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Finish Line
by Steven Gordon
Chapter 1
"People are animals."
The speaker, a distinguished man in his late 30's with neatly
trimmed straight black hair, rocked back and forth on his front porch
as he stared out into the black night that engulfed the northern
Virginia suburb. He cast a lazy glance to the side.
"People are animals," he reiterated, rocking back and forth.
"I heard you the first time," growled his companion, a somewhat
shorter but thinner man. "I'm not deaf, you know."
"People are animals, and do you know why?" the first man asked.
"Because... they're primitive. I don't know," said the second
man, picking up his drink.
"Incorrect," said the first man. And he sat up with a gleam in
his eyes and he said, "People are animals because they compete to
survive."
His name was Michael Powers, Congressman Michael K. Powers III,
and he was a predator. A scion of a wealthy family that made a killing
in the tool & dye industry in the 1930's, he entered Columbia at 17,
graduated Harvard Law at 24, and immediately joined the ranks of
Kassenbaum & McKinney, arguably the top lawyer/lobby firm inside the
beltway. After a few years of hobnobbing with powerful party bosses
and even more powerful congressmen on the Hill, Powers returned to New
York to make a run for a seat on Manhattan's Upper East Side. He chose
to run as a Democrat not simply because Democrats always won there; it
was more than that, he found their philosophy admirable. Democrats
werer for the poor people, for the little man. They fought valiantly
to shake a few dollars from stingy rich people's pockets. This effort
also made sense politically; Democrats spent government money to create
constituencies which supported them at election time. To Powers it
seemed only natural to funnel government money to specific interest
groups who would return the favor. He knew that you had to give
something to get something. It was those puritanical Republicans he
despised, those who called it "taxpayer money" and refused to let the
government have any meaningful role in people's lives.
The government was going to spend money regardless of what anyone
said; so why not spend it in ways that best suited Powers?
And so he ran for Congress. Powers was bright, charismatic,
telegenic, with all the right staffers and soundbites. $5 million
dollars later, he was elected in an upset, 52% to 48%, over a local
assemblyman with bedrock ties to the community. He had been
unstoppable ever since.
Michael Powers turned to his companion, his close companion, for
Powers didn't share his personal philosophy with just anyone. Arthur
"Ace" Toles was one of the privileged few. His chief of staff from the
very beginning, Toles was the closest thing he had to a confidant.
"So?" said Toles, yawning slightly.
"Men are constantly in competition. Their natural inclination is
to get the best for themselves--the most important jobs, the most
money, the best women... Life is a constant struggle for these goals,
for supply is limited even if demand is not."
"Really?"
"You scoff, oh cynical one, but it is oh so true. Life is a
constant struggle for these goodies, and yet while man is animal, he
also must conform to the civilizing aspects of society, and not stray
too far from its bounds, or run the risk of being shunned. But it is a
struggle nonetheless, no different than two tigers wrestling over the
body of a fallen doe."
"I didn't know tigers ate deer," Toles commented. But for a
moment he became more serious. "So what's the point?" He had heard it
all before, of course, many many times. But he could see that Powers
was attempting to make a link, to something more contemporary.
Powers, however, would not be rushed to his conclusion. "In the
society of man this struggle is expressed through the struggle for
power, for power can bring all these things. Power is good. Power is
the ability to control your own destiny, and the destiny of others.
Power means never having to take abuse, but being able to dispense it
liberally, all without fear of reprisal. Power is my name; power is
who I am; power is what I was meant for. And in our society the most
power comes from the ability to command vast resources, millions of
individuals."
"You are, of course, talking about our political system."
Powers grinned. "So you have been paying attention. Good." He
wet his lips. "I've been in the House for nearly ten years. What have
I accomplished?"
"You've built a power base. You've made connections. You've-"
Powers cut him off with a wave of a hand. "Building, building...
towards what? So that in ten more years I can become a committee
chairman? Thank you, but no thank you. Congressmen are atoms. They
are each one equal among many. No one has the ability to command, to
control, not even the Speaker, not really."
Toles sat up. "So what are you getting at?"
"The time has come. To seek a position of true responsibility,
of true power. To better serve the people." The last he said without
a trace of irony.
Toles sat up. "The Governor's race? Governor of New York?"
"That is my current state of residence," said Powers dryly.
"Think of it! To be chief executive of one of the most populous states
in the union. There with my veto power I will have the lobbyists and
the assemblymen and yes, even the congressmen, all turning to me, all
craving my attention. I will be one above others, the ruler of my own
sizable fiefdom."
Toles took this all in for a while. "Are you sure you're ready?"
"I've always been ready," Power replied.
Toles took it all in. He paused for a moment. "The light rail
project... you're pushing that with this in mind."
"Precisely." Powers had been the guiding force behind a proposal
to set up a light rail system between New York City, Albany, and
Syracuse. The regions were already linked by rail, but Powers was
selling it as a series of bullet trains that would radically reduce
transit times. The only reason he called it a "light rail" system was
to give it a more ecologically friendly name that environmentalists
would take to. He wished he could have fit the buzzwords "recycling"
and "solar cooker" into the name of the project too, but there were
limits to deception, even in Washington.
The rail project was not necessary. To be more precise, it was
not necessary for the people of New York. But it was very necessary
for Michael Powers. The project would bring a lot of development money
to New York that he, Michael K. Powers III, would get credit for. But
just as important was the fact that it would satisfy the needs of a
certain construction union which was a very important contributor to
Powers' campaign.
"Just think about it. I'm about to get credit for bringing one of
the largest federally funded development projects to the state of New
York in this decade. What better way to start a gubernatorial
campaign?"
"You planned this... you planned this from the start," said
Toles, slowly realizing the implications.
"Ace, of course! Did you really think I planned to sit in the
House of Representatives for the rest of my life, one of an anonymous
435?"
"A gubernatorial race," Toles whispered, with a faraway look in
his eyes. "But... the vote's tomorrow. You and I both know it's not
going to pass the subcommittee."
The first hurdle for Transportation Modernization Act, as it was
officially called, was to pass the Public Works and Transportation
subcommittee that dealt with roads and transportation. The committee
had fifteen members, nine Democrats and six Republicans. The six
Republicans were solidly against the act on the grounds that it was a
frivolous piece of pork. What was their problem? Government had to
spend money on something; why was Powers' project less worthy than
anyone else's? Powers, who was the third ranking Democrat on the
subcommittee, had persuaded the subcommittee chair to bring it up for a
vote, but it was clear that while the chairman would vote for the bill,
he wasn't going to stick his neck out for the proposal. So Powers
worked at the time honored tradition of buying Democratic votes. It
wasn't very difficult. Everyone had a price. Congressman Bowers
wanted a Johnny Appleseed museum in his district. Representative
Hatcliff wanted to subsidze the building of a new office tower in
downtown Cleveland. But it was Congressman Shroeden that Powers most
admired. She wanted to build a "visitor's center" in her district for
her constituents, essentially a $12 million dollar tribute to her. It
didn't take long for Powers to assemble nearly all the chits he needed,
and it only cost him about $500 million in taxpayer money. A bargain.
But Powers could not budge two of the Democrats on the Committee--
Stanley Bayren of Utah and Otis Fern of Ohio. It wasn't that they were
any more ethical than the rest; normally, they would allow themselves
to be bought, for the right price. But this was a special situation.
Bayren was the real problem. He was number four in seniority on
the committee, just behind Powers, and he had been a constant rival,
ever since he and Powers had arrived on Capital Hill, almost ten years
ago. They had both been posted to the subcommittee at the same time,
and since they were of equal seniority, a coin flip determined who was
to be senior. Powers won, and they never seemed to get along after
that. For Powers it was nothing personal, but perhaps Bayren didn't
appreciate the grander scheme of Powers' neo-Darwinistic conception of
survival of the fittest.
Bayren opposed Powers at every turn and this bill was no
exception. What was worse was that he had little persuading to do to
enlist his close ally, Otis Fern, in his cause against the Powers bill.
The arithmetic was simple. Six Republicans and two Democrats
versus seven Democrats made for an eight to six majority against. Even
the most imaginative mathematicians from the Congressional Budget
Office couldn't find a way to dispute that.
Powers had been on the phone all day trying to reverse that. Not
by attempting to talk to Bayren or even Fern; no, there was little
chance of getting beyond the hate. But perhaps one of the Republicans
could be bought. Usually one or two of the older guard, the "get
along-give along" types could.
Not this time, apparently. Either they meant what they said, or
perhaps they had already been bought off--by Bayren. A sinister
thought.
"Do you know something I don't?" said Toles.
Powers just smiled.
"Did you manage to turn one of the Republicans?"
Powers shook his head.
"What, you're going to try to end-run the subcommittee and bring
it up in the full committee?"
Powers shook his head. "I already investigated that prospect,
remember?"
"Then what?"
Powers shrugged his shoulders. "There's one more night before
the vote. Perhaps someone will have a change of heart."
"That's not like you, to be so... passive when important things
are at stake."
"There's a first time for everything," said Powers calmly. "Have
some more cognac?"
Suddenly a little boy came bouncing onto the porch. "Daddy!" he
said, leaping into Power's arms.
"Ha ha, there's my boy," said Powers. He held the young man in
his arms. "Bobby, what are you doing out of bed? Isn't it past time
for bed?"
"Michael," said a voice. The screen door opened again, and Erin
Powers stepped out. She was a young, attractive woman in her mid 30's,
just a few years younger than her husband. She was active in her own
causes, notably environmental issues, and while her politics rarely
seemed to jibe with Powers', they rarely were seen arguing over
political philosophy.
"Hi, what's happening?" said Powers quietly. He looked calm, too
calm, considering the importance of the vote that was just a morning
away.
"Off to bed, escapee," said Erin, scooting Bobby inside. "Do you
have a few minutes, hon?"
Powers groaned, immediately knowing what it was about. "Is it
about this Greedleaf thing? Can't we talk about it later?"
"Greenleaf Fund. You never get the name right," She sighed. "All
right, I know you have this big vote tomorrow. We'll talk about it
afterwards. But no more putting it off, ok?"
Powers gave her his solemn promise.
When Erin had gone back inside, Powers gave a big grin. "See?
You even have Erin worried about tomorrow's vote."
"Shouldn't we be?"
Powers rocked back and forth in his chair. The night crickets
chirped in accompaniment. "We'll see... we'll see...."
The House of Representatives was intended by the founding fathers
to be the place where the common people would have their representation
in government. Unlike the lofty Senate, whose members were originally
selected by state legislators, not voters, for six year terms,
Representatives were selected for short two year terms by the people,
for the people. There were 435 of them in all, not counting nonvoting
representatives from Guam, Samoa, the District of Columbia, and the
like, and each represented a little fiefdom, a small discrete
gerrymandered piece of Americana, representing perhaps six or seven
hundred thousand citizens.
But in reality there was little that was common about the House.
Consider the setting: Washington D.C., on the Mall in a bright day in
May. Go up the Potomac river, and hang a sharp right at the Lincoln
Memorial. See the giant statue of President Lincoln, sitting somberly,
as if in judgment, looking to the east. Travel east, past the shallow
reflecting pool, and stop for a moment at the Washington Monument, the
giant gleaming white obelisk surrounded by a circle of large flapping
American flags. To the left, beyond a meadow, obscured by trees, sits
the White House, alone by itself. But straight ahead, further to the
east, sits in plain view the large, sprawling white domed building that
is Capitol Hill. It is like a little city, with its own police force,
barber shops, restaurants, stores, and even a subway in miniature.
From it flows the power and authority to spend hundreds of billions of
dollars. From it comes the formal power to wage war and peace. From
it comes the power to intrude into the personal lives of every citizen,
from the death penalty to abortion to the power to take property--or to
give it.
On Tuesday morning one of many committee rooms start to fill up.
It was not a meeting that was likely to attract the attention of the
CSPAN cameras, but chairs in the audience were quickly filled
nonetheless. Filled with lobbyists. The sign on the door read
"Subcommittee on Surface Transportation".
Congressmen and their staffers started to shuffle in. Normally
committee meetings were only about half attended. Legislative
deliberations were in motion on the House floor, but that was not where
missing Congressmen were to be found. No, they were usually in other
committee meetings, or at home on campaign swings, or staying in touch
with their constituents--one way or another.
But the Subcommittee on Surface Transportation was bound to be
fully attended by its members today. Each side had marshalled its
troops one way or another for or against Powers' bill, and was not
about to lose simply because someone didn't show up. As it stood the
opposition to Powers' bill had only a one vote margin to insure its
victory--and Powers' defeat.
Powers walked into the committee hearing room, looking very
unperturbed. He wore his best $700 Brooks Brothers suit and his classy
striped Columbia tie. His golden cuff links reflected light in the
committee room chamber.
Powers moved for his seat. He sat right next to Bayren, which
didn't make for very warm committee hearings, but Bayren had yet to
appear. Powers sat down, and pretended to read his New York Times. He
chuckled a bit as he glanced at an op-ed by Michele Franswa, possibly
his least favorite editorialist.
SUPPORT THE PROFESSIONS TAX
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
New York is facing a shortage of funds. There's a shortage
of city revenue, while people suffer on the streets, rummaging through
trash cans to survive. Single men, driven to chemical dependency by
the cruel rules of society, are unable to find jobs that meet their
need for self-esteem. Young people are at risk of committing crimes
because after school activities have been cut. The arts programs have
been decimated, and puppet shows are down 50% over what they were just
last year.
And yet we have rich fatcats who work in the tall towers of
New York while ignoring the seeds of dispair around them. There has
been a proposal floating around recently to enact a professions tax,
that is, a small but just surtax of 5% on the incomes of everyone who
works in New York who has a graduate degree. This would require
doctors, lawyers, and MBA's to give back to society a small portion of
what society has given to them. It would require them to play by the
rules, and to help those who haven't been as lucky as they were. It
might wake up some of them to the fact that they obtained their
positions of wealth and prestige through a throw of the dice, and that
they should feel some guilt and be glad part with some of their
obscenely large incomes.
Instead of being thankful for a new program which would aid
the less fortunate, the fat cats have been protesting en masse. They
say the money they earn is theirs and what business does the government
have to take it away. I have to chuckle when I hear such outmoded
sentiments. In modern society, everyone in the community is
interconnected, and to deny those interconnections is to deny reality.
As a member of society, each of those who just happen to be doing
better has a responsibilty to help those who have fallen through the
cracks. Government is the ideal instrument for leveling out such
inequalities, and the rich should be thankful that such a moderate and
peaceful method redistribution is in place. Would they prefer an angry
mob robbing them of their possessions and home? I think not.
This is a very moderate proposal. It would only affect the
upper elite of this state, and only five additional percent of income
on top of the pittance they already pay in taxes. If they don't want
to do it for society, they should at least be willing to do it for the
children.
Powers, chuckling, looked up from his paper. Bayren still had
not made an appearance, but Otis Fern, his number one ally, however,
was there, one seat down from Bayren's, and he leaned to the left to
speak to Powers. "Howdy Mike."
Powers nodded. "Good morning, Otis. How are you?"
Fern ignored the question. "I hear we're going to have a vote
today."
Powers nodded. "You're very well informed."
"Would you care to place bets on this one?" Fern leered. He knew
that his side had the votes to block Powers' bill.
Powers shook his head.
"Why? What's wrong? Are we about to see the great Michael D.
Powers III," and he spat out the number, like an insult, "cut down in
front of his peers?"
Powers shook his head.
"Then is it just simple fear? Fear that you've finally gonna be
stopped, and stopped hard?"
Powers shook his head. "This is just a game, a game of
competition. We will measure and match the power of my side against
yours. The fittest will survive, the loser will be vanquished. Such
is the way with all games of life."
"And is that what you're afraid of? That this will show you're
not so fit?" Otis lowered his voice as he saw the room filling up, but
made low chuckling sounds. "Heh heh heh. I'll enjoy watching you
squirm, Mikey."
"All right Otis," said Powers, with a steely look. Otis,
startled, pulled his head back.
"All right," said Powers again. "If you want to bet, let's bet.
But let's have some real stakes."
Fern looked surprised, but he took out his wallet. "So?"
"No," said Powers, shaking his head. "Your chit."
Fern immediately understood. "So if you win..."
"You owe me one. I can call it in, any time, any vote."
Fern grinned maliciously. "And if I win...."
"The same."
"You got a deal!"
Ace Toles, who had been sitting discretely in the background
where the staffers were located, took this occasion to lean forward.
"Congressman, are you sure-"
Powers made a discrete throat cutting gesture, then turned away.
The gavel banged. "This meeting will come to order." This was
from the Chairman, Max Tankel, Congressman from Michigan. He called
the roll. All the Republicans were there, as were all the Democrats--
with one exception. Stanley Bayren. Congressman from Utah.
The chairman ran over some routine matters, and then he said,
"The first order of business is a vote on the Transportation
Modernization Act. Would anyone like to speak on the issue?"
A dozen set of hands went up. Evidently, people did.
In a modest home in suburban Maryland, Stanley Bayren,
Congressman from Utah, was cursing. He had overslept and was going to
be late for his meeting. Dashing into the driveway he fumbled for the
car keys. Then he suddenly remembered he had left them in the house.
"Mr. Chairman, this bill is pork, pure pork," said Mike Laren.
He was the ranking Republican member, the most senior Republican on the
subcommittee, and the sharpness of his accusatory tone surprised even
Powers. What was his problem? The government had so much money, it
had trouble spending it all. Who cared about deficits? If they really
had a problem with deficits, let them raise taxes.
Fumbling for his keys, Bayren opened the car door, got in,
slammed it closed behind him, and turned the key in the ignition.
The engine sputtered for a moment, then died.
"This rail system will double the rail capacity in this part of
New York, at a time when the existing rail capacity is often at less
than 75% utilization." This was one of the other Republicans. His
accusation was true, but what was the point? If they trimmed every
piece of legislation with waste in it then nothing would ever get
passed!
Bayren raced down the freeway. It would be so ironic if Powers
won this contest of wills, simply because he, Bayren, had overslept.
"Mr. Chairman, I'd like to speak." This came from Otis Fern,
who, despite the absence of Bayren was still thoroughly confident, and
enjoying this committee session thoroughly. The Republicans had just
finished, each sticking their knives into the legislation, and Fern
wanted to administer the final coup de grace with a long spear. "Mr.
Chairman, I was against this project from the start, because of its
environmental impact. But there's an even more important ground for
stopping this project: I'm afraid we just cannot afford such wasteful
spending, when our deficit has gotten so much out of control."
Powers appreciated Fern's sudden concern for the deficit. He
smiled as he remembered reading somewhere that the National Taxpayers
Union had rated Otis Fern as one of the top ten biggest spenders in the
House of Representatives. Suddenly, he was a fiscal hawk.
But now it was the turn of Powers' and his allies. One by one
they got up to speak in support of his bill.
Bayren raced down the beltway. He accelerated a bit too much,
frowned, and then put on the brake. Nothing happened!
He put more pressure on the brake, and he slowed down some.
Bayren gave a sigh of relief. He'd have to get those brakes checked
out.
Powers let his allies speak first. They all effusively praised
the bill, largely sticking to the talking points that Toles had
provided. Not that it really mattered; everyone's mind was already
made up. Or already bought. When Powers' supporters were finished,
Powers asked to be recognized. The chairman nodded and Powers spoke,
glancing occasionally at the prepared text that Toles had put together.
"Colleagues. The mass transportation system in our country is in
crisis. We have been warned by numerous blue ribboned panels that our
infrastructure is crumbling. Now is the time to act. This light rail
system will reinvigorate not only New York's economy, but the entire
region's. And with the success of this project we will undoubtedly
have the means and the political will to fund others. Now, some of you
have raised the environmental issue. As for those concerns, I would
have you know that this is an eco-friendly light rail system, with
plans for a contiguous bike path-"
Bayren glanced at his watch, and a look of alarm crossed his
face. He knew the committee vote could be held at any moment. For all
he knew, it might have occurred already. He stepped on the gas, but
was forced to brake when another car swerved ahead of him.
Only the brake didn't work.
He pressed frantically on it, but he wouldn't slow down. He
swerved to the left, then to the right again, avoiding another car.
Then the car directly ahead of him slowed down to get off of the next
exit ramp. Bayren was boxed in to the left, so he swerved right, onto
the embankment, pressing the brake all the way. But the car didn't
slow down. The car skidded along the rough shoulder, glancing against
a railing, and then plowed with full force into an underpass, smashing
uncontrollably into a support wall, and immediately burst into flames.
"-and this is the right thing to do. We can do it, we should do
it, we will do it," said Powers. "Mr. Chairman, I think we're ready
for the vote."
The Chairman nodded.
"Wait." This was from Otis Fern. "Mr. Chairman, Congressman
Bayren isn't here yet."
The Chairman harrumped, his plump face looking displeased. "Mr.
Fern, we're nearly an hour into the meeting. I cannot be made
responsible for the appearance of the Gentleperson from Utah."
"Five minutes, Mr. Chairman. A five minute recess, please?"
Congressman Tankel, the Chairman, looked only more annoyed. But
he nodded, saying, "Five minutes! Then we vote, regardless of who is
here," he added, with a look at Fern, "and who is not." Scowling, he
banged the gavel. He was the subcommittee chairman; he hated all
delays that were not of his own making. They had a lot of spending
bills to take up today; at this rate, they'd be lucky to appropriate a
piddling $10 billion before the day was over. "Five minutes! Five!"
He held up five stubby fingers for those Congressman who had not
understood him the first two times.
There was a murmur in the audience as Fern rapidly scooted out.
Toles whispered to Powers. "What do you think is happening?"
Powers shrugged his shoulders.
Five minutes later Fern had not returned. "The vote will now be
called," said Chairman Tankel. He called the vote. "Mr. Abrams! Mr.
Bacon! Mr. Eyes-" One by one their names were called off, and each
responded with an aye, or a nay.
It was still close. All six Republicans voted against the bill,
and all seven Democrats present voted for it. Had Fern been present it
would have been a tie, in which case the chairman could have broken the
tie in Powers' favor, according to committee rules.
Congressman Tankel banged his gavel. "The bill is hereby
recommended for consideration by the full committee, on a vote of seven
for, six against." At that moment Fern returned, ashen faced.
"What?" said the Chairman, immediately sensing something was
wrong.
"It's Congressman Bayren... there's been a terrible accident."
A stunned silence filled the committee room as Fern related the
sketchy details.
Powers' expression was impassive.
"Bayren dead!" said Toles, once they had returned to Powers'
Capitol Hill office. "Who ever would have figured it?"
"Who indeed," said Powers calmly.
Toles gave Powers a quizzical look, got a warning glance, and
knew to drop it. "Anyway, we've won! We've won!"
Staffers, hearing the commotion, raced out of their side offices.
"We did? We really did?"
Two legislative staffers, Philip Niles, and John Marsten, gave
war whoops. The whole office was filled with energy.
Niles in particular was very pleased. Finally, he had a tangible
feeling that he was being part of something important, something
productive. This was why he had come to Washington. He had graduated
Cornell at the top of his class, with straight A's in political
science. He was one of those political junkies who memorized all the
politicians in the Almanac of American Politics, who watched CSPAN
avidly, and who thought Foreign Affairs magazine was "light reading".
He had wanted to go to Washington because he was a true liberal
who wanted to use the powers of government to help the poor and the
disadvantaged. Niles thought that it was crime that a government with
billions of dollars to spend couldn't do more to help its most
vulnerable citizens. Unfortunately, coming from a well-to-do family
where he never earned a paycheck in his life, Niles had a deaf ear to
those who objected to paying higher taxes. People earned plenty of
money; they could afford to pay more. Especially the rich. Niles had
a special loathing for the rich. He envisioned fancy people in big
mansions, surrounded by piles and piles of gold and silver pieces,
laughing caustically while poor people were forced to keep warm outside
by lighting fires in trash cans. Unfortunately, Niles didn't realize
that "the rich" as he described it was only a small percentage of the
population, or that to raise any meaningful revenue one had to tax the
"less rich" as well.
But it all seemed very reasonable to Niles. Once his college
professors had raised his political consciousness, he became outraged
that the government wasn't doing more with its regulatory and spending
authority to reengineer society so that outcomes were more "fair".
This goal is what had driven Niles to Washington.
Niles had obtained his coveted job on Capitol Hill with
Congressman Powers immediately upon graduation. Niles had had a strong
academic record to draw on, but he suspected that his Uncle Stafford,
who was active in Democratic party politics, may have helped him in
getting this position. For the past several months Niles had puttered
about, working on small position papers, minor speeches, and scheduling
tasks and the like. He had begun to feel like one of the thousands of
anonymous toilers on the Hill, without recognition, without impact.
But now they had actually accomplished something! The bill that
Niles himself had written a piece of had actually passed the
subcommittee. Millions of New Yorkers would be riding in comfort and
safety on the trains of the future in part because he, Philip Niles,
was pushing this legislation to passage. It was not the prime piece of
anti-poverty legislation that Niles had been hoping to work on, but it
was a start. It was action!
It gave him a warm feeling inside.
The next day Powers and Toles walked in a leafy green forest.
Each carried a high powered sporting rifle. This was Powers' way of
rewarding himself. He didn't often permit himself the pleasure of
hunting in the great outdoors--there simply wasn't the time.
But now he relaxed as he put his slim rifle to his shoulder.
"Events are proceeding, and very much on schedule," said Powers calmly.
"Now for the next step. I want you to talk to Pringle about setting up
a "draft Powers" committee. You know, something that's not obviously
connected to me."
"Understood," said Toles.
Powers looked through the sniperscope at a far tree. "More
immediately, we need a campaign manager."
"Hey, who managed your last two campaigns?"
Powers put down the rifle, gently squeezing Toles' shoulder.
"Ace, this is going to be an operation on a much larger scale. I need
you to be in charge of organization and task management. When I'm
elected, you know, I'm going to need a capable chief of staff in the
governor's office."
Toles' eyes glowed. "Chief of staff to the governor!"
"Um hum," said Powers, looking through the sniperscope again,
this time at a closer tree. His grip tightened, his finger closed on
the trigger... and then he stopped, lowering his weapon.
"What?" said Toles.
Powers took his head. "Too small. Not worth the shot." He
started walking again.
"That was some game we bagged yesterday," said Toles.
"Yes, it was a significant step forward. We've won a key battle,
but the war still has to be won. Our next battle will be fought on
more favorable ground, in full committee, but we must be adequately
prepared nonetheless."
He looked through the sniperscope again, slowing moving the
barrel as a flock of birds moved overhead.
"We must wait, biding our time, choosing... the... right...
moment...." He squeezed the trigger, jerked as the rifle pushed into
his shoulder, and watched as a squawking bird tumbled to the ground
just feet away. It fluttered for a moment and then became motionless,
its bright red blood seeping into the clear green grass.
"Very good," said Powers approvingly. "But just the beginning.
Only the beginning."
Chapter 2
Michael K. Powers III walked the marble hallways of Capitol Hill.
His legislative aides, Niles and Marsten, tagged along, filling him
with tidbits of information he would need for his afternoon meetings.
Powers was walking at a brisk pace, but just outside his office
he was intercepted by Stephanie Gould, a reporter for New York's local
CBS affiliate. "Mr. Powers!" she called.
Powers' eyes lit up in instant recognition. "Stephanie," he said
charmingly. "What brings you to Washington?"
"You do, Mr. Congressman," said Gould. "What do you have to say
about the rumors that you are going to make the run?"
Powers shook his head. "I have said categorically that I no
longer do marathons. Stephanie, you should double check your sources."
She made a face, lightly shaking her short blonde hair.
"Congressman, don't play coy. I'm talking about the governor's race."
"Oh, that race." Powers brightened, but then looked puzzled for
a minute. "Me? Has someone been floating my name? Why, I'm
delighted, of course. And flattered."
"So you're going to run?"
Powers shrugged. "I have no plans to run. This is the first
I've heard of it."
"So you're saying you categorically will not run?"
"I'm saying that I haven't even thought about it, so I couldn't
possibly have an opinion," said Powers disarmingly. "Now if you'll
excuse me...." he entered his office.
"There's a Mr. Ross waiting for you in your inner office," said
his receptionist.
Powers nodded. Actually, there was no less than a Mr. Toles and
a Mr. Ross in his office.
Ross was a large man, tall and a little heavy but by no means
overweight. His white hair was thinning on top but he was not nearly
bald. His most prominent feature, of course, was the substantial white
beard that flowed from his chin. He clutched a small pipe, unlit, in
one of his hands.
"Oh, there you are," said Toles. "Mike, this is Willard Ross-"
"Willard the Wizard," said Powers, shaking his hand, the one
without the pipe. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Good things, I hope," said the man. He put the pipe in his
mouth.
"That's why you're here. Tell me what you can do for me."
Ross looked for the pipe, noticed it was in his mouth, took it
out, tapped, it, and considered. "Do you mind?" he said.
"Not at all."
"Many thanks." They waited while Ross lit the pipe, and started
puffing. It was only after two smoke rings had emerged that he
continued, looking satisfied.
"You didn't tell me what you're in the market for," said the
Wizard. "But word on the street is that you're running for governor."
"Go on," said Powers, nodding.
"You're going to need somebody to plan your campaign strategy.
Have you thought about what kind of ads you want? What kind of
polling? What about focus groups? How much are you going to campaign
upstate? Downstate? Do you know what kind of voters you are going to
target? Do you know how to spend your money? How do you plan to
fundraise effectively? How much will you agree to debate your
opponents? Under what terms? Is debating a good or bad campaign
strategy? How does one debate? How much should you expose yourself to
the media?"
"A lot of questions," Powers commented, grinning mirthlessly.
"And you know the answers?"
"To most of them, yes. Or I know the experts who do," said Ross.
He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I'd be lying if I said I could
pull it all off myself. But with the right support people, it can
happen. My record speaks for itself."
Powers turned a page in front of him. "Your record is
impressive. You've helped a lot of candidates come from behind in
races for governorships and for the US Senate. That's why you're here.
There's one thing, though, that I want to know about. It concerns the
last race you worked on, the one in Louisiana. You worked for a
candidate who had to deal with fliers that attacked his ethnicity. The
candidate won by a narrow margin, but there were rumors that these
fliers were generated by your candidate to generate sympathy for
himself. What do you have to say about this?"
Ross shrugged. "I had no knowledge or involvement in any such an
unethical scheme." He paused, still stroking his beard. "However, it
does seem that whoever I work for seems to win, by one means or
another."
"That's what I want to hear," said Powers, getting up. He shook
Ross's hand. "You're hired."
Ross's eyebrows shot up. "You're not interviewing anyone else?"
"I knew who I wanted from the start, Will."
"Call me Wizard."
Outside the Congressman's inner office sat Niles and Marsten,
Powers' legislative assistants.
"What'd you suppose they're talking about in there?" Niles
whispered conspiratorially.
"Don't know. Do you recognize that fellow he went in with?"
Niles shook his head.
Marsten looked around to see if anyone else was close by, and
then he said, "I think he's some sort of campaign strategist."
"Campaign strategist! Then he is running for governor!"
"Looks like it," said Marsten.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Niles picked it up, made a short
conversation, and put the phone down. "Gotta run," he said, getting up
quickly.
"What's up?"
"That Housing and Urban Development paper is ready. I'm going
down to pick it up. Listen, can you give the Congressman this report?"
Niles indicated a black looseleaf on his desk. "I've been working on
it for nearly a week, and I'm anxious to get it to the Congressman."
"Hey, I helped prepare it too, you know," said Marsten.
"You did the footnotes," said Niles, making a face. He dashed
out, his suit jacket in hand.
