now," said Belinda.  "I live just two blocks away."

	Powers had arranged to have Sigfried loan him a condo on the West 
Side.  A very special condo.  One which had two way mirrors, and a 
dedicated camera crew on the other side of the wall.  Sigfried had also 
been generous enough to lend the van loaded with the expensive 
electronic equipment.

	"Now?" said Sampleton, looking about.  "I don't know."

	"Come on," said Mason, muttering to himself.

	Sampleton was clearly reluctant.  But Belinda did a class act, 
and Sampleton reluctantly agreed.  "For just a few minutes," he 
promised.  "For the homeless."

	"For the homeless," she agreed.

	They quietly walked out.  Sampleton's aides may or may not have 
noticed, but it was a good thing that Mrs. Sampleton was not at the 
fundraiser that night; she had sprained her ankle while gardening, and 
was laid up at home.

	Mason picked up a walkie talkie.  "Unit One to Unit Two.  They're 
on their way.  Be ready."

	"Unit Two, ready."

	Mason, unfortunately, could not see what was about to occur in 
the apartment.  All he had was the bug that was planted on Belinda's 
clothing.

	In just a few short minutes they reached the apartment.  Belinda 
entered, closing the door behind Sampleton.  "Make yourself 
comfortable," she said.

	Sampleton looked around the fancy living room.  It had elaborate 
decorations and bookcases, as well as a giant mirror along one wall.  
But for all its elaborateness there was only one place to sit, on the 
sofa.

	He sat.  Belinda joined him shortly, sitting down close to him.  
Very close.

	"Um," Sampleton stammered.  "Where's that homelessness photo 
album you were mentioning?"

	Belinda traced a finger along his leg.  "Oh, I'll get that, in a 
minute."  She leaned over to kiss him on the neck.

	"What are you doing?" said Sampleton, leaning away from her.

	"Nothing," said Belinda.  "I just want... to touch you."

	"No," said Sampleton.  "I can't do that.  I'm married."

	"But I'm one of your biggest supporters," said Belinda.  She 
reached out to touch his chest.  But as she began to stroke him, he 
jumped up.

	"I've got to get back," said Sampleton, looking nervous.

	"What?" said Belinda.

	"I thought you were going to show me homelessness.  But you just 
want to have sex," said Sampleton.  "Have a good day," he said, bolting 
for the door.

	Mason slammed the headphones down in the van, and rubbed his face 
in his hands.



	"He's trapped in the room with a beautiful woman, and he wants to 
talk about homelessness, and not sex?" said Powers, disbelievingly as 
he heard the tapes.  "This is it?  This is what we have to show for all 
our efforts?"

	"The man is not normal, sir," said Mason stiffly.

	"Tell me about it," said Powers.  "How can anyone be a Mr. 
Perfect man, without skeletons, and totally immune to temptation?"

	"I tried to warn you that we were dealing with a very different 
opponent than Mandelbaum," said the Wizard.  "These tactics simply 
won't work on Mush Head."

	"Thank you, professor genius," Powers snarled.  "But what will 
work?  I have a debate tomorrow!"

	"We'll have to beat him in a fair debate," the Wizard concluded 
reluctantly.


	Chapter 7



	Powers found the debate to be very unusual.  He had very little 
material to use to attack Sampleton with.  And Sampleton, by either 
temperament or design, found little reason to attack Powers.  And as 
their positions on the issues--Sampleton's by conviction, Powers by 
expediency--were very similar, it was actually quite a civil debate.  
Quite dull, by Mandelbaum standards.

	The following question was put to Powers:  "Congressman, what 
would you do to alleviate poverty in New York State?"

	Powers gave his laundry list answer, reciting, almost like a 
robot, all the funding programs that he was in favor of.  And then the 
same question was posed to Sampleton.

	"Congressman Powers has named a lot of worthy programs," he said, 
giving a gentle smile.  "But we've got to do more.  We've got to push 
the edge of the envelope.  We've got to get skim milk to nursing 
mothers.  We've got to get not just more primary and secondary 
educations to our young people but more masters and Ph.D programs for 
children of the poor and needy.  We need fax machines and computers and 
word processing manuals for the poor so that they can enter this 
electronic age equipped with the tools they need.  We need a shoe 
subsidy program so that no one will have to walk around with bare feet 
or two left foot shoes."  But then he started to go off on a tangent.  
"But poverty is not just an economic situation, it's also a social one.  
We need social activities and dating subsidies for young people who are 
untutored in social skills.  We need to desegregate the dating process, 
so that children of well-to-do families can mix and learn from children 
of the not-so-fortunate.  Perhaps it would take the form of a voluntary 
pro-bono effort, where children would donate one evening a month to 
dating someone from outside their socioeconomic status, or perhaps a 
noncoercive dating quota-"

	He was cut off by the announcer, who announced that his time was 
up.

