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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