Nearly a minute later Congressman Powers emerged from his inner
office. He was shaking hands with Wizard Ross.
"-glad to have you aboard, Wizard," the Congressman was saying.
"Glad to be aboard," said the Wizard. "I'll be in touch."
When he had gone Marsten saw that his boss was smiling broadly.
Things must be going well.
"How are things going, Congressman?" said Marsten.
"On schedule," said Powers, looking very pleased with himself.
He looked on the desk. "What's that you've got there?"
"Oh, that's the HUD report you've been requesting. I just
finished it."
Powers picked it up, started browsing through it. "Interesting!
Looks like a good piece of work." He stopped, looking up. "I thought
Niles was working on it."
"He helped with some of the smaller stuff, like the footnotes. I
provided the general direction for the report," said Marsten.
But Powers was busy looking at the report. "Look at this, Ace.
Our district gets double the HUD money that neighboring districts do."
"Double? That's great!"
Powers gave him a look. "If we're getting double now without any
effort, we should be getting triple. It's raining government money out
there, and we're holding a small cup instead of a giant vat." Suddenly
his attention was focused on Marsten again. "Good work, John."
"Why, thank you, Congressman!"
Saturday was the day. All of Powers' senior staffers were
gathered in Power's home in suburban Virginia. At the moment, however,
all of them were upstairs, except for Niles and Marsten, who sat alone,
in the basement.
"I wonder why we're here," said Niles nervously. He eyed a
screen in the corner. Were they going to watch home movies?
"The Congressman said we were going to help on his campaign,"
said Marsten.
"Yeah, I know, but we usually don't get included in big things,"
said Niles.
"Maybe you don't," Marsten retorted.
"Oh? Then how come you're sitting down in the basement with me,
while the others are upstairs?"
At that moment Powers entered the basement. If he heard their
quarrel he gave no sign of it.
"Gentlemen, the time has come," he said, his tone grave.
Niles swallowed. Marsten gulped.
Powers ran his hand threw his full head of hair, and smiled.
"It's an open secret that I'm running for governor of New York, is it
not?"
Niles nodded.
"We've sort of gotten the idea, sir," said Marsten.
"Well, I am. But it still is a secret--sort of. If anyone asks
you, I'm officially undecided. You dig?"
They nodded, grinning at the Congressman's use of colloquialism.
"Now, I'm going to need a lot of help to pull this campaign off.
I expect to have a lot of volunteers, but I'll also need some...
special help."
Niles and Marsten exchanged glances. What was he talking about?
"Congressman?" said Marsten finally. Was the Congressman going
to ask them to do something illegal?
Powers chuckled, as if sensing their thoughts. "Gentlemen, ever
hear of 'opposition research'?"
The tension suddenly evaporated. The legislative assistants
breathed a short sigh of relief.
"I'm going to be running against at least two opponents in the
primary, and one in the general election. One of the components of a
good campaign is opposition research. Do you gentlemen feel up to it?"
They slowly nodded. "But why us, sir?" Niles wanted to know.
Powers grinned, putting an arm around him. "You're my best
researchers, Phil." He took a deep breath. The tricky part was coming
up. "But the sort of research I want you to do... well, I'll want you
to go out into the field. Get your hands dirty. I realize you're not
private investigators, but there will be some call for it. The things
you will do... will not be illegal, but could be embarrassing,
politically, if discovered. Kapesh?"
They nodded.
Powers also nodded, in approval. "You can come in now."
Another man stepped in from an adjoining room. He was a tall,
heavyset man who had a no-nonsense expression firmly etched on his
face.
"This," said Powers, waiving his hand, "is Bruce Mason. Bruce,
these are the young men I was telling you about. They will assist you
in your work during the campaign."
"Do they understand the condition?" He spoke in a deep, gravelly
voice.
"Yes, gentlemen, you are to follow Mr. Mason's instructions
implicitly. Some of them may seem unusual but Mr. Mason knows what he
is doing. Mr. Mason is a private investigator who comes highly
recommended to me, both for his integrity and his investigative
ability. Can you boys follow his instructions?"
"Yes sir," they dutifully said.
"That's good," said Powers. "As I said before, secrecy is
paramount. If word of your... activities got out, I would be forced to
deny any knowledge of it, of course. For political reasons. It could
only end up hurting your own careers. So, as I've said, secrecy is
paramount."
Seeing their gloomy expressions, Powers said, "Buck up! I'm not
asking you to blow up the UN. Every campaign does this sort of work.
Listen, when this is all over, I'm going to need some capable people to
help me run the executive branch in Albany. Those who do well in my
campaign are undoubtedly going to be up for some senior positions," he
said.
That caused their smiles to return. They were like puppies,
easily pleased... and easily tamed.
"Very good. I'm glad we've got that all over with. I'm going to
go upstairs and call everyone down. Bruce?" Mason followed him.
"What do you think that was all about?" Niles whispered. "What
do you think he's going to ask us to do?"
"Don't know," Marsten mouthed in a low tone. "But that Mason guy
gives me the creeps. He looks like a thug, not a P.I."
"The Congressman says everyone does this," said Niles, grasping
for straws. "It can't be anything illegal."
At that moment Powers returned, with others in tow. There was
Mason, of course, and Toles and Wizard Ross. Mason seemed to be
already acquainted with the others.
Wizard passed out velobound dossiers to everyone. They contained
pictures of prominent politicians along with an accompanying text.
"Wizard," said Powers. "Take it from here."
Wizard grinned, standing in front of them. "Welcome to the first
of our top secret meetings." He stooped down, pressing the PLAY button
on a tape player before him. The unmistakable theme from "Mission
Impossible" started to blare from the speakers. The Wizard spoke over
the music. "Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to stop
Michael's opponents, and get him elected to the governorship. If any
of you are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge-"
"Ross!" Powers barked. His brow furled disapprovingly.
"Oh? Ok." He quickly turned off the music. "The purpose of
this session is to study our opponents. It is they who stand between
us and victory. As best as we're able to determine, there will be two
opponents in the Democratic primary who will be opposing Mike. On the
Republican side there are also two individuals running for that
nomination, and one of them will face off against us after their
primary."
"Anyone with serious potential?" said Toles.
The Wizard held up a restraining finger. "I'll take up the
general election later. First things first: the Democratic primary
challengers." He clicked a switch, and the slidemaster next to him
hummed to life, displaying a picture of a short, balding scowling man
with unruly white hair jutting out from either side of his egg shaped
skull.
"This," said the Wizard, "is Milton Mandelbaum, Greedius
Politicus. For those of you who have been locked in a broom closet for
the past ten years and don't recognize him, he's the Speaker of the New
York State Assembly, and Michael's most serious opponent for the
primary."
The room was abuzz with comments. "Does he really look like
that?" "He looks like a shrew." "He looks like he ate a sour lemon."
"Or about twenty of them."
Wizard grinned. "Naturally I was not adverse to selecting less
than flattering portraits for this briefing. We're not here to cuddle
up to the man, you know. Gentlemen, as I've indicated, this is to be
our most dangerous primary opponent." He looked down at the dossier he
had prepared.
"Mandelbaum, Milton. 55 years old, graduated with a B.A. from
Yale University and subsequently a J.D. from Harvard Law. Your school,
I believe, Michael."
"I take no responsibility for him," Powers grinned.
"He graduated with honors from both, and even received Magna from
Harvard. That's quite hard to get, I'm told."
"I didn't think so," Powers commented.
"He subsequently went to work for the prestigious firm of Weil,
Gotshal, and Manges"
"Wrangle, Mangle and Gotcha," Powers muttered.
"Congressman?"
"Nothing," he said, with an innocent smile.
The Wizard continued. "He became one of their best commercial
litigators, and started making very heavy contributions to local
Democratic figures. Mandelbaum subsequently ran for the Assembly, won
with little opposition, and has served there for nearly twenty years.
When he came to the Assembly, he immediately became associated with the
block of liberal "tax and spend" Democratic assemblymen from New York
City who run the place. And when I mean liberal, I mean LIBERAL! He
would have even put you to shame, Mike, as he was rated the biggest
spender in the Assembly five years running. He never met an
appropriation that he didn't like. After a few years of setting such a
fine example for his fellow Assemblymen, Mandelbaum was appointed head
of the Assembly Ways and Means Committee, arguably the most powerful
committee in the assembly due to its tax writing power and jurisdiction
over finance and the budget."
"After the previous Speaker was forced to resign four years ago
under dubious circumstances, a fight broke out among the New York City
faction as to who they were going to nominate for speaker. The choice
was their's alone; the Republicans were (and are) a small minority, and
upstate Democrats were far less numerous and powerful than their New
York City counterparts."
"The New York City machine was split between Mandelbaum and Mike
Munez."
"M&M versus M&M," Powers muttered.
"What happened?" Toles asked.
"Munez found himself accused of every crime in the book,
everything spanning the range from jaywalking to child molestation,"
said the Wizard. "None of the accusations were ever linked to
Mandelbaum. It was a beautifully orchestrated campaign-"
"Why, did you work on it?" said Powers.
The Wizard gave a hurt look. "Munez eventually resigned in
disgrace. He was lucky he didn't go to jail."
"Why should he be? I'm sure Mandelbaum had nothing personal
against him," said Powers philosophically. "One position, two
applicants, one shoved to the side, the other wins."
"That's a very bloodless analysis, Congressman," said Wizard
Ross. "In any event, Mandelbaum manages the Assembly like a small
tyranny. He runs a tight ship, and dissidents are made to walk the
plank-"
"Let me guess: committee chairmen who oppose him quickly lose
their posts," said Powers.
Wizard nodded. "And more. Then they subsequently find that in
their supposedly safe districts they have to face a well-financed
challenger in their primaries. Several of the dissident incumbents
have lost. The rest have gotten the message."
"Nice fellow," Toles commented. "Does he eat pirranahs for
breakfast?"
"There must be something nice about the fellow," Powers argued,
half facetiously.
"I've only been describing him as a politician. Personally, he's
said to be quite amiable, quite friendly," said the Wizard. He paused
a minute, as if he had said something funny. "No, actually, I'm just
joking. Everyone hates him. He doesn't seem to have any real friends.
He's very cutting and to the quick, a person who really enjoys
administering a tongue lashing, especially in front of the audience. In
other words, he's a sorryful son of a bitch."
"I can't wait for the debate."
Wizard ignored him. "He's very close to the special interests--
the big labor unions, mostly. He makes sure their interests are
satisfied, and in turn they bring out the support for him. As I've
already indicated he's been the biggest spender in state government in
the past five years, and that's saying something, even for state
government. Anything or anyone he doesn't like he regulates to death,
while anyone on his favorites list gets nifty tax breaks. He is brutal
in knocking out his enemies and generous in rewarding his friends, and
has built up a strong base. As a result we are facing an opponent who
is not only at least as well financed as we are, but one who had the
manpower of many of the unions to get the vote out."
This Powers knew. "What's the consensus about the frontrunner?"
Wizard took a deep breath. This was a delicate issue. "It's
Mandelbaum. Hands down. He has the financing, the big guns behind
him, everything. He's scared off just about every other serious
challenger."
Powers nodded. "And my chances?"
Wizard took another breath. "I did a straw poll--my own,
unscientific, with the help of two of my aides."
"And?"
"Most voters had no idea who either of you were, much less who
they were going to vote for," said the Wizard.
"So we start on even ground," Powers muttered. "Recommendation?"
"Strike first, strike hard, strike early, strike often," said the
Wizard simply.
"That's my instincts too," said Powers.
"He's going to try to get himself nominated at the state
convention. That won't prevent the primary from occurring, but it will
make himself the presumptive nominee," said the Wizard. "If we can't
get ourselves nominated, we must, and I repeat we must at the least
prevent him--or anyone--from being nominated at that convention. I
must warn you that he will in all probability try to destroy you, Mike,
personally and professionally. Neither side is going to take any
prisoners here."
"Very well," said Powers flatly. "Next."
"And now, on to a lighter subject," said the Wizard, flipping
through the dossier as he clicked the next slide forward. "State
Attorney General Alton J. Sampleton." The picture on the screen was of
a short, smiling man with nearly a full head of curly brown hair.
"It's intriguing that we have a situation where the Attorney General of
New York is running for the governorship, and that no one is taking him
seriously, although whether that's a measure of Mandelbaum's strength,
or Sampleton's weakness, I'm not sure."
"Alton J. Sampleton. Democrat. 44 years of age. A graduate of
Oberlin college with a degree in the liberal arts. Embarked on not one
but two tours of duty in the Peace Corp, one in Papua New Guinea, one
in the Seychelles-"
"Say what?" said Toles.
"An island chain, in the south Pacific, I think," said the
Wizard.
"This guy actually chose to spend years of his life on a little
island?" said Toles.
"Beats the hell out of me too," Wizard Ross admitted. "But wait,
there's more. He comes back, gets a law degree from Columbia-again,
your school, Michael."
"Undergraduate," said Powers.
"Yes, well, while Mr. Mandelbaum was earning megabucks at Wrangle
and Mangle--I know their nickname too!--Mr. Sampleton was working for
legal services for the poor."
"Including himself?" Toles sneered, familiar with the abysmal
public service salaries.
"He also worked for a number of other charities, including the
National Food Bank, Helping Hand, Telecommunications for the Poor-"
"Wait! Back up," said Powers. "What was that last one?"
Wizard kept a straight face. "He worked for an advocacy
organization, one that lobbied state and local governments to provide
adequate telecommunications for the disadvantaged."
"What does that mean? Modems for the poor? Ham radios in
welfare hotels?"
"I'm not really certain," said the Wizard carefully. "I imagine
some of it was things along those lines. Mr. Sampleton has
consistently expressed concern that the so-called information
superhighway will not have any "express ramps" for the poor. And if
they're left out, they may not be able to compete in the 21st century
marketplace."
"He wants cable TV and HBO for the slums," said Powers, with a
starry look in his eyes. "I think both we and the general public have
seriously overestimated his sanity."
"Well, keep in mind that Telecom for the Poor is only one group
he's worked with, and the rest have been quite legit," said the Wizard.
"But Sampleton's philanthropic odd-ball reputation has earned him a
number of colorful names, some of which you see listed before you on
page twelve of the report: Simpleton, Goody Two Shoes, The Bleeding
Heart, The Bleeder, Attorney General Moonbeam, Mush Head-"
"Stop!" said Powers. "That's it. You've hit on his name."
"Mush Head?"
"Perfect," said Powers, giving the thumbs up sign. "You may
continue."
"He ran for a seat on the New York City council, and won it by a
close margin, as least the first time. Then he quickly ran and won a
race for the Assembly, where he immediately sponsored a number of do-
gooder bills. He was the prime force, for example, behind the "Food
Envelope" program-"
"Food envelope? I'm not familiar with that," said Toles.
"It was a trial project, phased out shortly after it began," said
Wizard Ross. "Sampleton was trying to capitalize on the popularity of
the food stamp program. So he said that in addition to giving food
stamps, the government should be giving out food envelopes--that is,
large manilla envelopes filled with food."
"So what happened? Why was it cancelled?"
"Have you ever tried to stuff a tomato into a manilla envelope?"
asked the Wizard. "Anyway, he also was on this telecommunications kick
again. He sponsored a program to give vouchers to the poor that could
be used to invest in modems and satellite dishes and stuff like that.
After six years of quietly going mad in the Assembly, Sampleton decided
to run for A.G. The frontrunner was Carnes-"
"Oooh, Carnes," said Powers.
"Who subsequently died during the election campaign, leaving
Sampleton the winner simply by virtue of the fact that he was the only
candidate remaining with a pulse," said the Wizard.
"Once in office his madness went into remission, and he's been
doing an ordinary if undistinguished job."
"Surprising," Powers commented.
"He still suffers from his earlier flaky reputation," said the
Wizard. "Once we get past Mandelbaum, he won't be any serious threat.
His greatest strength, of course, is that he campaigns as Mr. Clean.
And, as far as we've been able to discern, he is. Clean, that is. But
as I've just said, I think Mr. Sampleton will be the least of our
worries."
Powers nodded his approval. "Next."
"A moment." Wizard Ross took a deep drink of water. "Talking is
thirsty work. Ok, next... next we have the Republicans. The
Republican primary is shaping up to be almost as much of a dirty fight
as the Democratic primary will be. The leading candidate is a fellow
named William Stratford."
The slide machine clinked, and a grizzled, white-haired middle
aged man appeared on the screen.
"If I had to describe Billy in one word, it would be rich.
Filthy, stinking rich. He was born into wealth. He has a mansion, a
yacht, summer homes (plural), horses, cars, servants... everything. He
is married to the former Lady Janet McCulky of-"
"Lady McCulky?" said Powers. "What did he do, marry Princess
Di?"
"He has a B.A. and a MBA from Harvard... again your school,
Congressman."
"Law school," Powers harrumphed. "He probably bought his way in.
Don't we have a Stratford Hall there?" He paused. "What else?"
"Not much. He's been a regular contributor to the Republicans,
but we don't know much about his views, as he's never run for anything
before. While he's not known for the ruthlessness of Mandelbaum he
does have money, a ton of it, and cannot be easily discounted. He's
probably going to be able to win the Republican primary."
"You say probably."
"The other candidate is far out of the mainstream." The viewer
clicked and the picture of a young man appeared on the screen.
"William Dallen, Congressman from Duchess County."
Powers groaned. "I know this one. Another nut."
"But a nut of an altogether different sort," corrected the
Wizard. "This is no bleeder, ala Sampleton. This guy is a committed
conservative." He ticked off issue positions on his fingers. "Says he
wants to cut taxes by a third. Wants to fire government bureaucrats.
He wants to bring back the gold standard-"
"The gold standard! What has he been smoking?" Toles wanted to
know.
"He wants full school choice. He wants an amendment to the
constitution making long term debt illegal. And he wants to kick the
UN out of New York."
A gleam appeared in Powers' eyes. "He sounds like he'd be the
ideal candidate--to run against."
"My thinking exactly," said the Wizard. "What a pity we cannot
influence the Republican primary."
"Yes, a pity," said Powers quietly. "He seems far the better of
the two Bills."
"And that's it," said Wizard Ross.
"Yes, that is it. This is what our quick, preliminary research
has turned up. Our number one task is to flesh this information out,"
said the Wizard, pointing to Niles and Marsten, who had been silent the
entire time. "It is my understanding that these gentlemen are to be
our lead researchers. Men, I command you to seek out any dirt, however
small or insignificant you may think, on any of these men. Your main
focus for now should be on Mandelbaum, because if we don't get past
him, we won't have anything else to worry about."
"And while we're researching Mandelbaum?" said Niles.
"We'll be running the campaign," said the Wizard smoothly. "I
already have worked over a preliminary list of campaign appearances,
fundraisers, and strategy meetings we are going to need to have in the
upcoming weeks."
Powers nodded his approval. "Then let us begin."
Niles returned home to his small apartment, just four blocks east
of Capitol Hill. What a difference a few blocks made! The grandeur of
the lawns and museums of the Washington Mall was replaced by the
grundge of the decayed buildings and littered streets in a borderline
area next to the largest civilian war zone in the country--the
southeastern corner of Washington D.C., just blocks from Capitol Hill.
Army doctors worked in local emergency rooms to give them experience in
dealing with gun shot wounds. The sounds of sirens and gunfire were as
commonly heard as the sounds of garbage trucks and buses--probably more
common, in fact, due to the abysmal state of social services in the
community. It was a sad testimony to the fact that the Rich lived in
their own, neatly manicured neighborhoods, while allowing the poor to
die everyday in their own segregated areas. Why didn't the government
get off its back and inject some real social services into the
community? Niles shook his head sadly as he headed home.
Niles did not live in this war zone but neither did he live very
far from it. Niles resided in an old, walkup pre-war tenement made of
crumbling brick and filled to capacity with roaches and every other
variety of bugs. He had large ant traps laid everywhere, especially in
a circle around his bed.
He would have liked to live in a better neighborhood, but his job
as a legislative assistant simply didn't pay very much. For now, there
was no alternative.
But when he got in he saw that Marie was there. Good. She gave
him a brief kiss. "How was it?"
Marie Monstar was pursuing a graduate degree in sociology at
Georgetown. A slim, attractive young woman in her mid 20's, she had a
sharp mind and an even sharper social conscience. She had met Niles at
a school party nearly a year ago, and they had immediately clicked.
They both had the same interests, the same goals: to improve society,
he through politics, she through academic research. Six months later
she had moved in with him, although they still had not talked about
marriage.
"How was it?" said Niles, repeating her question. He paused.
"I'm not sure how to descibe it."
"Is he or isn't he?"
Niles paused again. He had taken a vow not to tell anyone
outside the campaign that Powers was running for governor. "He is,"
said Niles quickly. "But don't tell anyone. And me and Marsten are
going to be working on the campaign. He promised us positions in
Albany if things go well."
Marie immediately lept up and hugged him. "Philip, that's
great!" she said. Then she saw his dazed reaction. "What's wrong?"
"It's the post that I've been assigned that bothers me," Niles
grimaced.
"What post?"
"He wants me to do opposition research."
"So?" Marie looked puzzled. "What's wrong with that?"
Niles' frown only grew deeper. "Nothing. I mean, you had to be
there, to see it. I'm going to be working under this thuggish looking
guy who the Congressman says is a private investigator."
"A private investigator?" Marie blinked. "What do you mean,
'says'?"
"I'm not sure," said Niles. "He doesn't look like a private eye
to me. I get a bad feeling about him."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Well... no...."
"Then give it a chance. Don't judge people on appearances," said
Marie. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were guilty of
lookism."
"Prejudging people based on appearances," said Niles dully.
"Yeah, but when I think of opposition research, I think of people,
sitting in libraries, going over papers... why do we need a private
investigator? We're not going to peek into people's bedrooms!"
"I don't know," said Marie. "Don't let it trouble you for now."
"I mean, the Congressman said that we weren't going to do
anything illegal," said Niles.
"There, you see?" said Marie. She gave Niles another kiss.
"What was that for?"
"You've hitched yourself to a rising star, Philip. You're going
to go very high, very quickly. That I do predict," she said, staring
at him admiringly.
"Maybe," said Niles. "But I still have a feeling that Mason
spells trouble."
Powers caught an early shuttle back home. One of the advantages
of being a Congressman from New York was not having to tolerate a long
commute. Representatives from California had to travel six or seven
hours in a cramped airplane to make their trip home, and daily
shuttling back and forth from the West Coast was simply an
impossibility. Why would anyone want to be a Congressman from a
distant state?
The limo service met Powers promptly when he emerged from
LaGuardia. Powers looked up at the dark clouds, and smelled rain in
the air. This was New York in the spring. But it was home. Powers
got into the car, and they started off. The car got stuck in traffic,
of course, but Powers spent the time productively, familiarizing
himself with some of the briefings for the next day. He didn't even
notice it when the limo snaked into the familiar steel canyons of
Lexington Avenue, before turning into the exclusive part of Park
Avenue, in the East 60's. This was the most expensive residential land
space in the world, square foot for square foot. For the price of
Powers' penthouse condo he could easily have purchased a medium sized
mansion in Connecticut.
When Powers got home he gave Erin the obligatory hug and made his
way to the outside patio, carrying a drink. It was beginning to get
dark now and the overcast sky was dimly fading. Powers could see the
bright lights gleaming from midtown. There was one shiny area in the
middle of it all which Powers recognized as the skating rink at
Rockefeller center. There would be no skating in April, of course.
Hmmm.... He wondered if Rockefeller Center would be a good place to
have a fundraiser. Could he pull the proper strings? Emmet Trumbull
was said to be on close terms with the board of trustees....
He was distracted from all these thoughts by a piercing shriek.
"Daddy!"
He knew who that was! Powers put down his Scotch, and lifted his
son up. "What's happening, my little man!"
The boy babbled on inconsequentially for several minutes, talking
about his friends, his aptitude with sports, and his favorite
television program, GI Joe. Bobby loved GI Joe, and would act out the
violent machinations of the main characters. But Powers sensed that
Bobby was eschewing a certain topic, one which seemed to be a tender
subject.
"And how is school?"
Bobby made a face.
"Well?"
Bobby continued to frown. "I hate it."
"And why is that?"
"It's boring. The teachers make you do stupid stuff." He looked
up at Powers, as if challenging him to argue otherwise.
But Powers just nodded sagely. "Yes, it is stupid stuff."
"Huh?" The child's eyebrows went up.
"School is garbage. Your teachers are garbage. They are not
worthy of you."
"Does that mean... I don't have to go to school?"
Powers shook his head.
"I didn't think so." The boy was obviously crestfallen.
"Bobby, you must learn that we often have to do stupid things in
life in order to succeed."
"You don't!"
"I don't? I sit around all day, in an uncomfortable suit wearing
a long piece of cloth that people in the middle ages used to wipe their
mouths with... a tie, Bobby, a tie.... and I sit in boring hearings
and listen to idiots drowning on all day."
"But you don't have to take orders! Not from stupid people!"
"Of course I do. Bobby, have I told you about the Speaker of the
House?"
Bobby nodded. "Dunkelhead?"
Powers laughed. "No, Dumbellhead." The Speaker had been a
former weightlifter in his earlier years. "I have to listen to
Dumbellhead, and do the stupid things he tells me."
"Everything he tells you?"
Powers thought a moment. "All right, not everything. But that's
because I have power. Do you want power?"
"I am Powers!"
"No, you know what I mean. Do you want power?"
The child nodded.
"Then you have to work hard in school."
"But I can't!"
"What's wrong?" Powers asked.
He learned very quickly that Bobby was not doing well in school.
It was obvious that the boy had ability, but things just weren't
working well for him. It was the fault of the teachers, obviously.
"Tell you what, my boy," he said. "Let me see what I can do to
help." He didn't elaborate, but the wheels in his mind immediately
were set in motion.
Later that evening, Powers, in a more relaxed mood, sat in front
of his PC screen. He was playing an advanced version of tackle
football. The CPU was hooked up to a big screen TV which was
surrounded by large stereo speakers. Powers guided his Thrustmaster
joystick carefully. On the screen Powers' character, a large beefy
tackle, watched as the down began.
"Hut one... hut two... hut three... hut!"
The ball was quickly tossed to someone on the right, close to
Powers. He moved to intercept, hearing both the roar of the crowds and
the rapid squish squish of the grass underneath the tipped points of
his spiked athletic shoes.
He gained quickly on his opposing number, and the ball carrier,
looking back with fear in his eyes, darted left and then right. But
Powers tilted the joystick minutely but rapidly each time, taking care
not to overshoot the target. In a split second of time he came within
closing distance of the target, which glowed red. Powers
simultaneously pressed hard on two buttons on the joystick.
There was a large, gruff, tackling sound, and Powers saw his
opponent crash to the ground, making a solid ooof! as he hit the turf.
The crowds went wild.
"Sometimes I think you missed your true calling," said a voice
behind him.
Powers clicked for an instant replay.
"What can I do for you, Erin?"
"What can I do for you, Erin?" she mimicked. "You make me sound
like one of your constituents."
She reached over to give him a kiss. He complied, but quickly
turned back to his screen.
"What fascinates you so much about your toys?"
"This," said Powers, watching the tackle again in slow motion,
"is no toy. This is a powerful 886 CPU 400 megahertz local bus ram
accelerated bitpatterned enhanced computational array system," said
Powers. "This little device is more powerful than any of the largest
mainframes from the 1970's."
"And you use it all for games."
Powers clicked for a new down. "And why not?"
"And why always a game of violence?"
The ball flew, and fumbled. Powers clicked for another down.
"It's not the violence, my dear. It's the excitement from the
competition."
Erin sighed. "Survival of the fittest. Only the best
surviving."
"Precisely."
"But isn't there more to life than that?"
"Such as?"
"Well, since I have your attention... there's a vote coming up on
the environmental fund reauthorization, and the Greenleaf fund is
proposing a moratorium on industrial development-"
"Erin!" That was the last thing that Powers wanted to hear
about. Why was Erin always harping on the birds and other wild
critters? What about people? Why didn't she ever care about people?
Powers had been accused of callously favoring special interest groups,
but at least his special interest groups were composed of people! When
was the last time a chipmunk made a charitable donation to his
campaign?
"You promised you would listen!"
"I will... but not tonight. Catch me later this week. I
promise." Listening to the plight of the critters always gave him a
headache.
Erin looked disappointed. "You mean it?"
"I promise," Powers repeated. "Hey, I'm a dedicated public
servant. Would I lie?"
The next day Powers was back in Washington. The House was
debating changes in the structure of the Veterans Administration, but
that alone would not have persuaded Powers to fly back so soon. No, he
had an important meeting, with the chairman of the Public Works and
Transportation Committee.
Fred Talmidge was a typical Congressman. He come to this august
body some twenty odd years earlier. His obedience to the leadership
had earned him a post on key committees, including Public Works and
Transportation. He had worked diligently for years, attending
committee hearings, meeting with constituents, voting as the leadership
told him to, and accepting contributions from worthy causes. He was
routinely reelected from his salamander shaped district, which the
state assembly ratified while he had been chairman of the state
assembly redistricting committee, and Talmidge had little concerns
about having his terms limited.
He quickly set about to accumulate power, first as the head of a
subcommittee and then, four years ago, as head of the Public Works and
Transportation Committee. Public Works wasn't like foreign affairs, or
defense, or judiciary; it rarely, if ever, made its way into the news.
After all, the mundane appropriation of funds rarely attracted the
public's interest; well, at least it didn't attract the general
public's interest. People wanted to read about foreign affairs with
Russia, or judgeship nominations, or battles over a $5,000 grant for
obscene art; hardly anyone was interested in the billions of dollars
spent annually on worthy "demonstration" projects--bridges, roads, dams
and the like.
Fred Talmidge was a committee chairman and he was quite
comfortable, having reached what he judged to be the top of his
profession. Now he had the power; now other congressmen came to him to
humbly ask for favors; now they did his bidding.
And Michael Powers knew that. Therefore it was with a subdued
attitude that he approached Talmidge, a role that Powers found
thoroughly unpleasant.
They were at Crestan's, one of the most well-known beltway
powerlunch cafes inside the beltway. Politicians and lobbyists sitting
at other tables frequently recognized each other; while prestigious,
this was a place for public meetings only.
Talmidge yawned as he sat opposite Powers. This is what he liked
best about being a politician: having others take him out to lunch.
He knew why Powers had brought him here, of course; and, while Talmidge
was not particularly inclined to help Powers, he was loath to pass up
the opportunity to have a free meal. For one thing, the shrimp was
reputed to be very good here.
Powers cut into his souffle. "So how's Betty? The kids?"
"Fine," said Talmidge, smiling genially. He doubted that Powers
even knew the names of his children, although, on second thought,
perhaps he did; Powers was reputed to have an excellent staff who were
thorough briefers.
"That was a masterful piece of work on the Transport
Authorization Bill," Powers remarked.
"Thanks," said Talmidge. Masterful it was indeed. The bill had
been so laden down with special favors to the members that there had
been some doubt as to whether it would get passed. But Talmidge knew
where the bodies were buried, and he also knew how to twist the
appropriate arms. Passage of legislation he sponsored was particularly
important to him, for prestige purposes; but, more importantly, these
bills delivered big construction projects in his district, which
pleased his constituents. Well, the important constituents.
"I hear you got a lot of flack about the bridge," said Powers
quietly. "If I may say so, you handled that well."
"Thanks," said Talmidge, biting into his shrimp. The seafood
here really was very good, just as he had remembered it.