	"In short, we need to do much more," said Sampleton.

	Powers was speechless.  Desegregating dating?  Dating quotas?  
Was Sampleton brilliant, in pandering to the youth of the underclass, 
or was he crazy?

	Or both?

	Unsure how to respond, Powers let the issue slide, for now.  He 
only made an attack when he felt he was on surer ground.  One of those 
times occurred when Sampleton was talking about his drug policy.

	"-we're so caught up with punishment that we've given no thought 
to prevention," said Sampleton.  "Also, legalization can play a role in 
reducing the number of drug related arrests.  But overall we need more 
counseling, more methadone, more drug treatment, and more prenatal 
care... for addicts who are nursing."

	Powers jumped in.  "Those are nice sentiments, but instead of 
just compiling a wish list and doing nothing, we as civic leaders 
should be doing more.  That's how I felt, at least.  That's why instead 
of just spouting rhetoric I opened a dialog with leading detergent 
companies.  I persuaded them to donate two tons of bleach to be 
employed to clean needles used by homeless people who are chemically 
inclined."  Chemically inclined was the new term for drug addicts.  "As 
a result, incidents of AIDS and hepatitis in the commun-ity have 
dropped by 7% ever since the program began," said Powers.

	"Oh," said Sampleton.  "That's a good idea," he said, smiling 
gently.

	What kind of debate was this?  Powers could only be glad when it 
was over.  This wasn't a debate, this was a lovefest.

	And the polls did little to cheer either side:  they were largely 
unchanged.  Powers was even down one point, although the Wizard assured 
him that this was well within statistical error.



	"Black voters," said the Wizard.

	"What?" said Powers.

	"Black voters," said the Wizard.  "We need to think more about 
getting black votes."

	"What should we do?" said Powers.

	"I'll tell you," said the Wizard.  "We need to make a campaign 
appearance."

	"Oh," said Powers.  "Where should we go?"

	"By no coincidence, that's our next topic of discussion," said 
the Wizard.  "We've been invited to speak at a protestant church in 
Harlem.  We have an invitation from the Reverend James Washington."

	"Jim!" said Powers, smiling in delight.  They had been good 
friends for years, ever since Powers' first campaign.  Washington had 
seen an opportunity to attach himself to a rising star, and so had 
pledged his congregation's support to Powers, constantly exhorting his 
parishioners to vote for the Congressman's reelection.  In return, 
Powers saw to it that a portion of federal social spending in the 
district was channeled through Washington's office.  Washington was 
actually a reasonably honest fellow, and the money received was piped 
through to youth and jobs programs that seemed to do some good.  Of 
course Powers didn't know, or care, precisely where the money went; the 
important thing was getting Washington's support.

	But now Washington, not surprisingly, was supporting him in his 
race for the top seat in Albany.  Powers eagerly looked forward to 
coming to the church.  He appeared there regularly, once every two 
years, just before the election, and always was well received by the 
congregation.

	Powers sat quietly through the services.  Washington was a great 
speaker, but Powers' mind was on his own plans, his own machinations.  
He was also thinking about Kerry Joy, the new L.A. in the office.  
Powers thought she was really cute.  What was she, 24, 25 years old, 
maybe?  Couldn't be older.  And what a body!

	When Washington called Powers to the front, Powers, lost in 
thought, was almost surprised to hear his name called.

	"And now my friends, I'd like to introduce a great man, a great 
man in the community, one who's done so much for the young people in 
the area.  This man is running for governor now, governor of our fair 
state!"

	A few cheers went up in the crowd.

	"I speak of none other than Michael Powers.  Come on up, Mike!"

	Powers shook off his reverie and stepped up the platform, waving 
to the audience as the organist played a hearty tune.  The crowd, 
clapping politely, was largely enthusiastic.  Jose Torres had sent 
camera crews to cover the event for a future campaign commercial, and 
they stood to the side, filming the event.

	"Thank you, thank you," said Powers.  He started to read, almost 
mechanically, the speech that the Wizard had prepared.  It was a 
version of his standard "Chicken in Every Pot Speech" that he usually 
gave; this was his variant for minorities.

	"The politicians in Washington tell you what you want," Powers 
said.  "But what do you really want?  Jobs, and justice!"

	"Yes!" said not a few in the audience.

	"You want a chance to get ahead, to do something to rebuild the 
community!" said Powers. 

	"Yes we do!" said another person in the audience.

	"You want more education in the schools, a larger safety net, 
more prenatal care, more school lunches, more opportunities in the 
workplace, more job training, more good jobs-"

	"What about jobs in your office?" someone yelled.

	Powers was startled to be interrupted by the generally friendly 
audience, but even so he attempted to continue.