Powers had been referring to a $40 million dollar appropriation
for a medium sized bridge that was to connect a small off-shore island
with Talmidge's coastal California district. The only problem was that
there were only some forty odd inhabitants of the island. Opponents
has seized on that fact and started advertising that the bridge was "a
million dollars per person", which of course was entirely unfair.
Talmidge had characterized it as an investment, to generally reinforce
the crumbling infrastructure of roads and bridges in southern
California.
He had made the argument with a straight face, and the bill had
passed. But Talmidge's argument in favor of the bill was hardly
instrumental in its passage; if Talmidge had said that he needed the
bridge to give pidgeons a place to roost on, it still would have
passed. The argument, only profferred for media consumption, was
unimportant; what was important was that Talmidge had the chits, the
backroom votes. If anyone voted against his project Talmidge would
remember, and never again would even the tiniest of demonstration
projects grace his enemies' districts. After all, they were taking a
stand against pork, so they said; so why then would they want any in
their own districts?
Talmidge changed the subject. "And what's new with you?
Anything I should know about?"
Powers paused, considering what to say. "Nothing much," he said,
shrugging.
"There are some people who say that you're going to run for
Governor of New York."
Powers shrugged. "Idle rumors."
"Any truth to them?"
Powers shrugged again. "I haven't made up my mind."
"To busy concentrating on House work, eh? I understand."
They ate their respective meals for a moment. Then Powers said,
"There is one thing."
"Go on," said Talmidge, already knowing what it was about.
"The Transportation Modernization Act."
"A monorail for every upstate New York farmer," said Talmidge.
But he had to smile, because it reminded him of a certain bridge.
Powers looked hurt. "I wouldn't have expected that, not from
you. Remember that subway you had built in L.A. that went nowhere?"
For a moment Talmidge's expression darkened, and Powers thought
he was going to take his comment in a bad way. But then Talmidge just
chuckled good naturedly. That project had been even more audacious
than the bridge. Congressmen from neighboring districts had wanted
funding to build a subway in L.A. As it turned out, that line of the
subway linked the suburbs to... well, to other parts of the suburbs;
nowhere was the downtown included in the loop. As a result few (if
any) people actually used the subway. Talmidge had supported the
project because contractors in his district supported the project; he
never inquired too closely about the specifics. Maybe he should have.
But he had been very busy, at the time. "We got mass transit for L.A.,
didn't we?"
He stressed the "we". If memory served, Powers had voted for
that too.
Powers nodded. "And that's all I'm asking for New York."
Talmidge slowly nodded as well. "Ok. Raise it in the next
session, and-"
"Fred, I need it now."
Talmidge looked thoughtful. "I see."
"It's passed the subcommittee. Can't you help?"
Talmidge made a sorrowful face. "I'm sorry, Michael. I've got
legislation from four subcommittees being thrown up at me, plus the
Transportation reauthorizations that we still have to get to before the
end of the session."
"The markup and vote won't take-"
"It will take. It will distract from what we really have to get
done."
"Perhaps a contribution-"
Talmidge lowered his voice. "A contribution to my campaign is
always welcome, Michael. I never know when I might have a tough
reelection bid. But I still feel constrained to tell you that my
answer would not change."
Powers sighed. This pig had agreed to be taken out to lunch, and
yet he had known all along that he wasn't going to help. Powers
analyzed the situation quickly. It was not that Talmidge was being
hostile; he had helped Powers, in minor ways, in the past. But he
obviously had bigger fish to fry, projects from the big boys that had
to get through before the end of the session.
Powers immediately switched tactics as soon as that conclusion
had sunk in. There was no need to make an enemy here. "Well, all I
can do is ask," he said. He gave a sheepish smile. "Do me a favor;
don't answer now. Give it some thought, and if the situation changes
and an opportunity arises to bring the bill up, will you let me know?"
Talmidge couldn't believe his ears. Powers seemed to be giving
in too easily. But he nodded with a friendly smile. "Of course, Mike.
I'm glad you're so quick to be reasonable about this."
"I'm a reasonable kind of guy," said Powers genially.
When he was governor of New York he wouldn't have to take this
kind of crap. He would squash fools like Talmidge like a bug. Like a
bug!
Revenge could come at a later time. The question for now was,
what was he going to do now?
The next day Powers had a visitor to his Washington office. A
rather special visitor.
Powers was on the phone with another Congressman, trying to swing
support on his precious transportation bill. Then his secretary buzzed
him on his other line.
"Hold a minute Bill, will you please?" he said, switching lines.
"Yes?"
"Sigfried Bos," said his secretary.
"Tell him I'll call him back."
"He's here, in your outer office."
Powers' eyebrows immediately went up. "Send him in."
He punched up the other line just as his inner door opened.
"Bill, have to call you back, bye." he said rapidly. Then, to the
newcomer, "Sigfried! What a pleasant surprise. The door, please."
The door close. The visitor, a short, balding man in a three
piece suit, took a chair. "Nice office you got here."
"First time, isn't it," said Powers idly. Then, "What brings you
to Washington?"
"I heard some things about the light rail project that has caused
me concern." Sigfried spoke in a low, gravely voice, his dark eyes
burrowing into Powers'.
"Such as?"
"That it ain't coming up to full committee this year."
Powers looked concerned. Could Sigfried have a bug in his
office? It wasn't an idle thought. Ever since he had met Sigfried
Bos, four campaigns ago, it had become obvious that there was little
that this man wasn't capable of. He was the owner of the second
largest construction company in the state of New York, worked hand in
glove with the biggest construction unions in the state, and received a
large piece of the project contracts that Powers got for New York. In
return Sigfried had been a generous contributor to his campaign, and
had also provided services of an... ancillary nature.
"There's no need for concern, Sigfried."
"So when's it coming up for a vote?" he asked bluntly.
Sigfried was shrewd, very shrewd. Powers sighed, and gave a sad
smile. "I did talk to Talmidge, and he blew me off."
"So? Where does that leave us?"
"There will be a vote on it before the August recess," said
Powers firmly.
"How can you say that? What do you know that I don't?" said
Sigfried.
Powers hardened his tone. Talmidge he would take this from.
Sigfried he wouldn't. "What I know is that by this time next year I
will be the governor of New York, with the power to deliver a multiple
of what I've been delivering for the past ten years."
Sigfried nodded. "And how are you going to get elected without
the light rail project?"
"If I have to make do without it, I will. But don't count me out
yet, Sigfried. I'll get the bill to pass."
"How?"
Powers put his arm around Sigfried, guiding him out of the
office. "Just have faith in the legislative process."
Sigfried looked cynically at him.
"Listen, are you going to be in town for a while? Try the
Smithsonian. Air and Space Museum. Great fun. And catch the National
Zoo, while you're at it."
Sigfried looked at him. "Am I going to be hearing from you?"
"Sooner than you think." He guided Sigfried out the door and
into the hallway, and at that point he lowered his voice. "I'm going
to be needing your resources for this campaign... all your resources...
if you know what I mean."
Sigfried nodded. "I heard you had him pay you a visit. All
right. He's yours. But you better deliver."
"I will," said Powers, smiling as he saw him off. He quickly
returned to his office, being careful not to let any concern show on
his face.
In his inner office, as if by magic, were the Wizard and Toles.
"I take it you saw what transpired," said Powers calmly, as the
Wizard closed the door behind him.
"A visit by Siggy," said Toles.
"An important contributor?" said Wizard Ross, with a small smile.
Powers gave a small nod. Ross, unlike Toles, was a new member of
his inner circle. But could he be trusted? He would have to be, at
least for now. If he proved loyal, fine. If not... Powers had a way
of dealing with traitors.
"Mr. Bos is an important contributor to my campaign," he said
simply.
"Who has more than a charitable interest in seeing this light
rail go through," the Wizard noted astutely.
Powers nodded.
Toles shook his head. "I've never seen him come down to
Washington before, to the offices. He must be really worried about the
project."
"He has reason to be," said Powers. "Talmidge gave me the thumbs
down, as you know."
"I don't see how we can turn this," said Toles. "If we try to
turn the other members of the committee-"
"They won't cross the chairman lightly," Powers said.
"What do you intend to do?" said the Wizard. His specialty,
after all, was campaigning, not the legislative process.
Powers smiled. "I'm going to go over his head."
"To the Speaker?" Toles was obviously confused.
"To his constituents?" The image of Powers appealing to
Talmidges' Californian voters to help him pass his pork barrel project
for New York was rather bizarre, to say the least.
"To his most important constituent," Powers elaborated.
"Oh? Ohhhhh," said Toles, knowingly.
"What are we doing here?" said Niles.
"Research, Phil," said Marsten. He and Niles were sitting on the
fifth floor of the Library of Congress, with their chairs facing the
elevators.
"Don't play dumb," said Niles. "Mr. Toles told us to bring our
work here. And to sit facing the elevators. And to call him when she
comes. Why are we doing this?"
"Maybe the boss wants us to keep tabs on what the committee staff
is doing," said Marsten.
"How are we keeping tabs on the committee staff by watching the
staff director of the Public Works and Transportation Committee come to
the library? Are we supposed to follow her and see what books she
draws on?"
"Shhh, keep your voice down," said Marsten. "How am I supposed
to know? I was told the same thing you were. No why's, only what's."
"And how do we even know she'll show up here, today? On this
particular floor?" This whole assignment had Niles irritated. This
wasn't the job for a legislative assistant.
"Mr. Toles says that she frequently comes here. Likes libraries,
or something... Whoa, there she is now!"
A young lady in her mid 30's stepped out of an elevator and made
her way to one of the terminals. Marsten immediately walked to one of
the wall phones, and made a discrete call.
"We're supposed to clear out," said Marsten, returning.
"What? That's it?"
"Come on."
The young woman sat at the terminal for several minutes, typing
in her searches. After a while she printed her information, got up,
and went over to one of the shelves.
She looked over the call numbers, browsing rapidly from left to
right... someone was blocking her view. Looking up, she saw...
"Congressman Powers!" said the young lady.
"You look surprised to see me, Michele. Is something wrong?"
Her name was Michele Conner. She had graduated magna cum laude
from the University of California, Berkeley with a B.A. in political
science, and had immediately landed a job as a legislative assistant in
the office of her local congressman. She had worked her way up from
licking envelopes and answering calls to briefing her boss on
substantive issues, especially in the area of the environment and
health issues.
Unfortunately, her congressman had been one of the unlucky 2.5%
who had been defeated in his bid for reelection that year, and Conner
went scrambling for a new job. She realized she had been lucky to get
a job on Public Works and Transportation, especially since she knew
very little about either subject, except what she had read in the
newspapers--her focus in school and in her work for the congressman
having been on the Clean Air Act and OSHA laws. But this was before
the Clean Air Act drove the price of electricity sky-high. Suddenly
people were less interested in stopping acid rain, even if it did save
a few fish living in isolated lakes, and the Clean Air movement went
out of vogue for a few years
Conner had started reading up on transportation when she realized
that virtually no one was against it and it would always be a growth
industry. She mastered the subject very quickly and shortly thereafter
became an expert in the field. And then she attracted the attention of
Chairman Talmidge. Impressed by her skill, he had come to depend on
her more and more over the course of the past four years, and two years
ago he made her staff director, when the previous staff director had
taken a position with the Speaker's office.
Conner and Talmidge were reputed to be... close, and it seemed
clear that at least on technical matters he was inclined to do as she
advised.
Conner blinked. "I can't help but be surprised, Congressman. I
rarely see Members in the library."
"This is the Library of Congress, isn't it? I am a member of
Congress, aren't I? Seems only natural to me," said Powers, hefting a
book.
"What are you reading?" She looked at the spine. "An historical
econometric analysis of the efficiency of turbine steam engines versus
coal burners. Very pertinent."
"A bit of light reading," said Powers, giving a smile with all
his teeth. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," she sighed. "The Congressman's got me doing historical
research as well. Wants me to look into some of the dams that've been
built with federal money."
"What for?"
"He's got an idea for some new projects, but there's some doubt
about the worthiness. He wants to see if there's some precedent that
can back him up."
"Was this really his idea?" said Powers, smiling slyly.
"What do you mean?"
Powers slowly put his hand on hers. "I think he wants to build
the dams, all right, but I think this research project was your idea."
She didn't draw back from his touch, but neither did she overtly
respond. "Really?" she said, a little weakly.
Powers gave a broad smile, letting his hand play over hers.
"You're the brains behind most of this legislation. You're a very
interesting person." He reached up closer, to whisper in her ear.
"Very interesting. I'd like to find out more about you."
The following day Powers sat in his office, the Wizard and Toles
at his side. He sat watching his TV screen, which was keyed into CSPAN
as he conversed on the phone.
"Bob? Are you ready? Good," said Powers. He looked over at
Wizard Ross, who gave a thumbs up sign. "Green for go." And he hung
up.
All eyes turned to the television receiver in the corner. The
announcer said, "As part of our Road to the State House series, we now
bring you live coverage from the Committee to elect Michael Powers
Governor of New York."
"We should have thought of a better name," Powers grimaced.
"Shh!" said Toles.
"You're telling me to shush?" said Powers, amazed.
"-I want to introduce myself, my name is Bob Pringle." The scene
was an august conference room in the Roosevelt Hotel. A thin, middle
aged man sat behind a table, flanked by several other people who stood
behind a banner reading "Michael Powers for Governor". A small
audience with signs reading "People for Powers" obediently stood to one
side.
"We've called this meeting to announce the formation of a
committee to convince Congressman Powers to run for Governor of New
York. We think that New York needs new leadership, and his enormous
contribution to the citizens-"
"He's a good speaker," Wizard Ross commented. "We should use him
as a surrogate, on the campaign." He tapped his pipe a bit, discretely
emptying some flakes on the carpet, and then put the stem in his mouth.
"-lead New York to new horizons, and Michael Powers is that man.
We hope that we can convince him to run. Now I will be available for
questions."
"A short text," Powers commented.
"I wrote it myself," said the Wizard. "Here we can afford to be
short, and to the point. He's not running for office, you are."
"Point well taken."
The press was there in force, making Powers confident that the
event would be picked up in the evening news. The first question was
from Stephanie Gould, who had asked Powers about his intentions only a
few days earlier. "Mr. Pringle, has Congressman Powers asked you to
set up this committee?"
"Stephanie, I'm glad you asked that-"
"He should be, I prepared the answer for him," the Wizard
grumbled.
"-Congressman Powers, though a dear friend of many years, is not
connected with this effort. I and others have attempted to persuade
him in private to make this race. Now we're trying to reach him in
other ways. He has no knowledge, before this very minute, of this
committee or this organization."
"A direct lie?" Powers inquired.
"He's vouching about your knowledge. What is knowledge? Let
them prove knowledge," said the Wizard, stroking his beard
thoughtfully.
Another questioner asked, "How do you intend to persuade the
Congressman to run?"
"We're going to get thousands of New Yorkers to sign petitions,
persuading him to run."
"Ballot petitions?" the reporter inquired.
"And why not? That will only underscore the seriousness of our
intent," said Pringle.
There were a few more questions, but the meeting was pretty cut
and dried after that. Powers nodded approvingly as he pressed the mute
button on his remote. "Very good. Very, very good."
"I still don't understand the purpose of this committee
business," said Toles. "We've never pulled one of these stunts before.
What's the purpose?"
"There's a number of purposes," said the Wizard, never shy about
sharing the wisdom of his work.
"One, we drag out the process. By dragging out the process we
create suspense: will he or won't he? And that creates press
attention."
"It just makes him look indecisive," Toles grumbled.
"Au contraire. Mike looks like the perfect candidate--a
reluctant one. When I'm finished it will look as if he's been
persuaded to enter the race, and only after a groundswell of public
support has virtually forced him into it. It makes him look
statesmanlike, as opposed to being a typical weasely politician."
"And two?"
"That was two," said the Wizard. "And three, this permits us to
start setting up ballot petitions, network staff, and campaign
capabilities early on, without attracting the wrong sort of attention.
A pretty good set of reasons, if I don't say so myself."
"You do. But I'm not convinced."
"Keep an open mind, Ace," said Powers. "I like the way things
are going, so far."
"Speaking of the way things are going, how are things with a
certain staff director in charge of choo-choo's, dams, and barges?"
said Toles.
Powers gave him a sharp glance. "If you must know, I happened to
run into her in the Library of Congress yesterday, and we had a
fascinating discussion concerning... locomotion. And I don't doubt
that we won't take up the matter further at a later date," said Powers.
He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. I have to call Erin about
the party next week." He started dialing rapidly.
Later that day, the draft committee's announcement was picked up
by all the local newscasts, though it was not, of course, prominent
enough to be in any of their lead stories. Stephanie Gould reported it
straight, but she couldn't resist noting that while the committee
members might be ostensibly independent of Powers, Powers probably
wasn't terribly displeased by their actions.
The local ABC affiliate reported it much the same way, but with a
little twist. Their correspondent covering the event, Oxford Frame,
had started nosing about, and couldn't seem to get an adequate answer
to his question as to who was financing the committee.
"Who are your donors, sir?" he said, in a clip after the meeting
between him and Pringle.
"All good volunteers, sir," said Pringle, rapidly getting out of
the way, as the camera cut back to the studio.
Wizard Ross, watching the coverage with his boss, clapped a hand
on Powers' shoulder. "There's always going to be a fly in the best of
ointments."
"Hm," said Powers noncommentally.
The following Monday Powers found himself cornered in a Capital
Hill hallway by none other than Michele Franswa, a short, darkhaired
woman with a frown that could curdle milk.
There weren't many women that Powers minded being cornered by,
but Franswa was one of them. One of the most powerful op-ed columnist
for the New York Times, she had seemed to take an almost instinctual
dislike for Powers when he first rose to the Time's attention, years
ago. She thought he was "slick" and she barely hid her dislike for
him. Powers, who also felt that people should express their true
feelings whenever possible, didn't hide his feelings towards her
either.
"Mr. Powers! What's this about your running for governor?"
"I'm not," said Powers, puzzled.
"This... this draft committee," she said, walking quickly to keep
up with him.
"Not my doing," he replied.
She made a face. "Do you expect the voters to believe that?"
"I expect them to believe the truth," he said carefully. He was
fairly certain that she was recording the conversation, with a small
recorder somewhere on her person. Time to speak very, very carefully.
"When will you announce?" she said.
"I have no intention of running for Governor," said Powers.
"When I speak in English, do you understand my words?"
"Do you think you can beat Speaker Mandelbaum?"
Powers stopped walking, so quickly in fact that she bumped into
him. He stared down at her, knocking on the wall next to her head.
"Hello, is anyone home? You are the fifteenth marvel of New York, do
you know that?"
"So you're definitely vowing that you will not run for governor?"
she asked, staying persistantly on-subject.
Powers paused. "Now, I never said that." He started walking
again.
The following day, this column appeared in the Times
THE TWO-BIT SHUFFLE
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
I was intending to write a column about my son, Abbie.
He's just lost another one of his baby teeth and he's going through one
of those darling changes that leads to adulthood. But then I read in
the Times' excellent B Section coverage that a so-called independent
committee had been set up to "persuade" Congressman Michael Powers to
run for the governorship. This is the same Congressman Powers who had
money appropriated to build a road to nowhere, the same Congressman
Powers whose ears are open to all the people--if all the people are the
special interests in the construction industry.
Now, it is clear to me that this committee is just a sham,
an attempt to create false public support for the Congressman's run for
office. This is alarming because the governorship is the most
important position in our state. However, the other potential
candidate, Milton Mandelbaum, is not much better. Rather the most
ethical candidate on the Democratic side is Alton Sampleton, the
Attorney General. His assistance to the poor and needy over the years
has been documented time and time again, and it was only last week that
he made another sizable contribution to the non-profit Granola Fund,
which distributes fresh fruits and preservatives to the poor.
New Yorkers should shop carefully for their next governor.
Listen to the candidates speak, but listen with skeptical ears.
A correction: Last week it was reported in this column
that Mr. Spock testified before a State Senate committee to say that
breast feeding in public should be permitted. That reference should be
to Dr. Spock, not Mr. Spock.
"Oh dear," said Powers, looking at his crumpled copy of the
Times.
"It seems she's giving Mandelbaum a guidebook on how to attack
you," the Wizard responded.
"The road to nowhere? The Lake Rasco affair is old news. I
doubt she'll get much milage out of that. Still, it is troubling. I
wish I could give her the Vulcan neck pinch, or something." Powers
smiled at the thought of her mistake. "Mr. Spock testifying on breast
feeding... what an idiot."
"Still, I think it's time we modified your position a bit. The
next time you speak to a reporter, here's what I want you to say...."
The next time occurred just a few minutes later, when Powers was
on his way to the House gym. Another reporter caught up with him, this
time Oxford Frame, and he had a camera crew with him.
"Congressman Powers!" he shouted, in case Powers hadn't seen him
and his entourage.
"Mr. Frame," said Powers. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you running for governor, sir?"
Powers looked puzzled. "Why no." He kept walking.
"But what about this 'draft Powers' committee?"
"What about them?"
"Will they persuade you to run?"
Powers paused, took a deep breath, and looked as if he was
considering the issue for the first time. After all, the cameras were
on him now. "Well... I suppose if they got enough signatures to get my
name on the ballot... that would show sustained interest on the part of
the voters."
"Does that mean you'd run if they get enough signatures to put
your name on the ballot?"
Powers smiled. "If it happened, if New Yorkers show that they
want me to run... I would be favorably inclined. IF it happened," he
repeated. "That's a big if. And now, if you'll excuse me...?" he
casually walked away.
The Wizard gave him an A for his performance when he saw it on
the evening news.
The next day all the flags on Capitol Hill were at half mast.
For that very Tuesday was the day of the funeral of Congressman Stanley
Bayren of Utah.
He was buried in a cemetery in Washington D.C., with full
ceremonial honors. American flags fluttered in the breeze as the most
powerful politicians on Capitol Hill stood by during the ceremony.
Erin, dressed in black, was sniffling.
"Dear, why are you crying?" Powers wanted to know.
"It's all so sad," said Erin, wiping her face with a tissue.
"Erin, you didn't even know him," said Powers calmly.
"I did... I think I met him once, at one of your receptions. A
tall fellow, with a dark complexion?"
"Dear, that was Congressman Durlan of Montana," said Powers
simply.
"Ohh." She stopped sniffling.
Powers eyed someone in the crowd. All the members of the Public
Works and Transportation Committee were here, of course, as well as
most of the staff. Including Michele Conner.
"Excuse me, dear, I have to give something to a member of the
committee staff."
He calmly walked over to where she was standing, alone, near a
small tree.
"Congressman," she said, looking kind of dazed.
"You look tired," said Powers.
"I was up late last night. Research," she said shortly.
"Perhaps what you need is some rest," said Powers. He reached
over, handed her a small note.
She opened it, looked at the typed message. "You're
propositioning me? At a funeral?"
"Don't pretend. You and Stanley never got along well, and you
knew it."
"Well... that's true." she looked around. "Is this invitation
for your wife as well?"
Powers gave a small smile. "No, it isn't.... Don't disappoint
me. I'll be waiting." He turned, without looking back, and returned
to Erin.
"What was that all about?" she said.
"The light rail bill," said Powers.
"You never lose an opportunity to lobby for it, do you," she
marvelled.
"Dear, you know me so well," said Powers.
"Two fundraisers in the same week?" Powers was thunderstruck.
"What idiot set that up?"
"This idiot," said Wizard Ross, stepping into Powers' office.
Toles stood to the side.
"Where are we going to get the donors for two fundraisers?"
"Easy," said Ross. "You're running for governor. You'll see a
lot of people coming out of the woodwork to support you."
"They'll just be giving money to Mandelbaum too, of course."
"Of course," said Ross, waving his pipe. "To hedge their bets.
But why shouldn't you get a cut of the loot as well?"
"And how will that go over in the press? I can see it now:
Congressman Powers feeding at the trough of special interests twice in
one week!"
"That's the beauty of it," said Ross. "The fact that you are
able to have two fundraisers in the same week demonstrates your
political... ah... virility. It helps establish you as a serious
candidate. At the same time these will be completely separate
fundraisers. In fact, you will only be showing up at one of them."
"Indeed," said Powers, with raised eyebrows. "People are going
to donate money when I don't even bother to show up? Do tell!"
"Look. The first fundraiser is yours--ostensibly for your
reelection effort. The only fact which may undermine that premise will
be the presence of many contributors from outside your district. But
that's never stopped you before."
"No, it never has. And the other fundraiser?"
"By the Committee to Draft Powers. Not under your control, not
at your request. With the solemn pledge that the money raised is only
to be used for a gubernatorial bid on your part."
"I think I can live with that restriction," Powers said.
"I thought you could." The Wizard paused, and said, "On second
thought, we'll have both fundraisers on the same day. The same
evening."
"Are you crazy? We'll have two half-empty halls!" said Powers.
"Trust me," said the Wizard. "I've done a little word of mouth,
on your behalf, and convinced certain friends in the business community
that your race is serious. People still think Mandelbaum is going to
win, but they're no longer so certain."
"Why?"
"Because they now know that I'm working for you," said the Wizard
simply. He puffed a series of smoke rings that lazily floated into the
air.
"Modest, aren't we?" said Toles.
"Only the truth can I speak," said the Wizard.
Powers looked good in his tux. And he felt good too. The
turnout at the fundraiser was good. There were upwards of 100 guests
here, and according to the Wizard, who had been spying out the other
fundraiser, there was nearly the same number there.
Yes, the Wizard had certainly done his job well. The news media
was present in force, making issue of the unheard of tactic of
convening two fundraisers at the same time in different places. Powers
had caught bits and pieces of the newscasts, and the reception had been
overwhelmingly positive, as the Wizard had predicted; anyone capable of
having two fully attended fundraisers at the same time certainly would
be able to give Mandelbaum a run for his money. Only a whiny reporter
on the local ABC affiliate had made any bones about the "independent"
work of the draft committee.
Powers entered the main ballroom of the famous Ritz Carlton. It
had an exclusive Park Avenue address to its name, not far from the
equally famous Helmsley Building. The other fundraiser was being held
at the somewhat less snazzy Roosevelt Hotel right next to Madison
Square Garden.
Powers started mixing with the crowd. Many strangers greeted
him. Just where had the Wizard found all these people?
And they all wanted his ear. Congressman, what will your policy
be on easement grants near the St. Lawrence Seaway? More money for
prisons? What about taming the size of the state bureaucracy? What
was his position on expanding nutrition programs for lower income
people?
Powers tried to give vague answers, acutely aware that he himself
had not worked out many of these issues yet. But these were donors and
not reporters, and they seemed generally satisfied by vague assurances.
Many of them probably didn't expect Powers to make explicit commitments
at this point; they just wanted to establish a connection, to get
access when and if he was elected. Powers knew the procedure quite
well.
But one question struck him. "When are we going to see some
movement on the light rail project?"
Powers knew that voice. Turning around to face his questioner,
he said, "Sigfried! How nice of you to show up. Long time no see.
Come, let's take a walk." They casually strolled down a side corridor,
at an artificially forced pace.
"What's happening with the project, Michael?"
Powers spoke through clenched teeth. "Sigfried, I'm working on
it. But your coming and asking me every few days is not going to help.
It's also not going to help if we're seen together in public too often
or too frequently."
"It seems that doing nothing too often or too frequently will not
help either."
"You're not doing 'nothing'. Mason is helping, and his
assistance is appreciated."
"Perhaps he could assist in the light rail matter," said Sigfried
carefully.
Powers shook his head. "Not this time. Let me handle it. Look,
even if this bill doesn't pass, and I win the governorship, the stuff
I'll be able to send your way then will make this thing look like
chickenfeed."
"I'm aware of that. But at the same time, I also want this
chickenfeed, Michael," said Sigfried levelly.
"Message understood," said Powers. Then Sigfried handed him an
envelop. "What's this?"
"This" was a check, made out for $10,000 to the Powers campaign.
"Only the beginning. If you deliver," said Sigfried. Then,
turning away, he was gone.
$10,000! And that was only the tip of the iceberg.
The next day the Wizard triumphantly entered Powers' office.
"Well?"
"Pretty good," said Powers, nodding. "The combined take from
both events was just over $400,000."
"Pretty good? For the position you're in, I think that's great!"
The Wizard nodded approvingly, stroking his beard.
"Just what position are we in?" Powers wanted to know.
"Underdog," said the Wizard, grinning. He checked his pockets,
looking for his pipe.
"The only thing I can't figure out is how with a total of over
500 heavy hitting guests that I only raised $400,000. Shouldn't I have
gotten a little more?"
"Uh... not really." The Wizard looked evasive.
"What does not really mean?" Powers sized him up. "Ross? What
did you do!"
The Wizard just said, "Now where did I put my pipe?" and
continued to frisk himself.
"Talk!" Powers commanded. "What happened, did you get some
guests to attend both parties?"
"No!" Wizard Ross looked offended. "Even the media might have
seen through that."
"Well?" Powers waited for an explanation.
"Ah, found it," said Ross, fishing his pipe out with a little
smile. He turned to Powers. "Well, let's just say that not all the
guests at both functions were there to make donations."
"Suits," said Powers, getting the meaning immediately. "You
hired suits to show up, just to swell the body count."
"Well, I couldn't be certain how many people were going to show
up, could I?" said Ross. "It worked out so well that I didn't even
have to bring in the reserve."
"How many?"
"In the reserve?" Wizard Ross looked confused.
"How many were real guests?"
"Oh." Ross waved his hand. "Upwards of 75%."
"75%? Fully one quarter of my guests were ringers?" The figure
stunned Powers. Still, it could have been worse. For a moment Powers
had wondered whether nearly all the people he had talked to that night
had been hired actors. So, it had been only one out of four. And the
money his campaign pocketed was certainly real enough.
"Doesn't Sun Tzu advise one to obscure the battlefield in order
to hide the true numbers of your forces?" said the Wizard.
"Um... I guess," said Powers, caught off guard. "All right, no
harm done, but in the future, can you simply keep me informed as to
what you're up to?"
The Wizard shrugged. "Do you want to be informed about every
little detail?"
"Just little details like packing my fundraiser with hired
suits," said Powers lightly.
Bracer's was one of the top restaurants inside the beltway. It
was inhabited by congressmen, diplomats, executive branch officials,
lobbyists, and others seeking access to power. It was a place where
deals were made and broken.
Powers hoped to get a deal made. He sat at an empty table, and
waited, looking at his watch. She was only a few minutes late, perhaps
she would still come...
It had been a calculated risk. Her mouth had said no, but her
eyes had seemed to say yes....
And then she appeared. Michele Conner appeared, in a low cut
radiant blue dressed that exposed all of her shoulders.
"I'm glad you could come," Powers smiled, showing no lack of
confidence.
"I'm not sure even why I'm here," she said, looking around as she
sat down.
"Of course you do," said Powers. "You're intrigued."
She made a face. "Did you have to choose such a public place?"
Powers nodded. "This way if we're spotted it will just look like
a business meeting. There are advantages to being obvious."
"Like you were at the funeral." She gave a sly smile.
"I go after what I want," Powers said, grinning back at her.
She leaned close to him. "And what is it that you are after?"
He smiled. "That, my dear, should be obvious."
Three hours later they staggered into his Capitol Hill office.
It was ten o'clock at night, and no one was around. Conner tripped,
half sitting, half falling into Power's couch. "Ooops!" she said
hysterically.
Powers laughed as he locked the door behind them. Then he sat
besides her on the couch. He slowly but firmly started touching her
arm, working his way up to her shoulder.
"You're kind of cute," she smiled. Michele had had a bit too
much to drink (at Powers urging), and she seemed drowsy, half asleep.
"I'm a politician," said Powers. "I have a responsibility to be
cute." He let his hand run down her leg. When his hand lingered at
her thigh, however, she seemed to sober up a bit.
"No," she said. "I shouldn't be doing this."
Powers swept his hands lazing across her body. "Shouldn't do
what?"
"No," she said feebly, as he reached down to kiss her. They
embraced warmly.
But she still mumbled dreamily, "You're a married man."
Powers reached over to turn off the light. "I'm married to my
work."
A week and a half later, Powers remarked, "That was fast work."
"You hired the best," said the Wizard. "We're just about there.
We'll have all the petitions we'll need to get you on the ballot."
"Of course, we'll want much more than that."
"Of course," said the Wizard. "I'd like to have at least 150% of
the number that we need. But once we cross the 100% threshold you can
announce, if you like."
"Should I?"
Wizard frowned, biting his lip. "Not sure. We've been dragging
this out, and I think that's been good, in a way. But I think there
are dangers in dragging it out too long. Still, we may want to milk
this for just a little bit longer...."
The press duly took note when the draft committee acquired enough
signatures to get Powers on the ballot. If Powers had been hounded by
the press before, he was absolutely overwhelmed by them now. They
followed him around Capitol Hill like a pack of dogs chasing a crunchy
treat, barking and yelping at every turn. "Mr. Powers!" "Sir, when
are you declaring?" "Do you think you can beat Speaker Mandelbaum?"
"Are you going to declare this week?" "Does your family support your
candidacy?" "Can you make a statement?"
And finally Powers turned to them and answered that last, "Yes, I
can. I have an announcement to make."
The reporters all looked around. Here, in the hallway outside
the House cafeteria, news was about to be made!
"Yes, yes," said one of the reporters.
"I wish to announce... that I will be making an announcement, at
the Roosevelt hotel, before the Committee, tomorrow, at 4 PM," said
Powers.
"Oh..." they collectively exhaled. "Can't you tell us now?"
"Yes," said Powers.
They all visibly brightened.
"I could tell you... but I'm not going to," he teased, walking
off.
All the camera crews were there. Local and national press
services were present. The audience had been packed with Powers
partisans, mostly members of Powers' local district offices and their
friends and family. Reporters were huddled in the back, pacing back
and forth next to their camera crews, conferring to each other.
"Do you think he's finally going to do it?" said Stephanie Gould.
"Probably," said Oxford Frame. "And about time, too."
"What chance does he have against Mandelbaum? He's the twenty
ton heavy truck in this race."
"He probably doesn't expect to win," said Frame. "He's just
doing this to increase his name recognition for a future race."
"But what if he's crushed? That could damage his career too."
"That it could," said Frame, with a wicked smile.
Meanwhile, to the side of the audience Powers stood, fretting.
"Are they all here?" he asked, looking around a bit nervously. "How do
I look? Are we on schedule?"
"Yes, fine, and right on time," said the Wizard, looking a little
distracted himself. "Where's Erin?"
"Here I am," she said, materializing at Powers' elbow. "Although
I don't see what all the fuss is about. He's just going to-"
The reporters looked about, sensing a whiff of news. Boom mikes
were immediately trained on them.
Powers put a restraining hand over her mouth. "Dear, no need to
spoil the moment." He looked around, as if waiting for a sign. Toles,
standing in the background, gave him a thumbs up. They were ready.
Bob Pringle stepped forward. He was the advance man. As he
stepped up to the podium the murmur of the crowd dropped to a whisper.
"I want to thank everyone for showing up today on such short
notice. As you know, we've been working furiously over the past few
weeks to persuade Congressman Powers to run for governor. We've put in
a lot of time and effort, and a lot of hard work. Last week at a
hastily put together fundraiser we raised over $300,000 thousand
dollars! But more importantly has been the efforts of you, the
volunteers. We've seen a groundswell of support around the idea of
pushing Mike into the governor's seat. And now, as of only yesterday,
I am proud to announce that we've acquired enough signatures to put
Mike on the ballot in every county in the state!"
The audience cheered, waving and whistling loudly. They kept
this up for a good minute or two, despite Bob's attempt to dampen them
down. Then, at the appropriate time, Toles made a subtle gesture with
his hand, and the room went quiet.
"And now I'm told that our candidate, Congressman Powers, has a
few words he'd like to say himself."
The crowd roared again as Powers took the podium. He was happy
to note that the cameras were covering it all. Erin stood behind him,
smiling serenely. The Wizard was nowhere to be seen.
"Thank you," said Powers. Then he said it again, when the crowd
made no signs of quieting down. "Thank you," he said again, smiling
broadly.
He glanced down at Toles. Toles quietly rubbed his hands
together. The excitement slowly abated.
"Thank you," said Powers, for the third time. He cleared his
throat. "I want to extend my deepest thanks to all of you. You come
from all walks of life, and all of you have volunteered your free time
to try to persuade me to run for governor. I find that very touching.
I have never sought the office of governor... and nor do I seek it
now."
An astonished "oooh" ripped through the crowd.
"What's he up to?" Stephanie Gould hissed.
"Nevertheless your devotion and effort have touched me. I was
stunned to see how many New Yorkers want me to run. I haven't thought
it all through, and yet I can't lightly ignore the will of the voters."
He paused. "Therefore it is my decision to actively consider the race
for governor. In one week's time I will return, to give you my answer.
That is my solution."
The crowd, on cue, went up in cheers. Erin, moving in as she was
instructed, gave Powers a quick hug as flashbulbs popped. The crowd
was whipped up into a frenzy.
That evening, Powers sat with Toles and the Wizard in his
district office on East 72nd street, watching the evening news.
"-the crowd went wild when Congressman Powers hinted he was going
to announce the following week-" came Stephanie Gould's voice. The
scene shifted to the cheering audience of Powers partisans.
Then the scene returned to Gould in the newsroom. "It seems that
Powers had a strong base of support. Whether that will translate into
enough to defeat Speaker Mandelbaum is unclear, but what is clear is
that the Congressman is going to give him a run for his money."
"Perfect," said the Wizard, giving a thumbs up sign. "Perfecto.
I couldn't have written it any better myself. Turn to channel four."
NBC was only slightly off-synchronization with CBS, and was still
in the middle of airing the Powers story. "The crowd was cheering
Powers on as he said he was going to delay making his announcement
another week," said Oxford Frame. "What is obvious is that Congressman
Powers is trying to drag this out, to get as much good publicity as
possible. But this staged event may not be enough to counter Speaker
Mandelbaum's forces, which have a genuine base of support in the
community. We can only hope that this is the Congressman's last
"announcement to announce" party, and that he will quickly get down to
the substantive issues facing our state. This is Oxford Frame, NBC
News."
"Could we have him killed?" said Powers savagely.
The Wizard shook his head. "It wouldn't be worth it. Too much
paperwork. Ace, what news?"
Toles had been flipping around the other channels on a small TV
set in the corner. "Mostly positive--the independent networks gave
good coverage, and ABC was ok. We'll have to wait and see what Fox
does, though I'm betting it will be good."
"And what about NBC?" Powers wanted to know.
"Even the best soup has a fly in it," said the Wizard. "And
tonight was class A chicken soup. As our friend Oxford said, we just
bought ourselves some good press."
Powers returned to his New York penthouse that night, tired but
relatively content. The day hadn't gone badly, not badly at all. He
had had a good dinner with Erin, who had enjoyed the festivities.
"But I still don't understand why you created all that hoopla
just to tell them when you were going to tell them."
"That hoopla, dear, as you call it, was the entire purpose of it.
Just think, dear, free air time! Supplied courtesy of all the major
networks. I have to do something to justify that."
"So you cooked up a news story."
"Exactly. And they bought it," said Powers, beaming. He looked
over at Bobby, who seemed to be picking at his food. "What's up,
champ?"
"Nothing," said the child sullenly.
"Bobby got another D on one of his tests," said Erin quietly.
Powers looked concerned. His child was no dummy! What was going
on here? "What about that tutor I got for him?"
"I don't know," said Erin, looking worried.
"Bobby? Bobby, look at me," said Powers.
The child looked up. "What's happening with Mr. Elders?" said
Powers. "Is he doing a good job?"
"I don't know."
"Is he not explaining things clearly enough?"
Bobby shrugged his shoulders.
Powers sighed. "That must be it. The man comes recommended to
me from a sitting deputy secretary of education. He has not one but
two Ph.D.'s in education, one of them from Harvard. Yet he can't teach
a log how to roll." He looked quickly at his son. "I don't blame you,
son. I blame myself, for picking this idiot."
"What are we going to do?" said Erin.
Powers frowned. "Have you tried talking to his teachers?
They're obviously being too hard on the boy."
Erin nodded. "They say he has trouble paying attention-"
"Classic," Powers nodded. "Deflecting the blame, putting it on
the pupil." He looked hard into space for a moment. Then he relaxed,
and nodded, mostly to himself.
"What?" said Erin. "What are you going to do?"
"I'll handle it," said Powers quietly.
"What? With all your work for your election-"
"I'll make time. I'll handle it." He turned to Bobby. "Bobby,
I'm going to get you a new tutor. One who's going to tell you the
things you really need to know, one who will make sure you get good
grades in school, not like this current egghead I found. Ok?"
The child perked up. "Ok."
"There, that's my boy," said Powers, patting him on the head.
"It's not your fault. If there is a problem, it's that you're too good
for them. Their teaching methods don't work because they are geared
for morons."
"Morons!," the child chuckled.
"You got it," said Powers. He turned to Erin.
"Mike, if now is a good time...."
"Not tonight honey, I'm too tired for that," said Powers.
She cast a quick glance at Bobby, who seemed to have ignored the
comment. "I was talking about the Greenleaf proposal-"
"Oh, that. I'm too tired for that too."
"You promised to listen!"
"Not now. I have a big issues meeting tomorrow, and I can't be
distracted."
"If not now, then when?" She was adamant.
"Uh...."
"Set a date. Tell me a day, and a time. Tomorrow? After your
meeting?"
Powers reluctantly nodded. "Anytime after that. Catch me then."
"Ok," said Erin, somewhat satisfied. "Honestly, talking with you
about politics is like pulling teeth."
"I hear about politics all day every day. I don't have to be
lobbied in my very own home."
The next day Powers and his top advisers gathered in his Capitol
Hill office to discuss issues. Every candidate had to take a stand on
the issues, something Powers hated to do. Why the need to take a stand
on the issues at all? Most of the voters weren't concerned about
issues; they wanted constituent services, perks and pork. Not the
biotechnology or the Bosnia policy.
"Ok," said the Wizard, clapping his hands. He passed out a bunch
of velobinders to the assembled staff.
"What's this?" said Powers curiously.
"This," said the Wizard, "is an issues briefing describing
matters of importance to New Yorkers."
"All New Yorkers?" said Powers curiously.
"No. Only the ones we need to assemble a winning coalition,"
said Wizard Ross. "You can't be all things to all people. But you can
be many things for 51% of them. I commissioned this study by Pierson
Associates."
"Pierson? Never heard of them," Powers frowned.
"No reason you would have," said Ross. "Except that their
briefings have contributed to the electoral victories of half a dozen
senatorial and gubernatorial candidates in the last two years."
"What do they do?" said Toles.
"They get together focus groups, you see, that represent the
constituent groups that are somewhat supportive of or have the
potential to lean towards their candidate. They're not as interested
in a candidate's bedrock base of support, mind you; they already know
the candidate has that bloc in his pocket. It's the uncommitted middle
they're after."
"Makes sense," Powers said.
"Well, as soon as I took this job, I commissioned this little
study-"
"How much did this little study cost?" Powers wanted to know.
"$35,000," said Ross. He noticed Powers' darkening expression,
and immediately looked defensive. "I did it on the cheap! After we're
done, you decide whether the money was well spent."
Tension filled the air for a moment. Powers didn't like Ross
acting on his own like that. But after a moment Powers merely said,
"Continue."
"Pierson put the focus groups together with your candidacy in
mind, as I instructed them. If you turn to appendix A, you'll see who
they are."
Powers read from the back. "Blue collar union workers...
minorities... artists... young people... women... abortion rights
activists... teachers... bureaucrats... gays... senior citizens...
environmentalists... consumer advocates... social workers...." Powers
nodded his approval. "But aren't these groups already inclined to vote
for me?"
"In the general election, yes. But you forget, we have the
primary to get through."
"I didn't forget."
"The problem is that you and Mandelbaum draw on the same natural
constituencies. You've got to distinguish yourself from him."
"How do I do that?" said Powers.
"By understanding what this election is all about." Wizard Ross
stood to the side of a large chalk board. "And this is what this
election is about." He flipped over the chalk board.
GREED
"This is an election about satisfying wants. This is an election
about promising more goodies to more interest groups than the other
side. You've got to out-pander the opposition. You've got to do such
a good job of appealing to these different groups that they will want
to support you over Mandelbaum, no matter how formidable he may seem."
"A tall order," Powers commented.
"Which is why you hired the best," Wizard Ross reminded him.
Powers was getting a little tired about this bravado. And he was
more than a little irked about the continued unauthorized expenditures
of campaign funds.
"If I hired the best, I should be the winner," said Powers.
"What do you say to putting your money where your mouth is?"
"What do you mean?" said Ross, looking puzzled, perhaps for the
first time in recent memory.
"I mean if we win, if I get elected, I'll pay you double what I
promised."
"And if you lose?" But the Wizard already had a sinking feeling
in his stomach.
"Half," said Ross.
"You know, one man can't determine the outcome of a race by
himself," said the Wizard quickly.
"He can if he's the best," said Powers evenly. "Isn't that what
I hired?"
Wizard Ross licked his lips. All eyes were on him. Why did
Powers have to do this publically? And then he realized that this was
Powers' revenge, getting even with him for spending the money on the
study without his authorization. He nodded, realizing what he had to
do. Well, better to put a good face on it. "I agree," said the
Wizard. "I have no doubts as to your victory."
"Good," said Powers. "Incentive pay. That should be a plank in
my campaign platform." He clapped his hands together. "Now, let's get
down to issues, shall we?"
The Wizard, in a bit of a daze (for even he lost some of the
races he had worked on), wondered how he allowed himself to be talked
into this bet. But he quickly clamped down, and continued crisply, as
if nothing had happened.
"Economic issues," said Wizard Ross. "Those are the easiest.
You support more spending on the environment. You support spending for
purchasing parklands, spending for pollutant retardant technologies,
spending for waste site cleanups, spending for expanding the
environmental bureaucracy, spending for recycling-"
"Spending for recycling?" said Toles. "That costs money?"
The Wizard chuckled. "Of course. It costs a hell of a lot more
than it takes in. All that cracked glass, rusting cans, and rotting
piles of newspaper... they have trouble finding people to take it away
for nothing. But it's politically popular, so that's all that's
important."
"Where was I?" he said. "Ah, yes. Spending. Spending on health
care, spending on family planning, spending on railroad and subway
subsidies, spending on schools, spending on highways, spending on
jails, spending on rehabilitation, spending on the homeless, spending
on job training, spending on drug treatment, spending on midnight
basketball youth leagues-"
"Pardon me for interrupting again," said Toles. "But isn't Mike
going to look awfully foolish reading a long wish list like that?"
The Wizard gave a look of pure scorn, as if to say, "You idiot."
But he only said, "Of course the Congressman is not going to list these
sequentially. I just did, but that was for the purpose of brevity. He
will endorse all these goals, but selectively. Drug treatment at
homeless shelters. Job training in the slums. Marine welfare programs
for fishermen on the wharfs, that sort of thing. This way he won't
obviously appear to be such a big spender. He won't be bragging to the
homeless how much he's going to spend on the Long Island Railroad, or
to the fishermen how much he's going to spend for abortion services.
The appeals will be selective, even surgical. That's why I brought
these gentlemen with me."
He indicated the people seated behind him. "Mr. Laker and Mr.
Taney are speechwriters, the best in the business. And Mr. Jones is a
political demographer with degrees in psychology and sociology."
"Now, if I may continue? Where was I? Ah, yes, spending. Mike
will support spending on libraries, spending on scholarships, spending
on the state and city university system, spending on the local PBS
stations, spending on state buildings, spending on small business
subsidies, spending on state pensions, spending on the arts... you get
the picture. The entire spending list is attached as Appendix B, pages
one through twenty two, with an index indicating which spending program
favors which interest group."
"Do I stand for anything else besides spending?" said Powers,
obviously amused.
"Of course!" said the Wizard. "You support a woman's right to
choose-"
"To vote for me," Powers grinned.
"You support the death penalty-"
"Death on both ends," Powers commented approvingly. "Wait a
minute, I thought that studies show that the death penalty is no
deterrent."
"It isn't." said the Wizard. "I never pretended to be arguing
public policy here. I'm just telling you what will get you elected."
"Oh. Please continue."
"You support term limits-"
"Wait a minute. What if I want more than two terms?" said
Powers, suddenly concerned.
"Credit me with a little forethought," said the Wizard. "You
support term limits, but only by constitutional convention. Do you
have any idea what that requires?"
Powers admitted he didn't.
"Well, take my word for it, there's a greater likelihood of your
tenure ending by an asteroid crashing into Albany then there is by term
limits enacted by a constitutional convention."
Powers nodded. "I like it."
"I thought you would," said the Wizard smugly.
"But wait, what about the budget? There's no getting around the
fact that I am making all these spending promises. Someone's going to
figure out that it doesn't add up. What am I going to do, raise
taxes?"
"Probably," said the Wizard, shrugging. "But that's not what
you'll say. You'll say that you'll save revenues by cutting the fat
from state government, by making it more efficient."
"Will anyone believe that?" said Powers skeptically.
"They will if you practice saying it with a straight face," said
the Wizard. "I've also taken the liberty of putting a speech coach on
the payroll. You'll be working with her later."
"Well...."
"Take my word for it. No one likes taxes increases, not even
most Democrats. The only other alternative is to announce you're going
to cut some programs. And every time you announce you're going to a
cut a program, you lose a piece of a constituency. Why go through all
the hassle when you can get away with a simple lie?" said the Wizard
reasonably.
"Makes sense to me," said Powers, considering.
Powers paused for a moment, and then nodded. "And then there is
your foreign policy. You're against the occupation in Northern
Ireland. You're appalled by the military junta in Nigeria, and think
we should increase assistance to Chad-"
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," said Powers. "Time out. I'm
running for governor of New York, not Senator. I have no say over
foreign policy."
"So what?" said the Wizard. "I once knew a guy running for water
commissioner who came out in favor of the Gulf War."
"What happened to him?" Toles asked.
"He won, because he distinguished himself from the other
candidates, who were hopelessly bland," said the Wizard. "Most people
have no idea what it is that the governor does or does not do. Even
the few who understand what you're running for will like you more if
you support the same foreign policy they do, even though they
understand that you are powerless to effect change in that area. Don't
you see? That's why you're against Northern Ireland, to get the
sympathy of the Irish-"
"And what of the British?" Toles wanted to know.
The Wizard waved his hand dismissively. "They all moved to
Canada a long time ago. You supported increased aid to Africa because
that's what blacks voters want. You support increased aid to Israel
because that's what Jewish voters want. We'll support a variety of
programs, including a sister cityship with Cape Town, an independence
referendum for Puerto Rico-"
"They just had one!" said Powers.
"Let them have another," said Wizard Ross. "Let them have twenty
gross. Say, what do you think about a fact finding trip to Nairobi?
Dublin? How about Tel Aviv?"
Powers shook his head. "It might be a good vote getter but I
think my efforts are best focused at home."
"Are you sure? When David Dinkins was running for reelection as
Mayor of New York, he put on a yarmulke and hightailed it to Israel,"
said Wizard Ross.
"And he lost," Powers noted.
"So he did, but despite the trip, not because of it," said the
Wizard. "All right, where was I...." he checked his list. "Making the
UN more respectful of Israel, increasing aid to Eastern Europe...."
"What about Cuba?" said Toles. "Getting the U.S. out of
Guantanamo Bay?"
The Wizard shook his head. "The Cubans in America like our base
there. They want us to stay in."
"Oh. Then I think we should stay in too," said Powers, quickly
reformulating his policy position.
"Right. But look at the broader issue. Who cares about the
Cubans? Most New York hispanics are Puerto Rican, and we should be
focusing on how to better pander to them," said Wizard Ross.
"Sorry."
A thought struck Ross. "Boss, can you speak Spanish?"
Powers shook his head. "I know a little French...."
"Remind me again when you run for Mayor of Paris," said the
Wizard dryly. "As of right now you speak Spanish, get it?"
"How are we going to pull that off?"
"Just leave it to me," said the Wizard. "A good Spanish speaker
can double or triple his share of the hispanic vote." He looked around
the room. "Get it? If any reporter asks you guys whether the
Congressman speaks Spanish, the answer is 'Si'."
Everyone murmurred their assent.
"Let's see, what else do you support? Oh, yes, crime."
"We should have more of it?" said Powers innocently.
Wizard Ross gave him a look. "You support increased education
and youth programs to prevent crime."
"Whoa. How does a youth program prevent crime?" said Powers,
looking confused.
"It keeps kids off the streets," said Ross. "Practice saying
that. That's a good phrase."
"How does it keep them off the streets?"
"Hm? Oh, you want the theoretical justification," said the
Wizard, brightening. "That's good, it's always possible you might get
asked, especially in the general election campaign." He frowned,
quickly concentrating. Finally he said, "Well... it takes kids off the
streets, into youth centers, where they..." and he was straining now,
"uh... work on arts and crafts... and shoot baskets... instead of being
lured into a life of crime on the streets...."
"Shoot baskets, not cops?" said Powers dryly.
"That's the right kind of idea, although the slogan is a bit too
disingenuous, even for our campaign," said the Wizard.
"Why don't I just say that I'm for more cops and prisons?" Powers
wondered.
"You will say that, but in the general election," said the
Wizard. "Those are good things to say when running against a
Republican. But when dealing with the electorate in a Democratic
primary... you need to be a little more caring, a little more touchy-
feely, see what I mean?"
Powers nodded.
"Just like you'll hype your gun control position now, but play it
down in the general election."
"We already have gun control in New York," Powers noted.
"Then we should have more," said the Wizard. "We should have
more gun control, and we should also have bullet control. If we have
all of that, we'll push for pellet and staple gun control. We'll dope
up a new program, call it 'gun control plus', or something."
"Anyway, that's about it. I think we've covered your stand on
all the major issues."
"What about the minor ones?" said Powers. "What happens if I'm
campaigning in some piss-ant farmer town upstate, and they ask me what
I think about the local electrical grid, or something?"
"Well, then you have two options," said the Wizard. "The first
is simple. If you have a general feeling what kind of answer they're
looking for, just go along with it. For example, in answer to the
question you posed about a hypothetical energy project, I would look
scholarly, furl my brow, as if I were really thinking about it, and say
'Hm, the power situation. I've heard about that. Yes, I think the
power system is something that needs to be improved, and the state
government should help out in that area...' or something like that."
"And what if I have absolutely no idea what they're talking
about?" Powers asked.
"Then you still have a good answer. Say something like 'Hm, yes,
that's a very weighty issue. It's not one which can be quickly or
recklessly resolved, which is why I feel it is important to have a
panel of experts look into the issue and suggest an appropriate
resolution.' And note that my answer did not once refer to any
specific subject matter."
"So noted," said Powers enthusiastically. "Ace, are you getting
this down?"
Toles nodded, scribbling furiously.
"We'll be running continuous polling and focus groups during the
campaign, to get a handle on what issues we should be emphasizing more
and what issues we should be avoiding," said Wizard. "Besides that,
there's not much more we can discuss at this point."
Powers nodded his approval. "Impressive. Well thought out."
But Niles and Marsten, who had sat quietly through the meeting,
were just stunned. Cynical as they were, they were still surprised by
how the Congressman "selected" his stands on the issues. Not that this
revelation shaken their resolve; if he won, they would be richly
rewarded with plum government jobs. At least, that's what the
Congressman had promised.
But Niles was still disturbed, and he left the meeting with a
frown etched over his face. His frown did not dissipate even when he
got home. He entered his apartment, and heard crunching sounds under
his feet. He looked down at the dimly lit floor. It was roach bodies.
"I hate bugs," Niles said.
"So do I," said Marie, coming out of the bedroom. "But what can
we do?" She was not earning any money as a graduate student, so they
were forced to live on Nile's small salary. Marie immediately noticed
the expression on Nile's face. "The meeting didn't go well?"
"Oh, it went well," said Niles. "The Congressman committed
himself to supporting nearly a dozen anti-poverty programs. Here, look
at the list." He showed her one of the appendixes.
Marie looked over the list, and her eyes widened. "Philip, this
is great! I didn't realize that Powers was such a progressive!"
"He isn't," said Niles glumly, flopping down into a chair. "All
he did was sit there with his advisors, and list spending programs that
he thought would attract votes. He didn't really care about helping
people, he didn't care about making any progress in reforming
government, he was only asking one question, and one question only:
what positions can he, Michael Powers, take in order to be elected."
Marie sat down on the arm of the chair. "I hope I'm not breaking
any news to you, but most politicians are like that."
"Yes, but this was so... so blatant," said Niles. "He doesn't
give a damn about helping the poor. I know Democrats who really care.
But Powers is just putting on an act."
Marie considered this. "Well, then he's doing the right things
for the wrong reasons. If he wins, he'll have to carry out some of
these promises, won't he?"
Niles, considering, slowly nodded.
"And perhaps he'll put you in a policy making position that will
allow you to do some good. Don't you see, Phil, you can use him to get
good things done."
"Maybe," said Niles grudgingly.
"Keep quiet about your reservations," said Marie. "It's only the
end results that counts. If he gets elected, and you're in a position
to do something positive in state government, that's all that matters."
Niles looked up at her. "Have I ever told you that you're lovely
when you're smart?"
Marie considered. "No, but you've said that I'm smart when I'm
lovely."
"Come here," said Niles, giving a broad grin. "I'll show you
what I mean."
The next day brought a surprise bulletin in the inter-office
mail. The Chairman of the House Public Works and Transportation
Committee was amending the list of items to be dealt with in the markup
session that was to occur the following day to include the
Transportation Modernization Act. Furthermore, the memo stated, a vote
on the Act would come in the full Committee the day after that.
Coincidentally, that meant that the vote in the full Committee would
come just the day before Powers was to officially announce his
candidacy.
"Very fortuitous," said Toles suspiciously. "I thought Talmidge
didn't have enough time to put it on the agenda."
"Perhaps he found time. Or perhaps someone changed his mind,"
said Powers.
"Or someone changed it for him," Toles suggested.
Powers looked forward to the markup session. Once the bill was
marked up and voted on, it would go to the full House. Of course, that
was only the first step. It still would have to be voted on by all the
Representatives, and then it would have to go to the Senate, and then
the bill would need to be signed by the President. And all this had to
occur before November 7, if Powers was to take any substantial credit
for the light rail system in his campaign.
But even the committee vote alone would be an important step
forward. The only thing Powers had to fear would be amendments that
would cripple his bill's chance of passage. He spent the better part
of the day on the phone with his Democratic colleagues on the full
committee trying to head off such amendments. In the full committee
Powers was only number seven on the Democratic side, so his clout was
limited. But the untimely demise of Congressman Bayren diffused the
opposition to the bill so much that only Otis Fern vowed outright
opposition to the Transportation Modernization Act. That knowledge
filled Powers with relief. A unified Democratic front meant that the
bill could pass even without any Republican support.
But he still was a little jittery during the markup session. He
entered the committee room cautiously, walking slowly. He met Michele
Conner's eyes, gave a nod and a slight smile. Then his gaze fell upon
Chairman Talmidge, who looked at him with raised eyebrows, but said
nothing.
Nothing, at least, until he banged the gavel. "This meeting will
come to order. Shall we dispense with the roll call, and start with
the markup? We have a lot of bills to go over today."
Two hours later, after marking up a small waterway appropriation,
the Chairman said, "H.R. 1504, the Transportation Modernization Act.
Mr. Powers, any initial comments?"
This was it. "Only to reiterate what I've said before, Mr.
Chairman," said Powers. "This bill will permit New York State to
upgrade its aging mass transit infrastructure. The bill provides a
modest sum for upgrading our rail systems."
It was best to keep it short and simple.
"Any comments?" said the Chairman.
There was, from Joe Roberts, Ranking Republican and Congressman
from Texas. "Yes, Mr. Chairman, I have several. Putting aside the
merits of this proposal for the moment, I notice that there's only $20
million appropriated for this project. I've looked at the CBO, and the
estimates are that the cost of this project will be at least twenty
times that."
"We're just funding the initial phase of the project," said
Powers smoothly. That had been part of his strategy. He knew that a
$20 million expenditure would draw less scrutiny than a $400 million
expenditure would. He personally did not care as to whether the
project was actually ever built or not; if they laid down a half mile
of track the first year and ran out of money after that, Powers would
be supremely indifferent, Sigfried's preferences notwithstanding. What
was supremely important to Powers was getting money appropriated now,
so that construction could be seen to be starting, now, before the
election.
"Congressman Roberts, you've often complained about the bloated
cost of projects. Here I suggest a moderate expenditure, and you're
complaining it's too low?" That brought a series of chuckles from the
Democratic side.
Roberts reddened but didn't back down. "I don't doubt the
integrity of my good friend from New York but I've seen this pattern
before. We've appropriated a relatively small amount of money for a
project, then a little more next year, a little more after that... then
we find out the true cost of the project, and we find that it's too
late to back out, because of all the money we've already invested in
the project. What assurances can the right honorable gentleman from
New York give me that this will not be the case here?"
Powers had to chuckle inwardly. Under normal circumstances,
Roberts would be correct--this would be a typical ploy that Powers
would use. But not this time. He really only wanted the $20 million.
Not a penny more than that. But he said, "I've made no secret about
the fact that this is a multiyear appropriation. By funding it
gradually we should be able to afford it. Or would it be better to
appropriate the whole amount in one lump sum?" There, he was shifting
the terms of the debate. Powers wondered if anyone would notice the
subtle change: instead of the first question, whether or not to fund,
he had reformulated the issue into one of how and when to fund.
Roberts started to open his mouth, but couldn't think of an
adequate response. Talmidge took it that this particular debate was
over, and said, "Does anyone have any substantive drafting comments?"
This was the critical period. If the committee members packed
his bill with all sorts of pet perks for themselves, its chances for
passage would dramatically dim. But Powers had done his advance work
well; aside from a few, technical drafting comments, no one spoke up.
Well, almost no one. Just when Powers thought it was all over,
the Chairman cleared his throat. "I have an amendment to offer."
What was this? Was the Chairman getting ready to back stab his
bill? That would be so like him. He would ostensibly support it, but
then attach a killer amendment to it, so he could not be blamed for its
failure to pass.
For a moment, Powers felt the situation could go out of control.
But when Talmidge spoke, he merely called for an amendment to create a
$6 million dollar grant for the University of San Diego to study flood
plains.
Powers heaved a sigh of relief. The Chairman was just cutting
himself in for a little pork. He hurriedly seconded the motion, and it
easily passed.
Just when it looked as if the markup session was drawing to a
close, however, that pesky Republican Roberts spoke up again.
"If there's no further comment," said the Chairman, winding
things up.
"Just a minute, Mr. Chairman, Mr. Chairman," said Roberts,
looking as if his trousers had caught fire.
"Mr. Roberts?" said Talmidge wearily.
"I have a question," he said, adjusting his spectacles on the
edge of his nose. "I have been reading this appropriation, and I
notice that this $20 million is to be spent in seven different
locations, all over New York State."