	"and we also-"

	"What about the jobs in your office?" said the heckler.  He moved 
forward in the audience, accompanied by a few of his friends.  He was a 
tall black man, totally bald and bearing a determined look on his face.

	"What?" said Powers.

	"How come you don't have any black folk working for you?" said 
the man.  "Not in your district office, not in Washington.  How come?"

	Powers sweated a little.  He funneled tens of thousands of 
dollars a year to this church.  Who really cared who worked in his 
district office?

	"We have quite a diversified office staff," said Powers.  "Now, 
if we can move on-"

	"No, we can't," said the man.  "You're a racist, man.  You make 
nice noises, but you're just another lying politician!"

	"Watch your mouth, brother!" Washington snapped, stepping 
forward.  "We don't have any better friend in Washington than Michael 
Powers."

	"Yeah, so you say, you jive liar," said the man.  His supporters 
backed him up.

	Now the congregation started to divide, with members yelling to 
and fro on each side.  Washington tried to restore order, but the bald 
man had succeeded in stirring up the crowd.

	Powers made a throat cutting gesture to the cameras, and hooked a 
thumb towards the exit.



	The next day the print media was full of it.  The media went back 
in time and found that not only did Powers not employ any black people, 
but in the nine years he had been in Washington he had only employed 
one black person, briefly, and that had been seven years ago.

	"Hire someone, quick," said Powers.  

	"Check," said Toles.

	"No, hire two people," said Powers.  "And see if you can't find 
someone from the community around the church."

	"Check."

	"And do it quickly," Powers added.  "I need a quick injection of 
liberal credentials."

	"Check," said Toles, heading out.  The Wizard passed him on the 
way in.

	"Did you see these?" said Powers, holding up the newspapers.

	"It could have been worse," said the Wizard, stroking his beard 
thoughtfully.

	"It could?"

	"Only the print media were there.  If journalist cameras had 
recorded the event...."  The Wizard suppressed a shudder.  "The visual 
medium is the most powerful."

	"But there were cameras there... but they were all ours, weren't 
they," said Powers, brightening a bit.  "Not that we can use the 
footage."

	"Ah, but we can.  Watch this," said the Wizard, popping a tape 
into the VCR.

	"Congressman Mike Powers values divers-ity in the commun-ity," 
said the deep announcer's voice, panning to Washington's church.  
"That's why he feels it's important to hear what everyone has to say."  
The screen showed Powers, stepping up to the crowd, receiving their 
applause.  Then Powers was shown promising job and education programs 
to the crowd, along with their repeated interruptions to praise him.

	And then the majestic image of Powers at the podium was frozen on 
the screen.  "Mike Powers.  One governor.  For all the people."  And 
the ad faded.

	"This is how we strike back," said the Wizard.  "We put this on 
the air as soon as possible, to contradict the accounts which claimed 
that it was a stormy meeting.  We'll say the media is blowing it out of 
proportion.  We'll also get Washington to do the local talk show 
circuit, to say that the troublemakers were outside provocateurs."

	"Were they?" said Powers.

	"Washington says he's never seen them before," said the Wizard.  
"Anything is possible, but I'd bet they were paid hecklers."

	Powers slammed a fist into his hand.  "That bastard Mush Head!  
He acts like such a bleeding heart, such a goody two-shoes, and then 
resorts to this." 

	"It's not an act," said the Wizard.  "If you don't understand 
that, then you don't understand Sampleton.  I am by no means certain, 
but I don't think Sampleton was behind this."

	"No?"  Powers paused, suddenly, and looked thoughtful.  The 
answer, then, was clear.  "Stratford?  But-"

	"He hasn't even been nominated by the Republicans yet.  Yes, I 
think he was taking a swipe at you, Mike," said the Wizard.  "I can't 
prove it, of course.  But it certainly matches his M.O. better than it 
does Sampleton's."

	"Hm," said Powers thoughtfully.  "I'll have to repay the favor, 
at some point.  What are the latest poll results?"

	"I haven't taken any," said the Wizard, lying.  He had, and the 
polls still showed a five point gap--but for the first time, Powers was 
on the losing end of it.  "Let's give this a few days to settle down, 
ok?"

	"All right," said Powers, nodding.  "We'll deal with Stratford 
later.  Sampleton comes first.  Get me Mason!"

	Mason arrived in his office in a short period of time.

	"I'm getting pulverized, Mr. Mason," said Powers.  "What have you 
been able to do for me?"

	"Our last effort was not successful," said Mason, carefully 
avoiding the word failure.

	"As I'm painfully aware.  Perhaps your operative was not 
skilled," said Powers.

	"She was the best, sir," said Mason.  "It was... that man.  
Normal means will not work on him."

	"What then, do you have on Mush Head?"

	Mason sighed.  "At present, nothing."

	"Nothing?  Then what ideas for entrapment do you have?"

	Mason sighed again.  "Nothing promising."