"What's so odd about that, Mr. Roberts?" said Talmidge, not
really caring. Pork was pork, and why did he suddenly care how it was
doled out?
"Well, at each of these seven locations I estimate that due to
start up costs and logistics it will not be possible with the funding
that we're allocating to construct more than one tenth of a mile of
high speed track at any one location. Wouldn't it be better to spend
all this money in one place?" he said, with a gleam in his eye, as if
he knew what Powers was up to.
Powers of course, couldn't care less how much if any trackline
were laid. He just wanted to be able to go to as many points in the
state as possible and point to the bulldozers as if to say, "Look!
Look! Federal money! And I got it for you!"
But he was slow to think of a response.
And worse yet, he could see some of the committee members on his
side of the aisle nodding. Disaster was in the happening!
Chairman Talmidge looked around, seeing the sense of things, and
said, "Maybe-"
"Maybe that's a good idea, maybe it's not," said Powers, quickly
cutting in. Once the Chairman weighed in, there would be no shattering
the consensus.
"Putting all of the construction funds in one place is simply a
bad idea," said Powers.
"Why?" Roberts wanted to know.
"Because of... discrimination," said Powers, thinking of the
first word that popped into his head.
Now members on both sides of the aisle were looking puzzled.
"Discrimination?" said Roberts. "Explain yourself?"
Indeed, thought Powers, how will I explain myself? An idea
quickly came to mind. "Discrimination," he repeated, as he quickly
fleshed out the idea.
"Discrimination in that the rail line could be put in a wealthy
community, at the expense of a poor one."
"But your plan calls for this rail line to criss-cross the
state," said Roberts. "Surely all regions will be served."
"Come now, Congressman," said Powers, some of his confidence
returning. "You know how projects work. They're continually open to
modification. Unless the disadvantaged see tangible gains now, they
never will."
"Bullet trains for the poor," said Roberts, musing over the
concept.
And then Powers had a terrible thought. What if Roberts
suggested putting all the money in one location, such as next to a slum
area? Even Powers wouldn't be able to think of an excuse to counter
such an idea.
But Roberts just seemed to be staring into space, as if he were
lost for further avenues of attack.
The room was silent for a moment. And then Congressman Talmidge
said, "If there are no more comments, let us move on to the Dam
Restructuring Act."
It was over. Powers had won, again.
The vote in full committee was the following morning. That
afternoon Powers sat in the sprawling backyard of his rustic home in
northern Virginia. He lounged under the young afternoon sun, smoking a
thick Cuban cigar. To his side sat the Wizard and Toles, also
similarly puffing.
Several feet in front of them a number of birds puttered about,
pecking on some feed that had been scattered on the ground.
"The vote was 23 to 16," said Powers. "It wasn't even close."
He chuckled as he inhaled deep smoke fumes. Then he blew out a series
of lazy smoke rings.
On the ground next to him the little birds puttered about. One
of them pecked at the feed, only to find that the feed was moist, as if
something had gotten it wet.
"It sounds like you had a close call in the markup, though,"
Toles commented.
"Did I ever! I let those two have it," he said, referring to
Niles and Marsten. Although he had been happy with the outcome, he had
also been angry that the two hadn't briefed him better about potential
attacks on his legislation. In retrospect when he had had time to calm
down he had realized that there was little they could have done, but at
the same time he could only smile when he recalled the scene in the
office. He had stormed in, demanding an explanation.
"What... what are you talking about?" Niles had squeaked.
"The markup. They tried to slaughter me! How come you didn't
adequately brief me on this?"
"I... we... uh...." He looked at Marsten for support; Marsten was
carefully looking away.
"Uh? I don't want uh! I want results! And if you can't deliver
it, find somewhere else to work!" That last he fairly screamed.
Trembling, his aides slunk out of his sight.
"Weren't you fairly hard on them?" said Toles.
"I don't care," said Powers. "We almost blew it in the markup
session."
"At worst the project would have started in just one location."
"I want it started in as many locations as possible," said
Powers.
"Your instincts are correct," said the Wizard, who had just been
blowing out some truly superb smoke rings. He noticed one of the
little birds walking into a shallow trickle of a reddish looking
liquid. "We need to announce the program in as many different
locations as possible."
Powers, noticing that they were running out of feed, reached into
a bag at his side and scattered some more on the ground in front of
him.
"Very charitable of you," Toles commented.
"I'm feeling in a very charitable mood," Powers commented. "Do
you have everything set up for the announcement tomorrow?"
"Um hm," said Toles. "But don't think it was easy getting a
permit to cordon off Fifth Avenue, in the middle of a weekday
afternoon."
"Pah! It's only for one block," said Powers dismissively.
"One block in the center of midtown," said Toles.
The Wizard asked, "What are the bill's chances for passage in the
full House and Senate?"
"Good, if I can persuade both of those august bodies to vote on
the damn thing," said Powers. "I may well be able to swing the House
vote, but the Senate will be tougher. I have very little influence
within the Senate."
"We'll do it," said Toles. "After you got the committee to vote
on it, I'm convinced that there's nothing that you can't do."
One of the little birds jumped over something to get at some of
the food. The obstacle turned out to be the slumped body of another
little bird.
"We'll see." Powers looked about at the gathered birds. Enough
had accumulated again. He picked up a long shotgun at the side of his
chair. At this range it didn't take much aiming.
Boom! A whole group of birds were nearly blown into the air with
the impact. And then the ground was littered again with trickling
avian corpses.
"Like shooting fish in a barrel."
"What's going on here?" said Erin, coming into the backyard.
"Are you-"
And then she saw the dead birds, and then she screamed at Powers.
"Are you crazy? What do you think you're doing?"
"I don't like your tone," said Powers sharply. He had lowered
the shotgun, but it still lay on his lap.
Something in his tone had an immediate effect, and Erin calmed
down. "What are you doing?" she said again, a bit more sedately.
"I'm hunting. What does it look like?"
Erin shook her head. "Sometimes you disgust me." She turned, as
if to go back inside.
"Was there something you wanted, dear?" said Powers.
She turned. She had been about to talk to Powers, but- "I was
going to talk to you about...."
"Well, talk away," said Powers reasonably.
Her eyes fell on the animal corpses. "I'm not sure I'm in the
mood now." She turned as if to go back into the house again.
"Fine," said Powers. "But I'm not sure when I'll be in the mood
again to talk about it." They both knew what "it" was.
Erin was torn. Powers was obviously bating her. But if he was
willing to hear about her proposal, this might be the only time.
She turned around again to face him, steeling herself not to look
at the ground. It was all for a higher moral purpose, she kept
reminding herself.
"The Greenleaf Fund, of which I am a director member, has made
stopping the Seton Hills project its number one legislative priority
this year," said Erin.
"Very commendable," said Powers approvingly. He wondered what
she was talking about.
"Seton Hills?" said Toles, allowing himself to be drawn into the
conversation.
"A proposal to build a dam in the upper Mississippi Delta," said
Erin.
"What's wrong with it?" Toles wanted to know.
"It will totally disrupt the spawning grounds of the southern
aquatic darter-"
"A fish?" asked the Wizard.
"A bug," Powers hazarded.
"If you must know, the darter is a hybrid of the mollusk and
crustacean families."
"A bug," said Powers, with knowing certainty. "And this bug will
be wiped out if they build this dam, is that it?"
"Well, not exactly...."
"Then what's the problem?" said Powers reasonably. "Do we or do
we not have enough of this kind of bug in the world?"
"They will be wiped out!"
"You just said they wouldn't."
"The aquatic darter, no. But the southern aquatic darter will-"
"This conversation is getting too technical for me," said the
Wizard. "Say what?"
"The southern aquatic darter is a certain type of aquatic
darter," said Erin.
"What's the difference?"
"You can tell the southern darter from other darters by the size
of its... its elongated...."
"Ha ha ha ha! Ah, ha ha ha!" Powers, the Wizard, and Toles were
laughing hysterically. The Wizard laughed himself so hard that he fell
out of his lawn chair.
Erin, biting her lip, watched angrily, her arms on her hips.
"Are you quite done?"
Powers, straining for seriousness, nodded solemnly. Then,
suddenly, he started up again. "Ah, ha ha ha," he yelled, bursting out
again with laughter. Then he calmed down a bit. "All right... all
right... if I laugh any more, I'll make myself sick...."
"This measure has already passed your committee, Michael. I want
you to vote against it when it goes to the floor."
Powers, seeing her seriousness, nodded. "All right. I'll do
it." As she turned away to go inside, he added, "After all, it's not
every day that I have the chance to make the world safe for snails with
large genitalia."
They burst out laughing again. But after they had all calmed
down again, Toles asked, "You know, this Seton Hills thing sounds
vaguely familiar. I think this is one of Chairman Talmidge's pet
projects. Are you really going to vote against it?"
Powers shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno."
"And I hereby announce my candidacy for governor!"
It was a momentous moment. With Erin and his supporters smiling
at his side, American flags flapping in the gentle breeze, Powers stood
under the morning sunshine on the steps of the main branch of the New
York Public Library. Fifth Avenue had been blocked off on either side
to accommodate the hundreds of Powers supporters who had shown up.
And, in a tribute to Tole's organizing skills, most of those who had
appeared were unpaid. A number of them were Sigfried's people. Some
were volunteers from past campaigns. Others were local Democratic
party activists. Powers did have some genuine base of support; after
all, he had been repeatedly elected congressman from this area.
Powers had chosen the New York Public Library as the site of his
announcement for several reasons. One, it was a majestic backdrop, a
visual location that would enhance his stature. Two, it was in New
York City, which was his natural base of support. And three, his
presence here tied in with one of his most powerful themes: elect me,
and I will get you more money.
For Powers had slipped a $50,000 grant into one of the
appropriation bills late last year to buy the library two new
photocopier machines, and now he intended to milk his good deed for all
it was worth.
"And with this grant," he hadn't named the size of the grant, or
been specific about it in any other way, "the library will have the
ability to upgrade its facilities and to provide better services for
the general public. We've done a lot in Washington for the people of
New York. Why only yesterday a bill came out of my committee that will
set up a modern light rail transit system all over the state of New
York!"
The crowd cheered loudly, right on-cue.
Cameras were whirring nonstop. The morning sun was bright, the
gentle wind airy. A perfect day. And Powers made sure not to ruin his
speech by getting into specifics.
Their good fortune continued on the evening news. Even Oxford
Frame, their perennial critic, had to deliver a positive story.
"Hundreds of Powers supporters filled Fifth Avenue today to demand that
their candidate be elected governor." The scene cut to supporters with
big "POWERS FOR GOVERNOR" signs chanting "Pow-ers! Pow-ers!"
Frame also showed clips of Powers' speech, in effect giving
Powers free advertising time. And the backdrop was perfect; the grand
entrance to the New York Public Library could well have been the
entrance to Capitol Hill.
"It now looks like Powers could give Speaker Mandelbaum a serious
challenge for the governorship. We caught up with the Speaker outside
his Upper West Side apartment."
The scene cut to Mandelbaum running along, muttering "No comment!
No comment!"
But then Frame caught up to him, blocking his further egress. "A
powerful challenger has entered the race, and you have no comment?"
And then Mandelbaum fairly snapped, "It takes more than a pretty
speech to make a good governor." And then he hurried on.
"Yeah, it takes temperament," said the Wizard, watching with
Powers and the others.
"You did it!" said Erin, giving Powers a broad hug. The acrimony
of the day before was totally dissipated.
"So I did," said Powers. "But let's keep things in perspective.
That's just the announcement. There's still a long way to go. And I'm
sure Speaker M&M is not going to be a pushover."
The Wizard nodded sagely.
That evening, when Powers returned to Washington, he invited the
Wizard into the large basement of his suburban Virginia home. Laid out
on the ground were 20 or so tanks, each nearly one foot tall,
surrounded by plastic soldiers, miniature barbed wire, trenches, and
fortifications.
Nearly two-thirds of the tanks were American, by the emblem on
their sides. The rest were German Panzers.
Powers stood to the side, manipulating a complex remote control.
"The Panzers are outnumbered," the Wizard noted immediately.
"Precisely," said Powers. He pressed a button, and one of the
Panzers slowly grinded forward. Then he pressed another button, and
another one moved forward, to the right. "A frontal attack will not
work."
Suddenly one of the American tanks opened fire. With a boom! and
a small cloud of smoke, a shell spat out of the tank, crashing into one
of the German half-tracks, which flipped over.
"Casualties of war," Powers shrugged. He moved another Panzer
forward.
"Say, those shells look like they could do something mighty nasty
to human skin," said the Wizard, suddenly conscious of the firing
angles.
"Correct. You'd best stay to the side."
Powers continued. "A frontal assault simply won't work," he
repeated, maneuvering his Panzers.
"Like your assault on the full committee?" said the Wizard,
immediately understanding.
Powers grinned, nodding. "And before you exploit a potential
weakness, the battlefield must be to your liking." To demonstrate his
point, he moved another Panzer forward, over a small ridge, where it
would be in a position to cover other advancing units.
"As we hope to shape the battlefield with M&M," the Wizard
commented.
"So you have read Sun Tzu," said Powers.
"No, but I think a lot of his rules for warfare are intuitive
rules of politics," said the Wizard.
"Could well be," said Powers. "I'm hoping that Mason's stealthy
research will prepare the battlefield for our victory." He whistled a
sour tune as another Allied tank opened up, smashing into a small
German outpost, smashing it utterly. Powers, ignoring that, continued
to move his units into position.
"M&M's going to be tough to beat," Powers continued. "All the
betting money's still on him."
"Except my salary," said the Wizard dryly. "Double or one half,
remember?"
"Incentive pay," said Powers. "Who can be against incentive
pay?"
"I can, when it applies to me."
"I know."
There was a silence for a moment, only punctuated by the whine of
tank tracks. Then the Wizard said, "We'll beat him. If anybody can
beat him, I can."
"You mean, of course, that we can," said Powers dryly.
"Of course."
One of the Allied tanks fired again, sending a shell careening
off the battlefield into the far wall of the basement.
"Damn, Erin's going to throw a fit," fumed Powers. "We just had
that plastered and painted again recently." Then he nodded. "Ready."
He pressed one button, and then stood back.
The lead Panzer, located on the far right of the board, fired.
It decimated an entire platoon of enemy soldiers. Another Panzer
fired, eliminating an enemy blockhouse. Other Panzers moved forward.
One Allied tank fired on a Panzer, hitting it dead square--but the
shell bounced off.
"Panzers have better armor," Powers explained.
The Panzers advanced, under Powers' direction, decimating
everything in sight. They rapidly raced to the far side of the board,
firing sporadically at enemy troop positions and tanks. At some points
they were advancing so quickly that they actually crushed enemy troops
underneath their treads. After a few short movements they had totally
bypassed the main block of allied tanks to stand at the enemy
headquarters, a large three story structure composed of blocks.
Powers adjusted one of his controls. The turret on the lead tank
angled up accordingly. "Fire!" he screamed.
The tank belched smoke, there was an explosion, and the top floor
of the enemy headquarters was lopped off. Then the other tanks fired
in succession, creating a tremendous thunderclap.
Then there was silence. A small cloud of smoke hung over that
corner of the room. When it was cleared the Allied headquarters was
nothing more than rubble, individual blocks scattered about.
The Wizard broke the silence first, coughing a bit as the smoke
wafted its way across the room.
"Heh heh heh," said Powers, watching the destruction. "I hope we
can do as much for M&M."
The next day Erin Powers came into the Congressman's Capitol Hill
office, somewhat towards the end of the afternoon.
"Philip, how are you doing?" she said, spotting Niles sitting at
the front desk.
Toles came out of a side office, looking surprised. Erin rarely
showed up on Capitol Hill. Then he cast a glance towards Powers'
office. He could tell that the windows were shuttered, and yet he
could almost make out two shadows...
He quickly ducked into his side office, and quickly buzzed
Powers' office.
There was no response.
"Come on, come on," Toles muttered.
Then there was a response. "Y-yes?"
"Congressman, your wife is here. In your outer office!"
"Oh." A pause. "Tell her I'll be right out."
Toles immediately raced out into the main room. Erin seemed to
just be wrapping up her discussion with Niles.
"Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I have to collect my
husband," said Erin. "We're going out to dinner." She turned to the
door to the inner office-
"Erin, so good to see you," said Toles, quickly moving in the
way.
"Good afternoon, Arthur," said Erin coolly, sensing immediately
that something was afoot. "How are you?" she said automatically, as
she moved to go past him, her hand already on the door handle.
"I'm sorry, Erin, you can't go in," said Toles, gulping as he
said it. It was never, ever good to cross the wife of a Congressman.
It tended to curtail one's tenure at the job.
"Why?" said Erin, puzzled. "I just want to pop my head in-"
"The Congressman said he was not to be disturbed-"
"I'm his wife, I hardly classify as a disturbance-"
"I'm sorry, but-"
"Out of the way!" she thundered.
Toles had no choice but too meekly move aside.
"Honestly, I'm not sure what's gotten into you, Arthur," she
said, turning the handle.
The door was unlocked. She came in to see Powers sitting behind
his desk, talking to a tall, attractive red-headed woman.
Powers looked up, in midsentence. "Dear? What are you doing
here?"
"We're supposed to go to dinner, remember?" said Erin.
Powers slapped his forehead. "I'm sorry, dear, it totally
slipped by me. I've been having quite a day--Ms. Truly, I think we've
finished what we've started."
She started to get up, standing on firm, long legs that were
hardly covered by a short miniskirt.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Powers. "Dear, this is Sarah Truly, deputy
chief lobbyist for the Northeast Transportation Coalition. Sarah, this
is my wife, Erin."
"Good to meet you," said Truly.
"The same here," said Erin. There was something that struck her
as odd about the atmosphere in the room, but she couldn't quite put her
finger on it. Was there something that she was missing? "Have I met
you before?"
"No, this is my first visit with the Congressman, a get-
acquainted session-"
Toles rolled his eyes.
"How nice," said Erin, as Powers escorted Truly out the door.
Powers said, "Sarah, we'll have to pick up on that matter another
time."
"Sure, Congressman. Just give me a call," she said, swaying
gently as she walked off.
Erin was fuming. "Michael, you always do that. Always putting
business first. What about me? When are you going to think about me?"
"Dear, I'm a Congressman, with a great deal of duties to perform
for my constituents," said Powers. "But we're going out to dinner,
aren't we? So let's go."
"Yes," she said. But she turned to Toles. "I wish you showed
the same dedication at guarding his work sessions as you do at keeping
track of his scheduling."
"I'll try to do better," said Toles, head bowed. But as Powers
walked by, Toles tapped his boss gently on the back. Powers, feeling
behind himself, noticed his shirttail untucked, and quickly folded it
in his pants.
"You do that," said Powers sternly, giving him a wink.
As they left Toles muttered, "Some days...."
Chapter 3
"Time to raise more money!" said the Wizard cheerfully. They
stood outside the bright and gleaming Trump Plaza tower.
"How in the world did you get Trump Plaza?" said Powers. "And
Rockefeller Center? Both in one night? And how much did it cost?"
"You ask too many questions," said the Wizard. "But in answer to
your last question, nothing."
"Nothing?" said Powers, refusing to suspend disbelief.
"Nothing," the Wizard confirmed, puffing on his pipe. "You'd be
surprised how many individuals are truly eager to make donations to
someone who may well become the next Governor of your fair state. The
space has been donated tonight for our use. But don't think getting it
was all that easy."
"I won't," said Powers. He looked nervously up at the gleaming
tower. "Isn't this kind of a bad image for the campaign? All this
glitz, I mean? Makes me seem a candidate of the rich, you know."
"You have a point," said the Wizard, "but you are not precisely
on target. Yes, the ordinary voter is resentful of the rich. After
all, the rich has what he does not, and envy is what America is all
about. However, the ordinary schmo is also impressed by the glitter
and the pomp. Take the British public's adulation of Prince Charles
and Diana-"
"Now?"
"Ok, a bad example. Or take the owner of the building we're
standing in. Donald Trump is certainly envied, but he is also looked
up to as a role model, as someone who has made it. Now, I wouldn't
advise you to spread the glitz when you're out on the campaign trail.
However, at a fundraising events, all the pocketbooks and wallets will
expect and even demand an example of lavish consumption. That's what
shakes the money trees. Agreed, it's a fine line to walk on, but this
is the proper time and place for being fancy-fancy."
"That's either sound logic, or the best rationalization I've ever
heard," said Powers. "Forget it. Anyway, what's done is done."
"On that you are oh so true," said Wizard Ross. "Shall we go
in?"
The fancy marble floor of the Trump Tower was especially aglitter
that night. A man dressed in the uniform of the Queen's palace guard
held the door open for them as they entered. Powers was immediately
deluged by a crowd of wellwishers.
"Congressman! Congressman! So good to see you! Where have you
been?"
It took Powers a half hour just to edge his way to the other side
of the lobby, where a buffet had been set up by the waterfalls.
Finally he got himself a gold rimmed plate, and looked about for
something to eat. It seemed to be fancy seafood night here--there was
lobster, shrimp, caviar (how much did that cost?) and assorted
delicacies. Powers looked about. The place was packed with a crowd of
supporters. And this was just the private reception before the actual
event!
It was the Wizard who had worked out the ingenious fundraising
system. "Everyone who comes--and I do mean everyone--has to give a
minimum of $1000 per person. A minimum."
Powers had blinked but said nothing. In the past his fundraisers
had a $50 minimum.
Then the Wizard had said, "If they want to be a Silver Circle
Attendee, they need to donate $1,500 dollars."
"Silver Circle? What the hell is that?" Powers had said.
"That means their name gets on the invitation card, and they get
to sit somewhat near you at dinner."
"Somewhat near? What is somewhat near?"
"Oh, I don't know, anywhere," the Wizard had said. "Then there
are Gold Circle Attendees. Gold Circlers have to give $2500, and they
get their name on the program card, and the right to attend the private
introduction before the dinner at Trump Plaza."
"Is anyone really going to pay for that?" Powers had said
skeptically.
"You charge enough money for anything and someone will pay for
it," the Wizard had predicted. "But wait, I'm not done. Finally
there's the Platinum Attendees. They get to actually sit at your table
at dinner, for a mere $5000." He frowned. "The problem is that there
are 40 of those. I guess we'll have to push some tables together.
Have one really big table."
"40??? Forty people had committed $5,000?" Powers had been
flabbergasted. "That's $200,000 right there!"
"You're good with the arithmetic, my boy."
And there must have been at least 80 or 90 Gold Attendees, by the
look of the size of the crowd. Powers gave a low whistle. Just what
was he expected to do for all these people when he got into office?
He soon found out. One woman, a Gold Attendee, came up to him
and said, "You're for gun control, right?"
Powers thought rapidly. It was still the primary, not the
general election. "Very much so," he said reassuringly.
"That's just great," she said. "We need to get the guns off the
street."
"Exactly," said Powers, getting into the swing of things. "We
need less guns... and more jobs."
Another man approached him, overhearing that last part. "Tell me
more about your jobs program."
"We're going to create more jobs, for people who need them," said
Powers. "We're especially looking to help the unemployed, and those
who have been shut out of the system." He wasn't quite sure what "the
system" was, but it always seemed to be a good thing to say.
And, by their approving nods, he seemed to be on point with his
comment.
"Congressman," said an elderly man, "Watcha gunna do for the
environment?"
"We have to protect it, of course," said Powers. "We need to do
more for our trees and animals. I am fully in favor of spending more-"
"And what about condoms in the schools?" someone else wanted to
know.
He was beset on all sides! And here was an issue that he hadn't
even been briefed on. "What about it?" he said guardedly.
"Condoms in the schools. Do you think they should be given out?"
Powers looked around. His questioner and others around him were
waiting for an answer, but it wasn't evident from the question what
kind of answer he was looking for. "Well, it's a very complicated
issue," he began.
"There ain't nothing complicated about it," said the man. "We
need to get the filthy things out of the schools."
"Yes, that's what I'm saying," said Powers. "We need to get rid
of them, of course, but the method of doing so could be complicated. I
mean, there are probably already laws on the books mandating
distribution-"
"But if you don't have a birth control program how are you going
to protect our teens from VD?" said a middle aged woman. "What about
all the VD, Congressman?"
"Good point," said Powers. "That's why we do need a strong birth
control program. Children should be taught all the right things to
do... to prevent VD."
"Without condoms?" said the woman.
"Well," said Powers. The crowd was obviously divided on this
one. Time to shift the issue. "It's a complicated issue. There's no
easy answer, but I do think we all agree that education is the answer.
We need to get money into the schools so that our teachers have the
resources to enrich the minds of our young people. In fact, we can do
this, we must do this, this must be an imperative, the imperative, when
I am elected Governor!"
He hadn't been aware that his voice was rising, but he was
startled by the strong applause when he was finished.
Suddenly Toles was at his elbow, whisking him away. "Great work,
Chief," he said.
"Not everyone is born with the common touch," Powers muttered.
"Isn't it time that we moved to the main function?" Just then another
person came up for him. "Congressman, are you going to restrict our
right to carry firearms when you're elected?"
"I don't see any need to make hasty moves on it," said Powers
solemnly. Actually, for purposes of the primary, he was for stronger
gun control. But chances are that this fellow would never find out
what his position on the issue was, anyway.
And then they moved to the main fundraiser at Rockefeller Center.
Even Powers, who was quite jaded, felt himself gasp for breath
when he saw what had been set up. It was 8 o'clock at night, but the
entire Rockefeller Center was brightly illuminated. Beautiful and
exotic plants were scattered about everywhere. The whole area was
alight and alive with people. In the center, in the recess where the
skating rink was situated in wintertime, stood rows and rows of tables.
A small army of smartly dressed waiters stood to the side, waiting to
serve.
The crowd actually clapped as Powers came down and made his way
to his table. He had to resist the impulse to bow. Taking Erin by the
arm, he said, "It doesn't get any better than this, eh?"
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
They took their place at their table, and then everyone else sat
down. Powers was amused to note that his table was about twenty feet
long; meaning that a platinum attendee who had paid $5,000 for the
honor of sitting next to him might just be able to catch a view of him
eating from the other end of the table.
When everyone had seated themselves it seemed that every guest
attempted to vie for Powers' attention. One guest, a Mr. Emile
Sanchez, sat directly to his right, and transfixed Powers with stories
about his bricklaying company.
"-I'm telling you, there must have been a 110 degree heat that
day, and the crew was sweating like pigs. We were laying down the hard
brick, you know, the durable industrial stuff--we don't use second hand
material, you understand. And anyway we run out of grout--we use that
to line the bottoms, you understand-"
Powers didn't understand. But he kept nodding attentively. They
had all paid for his time, and he didn't particularly care who
monopolized it.
But other guests did, and after a while they interrupted and
tried to get a word in.
But Mr. Sanchez wouldn't let go. "Just a moment," he said, to
one of the interrupters. "I just have to tell you about our quarry.
It's fantastic. I'm talking limestone, sandstone, every kind of
fucking stone-"
There was a tap on his shoulder. He tried to ignore it, but it
grew more brisk. "What?" he said, annoyed.
"Are you Mr. Sanchez?" said a polite man to his side.
"Yes, can't you see you're interrupting-"
"Sir, your car has been towed away."
"What? How-"
"I suggest you talk to the officers on the street," said the man.
"They can help you."
"Yes," said Sanchez, looking disturbed as he got up. "I be right
back."
After he had left, the new man took his seat. "No, he won't,"
said Toles, leaning forward confidentially.
But his voice carried, and an elderly woman said, "Is this man
responsible for getting that awfully boring man to leave?"
"Well...." said Powers, unsure as to what to say.
The entire table broke into spontaneous applause.
After that Powers had a reasonably good time. As long as he said
"Um hm," or made other sympathetic sounds at appropriate points, he was
left alone. Every so often Erin tried to get his attention, but he
ignored her. She would have her time later.
Powers wondered if this experience was akin to what it would be
like to be governor. To be mobbed by anonymous people, who always
wanted his ear. Even as a Congressman he had never received this much
attention. He wondered just how much the campaign was raking in
tonight.
The food was excellent. There was filet mignon and roast lamb
and fresh hot rolls and grapes and fruits and cakes of all descriptions
and kinds, all served by eager to please waiters and waitresses.
Powers eyed one of the waitresses with interest, one with long brown
hair and a figure that could kill. But this was business, not
pleasure, he reminded himself.
Overall he had a reasonably good time. He even waved to the
camera crews, who had been tastefully kept at a distance by the well
heeled private security force he had hired for the night.
Afterwards, when he arrived home, he kicked off his shoes and
punched up the VCR. He had set it to tape the CBS local news.
Sure enough, he was the lead story.
"-fundraiser not seen since the Rockefeller days," said Stephanie
Gould. "In no time in modern history has New York seen such
extravagance." The camera image panned to cover Rockefeller Center.
"Congressman Powers, once dismissed as a gadfly of the campaign, must
now be taken as a serious candidate, if only by judging the resources
that are apparently at his disposal."
The phone rang. Powers answered it. "Yes, Ross, I'm watching it
now."
"-expected to take in almost $1,000,000 dollars-"
"What?" Powers sat up. "We took in 1.2 mil? That's tremendous!
Great!" He hung up the phone. 1.2 million dollars. All in one night.
How could it get any better?
It couldn't. Every soup had to have its fly and the fly in the
Powers campaign was Michele Franswa.
ORGY OF EXCESS
Personal Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
Michael Powers thinks he can impress people by
sponsoring big, fancy fundraisers at exclusive tourist sites around the
city. He may impress the special interests and the fat cats. But he's
not going to make a dent among ordinary, hard working people unless he
starts paying some attention to the common folk. What is he going to
do to help the poor? The homeless? The indigent? Pregnant and
nursing mothers? The mentally challenged?
Now that Congressman Powers had raised a tidy war-
chest, no doubt we'll see a lot of slick ads about how he "cares". But
if he really cares he has yet to show it. His entire congressional
record is one repetitious story of catering to one special interest
after another. The only special interests he hasn't catered to are
those which haven't contributed to his campaign--the poor and the
needy.
This orgy of excess that Powers staged last night may
impress his special interests, but they also impress upon New Yorkers
just who Powers stands with.
The Wizard looked up from the editorial. "Is the New York Times
allowed to say "Orgy"?"
"This is not good," said Powers.
"Forget it," said the Wizard.
"How can I?"
"Because I told you to," snapped the Wizard. "This bitch is
going to attack you regardless of what you do. As I've told you
before, your press is overwhelmingly positive--so far. If you don't
believe me, look at the network news, or one of your other local
papers."
"But the New York Times-"
"Has influence among the liberal-left intelligentsia. I know,"
said the Wizard. "But they're not going to vote for you anyway.
They're just a little too smart to be fooled by our act. On the other
hand they're not inclined to support M&M either."
"So who will they vote for?"
"A tough call," said the Wizard. "I think the New York Times
vote may sit this one out. Or they might support Sampleton in moderate
numbers. Don't worry about it! Never worry about what you can't
change. Worry about those votes that you don't have right now but that
you may be able to get."
"I'm just not reconciled to the fact that there are some voters
I'll never reach."
"Mike, you ever hear the saying, you can't fool all of the people
all of the time?" said the Wizard. "It holds here. You will never get
the support of right-wing pro-lifers. Likewise you'll never get the
support of the far-left intelligentsia."
"Hm," said Powers noncommentally.
"What???" Powers fairly screamed the word.
He was in his Capitol Hill office. All the staff were present.
A trembling Philip Niles was telling Powers some not-so-good news.
Niles, mistaking Powers' exclamation for an expression of
noncomprehension, rather than one of sheer dismay, repeated the
statement, trembling only a little as he spoke. "Our petitions are
being challenged in court by Speaker Mandelbaum-"
"What the hell is going on-"
"If we can go into your inner office, we can discuss it," said
the Wizard, his tone more level.
His voice had a soothing effect on Powers, enough, at least, for
him to stop yelling and simply nod, silently going into his office
after Ross.
When the door was closed behind them, the Wizard said, "It
doesn't do to have tantrums around your office staff."
"I like it," said Powers. He was calm now. "It keeps them on
their toes."
"Maybe," said the Wizard. "But it can also breed resentment."
He changed the subject. "This move was hardly unexpected."
"Not unexpected? Then what have we done to prepare for it?"
"What we have done, Michael, is to gather 50,000 more signatures
than we actually need. I'm fully aware that New York's petition laws
are the most archaic and complex in the nation. Ballots can be
disqualified on the most minute of technicalities. But don't worry, we
have a large margin for error, and M&M won't succeed in knocking us off
the ballot. All he'll do is distract our attention and energies, if
we'll let him."
"So what do we do?"
"Let some of my lawyer friends handle this one. Don't think
about it. You gotta remember, most of these people who gathered your
petitions were paid professionals, not inexperienced volunteers. They
were paid to make sure that each petition was in order. I guarantee,
if M&M succeeds in knocking out more than 5,000 petitions, much less
50,000, the sun will crash into the moon."
"All right," said Powers. "But I don't want to be hearing about
any sudden eclipses."
"You won't," the Wizard predicted.
Powers nodded, going out into the reception area. Niles and
Marsten were sitting there, processing paperwork, trying to look
invisible. "Boys," he said calmly, "Mandelbaum has struck the first
blow. Has our research turned up anything on him yet?"
Niles and Marsten looked at each other. "Well-"
"Well? What does well mean? Does well mean we've turned up
stuff we can use? Or does well mean we have nothing?"
Marsten looked the other way. Niles, unsure what to say, gulped,
and said, in a timid voice, "Well means we have nothing."
"NOTHING? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING, SITTING ON YOUR ASSES?"
Niles was in no condition to reply.
"WELL?"
Finally it was Marsten who spoke, trembling slightly. "Mr. Mason
told us to wait until he contacted us again-"
"WHAT? GET ME MASON ON THE PHONE! Never, mind, I'll do it
myself!" said Powers, slamming his inner door behind him.
"Boss not happy," said Marsten.
They heard yelling from Powers' inner office. "WHAT? FUCK FUCK
FUCK!"
Ross leaned over confidentially to Niles and Marsten. "Don't
take it personally," said the Wizard. "Napoleon also had days like
this."
Power's voice clearly carried over from his inner office.
"WHAT? WHY? I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT NEXT WEEK! I WANT TO HEAR
ABOUT TODAY!" And then they could hear the clear sound of a phone
slamming down on a receiver.
When Powers reemerged, they braced themselves. But he just
smiled gently and said, "I believe Mr. Mason may be contacting you
gentlemen soon. Please make yourselves available."
"Y-yes." "Yes sir," they uttered. Powers stalked off.
Five minutes later the phone in the office rang. Niles got it.
"H-hello, Congressman Powers office."
"This is Mason," said a low, chilling voice.
"Um, hi, how are you?" said Niles, for loss of anything better to
say.
"I'm coming in. Don't go anywhere."
"Ok, but-" The line went dead.
"That was Mason," said Niles. "He says he's coming in."
Niles looked at Marsten. Marsten looked at Niles. They often
wondered how they ended up with days like this.
Mason showed up just a few minutes later. Whatever rock he had
crawled out from under obviously wasn't very far away.
"Hi, how are you?" said Niles.
Mason hooked a thumb to one of the side offices, and went in.
"Oh," said Niles, following Marsten in.
"We're going to work," said Mason simply, as they filed in. He
turned to Marsten. "You. Hop over to the FEC. Pull everything that
Mandelbaum has filed with them."
He turned to Niles. "You. Get his tax filings. I want all of
it."
Niles gulped. "His taxes? How do I get a hold of those?"
"They've been released, idiot," said Mason. "Check with any news
organization. I want results. We meet here again, early tomorrow."
He got up, started to leave.
"Um, just a moment," Niles had the temerity to say. Mason froze
for a moment, as if the novelty of someone giving him an order had
frozen him into near immobility. He turned around, leveling a steely
glare.
"I... um... just wonder what we're looking for?"
Mason said, "What planet have you been living on? Anything
incriminating we can find on him, of course."
"What will that look like-"
"Use your brain, idiot! Shit, the way you're acting, how did you
ever get out of Cornell, much less in the top five percent?" And he
turned and left.
"You," said Marsten, imitating his rough voice. "Do this. You!
Do that."
"A regular mister charming," said Niles. He frowned.
"What's wrong?" said Marsten.
"How did he know I went to Cornell, much less my ranking?"
"Dunno," said Martsen. "The only thing I do know is that we'd
better get started, right now. People are going home for the day in a
little under two hours."
And work they did. Marsten ran to the FEC, persuaded a
slumbering clerk to cough up the publically filed documents--and then
was dismayed to find four book-sized folders of papers. Niles got the
information he wanted from United Press International--Mandelbaum's tax
returns for the past two years. And it was only a few pages long. For
once it was Marsten, and not he, Philip Niles, who had gotten the short
end of the stick.
But when he got back to the office, he was dismayed to find that
the returns, though short, were greek to him. There were a whole maze
of accounting tricks and esoteric deductions that Mandelbaum had
employed to reduce his tax burden. Niles, who was by no means an
accountant, much less a tax lawyer, couldn't make heads or tails of it.
They sat there, in the office, at 2 A.M., afraid to go home,
afraid to concede the rest of the day without making real progress.
"I can't figure this out!" said Niles. "I don't know what to
do!"
"Stop whining," said Marsten. He looked red-eyed from all the
papers he had been forced to read. "Want to help me with some of these
docs?"
"No chance," said Niles.
"Then stop bitching. What's he going to do, kill us?"
Mason did not kill them, at least not immediately. He just sat
there quietly, listening to their report.
"-and I checked over all the exhibits too," said Marsten, hefting
several ounces of documents, "and... it looks all legit."
"All of it?" said Mason.
There was a silence for a moment. Then Marsten said, "All of
it."
"How would you know?" said Mason, sighing. He turned to Niles.
"Your turn."
"Um... I pulled up the tax filings. I think they're ok."
"You think? What does that mean, you think?" said Mason, his
eyes narrowing. "Does 'you think' mean they are ok? Or does 'you
think' mean you have no idea what you're doing or saying?"
"I'm not a tax lawyer-" said Niles defensively.
Suddenly Mason plucked the papers from his fingers. "Neither am
I," he growled. "But I have a mind, and I know how to use it."
There was silence in the room for several minutes as he studied
the tax returns. Niles and Marsten kept very quiet, very still. They
even tried not to breath very deeply or to turn their heads suddenly.
Several minutes later Mason nodded. "Seems simple enough," he
said, as if everything were settled. He got up to leave. "Make
yourselves available the next time I call." And he was gone.
"I can't wait," said Marsten.
"I'm pooped," said Niles. It was 10 AM, and they were red eyed
and bleary from working all night. "I'm going home."
"Me too."
Just as they were getting up Toles entered the room. "Oh, no you
don't. I need that judiciary report processed before 2 PM today.
Move!"
"There's nothing so far," said Mason, sitting in Powers' inner
office.
"Nothing? Is that what I hired you for?"
"I have to have something plausible to work with," said Mason
reasonably. "I can create a mountain out of a molehill, but I need the
molehill first. And don't say that you're surprised that all of his
public filings are in order. I wouldn't have expected anything else."
"Hm...." Powers considered this. "He hasn't paid very much
taxes. Surely we can make some hay from that," he said.
"I don't think that would be a good idea; you haven't paid very
much to the IRS either," said Mason. Powers gave him a sharp look; he
hadn't released his returns yet. How had Mason known what was on his
returns? Did Sigfried spy on him? But Mason made a certain amount of
sense about not attacking M&M on the tax issue; Powers, for one, would
not throw rocks while he lived in a glass tax shelters.
"I do have one other source of information," said Mason. He
removed some documents from his briefcase. "The subject's credit
history."
Powers took the documents. "He didn't release these to the
public."
"No sir, he didn't," said Mason. "These are what I was working
on when you first called to inquire about my progress."
"Hm. Quite a mortgage on his summer home," said Powers. He read
down a little. "He buys a lot of antiques with his credit card... and
prescription drugs. I see a lot billed to pharmacies. Any idea of
what that's all about?"
"No sir."
"Still, it's interesting," said Powers. "I'm so glad that Big
Brother keeps records like these. It's so helpful in being able to
track individuals." He continued reading. "Well, here's something.
He paid for a trip to the Netherlands using his credit card. That's
the sex capital of the world. I wonder if he bought some pornography?"
"We'd have to search his home-"
"Nothing so heavy handed," said Powers. "That's how Watergate
got started, you know." He sighed, reading over the rest of the list.
Some items titillated his prurient interest, but there was nothing
obvious that could be used against Mandelbaum. "Keep looking," he
sighed.
"As you wish," said Mason curtly, heading for the door.
Philip Niles collapsed. He didn't even remember the walk home,
or much else from the past few hours. He had worked all night before
for Mason, and then for much of the day for Toles. Toles, showing a
heart of gold, let him go after the report was completed, at about 3
o'clock.
He was soundly asleep when Marie returned from Georgetown, just a
little after 5.
"What's this, a corpse?" she said, amused.
But Niles did not stir. It was only around 8 PM that he found
himself blinking, focusing in and out on the far wall. A pistol shot
echoed in the distance.
"They're up to no good again," sighed Marie. She turned to
Niles. "Awake at last! Where were you all night? What did you do,
sleep the day away?"
Niles told her the whole story, how he had spent the night
looking at tax returns.
"Tax returns? You're not a tax lawyer, Phil," said Marie.
"That's what I tried to tell Mason," said Niles. "He treated me
like an idiot. But I was afraid to go home, so I spent all night
poring over the damn stuff."
"Poor Philip. So you've been sleeping all day."
"No! Toles made me work on the day shift as well," said Niles.
He felt his irregular cheek; he hadn't shaved in over a day.
"All day as well? Didn't you explain-"
"Mr. Toles didn't want explanations; he just wanted results,"
said Niles, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee.
"That's awful! They're treating you terribly!" said Marie.
"It's bad enough having to work two shifts. But that Mason guy
scares me," said Niles.
"Can't you ask to work with someone else?"
"Uh-uh." Niles drank some of the coffee that Marie had brewed.
"I was volunteered personally for this assignment by the Congressman."
Marie sighed. "Well, at least they're not asking you to do
anything illegal. You were worried about that, remember?"
"Uh huh," said Powers. "But I think things are just beginning."
The following day the Wizard came in to Powers' office, his face
gleaming. "I come bearing good tidings!"
"I can use some good tidings," said Powers. "Let's hear it,
Gandalf."
"We shot down M&M's ballot challenge. Mr. Mandelbaum managed to
knock out only about 200 of our signatures. We still have more than
enough signatures to get on the ballot."
"Very good," said Powers approvingly. "Thank the lawyers on my
behalf."
"You'll get their bill," said the Wizard wryly. "They're the
best, and the best don't come cheaply."
"So I know."
"But I also have some good news; our crack litigators have
launched an attack of our own against M&M's ballots."
Powers face lit up. Finally, they were on the attack. "And?"
"Don't expect too much. Uncle Miltie has a large petition safety
margin, as we do. But it will give him a bit of hassle, and generate
some billables for his lawyers."
"Good," Powers gloated. "But I want more."
"More? Then how about your first campaign appearance?"
Powers immediately sat up. "When?"
"In two days. The Rochester event."
"Rochester? I thought we were going to wait for next week-"
"We're moving up the timetable. I want you to get some good
exposure to the electorate."
Powers nodded approvingly. "The battle begins."
The campaign appearance wasn't exactly in Rochester, but rather
forty miles to the west of Rochester, in a small cluster of farming
communities.
"Is there any more out of the way place that we could have chosen
to hold this rally in?" Powers had said when he fount out exactly where
they were going. "I know, let's hold our rally in a darkroom in
somebody's basement. Then we'll really get a large turnout."
"You think that we should hold the rally in Manhattan, right?"
said the Wizard.
"Or Brooklyn or Queens or-"
"But do you realize that more than half the votes cast in the
election will come from outside New York City?"
"But there at least we have some population density. Here-"
"Here we'll just have a few farmers. Fine. I just want to get
it on TV, so the other rural communities across the state, of which
there are not a few, can see this. Rural voters often feel, for good
reasons, that they are ignored in campaigns. We're going to show that
you're paying attention to them. Remember when Ed Koch ran for
governor against Mario Cuomo? He said in an interview that upstate was
not a fit place to live. He lost his primary by the smallest of
margins."
"Hm," said Powers.
But his doubts were only magnified when they reached Rochester.
Rochester was a moderate sized city, one that in Powers' opinion could
have fit comfortably into a Brooklyn neighborhood.
And then Powers said goodbye as they left Rochester. At first
their five car convoy was on a four lane road, and then a two lane
road, and as the setting grew more and more rural the regular pavement
was replaced by rocky concrete and even gravel.
"Why don't we turn off into a dirt road?" Powers grumbled. He
had been against this trip from the beginning. Like many politicians
from New York City, he had a strong prejudice against upstate and
upstate residents. He felt upstate was a barren land inhabited by
simple farmers who had little in common with their sophisticated city
breatheren besides the fact that they shared the same governor.
They passed farmhouses and rows of crops. Grazing cows stood
eating grass at the side of the road.
"We should stop and ask them for directions," said Powers.
They passed one group of cows who were slowly crossing the road.
"They should have "cow crossing" signs," said Powers. "You run into
one of those babies, and wham! instant hamburger."
His unease only multiplied when they reached their destination, a
large, open air stage on the side of the road.
"Is this where they auction the cows?" Powers wondered.
"Open air stage. For summer performances," said the Wizard.
Powers looked around. All he could hear was the rustling of the
wind. All he could see in any direction was wavy lines of crops.
"Um... I don't want to appear impolitic, but aside from our people,
there's no one here."
The Wizard bit his lip. "My advance people made sure this event
was well advertised. It's only 2 o'clock, the rally is at three, we
still have an hour to go. Don't worry, people will show up."
They set up while Powers rehearsed his speech. "The farming
community is very important to our state," he said. "You put food on
the table for all New Yorkers. Upstate New York is the bread basket
for the East Coast--Ross, is anyone going to buy this?"
"Yes," said the Wizard, peering into the distance, as if looking
for something. "Keep practicing."
"Farming, while an integral part of our nation's history and
livelihood, has always been underappreciated. The needs of farmers are
very important to me. My uncle owned a farm in New Jersey where I had
pleasant memories of tending the animals and... Ross, I never was on my
Uncle's farm."
"No one will know," said Ross, staring down the silent road.
"Continue."
"I want to be known as the farming Governor. I want to do
everything in my power to help farmers. With support from Washington
not being what it used to, I think we need to enhance farm income
maintenance programs-" Powers droned on, delivering the rest of his
speech. It seemed all right to him. When he was done he joined the
Wizard, who was standing on the road. Still not a single car had come
down the road, even to pass by.
"It's twenty minutes to," said Powers. "I'm starting to become
concerned."
The Wizard said nothing but whispered to an aide.
"What's happening?" Erin asked. She looked out at the sprawling
corn fields, stretching as far as the eye could see. Whistling winds
blew from the west. A few lazy clouds slowly moved to the east.
"No one's coming," said Powers.
"They'll come," said the Wizard. His beard ruffled in the wind.
"Then where are they, what are they doing?" said Powers. "In the
time we've been waiting I could have milked the cows, fed the chickens,
and driven Uncle Jessie into town to have lunch at Aunt Bea's with Opie
and Cooter."
They were all silent for a moment. Then, suddenly, a single car
passed down the road, moving slowing as it passed by. This was it!
The first of many to show up! And then the car sped up, and simply
drove by, and then it was down the road, and long gone.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," said Toles.
At ten minutes to the big event Powers said, "Ross!"
The Wizard stood still, and then he turned around.
"No one's coming, are they?"
The Wizard shook his head. "I don't understand. We had so much
advance promotion. Everyone in a ten town area must have known about
this."
"They knew," said Toles suddenly. "They just didn't care."
"Yes," said Powers. "Now, the media should be here any minute
now. How is it going to look for the cameras when I'm standing here,
in my first campaign appearance, on a FUCKING EMPTY STAGE?" Powers had
a grim expression on his face, like he was going to make heads roll
over this one.
"Calm down," said the Wizard, raising his hands. "There's a way
out of this."
"What will we tell the media? They're liable to find this place
at any minute."
The Wizard paused, his mind whirring. "We could move the rally
to one of the little towns around here. That might get their
attention."
"What, and have a crowd of five people? No thanks," said Powers.
"I will never, ever campaign outside a city again. Never."
There was silence for a minute. They all seemed at a loss for
what to do. Then the Wizard said, "I have an idea."
Powers waited.
"It won't get us favorable press coverage, but neither will the
coverage be bad. It will, in short, be a draw. A wash."
"At this point I'd settle for that," said Powers. The campaign
workers murmurred their agreement. "But how are you going to pull it
off?"
"You," said the Wizard, pointing at Powers. "Go home. I don't
want to see you within fifty miles of here."
"What?"
"It's important that you leave. Right now. Before the media
arrives."
"All right," Powers sighed. "Let's saddle up, everyone."
"No," said the Wizard. "Everyone else stays. Everyone, get out
your maps!" He turned again to Powers. "Go."
"Aren't you going to tell me what you're doing?"
"No. If I tell you and you criticize it I may lose faith in this
plan, and it's the only one we've got."
"You don't exactly inspire confidence," said Powers.
The Wizard looked squarely at him, and pointed to his car. "Go."
Powers, for lack of a better idea, went. He and Erin got into
their car, and started driving, leaving the others, including Toles,
behind.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Michael?" said Erin. She
looked behind them. "What are the others going to do?"
"I don't know," said Powers. "I just don't know."
Toles stood there with a dozen odd staffers and the Wizard,
standing alone among fields of corn and barley, watching as Powers' car
departed.
Niles looked after them. He wished he had gone with them. He
had no wish to be stuck in the middle of nowhere. The other staffers
looked similarly uneasy.
Toles, speaking for all of them, said, "Now what are we going to
do?"
"I will tell you," said the Wizard. He looked about. "You!
You, standing in back!"
"Me?" said Niles.
"You!" said the Wizard. "You look young and unsophisticated.
You, young man, will serve at the centerpiece of my plan."
"I will? I mean, I will," said Niles.
The press vans arrived an hour later, at just about 4 PM. They
had gotten lost on some side roads, and by the time they had retraced
their route precious minutes had been lost. Expecting to arrive at the
tail end of Powers' rally, they instead found an empty stage.
"What the hell is this?" said Oxford Frame, stepping out of one
of the vans. "Are we in the right place?"
"This is the right place," said another reporter.
"Then where the hell is everybody?"
A young man stepped out from behind the stage, from where he had
been waiting. He solemnly walked up to the press crews. The press
crew, sensing something strange was happening, immediately trained
their cameras on him.
"Who... who are you?" said Oxford Frame.
"My name is Philip Niles," said the young man. "I'm a
congressional aide for Congressman Powers."
"And just where is the Congressman?" said Stephanie Gould.
"At the rally," said Niles, matter of factly.
"I don't see the Congressman," said Gould.
"And I don't see the rally," said Frame.
"That's because you're at the wrong place," said Niles,
brightening. "It's been moved. I was left behind to show you where
it's been moved. If you hurry, we can get there in time."
The reporters exchanged glances. "Let's go."
Niles rode with Stephanie Gould and Oxford Frame. "Why was the
rally moved?" said Frame.
"The Congressman wanted to hold it inside one of the small towns
in the area, not in the middle of a corn field," said Niles.
"Seems reasonable enough," said Gould.
"But why move it at the last minute?" Frame persisted.
"Well...."
"And why wasn't the press informed?"
"Uh...."
"Oh, leave the boy alone, Oxford. Can't you see he's just
relaying the message?" said Gould.
"Oh I see, all right," said Frame. "Boy, how long before we get
to this rally?"
"Just a few minutes, Mr. Frame."
A few minutes turned into a half hour, a half hour into forty-
five minutes, and finally, when they were on the verge of giving up and
heading home, they saw a circle of small buildings ahead with a large
sign "Welcome to Bakersville, pop. 7,428." "We're here!" said Niles
excitedly. He checked his watch. It was almost 5 PM. Perfect.
Shortly thereafter they found themselves in a small town green.
A sign hung over one end "POWERS FOR GOVERNOR." A large number of
discarded placards lay on the ground. A few campaign workers were
slowly picking up trash.
"Where are they?" Frame asked.
"Golly, I guessed we just missed the end of it," said Niles,
scratching his head.
"Hold on here," said Frame. "I'm no dummy. How do we even know
that anything happened here?"
"See for yourself," said Niles, pointing at the evidence. "I
just wish the Congressman had stuck around a little longer. He would
have loved to talk to you press people."
"Niles, there you are," said the Wizard, coming out of nowhere.
He looked at Frame. "Where were you press people? We could have used
your cameras two hours ago!"
"I'll bet," said Frame. He planted his hands on his hips. "You
don't think anyone's going to buy this, are you?"
"Buy what?" said the Wizard innocently.
"Let's interview some townspeople," said Frame, turning away.
"If you can find one," said the Wizard, shrugging. "It's pretty
late in the day. As you can see, most people have gone home." He
turned away, apparently unconcerned.
Gould turned to Frame. "What's gotten into you?" she asked.
"Why would they fake a rally?"
"I don't know," said Frame. "But I smell a story."
They started looking around for one of the townspeople. But the
town was indeed fairly deserted and all the small stores were already
closed and shuttered. Finally after walking two blocks in a random
direction they caught up with a villager.
"Excuse me, did you attend the rally this afternoon in the
village square?"
"Rally? What rally?" said the man, walking on.
Gould and Frame exchanged glances.
They walked about for a few minutes longer, but could only find
one more pedestrian, one who didn't know about the rally either, but
admitted, "I haven't been into the center of town lately."
Gould and Frame returned to their cars, just as the Wizard and
his people were finishing packing up.
"Had a nice walk?" the Wizard inquired.
"No one we talked to had any knowledge of your rally," said
Frame.
The Wizard raised an eyebrow. "How many dozens did you talk to?"
"One person," said Gould.
"Two," said Frame, glaring at her.
"Well then," said the Wizard. "I never claimed we had perfect
attendence. It's a pity that the Congressman headed back home so
quickly. He was at the rally, and I'm sure he would have been
delighted to tell you more about it."
"There was no rally!" said Frame, snorting contemptuously.
"Be careful about what you report," said the Wizard. "Because
although your cameras didn't arrive in time, ours did, and we have
footage of the rally."
"What?" said Frame, disbelieving.
"Have a look." He took Frame and Gould to the back of a van
where a TV and VCR was set up. "I was just checking the footage before
you stopped by." He pressed a few buttons.
The image of Powers appeared, speaking at a podium, reading his
standard speech. The image was centered on him, so little of his
background could be seen.
What could be heard, however, were the sounds of scattered
applause in the audience.
"This could be nothing. I don't see any audience," said Frame.
At that moment the image cut to the audience, where a number of
citizens sat, cheering him on. Once again the background was not
readily determinable from the scene being shot, with the the camera
focusing more on the people rather than the background.
Frame said, "Interesting. Mind if we get a copy of that tape?"
The Wizard quickly turned off the VCR. "Not on your life. I'm
not going to do your job for you. You want to get footage, you come to
rallies on time."
And then he finished packing up the van and headed off.
"It still looks fishy to me," Frame scowled. But he could not
easily prove it.
Powers arrived home in time to catch the evening news.
"And Speaker Mandelbaum spoke at a rally on the Upper East Side
where he promised a new sort of state government-"
"The Upper East Side. Yeah. And I had to be in fucking Farmer
Brown country," said Powers, downing a stiff drink.
The report continued for a moment, and then the camera view
returned to the newsroom. "And Congressman Mike Powers was campaigning
in upstate New York today. Stay tuned for weather, sports-"
The phone rang. Powers picked it up. "Yes?"
He listened for a moment.
"No, it wasn't negative. It wasn't anything."
He listened further. "Yes, I'm pleased we managed to avoid being
on the receiving end of embarrassing press. I have to confess that I'm
curious how you pulled it off."
He listened, silently, for several minutes. Then his mood
change; in any event, he burst out laughing.
"Really? You just edited clips from past speeches? And it
worked, it actually worked? I don't believe it!"
A short pause.
"Ok, I do believe it, it obviously happened. Look, I'm obviously
grateful that we avoided a debacle. But M&M actually got good press
today, while I got none. We've got to turn things around, ok? Ok.
See you tomorrow."
Powers hung up the phone, grinning despite himself.
It was in such a mood that his son, Bobby, came running up.
"Daddy!" he shrieked. "Were you on TV again?"
Powers shook his head. "How are you doing, kiddo?" Then he
remembered something. "How are things in school?"
"Great!" said Bobby. "I'm getting straight A's now."
"I knew you would," said Powers. "How is Mr. Sandoval?" Powers
had recently gotten Bobby a new tutor.
"He's ok," said Bobby. "We don't waste our time going over a lot
of different stuff. He's good. Most of the questions we go over
actually seem to come up on my exams."
Powers smiled. "That's because he's not an egghead. He's a
teacher who knows what he's doing. But Bobby, this is our little
secret. You can't talk about Mr. Sandoval to anyone--your friends,
your relatives, anyone. You understand?"
The child frowned. It was obvious that he didn't. But he said,
"OK, Daddy."
Powers smiled. "I knew that with the proper help we could boost
your grades in school. Now get going. Don't you have some studying to
do?"
Bobby nodded, and scooted off. Powers' smile immediately faded.
"Didn't work," said the Wizard, shaking his head.
They were in Powers' office the following day. "What didn't
work?"
"The ballot attack on M&M's petitions," said the Wizard. "We
managed to knock out about 12 of them."
"Twelve? Only twelve?"
"Like I said, he had pro's getting his signatures. I knew we
wouldn't be able to shake them," said the Wizard.
"Then why did we waste the money and the time?" said Powers.
"Because you told me too," said Ross calmly.
Powers nodded. "I did." He hurriedly put on his suit jacket,
preparing to go.
"Where're you off to?"
"Meeting with the Speaker. It's time to move my light rail bill
forward for a House vote."
The Speaker of the House was the most important member of the
House of Representatives. Technically he presided over the meetings of
the House and ruled on different procedural motions. In reality he was
seldom present on the House floor--for one thing, most legislation was
debated in something called the Committee of the Whole, which
theoretically was just another House committee but actually comprised
all the members of the House of Representatives. When the Committee of
the Whole was in session the Speaker did not preside over its meetings,
even though the "Committee" met on the floor of the House itself.
Furthermore even when the House was officially in session the Speaker
often appointed a Speaker Pro Tem, a person whose job it was to preside
over House sessions, and usually the Speaker Pro Tem was a relatively
junior member of the Speaker's party.
No, the power of the Speaker emanated not from his power to sit
over meetings but rather his power to schedule votes on legislation.
As the leader of the majority party in the House, in this case the
Democrats, the Speaker had the power to schedule (or not to schedule)
votes on any subject he saw fit. So he spent most of his time off the
floor in his office, plotting legislative strategy to see that the most
important bills reached the floor in a timely manner.
That is what Powers wanted to do, to see his bill reach the floor
in a timely manner. However, he was very much aware of one thing: the
current Speaker of the House, James Rayban, Congressman from
California, had the political courage of a flea.
Rayban had been speaker only a year and a half. He had taken
over from the previous speaker, who had suddenly resigned "for the good
of the House", and, not entirely coincidentally, shortly before the
justice department had been about to indict him on five counts of
fraud. Arrogance, really, had been the cause of the previous Speaker's
real downfall; his patent disregard for the rules had caused him to
overstep his bounds.
Which is partially why the Democrats choose Rayban for Speaker.
He never overstepped any bounds. Rayban never overstepped anything.
Rayban, politically speaking, was a piece of putty, a very cautious and
even timid man. Powers called him "dumbellhead" only partially because
the Speaker was a former weightlifter.
"So what's the story on my bill, Jim?" said Powers, meeting in
private with the Speaker.
"Well, I don't know, Mike," said the Speaker, fidgeting
nervously. A stranger coming into the room might have mistaken Powers
for the powerful one and the Speaker for the supplicant, given the tone
of the meeting.
"What don't you know, Jim?" said Powers, keeping his expression
neutral.
"The session is rushing to an end. If only we had the time...."
"Of course we have the time," said Powers. "We could pass it on
a voice vote, without debate."
"Oh, I don't know, you know those Republicans, they might
object...." Rayban looked increasingly nervous.
"Then have a debate. Say... an hour on each side. The rules
committee could see to it."
"Yes... I suppose they could...." The Speaker of the United
States House of Representatives looked worriedly at Powers. Seeing his
resolve, Rayban said, "All right. You'll get your vote."
"Thanks," said Powers. "And what about lining up support for the
bill?"
"Support? Oh... you'd have to talk to the whips about that,"
said Rayban. "Do we really need to make this a party line thing?"
"We do," Powers assured him.
"Oh," said Rayban. He paused. "I can't really push this, you
know. Can't expend precious political capital. I'll get you your
floor vote, but you're going to have to push for it on your own, ok?"
Powers paused, sighing. It would have to do.
"This had better work," said Powers. They were outside a bar in
Brooklyn.
"Trust me," said the Wizard. "This time we're going where the
people are."
"Better than a fucking corn field," said Powers.
The bar looked packed; it was a Friday night, and it was bound to
be crowded. Just as Powers reached the door, however, the media closed
in from where they had been waiting on the other side of the street.
"Congressman, are we actually going to see a campaign appearance
this time?" said one.
Powers threw a glance at one of his aides. "If you gentlemen can
keep up with me." He opened the door, entering the bar.
Immediately he was hit by a blaring sound. It took only a few
seconds to identify it as a stereo going at full blast. But the crowds
were fairly oblivious to it, gulping down their beer as fast as they
could swallow it while keeping their eyes glued to the TV screens on
the wall.
A woman bumped into him, almost sloshing beer over Powers' suit
jacket.
"Congressman Powers," said Powers, holding out a hand.
"Watch where ya goin'!" she shrilled, several inches from his
ear.
Powers winced, turning away. The cameras were rolling by now,
and taking in all of this.
He turned to one of the patrons who was watching the baseball
game on TV. "Congressman Mike Powers," he said, yelling above the
noise to be heard.
The man said, "Yeah," but continued watching.
Powers went over to another patron. "Hi, I'm-"
"Out of the way, buddy, you're blocking my view," yelled the man,
staring at the TV set.
The press crew could be seen snickering on the side.
"This isn't working," Powers said to the Wizard.
"What?" said the Wizard, looking puzzled.
"THIS ISN'T WORKING!" said Powers, shouting to be heard.
"Oh," said Wizard. "Wait."
"What?" Powers couldn't hear him over the music.
"WAIT!" the Wizard yelled. He frantically took out a piece of
paper from his pocket, quickly writing on it. A moment later he handed
it to Powers, and then disappeared into the crowd.
Powers read the paper in the dim light. What rabbit was the
Wizard going to pull out of his hat now? But then he discerned the
words, and he allowed himself a small smile.