	"Nothing promising?  I'll be the judge of that.  What do you have 
that is not promising?"

	"Well, Sampleton has a self-imposed contribution limit.  Won't 
accept contributions over $100."

	"Yes, go on."

	"I was thinking, what if he could be tempted into taking $400," 
said Mason.  "I mean, it wouldn't be illegal, but it would show, even 
in a small way, that the man doesn't keep his word-"

	"So do it," said Powers.

	"The problem is that I don't think it will work.  I don't think 
he'll go for it."

	"The Simpleton's campaign still needs money, does it not?"

	"Yes," said Mason.  "But I don't think-"

	"I don't pay you to think, Mr. Mason.  We have to try everything 
at our disposal.  Do it."

	"Yes sir," said Mason.  He turned to go.

	"And one more thing, Mason.  I want you to handle this yourself.  
Personally."

	"Sir?"  Mason couldn't believe his ears.  "What if I'm 
recognized....?"

	"Don't get recognized," said Powers harshly.  "This is one task I 
don't want you subcontracting out to third parties.  I'm fully aware of 
the real reason that Sigfried required Niles and Marsten to work with 
you.  But this task must be done alone, and I want you to do it."

	"Yes, Congressman."  Mason slumped his shoulders in a resigned 
way.



	Mason spent several hours in preparation.  He felt reasonably 
sure that Sampleton had never seen him before.  Still, it made no sense 
to risk being recognized.

	Mason fussed before a mirror.  First he died his normally black 
hair a ruddy brown.  Then he combed it back.  The next addition was a 
small moustache, one that matched his new color.  The final change were 
contact lenses.  Green.  Mason always wanted to have green eyes.  Then, 
nodding, he was satisfied.  Someone who knew him well would certainly 
not be fooled.

	But Sampleton had never seen him before.  To the best of Mason's 
knowledge, no one on Sampleton's staff had ever seen him before.

	The event was a dinner party, in honor of some poverty cause.  
Sampleton was in attendance, mixing and mingling with people.  Mason 
worked his way forward, in some cases gently but persistantly pushing 
his way towards the candidate.

	"Mr. Sampleton," said Mason, adopting a higher pitched voice.  
"Mr. Sampleton!"

	Sampleton turned around, with that now characteristic goofy "I 
know what you want, my friend" smile on his lips.  "Yes?" he said.

	"Wilford Bimly," said Mason, shaking his hands.  "I just want to 
tell you how much I support you and your candidacy, sir."

	"Why thank you," said Sampleton.  "What kind of work are you in?"

	"I..."  Mason was unprepared for this.  "Soup kitchens."

	"Soup Kitchens?" said Sampleton.  He looked Mason up and down.  
This man in a tuxedo didn't seem like a soup kitchen worker!

	Mason knew this, so he quickly added, "I construct soup kitchens.  
Architecturally.  Design them, I mean."

	"You do?" said Sampleton.  "Why, I didn't know they were 
designed.  I just thought they were abandoned buildings-"

	"They aren't," said Mason.  "It's a new field.  Designing soup 
lines that directly serve the needs of the poor while maintaining a 
sense of aesthetics."

	"I see," said Sampleton.  "Tell me some design tips."

	"Uh..." said Mason.  He thought quickly.  "Well, it's important 
to make space for the dining tables to be near the rest room... in case 
dinner does not go well."

	"You know, I've always thought that," said Sampleton, beaming.

	Mason noticed Emilie Glidden, Sampleton's campaign manager, 
scowling at him from the distance.

	Sampleton said, "In fact, I've always wondered-"

	"Excuse me, I don't want to take up any more of your time," said 
Mason.  "I just wanted to thank you, and to make a donation."  He 
handed over the money order.

	"Why thank you!"  If Sampleton was curious as to why he was 
getting a money order, and not a check, he declined to comment.  But 
when he read the amount he said, "Oooh, I can't take this.  This is 
over my spending limit."

	"Oh, come on," said Mason.  He noticed Glidden edging closer, 
eyeing him curiously.  "It's for a good cause."

	"No, I can't take this, I have a $100 maximum " said Sampleton.  
He tried to give it back.

	But Mason melted into the crowd, eyeing Glidden eyeing him.  
"It's a gift!"

	"I'll donate it to charity then," yelled Sampleton after him.



	"That's it?  That's it?" said Powers.

	"That's it," said Mason, stripping off his moustache as he stood 
in Powers' district office.  It was late in the evening, so everyone 
else had gone home.  "I told you it wouldn't work."

	"You're very good at predicting failure," said Powers.  "What 
else can you do?"

	"The only thing that can be done.  To keep looking," said Mason.

	Powers gave him a hard stare, and nodded.  "All right."  He 
started to turn away, and had a thought.  "Did I really donate $400 to 
c