Stephanie Gould felt a bit of pity for Powers. He was trying his
best to campaign, but these drunken neanderthals were just ignoring
him.
Oxford Frame, however, was having a field day, rapidly jotting
down his impressions in his little notebook as he ordered his camera
crew to film the scene. No wonder Powers hadn't wanted the press at
his first rally. It must have been even more disastrous.
After a few more minutes, however, Powers just stood still,
perhaps watching the game with the rest.
"He looks like he's giving up," said Gould.
"He keeps looking at his watch," said Frame. "I bet he's just
looking to get out of here. He's just waiting for a decent interval.
Like Vietnam."
But suddenly, something unexpected happened.
The lights all went out.
Actually, the lights went out, the music stopped, and the
televisions were shut down. Suddenly, the bar was plunged into eerie
silence.
There was a babble of confusion for a moment, and then the
bartender shouted for order. "Quiet!" he said. "The power will come
back on in a minute."
They looked outside. Other establishments all around them still
had power. The streetlights were still functioning, dimly illuminating
the bar. It became obvious to everyone that this was a localized power
failure.
"Call the power company," said someone.
"What, you think they're going to come at night, for a
nonemergency?" said the bartender. "How much have you been drinking?"
They waited a few minutes more, but when it became obvious that
the power was not returning, the mumbling crowd started to move for the
exit.
"Wait," said Powers. "Maybe I can help," he said.
The crowd stopped moving. "Who're you?" said someone.
"Congressman Mike Powers. Let me call the electric company.
Perhaps I can get them moving."
There was a murmur of general agreement. Let the politician try!
"Give me the phone," said Powers. The phones, of course,
operated on a separate power line and still functioned. However, as he
started dialing, he wondered if anyone would be sharp enough to ask how
he happened to know the number of the power company.
No one did.
"Hello?" said Powers, speaking loudly enough to be heard. "We
have a power outtage here on... 1248 Broad Street."
He paused, as if listening to someone on the other end. "It's a
bar."
He paused again, and said, "I know it's late. But we were
watching the Yankees-"
Powers let himself be interrupted by the person on the other end
of the line, but he quickly spoke up again. "Listen," he said.
"You're a public servant. This is Congressman Michael Powers. If I
don't see a repair truck here in fifteen minutes, I'm going to convene
congressional hearings on the performance of... what? You'll be here
in ten minutes? Great!" Powers hung up the phone.
A cheer rose up in the bar. Suddenly all the patrons were
cheering Powers, slapping him on the shoulders, being friendly and
suddenly very talkative.
"Yeah, you're running for governor, right?" "I'll vote for you."
"You stick up for the little guys, I like that." "Why'd you do that?"
Powers answered that last one. "Because as a loyal New Yorker, I
love the Yankees just as much as each and every one of you do."
The crowd cheered him. "Pow-ers! Pow-ers! Pow-ers!"
And then the power came back on, although they hadn't even
noticed the arrival of anyone from the power company.
The patrons gave a war whoop as the televisions illuminated the
bar, and the music returned, and the beer started flowing again.
Powers lost their attention rapidly, but he had gotten what he wanted.
He looked over at the television cameras, as if to say, "Did you get
that?"
Later that evening, Powers and the Wizard watched the 11 o'clock
news.
"-a Brooklyn bar full of cheering residents were chanting his
name as the Congressman Powers got the electricity back on," said
Stephanie Gould. "Congressman Powers! Congressman!"
Powers' face appeared in the crowd. Everyone around him was
slapping his back and cheering him on. "Hi," said Powers.
"It seems you've turned this crowd into avid supporters," said
Gould.
Then one of the patrons, a fat man with a moustache, yelled, "For
getting the Yankees back, I'd make him president."
"Well, I was just trying to help," said Powers. "I hope to do a
lot more as governor. I think that if politicians really cared, if
they stayed in touch with the people-"
Suddenly there was a roar as everyone cheered. Evidently the
Yankees had just gotten a run.
The scene cut back to Gould in the present. "As you can see, an
enthusiastic crowd. I think Speaker Mandelbaum is in for a tough
fight. Bob, Jane?"
The scene returned to the anchors in the newsroom. "If he keeps
the Yankees going on their current streak I'll be sure to vote for
him," chuckled Bob.
Powers pushed the mute button.
"Well?" said the Wizard.
"Good," said Powers grudgingly. "Fairly good."
"Fairly good? Do you realize I almost got electrocuted when I
was fiddling with that power box in the alley? Congressman, I studied
science in school, but my science was political science, not
electronics."
"Very good," Powers conceded. "Very, very good. But it's just
the beginning."
The next day there was an op-ed piece in the Times.
BREAD AND CIRCUSES
Personal Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
Congressman Michael Powers made the news yesterday.
He wasn't talking about the economy, or the budget, or health care. He
was being cheered because he helped a bunch of beer guzzling bar people
watch a baseball game.
Politics used to be about the issues. The candidates
would come and state their positions, which would air in a series of
debates. Whatever happened to the time when we used to talk about the
issues, instead of petty distractions?
Now a politician is little more than an entertainer,
elected merely if he pleases his constituents enough. But what about
the issues, Congressman? What about day care, prenatal care,
rebuilding our crumbling infrastructure, and doing something to bring a
little dignity to the lives of the poor and downtrodden?
They don't want baseball games, Congressman. They
want solutions, and they're only going to elect someone who gives it to
them.
"Ah, ha ha ha," said the Wizard, giving a broad laugh, as he read
the piece in Powers' Washington office the following day. "This will
only help us get votes. She should be on our payroll."
"Um," said Powers noncommentally. He was half reading a piece of
legislation, half watching the midday news.
One of the anchors was speaking. "New York Assembly Speaker
Milton Mandelbaum held a rally this morning in the Upper East Side
again, in Congressman Michael Powers' district. Is that what they call
chutzpah, Jim?"
The other anchor chuckled. "You bet. The Speaker leveled a
serious charge against the Congressman today. Here's Kiki Bartletts
with our report-"
Powers and the Wizard stared at the screen intently.
They saw the balding diminutive figure of the Speaker, addressing
a campaign rally. "-my opponent, Congressman Powers, has been a great
lecturer of the need for ethics in government. And yet he is the
biggest pork barreler of them all. He inserted an amendment into a
piece of construction legislation to build a highway to nowhere, out at
Lake Rasco! The only people who can use the highway are the fish!
This legislation only aided one of the Congressman's important campaign
contributors, an important construction company-"
Kiki could be heard in a voiceover. "Later, I got a chance to
speak to the Speaker." She could be seen standing next to the smug
Speaker. "Speaker Mandelbaum, these are serious charges you raise
against Congressman Powers. But we've seen these charges before, years
ago; isn't this just old news?"
Mandelbaum shook his head. "We have new evidence that not only
was this a wasteful expenditure of the taxpayer's money, but that there
was language put in the legislation which would only permit one
contractor to perform this task. And that contractor was Bos
Construction & Cement."
A campaign aide stepped in the office. "Did you see... oh. The
other networks are also picking it up."
"Out!" said Powers.
The aide scrambled. The Wizard closed the door, bracing for the
worst.
But Powers was calm. "These are old charges. I went through
this, seven years ago."
"I know about the Lake Rasco project," said the Wizard.
Powers raised his eyebrows.
"I make it a point to thoroughly research a candidate before I
take the job of promoting him," said the Wizard. "Essentially his
charge is true; you built a highway in the middle of nowhere, and you
made sure that Bos got the contract. Couldn't you at least have put it
in a populated area?"
Powers grimaced. "I was only in my second term. I didn't think
very much about where to put it. But I thought the issue was settled
years ago. The ethics committee looked into it, found no wrongdoing.
How can he make this a campaign issue, after so many years have
passed?"
"Because he's clever," said the Wizard. "He's able to raise an
old issue by claiming to found a new incriminating fact to bring to
light: that the legislation specifically stated that only Bos could
perform this project. It's sort of like picking at a scab from an old
wound." He smiled at his analogy, looking pleased.
"What are we going to do?" said Powers.
"For now, nothing. I want to take a look at the legislation that
he's talking about. You might call your friend Sigfried and tell him
to keep his yap shut. Don't say anything, just pooh-pooh it. If we
don't respond it may well disappear in a day or two."
But it didn't disappear, not that day or the next. Powers was
hounded by the press.
"Congressman... Congressman..." one reporter chased him down the
hallway.
Powers kept walking. "Yes?"
"What do you have to say about the Lake Rasco project?"
"That's old news," said Powers calmly, still walking.
"What about Mr. Mandelbaum's charges-"
"It's obviously for political benefit. In case you didn't know,
we're both running for the same office," said Powers.
"Yes, Congressman, but what about the substance of the charges?"
"There is no substance," said Powers curtly. He reached the door
of his office. "And now, if you'll excuse me."
As soon as he got in he said, "Get me Ross."
But his receptionist said, "Waiting for you in your inner
office."
"We have to do something," was the first thing that Powers said.
"I know," said the Wizard calmly. "This thing has taken on a
life of its own."
"You're telling me! They're chasing me down the hallways!" said
Powers.
"You're also going down in the polls."
"What?" This was the first Powers had heard about polling; the
campaign had just begun.
"A minipoll, highly unprofessional. But I place you down ten
points in two days because of this."
"Down ten points? From what?"
"From being down ten points," said the Wizard.
"Great," said Powers. "I'm 40-60 in the polls, and sinking
rapidly. How can I ever make that up?"
"Whoa!" said the Wizard. "Hold on." He ticked off a number of
points on his fingers. "One. I told you it was a rough poll. Two, as
I told you, you were already ten points behind when you started.
You're the underdog, remember? But ten points is very doable."
"And twenty?"
"Don't interrupt. Three, I didn't say 40-60; you did. My
unscientific poll showed you at 20-40."
"What? 40% undecided?"
"With 30% undecided. There's a third candidate in this race,
remember?"
"Mush Head," said Powers, referring to Attorney General
Sampleton. "At 10%."
"Yes."
"But what difference does it make if it's 20-40 or 40-60? We're
still 20 points down!"
"Did you hit your head on the way to work today?" The Wizard
wanted to know. "That means there's a larger base of undecideds. And
support for both you and Mandelbaum is weak--the voters just don't know
very much about either of you. If you don't let him define you, you
can still make up for this."
"So what do we do?"
As always, the Wizard was ready with the answer. "It's simple.
You go on Face the City, this Sunday."
"Face the City. This Sunday." Then Powers exploded. "What?
Are you out of your mind? What will I do there? Allow myself to be
grilled by a bunch of hungry journalists?"
"No, you will answer their questions," said the Wizard. "You
see, that's your problem. You have an attitude that you're afraid of
the truth. The press picks up on that. That only makes them bolder.
It also makes you look more guilty."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"There, that's better. Righteous indignation. Only tone it down
a bit for the interview. Don't worry, we'll rehearse...."
The next day, Powers got a call.
"Hello, Michael," said a familiar voice.
"Just a moment," said Powers, rushing to close the door. He
returned to the phone, at a slower pace. "What's up, Sigfried?"
"Michael, I'm being called by reporters. They're asking
questions, Michael. Embarrassing questions."
"Don't worry, it won't amount to anything."
"I'm concerned, Michael. And some of my friends are also
concerned. When they get anxious it is difficult to calm them down.
Kapeesh?"
Powers swallowed hard. "Tell your... friends that the best thing
that they can do is to stay calm. We'll only be in trouble if anyone
blows up about this. Don't talk to the press. When asked about the
project, all you know is that you won the contract fair and square."
Sigfried changed the subject. "I hear you're going on television
this weekend."
"You hear correctly."
"Don't blow this one, Michael. It could sink you. It could sink
us. Do you see my meaning?"
Powers nodded unconsciously, holding the phone with one hand. "I
understand."
"Good morning, I'm Bob Jepson, and this is Face the City," said
the anchor. "Today we're going to talk with Congressman Michael
Powers, a candidate for governor who seems to have become mired in an
old scandal from another campaign. He'll have a lot of questions to
answer on that subject as well as his race for the governorship.
Joining me today is my fellow CBS reporter Stephanie Gould and New York
Times Op-Ed columnist Michele Franswa."
Powers had nearly fainted when he had heard that Franswa was
going to be on the panel. This was something that he really feared;
she was out for blood. His.
But the Wizard had been more sanguine. "Just give her enough
rope to hang herself with. If she crosses the line, viewer sympathy
will be with you, not her, and she could inadvertently tar the entire
journalist panel as a hanging jury out to get you."
"Would you rather trade places with me?" Powers had asked.
"Honestly? No, never, not for a moment," the Wizard had said.
"Mr. Powers, Speaker Mandelbaum has raised a serious accusation
against you," said Jepson. "He claims that you steered federal money
to one of your most important campaign contributors, the Bos
Construction and Cement Company. How do you respond to that?"
Powers gave a gentle smile. "First, Bob, I object to the
characterization of this as an 'old scandal'. Yes, in my first
reelection campaign, I was attacked by a mudslinging challenger who
cast aspersions on my efforts to improve the infrastructure of upstate
New York. I denied any wrongdoing, there was no evidence of any
wrongdoing, the ethics committee looked into this, and they found no
evidence of any wrongdoing, and exonerated me."
Franswa immediately went on the attack. "Mr. Powers," Powers
astutely noticed that she didn't refer to him as Congressman, "isn't it
true that the ethics committee did not in fact exonerate you-"
"Michele-"
"And isn't it true instead that they found indications of
questionable practices, but didn't pursue the matter further because
they didn't have the evidence to support a censure motion?" She looked
triumphantly at Powers, her teeth bared. Michele Franswa had been a
reporter for such publications as The New Yorker, the Washington Post,
and The New York Times for over 25 years. An ace student at Yale
University, she had surmounted fierce competition to become Editor-in-
Chief of the Yale Daily News before going on to journalism school at
Columbia. Then her career really took off, and she spent the better
part of three decades doing what she loved best, advocacy journalism:
fighting for the helpless, the downtrodden, and exposing the fallacies
of the great and the powerful. Her feud with Powers stemmed from the
fact that while he gave lip service to supporting liberal causes, she
sensed (correctly) that his was a cynical commitment, intended only the
garner the votes of those he was ostensibly in office to help. And if
she could, she was going to bring him down.
Powers made a dry chuckle. Ross had made him practice it, in
front of a mirror, the night before. "No, Michele, you've got your
facts all wrong. The ethics committee found no wrongdoing, look at
their report yourself."
"I have, Congressman, and-"
"And the matter has been closed for seven years, until partisans
in this race have reopened this divisive issue," said Powers.
"Yes, but-"
"I think we should have a positive campaign, talking about the
issues, rather than these distractions." Powers took a piece of
newspaper out of his pocket.
"But-"
"Let me read. This won't take a moment. 'Politics used to be
about the issues. The candidates would come and state their positions,
which would be debated on all sides. What ever happened to the time
when we used to talk about the issues, instead of petty distractions?'
Do you know who wrote this, Michele-"
"I did, but-"
"Yes you did, and you're 100% correct, Michele," said Powers.
"Let's talk about the issues. Is there anyone here who wants to ask a
substantive question about an issue that affects the great state of New
York?"
There was a pause for a minute. Everyone had been geared up to
ask highway questions. But Powers had made it difficult for them to do
that without appearing overly aggressive.
Finally Jepson said feebly, "What are you going to do about
crime?"
Powers gave him the stock answer. "We need a combined approach.
We need more prisons, more cops on the beat. But we also need to look
at the prevention side. We need youth programs and counseling for
troubled teens, as well as self-esteem classes and more drug treatment
and job training programs. Crime is not a liberal or conservative
issue, Bob, or at least it shouldn't be. Working together, we can
arrive at common solutions to our common problems."
But then Stephanie Gould spoke up. "Congressman, getting back to
this Lake Rasco issue, people are still confused as to why you
sponsored a bill to build ten miles of good highway all the way up into
the mountains."
Powers said, "Stephanie, Stephanie. Some people think that when
a road's being built upstate that probably it's going to be used by
five or fewer people. The fact is, Stephanie, that this road is
heavily utilized by fishermen, environmentalists, hikers, outdoor
enthusiasts, and geologists who now have ready access to the lake. And
I think it's foolish for us to say that upstate New York cannot have
its fair share of regional development funds."
"Hold on, Mr. Powers," said Franswa. She waved a paper. "I'm
holding here the copy of your bill, which was passed into law seven
years ago. It stated that this construction has to be built 'by a
construction company located in the state of New York, one that has
between 200 and 400 employees, and one that uses ferroconcrete in its
processes,' effectively giving the project to Mr. Bos's company, which
was not even under an obligation to offer the lowest bid. What, sir,
do you have to say to that?"
"What is it, Michele, that perturbs you?" said Powers. He took a
deep breath. Now they were getting to the heart of the matter, the new
piece of the puzzle that Mandelbaum had recently filled in. "Does it
bother you that I mandated that the company that built this project be
located in the state of New York, paying New York taxes and employing
New Yorkers on its construction sites? Does it bother you that I
specified a small to medium sized company, giving our small business
owners a chance to get a piece of the pie?"
She interrupted. "What of the ferroconcrete? Bos is one of the
only companies in the area that uses it. Effectively, sir, you handed
over the contract to him. What have you to say to that?"
Powers hung his head. Looking straight at the camera, he said
slowly, "I am guilty." There was a small gasp from the journalist
panel. This they had not expected. Was Powers going to crack, right
there on the air?
But then Powers raised his chin, and still staring the camera,
said, "But first let me tell you what I am guilty of. I am guilty of
trying to save lives." He let that sink in a moment before continuing.
"Scientific studies have shown that ferroconcrete is up to three times
more durable than concrete normally used in road construction. Now, I
might not have specified the use of ferroconcrete in the construction
contract. A cheaper, even substandard sort of concrete might have been
used... it might even have saved a few bucks. But what would happen
when cracks and potholes start to appear in the road? What happens
when the road starts to break apart? There will be traffic accidents,
of course. Crashes, injuries, deaths. Are the lives of people upstate
not worth spending a little more to ensure their safety? If I am
guilty of anything, it's working to reduce traffic deaths!" Powers
thundered. "But I am not the only guilty one. Others are guilty,
those who would take this issue of traffic safety and attempt to
politicize it. Those individuals... and their allies in the media seek
to distract attention from my candidacy, from the issues, so the
insiders can keep the governor's statehouse, so the needs and issues of
the day will not be addressed. I cannot permit that, I will not permit
that! Ask what questions you will, say what you want about me, but do
any of you, any of you three at all, want to talk about the real issues
for New York? Or shall we continue to do the bidding of those who
would seek to obfuscate a true debate of ideas? Let us decide once and
for all!"
Suddenly the sounds of clapping could be heard. The cameramen,
the technical and support staff, were actually clapping for Powers.
The journalists looked startled out of their wits. Franswa seemed
about to open her mouth, but, wrinkling her face, said nothing.
The morning newspapers were clear as to who won that round.
"POWERS FIGHTS FOR HIGH GROUND" said the Daily News. "POWERS K.O.'S
JOURNALISTS, MANDELBAUM" said the New York Post. For the next two days
both papers ran upbeat articles on Powers. The Lake Rasco story was
forgotten. It seemed that everyone in the media was dancing to a
different tune. Well, almost everyone.
HISTRIONICS UNBECOMING
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
Michael Powers put up a good performance last night.
I'm told that he was well coached by his media advisors. That does not
obscure the fact that one of his political payback deals has been
exposed.
What is disturbing is the newly cowed attitude that
the media has taken. Michael Powers gives a speech on television where
he takes pride in his obfuscation, where he dares journalists to
question him about it, and everyone folds like a house of cards.
This man is dangerous. He is a demagogue. He is
reminiscent of another man in another era who could rally crowds in
beer halls with his bombast, a dangerous man who could appeal to hearts
but not minds.
Let me be clear. Milton Mandelbaum is not the ideal
candidate. But he brings more hope than Michael Powers. Progressives
of all stripes should unite to defeat him. For his election will only
propel New York backwards, from which it may take years to recover.
"Well, she doesn't even call you 'Mister' anymore," Toles noted,
putting down the paper.
"That roundtable was a stroke of genius," Powers chortled.
"Did I tell you?" said the Wizard. "It was a gamble, but it paid
off."
"I think that applause did it," said Powers. "How did you ever
manage that?"
The Wizard shook his head. "I didn't. I couldn't. The best
things in life are often unplanned. But you're right, that applause
was important. It showed that the common people were on your side. It
justified your going on the offensive. You did cow them. And now look
at this." "This" was a poll result from the Daily News. "72% of those
who saw news clips from the roundtable believe you. 72 percent! You
don't get that high a percentage on anything, except in communist
countries and other banana republics. Further, a new poll has put you
only eight points down, 31%-39%."
"We made up all the lost ground," said Powers, unbelievingly.
"And then some. All in one event."
"It's volatile, I told you that," said the Wizard. "But keep
your guard up, it can change just as quickly. Now it's time we strike
back again, this time against Ms. Franswa."
"What? How?"
"I told you she'd hang herself if she had enough rope. And she
did. Now we can easily label her as an unabashed partisan. Watch."
Two days later a letter appeared in the Times.
To the Editor:
I was very disturbed by Michele Franswa's editorial of
earlier this week entitled "Private Sentiments: Histrionics
Unbecoming", where Ms. Franswa compared Congressman Michael Powers to
'another man in another era who could rally crowds in beer halls with
his bombast, a dangerous man....' It is an insult to Congressman
Powers and all those who suffered the evils of the Nazi regime to
compare the Congressman to Adolph Hitler. It is either comparing the
Congressman to Adolph Hitler--which he is not, having never advocated
genocide or mass aggression of any sort--or belittling the evils of of
the Nazi regime by comparing him to any politician that is currently in
disfavor. I do not agree with everything Congressman Powers says or
does, but I think that Ms. Franswa cheapens the memory of those who
died in World War II, as well as the reputation of your newspaper, with
such demagogic comparisons.
Larry Culbert
Queens
Powers nodded his approval. "Is there really a Larry Culbert?"
The Wizard nodded. "There had to be. They're watching this one
very closely. I couldn't pick an obvious contributor, either. That
could be traced. By the way, did you like that touch I added about not
agreeing with everything you said and did?"
Powers nodded. "It shows that even my fair-minded opponents
think that I'm being treated unfairly. And, speaking seriously for a
moment, we do have a valid point. No major politician in America is a
Hitler. Any such comparison is simply ridiculous."
"Precisely," said the Wizard. "She exaggerated for her own ends,
and it backfired against her. Now I wonder how Franswa feels about
being called a demagogue?"
Chapter 4
Powers hadn't vocalized it, but he was getting pretty tired of
being a whipping boy for Mandelbaum. He had put out this latest brush
fire, but he wondered when he was going to go on the offensive against
M&M. He had set up a meeting with Mason for the following day. Where
was he, anyway?
At that moment, Mason, accompanied by Niles and Marsten, was in
the Queens city hall, talking to a scrawny clerk.
"Yeah, I got my job through Speaker Mandelbaum. He recommended
me. What's it to you?" he said. "Where'd you say you guys were from?"
"We're doing a piece on the governor's race, for PBS," said
Mason, giving smile brimming with the goodness of milk and honey.
"We're working on our Mandelbaum profile right now."
"Don't see no cameras," said the man, looking behind them.
"PBS radio," said Mason.
"Don't know no PBS radio," said the man.
"You don't? You should listen more. 1220 on the AM dial," said
Mason.
"And don't see no microphones," said the man.
If there were microphones, the man wasn't supposed to see them,
Mason thought wryly. But he only said, "This interview is on
background."
"What's dat?"
"That means we're just gathering information. We write up the
report to broadcast later." Mason changed the subject, to the real
subject. "I'm looking for a Carl Warren. Do you know where I might
find him?"
"Carl?" said the man. Then his face shut down. "No, don't know
about Carl."
"You sound like you knew him," said Mason.
"No, don't know him."
"Are you sure? I understand you and him used to work together,
when you worked on Mr. Mandelbaum's staff."
"Don't know nuttin," said the man. "Try Zeph Cochran, two doors
down." He turned away, leaving the window unattended.
"Are we getting someplace with this?" said Niles.
"Carl Warren was a patronage appointee of the Speaker who... fell
out of favor," said Mason. "Come. Let us pursue this further."
"Us?" said Marsten. "You're doing all the pursuing. What are we
here for?"
"To look innocent," said Mason.
Zeph Cochran was hardly more cooperative. At first he denied
knowing anything about Carl Warren. But when pressed he admitted that
they had worked together, briefly, in the Speaker's office.
"How briefly?"
"Year, maybe two."
"Oh," said Mason. "Do you know where we can find him? We're
trying to locate him."
Cochran laughed, seemed about to say no, then seemed to change
his mind. "Yeah. No harm. I'll tell you where he is. 22 Monroe
Avenue."
"Is that his home or work address?" said Mason suspiciously.
"Both," said Cochran, getting a laugh.
Thirty minutes later they knew what was so funny.
22 Monroe Avenue was a graveyard.
"NOTHING?" Powers thundered. "NOTHING? WHY AM I PAYING YOU?
WHY ARE YOU HERE?"
"It's still early," said Mason. "You have to have patience."
"HOW CAN I HAVE PATIENCE WHEN MANDELBAUM IS BOMBARDING ME LEFT
AND RIGHT AND MY OWN STAFF OF INCOMPETENTS COULDN'T FIND A SCANDAL IF
THEY WERE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF A CRIME SCENE!"
"If you calm down, we can talk. If not, I go," said Mason,
shrugging.
Niles and Marsten looked at each other. No one talked to the
Congressman like that!
But Mason did.
Powers stared at him for a minute. He matched his glare. Then
Powers nodded, and they both relaxed, minutely. "Go on," he said.
"This guy who used to work for Mandelbaum. Warren. Died of
natural causes."
"But he fell out of favor," said Powers.
"Yeah, but if they worked on him, they must've done a good job.
I've spent the past week trying to get leads on this. No one, even his
enemies, want to talk about the good Speaker, on or off the record."
"Hm." said Powers. "And now?"
"We keep looking. We try to find something," said Mason. He
shrugged. "There are no guarantees. You want guarantees, you got the
wrong guy. We can't create what isn't there."
Actually, they could. But Powers put that idea on the backburner
for now. He nodded. "You may go. But keep looking. If he does
something... anything... if he's jaywalked, I want to know about it."
Mason nodded, getting up. Niles and Marsten looked at each
other. They were dismissed.
The Yamato was a top of the line Japanese battleship, one of only
two of a kind, with thick, plated heavy metal armor and large, long
steel turrets mounted on its hull. The Yamato trained its gun on an
American destroyer in its path.
Boom! Three inch shells burst out in a blaze of fire. They hit
the destroyer square on. It exploded, belching flames as it sunk into
the depths of Powers' backyard Virginia pool.
The Wizard looked closely at some of the models, the largest of
which were nearly two feet in length. "Are these real shells?"
"They have a little bit of explosives in them," said Powers,
holding the complex remote in his hands. He pressed a button, and one
of the ships slowly moved forward. "But each ship also has a larger
explosive charge that is detonated by an attacking shell. I would
stand back if I were you."
The Wizard hastily did just that.
"This is what I did to Michele Franswa," said Powers. One of the
American destroyers launched a torpedo. It lanced out, skimmed along
the side of the Yamato, and hit the far side of the pool, creating a
small explosion.
The Wizard looked closely. There was now a small hole there,
leaking water.
"Erin's gonna kill me," Powers muttered, as he continued
maneuvering his ships. "What's our next course of action?"
It was Toles who spoke. "Light rail."
The USS Missouri, a state of the art World War II battleship,
closed on the Yamato's left flank. Leveling its guns, it blasted one
of the Yamato's escorting heavy cruisers, the Congo. The Congo
exploded, scattering bits and pieces across the pool. One of its
lifeboats landed within inches of the Wizard's lawn chair. "Hey," he
said.
"Yeah, go on," said Powers, addressing Toles.
"The Speaker is giving us a vote for the middle of next month,"
said Toles. "But it's up to us to line up support for it."
"What do we need? Surely we have enough Democrats to pass this
thing," said Powers.
"Don't take all your fellow Democrats for granted. Mandelbaum
has influence, even in the House."
Powers looked startled. "More than I do?"
The Hood, a British battleship that never saw action against the
Japanese, leveled its turrets on the Yamato.
"It's not just that. People don't want to stick their necks out
so close to an election. They call it voting for pork projects," said
Toles.
"Of course it's pork! But I vote for theirs," said Powers,
reasonably enough.
The Yamato opened fire with one shot, hitting the Hood amid
ships. There was a large explosion as its magazine blew up, and it
quickly sank to the bottom.
"I think we've got a coalition together that will give us enough
support," said Toles.
"You don't sound very sure," said Powers.
The Missouri moved into position to attack the superbattleship.
It let open a volley, one shell of which struck the Yamato's hull--and
bounced off. The Yamato opened fire, hitting the Missouri near the
stern. The Missouri spun about and started to take on water, but it
did not explode, like the others.
"I'd be a lot surer if we could get at least a half dozen more
votes... say the Oklahoma delegation."
"The Oklahoma delegation? You mean Bill McKinney?" Bill
McKinney was the Democratic baron of Oklahoma, the dean of the
delegation. When he talked, members listened.
"He's inclined against, but he's willing to talk to you."
"Set up a meeting," said Powers. Then he blinked, looking hard
at Toles. "There's something you're not telling me," he sensed.
"I have set up a meeting... in Oklahoma. He's invited you to his
ranch next weekend. To talk about it."
"What???"
"Obviously he wants to have some fun with you," said the Wizard
dryly.
"If I play along and act the fool, will he give me his support?"
Powers wanted to know.
"This I don't know," said Toles.
"Great," said Powers. "Just great. I get to act as fucking
cowboy for the weekend in hee-hawville, and for what? Probably for
nothing." He slammed the remote down on the chair.
The light cruisers Minneapolis and St. Paul opened fire. Their
turrets had been pointed in the general direction of the Yamato, though
of course there was no chance that their shells would penetrate the
thick battleship armor.
The shot from the Minneapolis went wide, but the St. Paul hit
went right in the infrastructure. There was a large explosion as the
Yamato blew up, sending fragments all over the pool.
"Don't give up so easily. You can never fully predict the
results of your actions," said the Wizard.
Powers, stunned, could only nod his agreement.
He was still stunned, two days later, when he found himself in
Oklahoma, riding to the McKinney ranch. He stared at the whiteness of
the sand outside. "Desert," he muttered to himself, sitting in the
back seat of McKinney's chauffeured limo. "I've come to a shit-ass
desert."
"What was that, sir?" said the driver.
"Nothing," said Powers, speaking louder. "Just a touch of
indigestion."
Powers' bad feeling only intensified when the car swung into the
McKinney ranch. McKinney, clad in a cowboy outfit from top to bottom,
from rodeo hat to long hard leather boots, greeted him. "Mike my boy!
Good of you to show!" He chuckled as he pounded his back while looking
at Powers' suit up and down. "You look a mite bit overdressed, though.
Why not change into something more appropriate? I'll have the boys
carry your bags in."
Twenty minutes later Powers, in sky blue denim, sat with McKinney
on a table overlooking his property, drinking a mint julep.
"Quite a sight, ain't it, boy?"
Powers didn't like being called boy but he needed this man's
support, so he merely agreed that it was.
"Bet you New Yorkers never get out this far west," chuckled
McKinney.
"I've been to California."
"California!" he roared. "Let me guess. Los Angeles, San
Francisco."
Powers nodded.
"Son, you've never been to the West, the real outdoors. Do you
some good, give you some character, some guts. You sure need'm." He
watched from piggy eyes as each blow struck.
"Um hm," said Powers.
"Fact is I've never thought much that city boys were good for
anything, not jack shit or fly stew. Weak willed sissies. You don't
take no offense, of course?"
Powers, keeping his face impassive, said no.
But all the same he wondered if he could get an early flight back
to Washington.
Powers took this sort of abuse all weekend. McKinney, who seemed
to have a visceral hatred of people who lived in the big cities, simply
loved to taunt him. He cast doubt on Powers' masculinity, virility,
intelligence, common sense, and his political ability. That last hurt
the most.
But Powers took all the taunts and insults in stride. Well, he
tried to. It was difficult for him, but he was doing this for a higher
cause. And at the same time an anger burned in him, an anger strong.
McKinney was taking advantage of him. He was using his power to abuse
the congressman from New York. Powers didn't like that; he was
supposed to use his power against others, not let others use their
power against him.
Finally when it was Sunday and time was running out and Powers
could take it no longer, he raised the subject that both men knew had
brought him there but neither man had raised since Powers had arrived.
They were sitting on his back porch, staring at some of the mares, when
Powers raised the subject.
"Bill, about the light rail bill-"
"Ho-ho, the topic casually comes up," said McKinney. "I hear
you're running for governor of your piss-ant state, Mike. Could this
really be true?"
Powers assured him that it was. "I could really use the light-
rail bill-"
"We all could use a lot of things, Mikey," said McKinney.
Powers took a deep breath. No one, NO ONE, called him Mikey. But
he saw the natural opening. "What do you need, Bill?" he said quietly.
"Me?" He gave a big laugh. "I don't need nothing! Nothing, you
hear! But I have to say, your visit has been entertaining."
"Then give me your support," said Powers.
"Why?" said McKinney. "Why should I give a damn over your piss-
ant trains?"
"Because I'm a man, like you, fighting against currents to get
ahead. You should admire that."
"Admire that?" McKinney snorted. "Some man you are. Ever driven
cattle over 200 miles? Ever busted a bronco? Look there, son, what do
you see?" He pointed to one of his horses.
"A horse," said Powers.
"Not a horse, son, that's Mighty Blue. He's bucked more men than
a whore at a frat party. Ever ridden a horse like that?" The horse in
question, a brown mare, was slowly pacing back and forth, like a
restless prisoner.
Powers thought hard.
"Well?"
"Once I had my picture taken on a pony," Powers admitted.
"Shit," said McKinney, getting up as if to leave.
"Wait a minute," said Powers. "If I ride the horse, will you
support my bill?"
"You?" said McKinney, surprised. "You think you can stay on
Mighty Blue for more than 10 seconds?"
"If I manage to hang on for 30 seconds, will you support my
bill?"
"Hell, if you stay on for a half minute..." he did a doubletake.
"You got a deal."
"Your word?"
"I don't welch on my word," said McKinney, looking as if he had
been offended.
"Very well then," said Powers, starting to approach the horse.
"Just a minute," said McKinney, giving a shout to the house. "I
want the boys to see this."
"While they're coming, could I ask a small favor?" said Powers.
He walked up to the horse. It looked menacing up close, snorting
dangerously as he came by.
"Shoot."
"I feel I have good rapport with animals after I've fed them.
You don't happen to have a few sugar cubes?"
It so happened that he did, in his shirt pocket. "Thanks, said,
Powers. Turning his back on the curious McKinney, he faced the horse
with an open palm. The horse immediately came over; Powers just hoped
his hand wouldn't get bit.
But he wasn't attacked, and the horse merely gobbled up the
contents of his palm. Powers, relieved, took a step back.
By this time the ranchboys had gathered.
But Powers was now looking reluctant. Mighty Blue was pacing
around, moving restlessly.
"Something wrong, son?" said McKinney.
"No..." said Powers. "I just realized something."
"You're scared," he sneered.
"No, I'm not wearing my cowboy boots."
"You? Cowboy boots?" said McKinney.
"Sure. You didn't think I took that picture on the pony without
appropriate accoutrements, did you?" said Powers. He turned to the
ranch. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."
"Can't wait," said McKinney, scratching his head. What was
Powers up to?
Meanwhile Mighty Blue was still pacing, back and forth.
A few minutes later McKinney realized that Powers had not
returned.
"He's yellow, fellows," said McKinney. They nodded in agreement.
McKinney scratched his head. Could Powers have taken off? That
wouldn't have made any sense.
He was just about to send one of the ranchboys in to find him
when Powers emerged. He wore long black boots.
McKinney whistled approvingly. "That's some gear, partner."
"The better to stomp with," said Powers coldly. He looked at
Mighty Blue. It had stopped moving, and was standing, almost dully, in
the middle of the pen. "Let's get this over with."
He walked over to the horse, and immediately climbed on it, like
a pro. McKinney immediately expected the horse to kick him off.
But Mighty Blue did nothing. Powers kicked the spurs, and Mighty
Blue slowly took a few steps forward.
"What?" said McKinney. This he couldn't believe.
A few slow paces later the horse reached the edge of the pen
where everyone, speechless, was watching.
Powers petted the horse's head. "Nice horse," he said. Then he
looked at his watch. "Look like it's been a good 30 seconds to me."
He dismounted the still docile animal. "Your word, Bill?" He
purposely reminded McKinney in front of his men.
"What? Sure," said McKinney. He still looked stunned. What had
happened to his horse? He was smart enough to know that something had
happened, but at the same time he wasn't smart enough to figure out any
of the specifics.
"What...." he began, and then stopped, for a loss of words.
"I just have a way with animals," said Powers. "You know, it
must be a big city, Easterner thing. I think I'll be packing my bags
now."
The Wizard high fived him when he emerged at Dulles
International. "Mission accomplished?" he asked.
"As we predicted," said Powers. "He was clueless. But how did
you know?"
"Research, my boy. You're not the first person he's called out
to his fiefdom to humiliate. I found out what the pattern was--he
usually dared people to ride his worst animal, or some such. But
the... ah... compound worked, in the right amounts?"
"Like a charm," said Powers.
"Good," said the Wizard, relieved. "I was afraid I had given you
too many tranquilizers. It would have been embarrassing if your horse
had fallen asleep on you."
But they both laughed again as they headed home.
The next day the Wizard introduced a new advisor to Powers.
"Michael, I want you to meet Sylvia Plant, your speech coach." Powers
immediately noticed that she was attractive. He shook the young
woman's hand, but noticed the ring on the troubling finger. Oh well.
That had never stopped him before.
Powers said, "Speech coach? No offensive, but I think my
speaking abilities are pretty well-honed."
"They are," said the Wizard. "But a little tune up can't hurt.
I had Sylvia here study some of your past speeches."
"Yes, Congressman, you are a very gifted speaker," she smiled.
"Call me Michael," said Powers, smiling broadly.
"Michael," she smiled. "Very well. I'm here to help you with
some key phrases. I'm also here to help with some facial expressions-"
"Key phrases?" said Powers.
"Yes," said Plant. She handed Powers a card. "Read this,
please."
Powers read the card. "We need community based drug treatment
programs."
Plant got excited. "That was good, but it could have been
better. Look for the keyword."
"The keyword?"
"The buzzword. In this case it was community," said Plant. "Do
you ever watch civic leaders speak on television? About the needs of
the commun-ity?" And she stressed the end of the word. "Did you hear
how I stressed the 'ity' sound, like it was a separate word?"
"I did," said Powers. "But what of it?"
"It's part of politispeak," said Plant. "If you speak like them,
you'll sound like them. People vote for people who sound like them.
Now, say it."
"Commun-ity," said Powers.
"Good. Again."
"Commun-ity," said Powers. "Commun-ity. We need more drug
addicts in the commu-ity."
"Good, very good," said Plant. "Now, when you speak, look a
little down at the camera, and try to be solemn, like you're reading
the constitution or something." She sat down. "Do it. Pretend I'm
the camera. Do a little spiel. Do you need it written out?"
"Not at all," said Powers, who prided himself on his ability to
speak off the cuff. He consciously molded his facial expression, and
then said, "We need more health care centers in the commun-ity. The
government needs to do more to keep the safety net in place, especially
for the poor, the underemployed, and the disadvantaged. A responsible
budget would make this our priority, rather than the wasteful pork
barrel spending projects as my honorable opponent as proposed."
He stopped, looking at Plant for a reaction. She looked
spellbound.
"Good, very good," said Plant. "You naturally formed look of
justice number four there. Very good."
"Look of justice number four?" said Powers, confused.
"Yes, that's where you arch your eyebrows and you speak very
slowly with a small smile, as if you're bringing a beautiful truth to a
classroom of eager young children."
"Isn't that kind of patronizing?" Powers wanted to know.
"Yes, but it's subtle enough for our purposes," said Plant. She
turned to the Wizard. "He's fine. I think he could use a few
pointers, especially before debating, but he's fine. I've rarely seen
a natural like him before."
"High praise," said the Wizard.
Powers shrugged. "I can't help being me."
Powers' next campaign appearance was at a factory in Syracuse.
After his first trip upstate he had been understandably reluctant to
campaign there again. But the Wizard had made a compelling case
against writing off half the electorate, in this case the entire
upstate region.
"Why do I care?" Powers whined. "All the Democrats are in New
York City, anyway."
"First of all, many of them are also upstate," said the Wizard.
"And second of all, even more voters in the general election are
located upstate. You cannot afford to simply write them off."
So Powers had gone upstate. But he had stipulated that he appear
in a major city... or at least, what passed for a major city, upstate.
And so they were in Syracuse. Powers was to speak at a plant
that made copper wire for the telecommunications industry. Powers
shook hands with the hardhats, who seemed generally indifferent to him.
And then he gave his speech in their union hall, which was packed--as
it should have been, as the union boss here, a Powers ally, had made
attendance mandatory for all the members.
"Your work here is very important," said Powers, speaking to the
mostly bored audience. "The copper wire that you hammer here will be
used in telephone lines around the country." But even as he said it he
realized it was wrong. Fiberoptics was the rage nowadays; in fact,
fiberoptics was replacing copper wiring. Didn't Toles tell him that
employment at this plant had been dwindling?
Well, it didn't matter what he believed, or even what the truth
was; the important consideration was making these workers believe that
he cared, and that he thought their work was important.
"My grandfather worked in a factory such as this," said Powers,
continuing on with his story. Actually his grandfather had been a
manager, not a worker, and shortly thereafter had ended up owning the
factory. But there was no need to trouble these union employees with
too many details.
Powers droned on for several minutes, and then he turned to the
section of his speech containing his goodies and other promises. "You
labor impressively, you pay your taxes, and yet the government does
little to reduce your burden."
There, he got the first murmuring of approval.
"Therefore when I am governor one of my first acts will be to
increase the minimum wage by $2 over the current level that it is now."
He waited briefly for the applause. There was none. Then he
realized that these union workers must make much more than the minimum
wage. Oh oh. Time for point two.
"I also support requiring employers to provide health care to
their workers-" he stopped in midsentence, looking down at his speech.
These were union employees, of course they had health care! He rapidly
skimmed the rest of the list. Most of the promises were for things
they already had.
He looked up at the expectant crowd. They were wondering why he
stopped, if any of them cared at all. But the cameras were on him.
Looking up and putting aside his speech, he said, "But let's not talk
about this penny-ante stuff. What is it you want, you really want?"
There was a silence. Powers had been asking the question for
real; he didn't know the answer either. Then he rapidly thought back
to his labor law class from law school, and it came to him.
"Job security! That's the key issue, that's why you unionize!
One of my first acts as governor would be to push through a law
stating-"
"Hey, we already have a law stating that we can't be permanently
replaced while on strike-" yelled a man in the audience.
There was a scattered laughter, at Powers' expense.
"If you'll wait, sir, for me to finish my sentence, you'll see I
was about to say something else," said Powers, thinking rapidly.
"Yeah?" said the provocateur.
"Yeah," said Powers, thinking quickly. "I want to push for a law
that will keep plants open for five years after any union contract is
signed. How does that sound to you?"
"Sounds kind of good," said the man. "But what if management
wants to bail out?"
Powers was ready, thinking one step ahead. "I'll also push for a
law allowing employees to buy out their employer."
"With what?" another man shouted. "Peanuts?"
"Subsidies," said Powers. "We'll set up a fund for that
purpose."
"Yeah... yeah..." they started to murmur.
"Where do you get the money for that?" someone in the audience
shouted. It was Toles, actually.
"The money?" said Powers. "The state government rakes in
millions of dollars every year. Are you saying we can't spare just a
little of it for hardworking, decent taxpayers like yourself?"
"No!" they shouted as one. And then they started clapping and
whistling, and Powers knew that he had pulled it off again.
"Mr. Taney, come in," said Powers.
A shaken young man entered Powers' office, sitting next to the
Wizard.
"I understand you wrote that speech that I gave yesterday," said
Powers pleasantly.
The young man nodded.
"Unfortunately, I only had the opportunity to skim the speech
before I gave it," said Powers. "Did you realize that it was filled
with promises that were largely irrelevant to members of a union?"
Taney swallowed hard. "Ahhh...."
"Ahhh... is unacceptable, Mr. Taney." Powers was keeping
remarkably calm.
"Well, I thought this was labor, and labor all had the same set
of demands, unionized or not-"
"Wrong, Mr. Taney," said Powers. "Wrong. You embarrassed me,
and nearly wrecked the entire appearance."
The Wizard blew a large smoke ring out of his pipe. Admiring it
for a moment, he slashed his finger through it, cutting it in half.
Taney gulped. "But in the end-"
"In the end I thought quickly and saved myself," said Powers.
"Or would you take credit for that?"
"N-no," said Taney.
"I thought as much." He looked at the ceiling for a moment, and
then back at Taney. "You may go."
"Go?"
"You're fired, of course. Any first year student of political
science would not have made the blunder that you did. I give you
permission to leave, however, and you may go. In the next five
minutes. Go!"
Taney swallowed hard. "But-"
"Go!" said Powers.
"Could I at least have a reference?"
"A reference? Of course," said Powers. He quickly scribbled
something down on a piece of paper, then handed it to Taney. Taney
took it, looked at it, and dropped it to the floor, saying, "I can't
use this."
"And I can't use you. NOW GET THE HELL OUT, AND CONSIDER
YOURSELF LUCKY I DON'T BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU!"
Taney got, bolting from his seat.
The Wizard covered his face in his hands for a moment.
"You know, it's not really his fault," said Powers.
The Wizard said nothing.
"Really, it's the fault of the person who brought him on board."
"He came to me with high recommendations," said the Wizard. "How
was I to know?"
"Oh, come on," said Powers.
"Listen, Mike, you buy me, you buy my people... it's like buying
a basketfull of apples. Most of these apples are going to be good.
But there's always going to be one or two which aren't so good."
"Cut the metaphor shit," said Powers. "I don't want another
screwup. I want you to personally check each speech I give, or else
write it yourself, and I will hold you personally responsible for the
consequences. Clear?"
"Clear," said the Wizard, nodding. He turned to leave, but
curiousity got the better of him, and he picked up the crumpled piece
of paper, and read it. "Mr. Taney would serve appropriately in any
position where competence or ability is not required." The Wizard
chuckled, heading out the door.
The floor of the House of Representatives quite a majestic place.
There were hundreds of seats for all the representatives, all facing
the elevated platform where the Speaker sat. A rich blue patterned
carpet draped the floor while an august high ceiling hung above them.
Spectators watched silently in the balcony, and Powers could see where
the network and CSPAN cameras were set up. There was a sense of high
drama in the air.
For the time had come for the vote on Powers' bill. The Rules
Committee had dictated that there was to be an hour of debate on each
side. Powers, of course, would be the floor manager on his side, and
Joe Roberts, Republican from Texas and the ranking Republican on Public
Works and Transportation, would be leading the opposition. He had
approached Powers, right before the debate, exchanged cursory
greetings, and then shook his hand.
"What was that for?" Powers wanted to know.
"Just to let you know that it's nothing personal," said Roberts.
Uh-oh.
Then the debate started. Powers made a preliminary statement in
favor of the bill, and then reserved the balance of his time.
The Republicans got up, one by one, and attacked his bill.
"Pork!" "Pork!" "Wasteful pork!" "Pork, pork pork!" Powers felt
like he was a spectator at a hog convention.
Finally when it was his side's turn to speak again Powers said,
"What's all this talk about bacon? Haven't we voted funds for rail
projects before? Are not bullet trains the wave of the future? Aren't
they building them all over Europe?"
"If the gentleman would yield," said Roberts. Powers nodded.
"We question this expenditure because it doesn't seem like the
ridership numbers justify such an expenditure-"
"But they would," said Powers. "Don't you see, you're putting
the cart before the horse. Your figures are based on current ridership
numbers on our antiquated transportation system. Sure, I'll grant you
that. But what if we had a modern rail system? Ridership would
quadruple! What my honorable friend from Texas is doing is akin to
looking at the ridership figure for horses and buggies and using that
figure to try to estimate the amount of usage that would go into a
highway for cars."
"I have to disagree with the gentleman from New York," said
Roberts. "But even if we grant you this point, which we do not, we are
also troubled by the provision which states that ferroconcrete must be
used on this project."
And Powers felt a chill in his blood. He knew immediately what
Roberts was getting to.
"Now, there are many sorts of concrete that are adequate for this
project, many of which would allow more than one contractor to bid on
this project." said Roberts, looking at Powers meaningfully. "I move
we amend-"
"Sorry to interrupt the honorable gentleman, but I must respond
to your statement," said Powers. He held up a stack of papers before
the camera. "I have here engineering reports which indicate that
ferroconcrete is three times safer than any other sort of concrete. If
the gentleman is asking me to compromise the safety of the ridership
for a few dollars, I must forcefully refuse!"
There was a scattered clapping in the audience. Powers quickly
put down the papers in his hand (he had no idea what they contained),
and then he continued. "As for the financial cost, as I've said we're
only allocating $20 million dollars. I think, no... I am certain that
in the time that we've spent debating this the federal government has
already spent ten times this amount of money in its daily course of
business. Really, this is such a small issue, let us get on and vote
on it!"
But Roberts wasn't finished yet. "I yield time to the right
honorable gentleman from California, Mr. Frasier."
What was this? Bill Frasier was a Democrat from California!
"Mr. Speaker, I rise in opposition to the bill sponsored by the
gentleman from New York," said Frasier.
Powers stood still, riveted in shock. He had counted on
Frasier's votes, along with the votes of most Democrats. What was
going on here?
"I don't object to the economical merits per se of this bill,"
said Frasier. "But I am very concerned about its environmental impact,
as are a number of my colleagues."
Ahhh.... Powers immediately knew what this was about. A
Mandelbaum ploy. There was no way in the world that a Congressman from
California would give a damn about a railroad track in New York.
Someone had put him up to this. Mandelbaum. But how had Mandelbaum
gotten his hooks into a Congressman from California? And how many more
had he bought off?
These thoughts raced through Power's mind as he listened to
Frasier drone on.
"Mr. Speaker, I am very troubled by this proposal," said Frasier.
"Congressman Powers is proposing to litter the New York landscape with
noisy bullet trains, ones that could dangerously pollute an already
congested environment."
"Congressman, this is a light rail system, environmentally clean
and tested," said Powers.
"You can call it whatever you like," said Frasier. "But when I
read the bill I see heavy bullet trains. I don't see anything
particularly "light" about these locomotives."
"Well, we could debate the fine technical points forever," said
Powers. "But did you not also read the plans for a bike trail?"
"Bike trail?" Obviously, Frasier hadn't, which made Powers more
convinced than ever that this was a last minute put-up job.
"Yes, I'm sure when you read the bill, you must have seen the
reference, in section four," said Powers. He looked at the language
before him. "Section four states that a bike trail will be built
contiguously with the light rail system."
"What?" said Frasier. "Do I understand the gentleman correctly?
This rail line is going to extend for hundreds of miles! Do you really
expect anyone to ride their bicycle for that length?"
Powers smiled. Now he had him. "Frankly, I'm surprised by the
reaction of my good friend from California. Cycling is proven to be
one of the safest and most environmentally sound forms of
transportation. We have an Appalachian Trail for hiking that spans a
dozen states, and yet my friend from California cannot conceive of a
bike path just a fraction of that length. I must relate my surprise
that such an avid environmentalist such as yourself would have such a
reaction."
That shut him up. But the battle lines were set, and this
environmental issue was simply window-dressing; no amount of
substantive discussion would change anyone's mind.
Suddenly Toles, who had floor privileges, passed him a note.
Powers read it. "Looks like we've suddenly lost 20 votes due to M&M
doublecross. It's going to be a lot closer than we thought. Nod if
you want me to have contingency plan B prepared, just in case."
Powers gave a curt nod. Toles dashed off.
The debate continued, but Powers, even as he was managing it,
wasn't paying much attention. What the coalition of Republicans and
so-called environmentalist democrats were trying to do was offer a
substitute that would gut his bill, allowing a mere $50,000 for a
committee to further study the issue, and report back in a year.
A year! Obviously Mandelbaum was behind this. Powers vowed to
get his own revenge, in the proper time.
When debate was cut off, it was time to vote on the substitute.
If the substitute passed, Powers was sunk.
Powers immediately cast his vote and started to go over to the
other Congressmen to twist arms. But people's minds were pretty much
set.
The vote tally started at 94 for, 80 against. This substitute
must be defeated!
Powers went around, rallying his support. He yelled, screamed,
inveigled, cajoled.
The tally was now 139 for, 141 against. With two vacancies in
the 435 member House, 217 votes were needed to win.
Powers kept going around, talking to Congressman. He passed by
McKinney, who gave a thumbs up. Powers saw that he was delivering a
large part of the Oklahoma delegation. Well, that was something.
172 for, 170 against.
Some of the Democrats acted like helpless children. Several said
that they had promised to vote against the bill, and they couldn't
break their promise. A few were saying to him "Any other vote, we'll
support you, ok? But not this one. We're taking too much heat."
Powers could only wonder who was applying it. Nevertheless, Powers
huddled with them for several minutes.
Finally, the vote count was nearing a close, with 216 for, and
214 against. The bill looked dead.
Powers, in the middle of a huddle with the rebellious democrats,
looked up at the vote, and saw Otis Fern standing by.
"Otis!" said Powers. "I'm calling in my chit. Your vote, now!"
"But-" Otis looked confused. "I already voted!"
"Change your vote!" Powers said. He said, in a low vote. "You
owe me, after that subcommittee vote, remember? Or does your word mean
nothing?" The unspoken implication was that Powers would let everyone
know if that was the case.
Fern gulped, nodding, and changed his vote.
The vote was now 215-215. A tie.
With ten seconds to go, the last three votes came in.
215-216.
216-216.
217-216.
The presiding officer banged his gavel. "The substitute is
agreed to, by a 217-216 vote. The amendment is agreed to."
Powers could only imagine M&M watching this on television, a wide
grin crossing his face as he realized that he had killed the light rail
bill.
Then the presiding officer said, "Next item of business. The
House will consider a second substitute to H.R. 1504, the
Transportation Modernization Act. The clerk will read the bill-"
A lot of people looked confused as the clerk read the first line
of the bill. What was this?
Powers, of course, knew what was going on. He had had a talk
with the chairman of the Rules Committee, the committee which set the
terms of the debate, the length of the discussion period, and the
number and type of amendments that would be permitted. And the
chairman of the Rules Committee was one man that Mandelbaum hadn't
gotten to.
The Rules Committee determined that there would be an hour of
debate on each side, as was customary for a small piece of legislation.
But the Rules Committee also determined, in its wisdom, to insert a
"king of the hill" provision, meaning that if several different
versions of a bill were being voted upon, the last one that passed
would become the adopted version. This was not an entirely uncommon
provision. What was an uncommon provision was the requirement that if
a substitute to the bill passed, a new substitute would be offered, one
with only the smallest of cosmetic differences from the original.
At the time there seemed to be no need for it. Powers thought he
had had the votes to pass the original version. But if his new version
and a substitute had passed, this final vote would ensure that his new
version would reign supreme. Assuming he had the votes.
The other side of the aisle was just starting to realize this.
There was ten minutes of debate on each side. The Republicans said,
correctly, that this was just the same bill that they had effectively
defeated minutes before.
Powers and his allies rebutted the claims, but Powers wasn't
really paying attention; in fact, he had Bill McKinney manage his
side's ten minutes, while he went into a huddle with a small group of
Democrats.
When the vote came, Powers had nothing left to do but to stand
and watch the tally. This time he needed a vote for the substitute.
His substitute.
140 for, 155 against. It wasn't looking good.
170 for, 182 against. The margin narrowed, but there was still a
gap.
200 for, 202 against. The end was very near.
And then it came.
When the presiding officer banged the gavel, it was 219 for, 214
against. "The Powers substitute is passed."
"And that's all there was to it," said Powers, relaxing in his
office. "When the vote for final passage came down, it was by the same
margin."
"By my estimates Mandelbaum turned 27 Democrats."
"Democrats!" said Powers. "And he's not even in the House. He
doesn't even have any connection to anyone outside of New York!"
"Obviously we've underestimated him," said Toles. "There's a
reason that M&M has never lost an election."
"Indeed," said the Wizard, entering the office. "How did the
vote go?"
"Very funny," said Powers.
"The only thing I don't know is how you turned it around," said
the Wizard.
"Mandelbaum either bought off or threatened 30 Democrats, not an
easy feat for someone who's not even a national politician," said
Powers. "I had heated discussions with some of them. In the end I got
a few of them to fudge the issue."
"To fudge it?" said the Wizard, confused.
"To carry through with their original promise to vote against me.
But when my substitute came up, they would promise to support me."
Powers took a breath. "I got five Democrats who promised to switch
their votes. Three came through. Three was enough. The rest stayed
bought." He reclined in his tall executive black office chair. "That
was a close one. I won't underestimate him again." He turned to the
Wizard. "Get Mason on the phone. Tell him that if he doesn't deliver
something this week to find himself another job."
He muttered, "I'm tired of being the punching bag." As he
swiveled the chair away from them he muttered, "No... I won't
underestimate again...."
"Gentlemen, it's time to produce," said Mason. He looked over at
his two partners in crime.
"What do you mean?" said Niles. Marsten looked similarly
confused.
"It's time to produce," Mason repeated. "Our employer is getting
a bit restless. It's time we came up with some results. Have a look
at this."
"This" was a bill allocating $5,000,000 for the purchase of
certain public lands owned by Tallon & Co., such land to be kept in its
natural state and utilized as an environmental preserve.
"Yes?" said Niles, after they had looked it over.
"Do you know who the sponsor of this bill was?"
They looked over the supporting documentation. "Uh... it says
here it was introduced by Speaker, I mean then-Ways and Means Chairman
Mandelbaum."
"Correct," said Mason. He passed over another list.
"And what's this?" said Niles.
"A list of major campaign contributors. It's alphabetical."
"Hm," said Niles, looking it over. "Ah, what are we looking
for?"
"Notice anything... unusual?"
They looked over the list. Marsten said, "It would help if we
knew what we were looking for."
Mason sighed. Must he spell it out? "Look for Tallon & Co."
"Uh... don't see it," said Niles. "Unless it's on another list."
"Not on another list," said Mason.
"So? What does that mean?" said Niles.
"Just think. Use your brain." Mason paused, then, seeing he was
getting nowhere, said. "Listen, Mandelbaum does a big favor for Tallon
& Co. He gets the government to buy a nearly useless piece of property
in the wilderness for five million bucks. Why does he do this?"
"Um, usually this is done in return for a favor."
"Such as a campaign contribution," said Mason. "Correct. But
Mandelbaum is too smart for such an obvious link. Otherwise bright
guys like yourself might uncover it, right?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "Right. So what did Mandelbaum
get in return for this $5,000,000 gift?"
"I... I don't know," said Niles.
"That's what we're going to find out," said Mason. "Pack your
bags. We're taking a little trip to Baltimore."
"Baltimore?"
"The home offices of Tallon & Co."
They entered the Equitable Building in downtown Baltimore around
3 o'clock in the afternoon. Nodding to the guard at the entrance, they
took the elevator to the 12th floor.
Then Mason went to the bathroom down the hallway. "Come with
me," he said.
"I don't need to go," said Niles.
"Come!" said Mason. He spoke in a commanding voice, like a guard
dog barking at sheep.
Niles, for one, began to wonder if he had something kinky in
mind. Mason held the bathroom door open for them, making sure they
entered the bathroom before he did, and then, looking around, he took a
sign out of his briefcase and taped it on the door. It read "OUT OF
ORDER--FLOODED", and then he entered, firmly closing the door behind
him.
"What now?" said Niles.
Mason used the facilities, going into one of the stalls. When he
emerged, he washed his hands in a leisurely fashion. And then he stood
there, admiring himself in the mirror.
After several minutes of this Niles and Marsten exchanged
glances. "Um... are you ready?" said Marsten.
Mason shook his head. He continued to stare at himself in the
mirror.
He was obviously mad. Niles started to edge closer to the exit.
"Where are you going?" said Mason sharply.
"Um, I just thought I'd have a look outside-"
"No looking. Go and sit down."
Niles went to a windowsill, and sat.
After staring at them both for a minute, Mason took a small
paperback novel out of his briefcase, and, leaning against the door
leading out, started reading.
Niles leaned closer. It was a pulp novel!
"Mr. Mason," he began. Mason looked up, giving him an
intimidating stare. But Niles would not be silenced.
"What are we doing here?"
"Waiting," said Mason.
"For what?"
"For when."
"When?"
"I'll let you know."
So they sat there. Four o'clock, five o'clock, six, seven...
finally, Niles and Marsten started to go stir crazy.
Looking at each other they nodded, making a decision. "All
right, we're leaving," said Marsten, mustering his courage.
Mason looked at his watch, nodding. "All right. Just a minute."
He put the book back in his briefcase.
"Would you care to explain....?"
"Now everyone has gone home for the day. Hopefully," said Mason.
"Why didn't we just come later, then?" said Niles. "Unless
sitting in the toilet is your idea of spending a fun afternoon."
Mason gave him a chilling glance, and Niles involuntarily took a
step back.
"Think, idiot. If we came here after five, we'd have to check in
with the guard downstairs."
"You make it sound like we're about to do something illegal,"
said Niles.
Mason didn't answer him. They left the bathroom... and took the
stairs, two flights up. Down one corridor they found a door marked
"Tallon & Co."
Mason took something out of his pocket, started jiggling with the
lock. "Watch for anyone coming," he murmured.
"This definitely looks illegal to me," said Niles.
"Shut up," said Mason. There was a click, and the door opened,
revealing darkness inside.
Mason took out a flashlight, started poking around.
"Why don't you just turn on the light?" said Niles.
"Shut up. Watch the door," said Mason. He looked around a bit,
going through some of the desk drawers in the inner offices.
"This definitely looks illegal to me," said Niles. What if they
got caught? They could be arrested.
"I agree," said Marsten. "But what can we do? This is what the
Congressman wants."
"This is how Watergate got started," Niles hissed.
Mason walked by. "I don't want to hear any of that Watergate
crap," he ordered, going into another cubicle.
"Just think of the end goal," said Marsten. "Cushy jobs in the
governor's office. The governor of New York State!"
"I know," said Niles. "But only if we survive this."
They sat in silence for a good half hour or more, every minute
expecting someone to come through the door. Suddenly they heard
footsteps, coming down the hall!
"Get down!" Niles hissed. They crouched behind the door.
The footsteps got closer, closer... and then they stopped. Then
they got fainter, as if someone was now walking away. In moments they
heard the whirr of the elevator opening and closing, and then there was
silence.
"That was a close one!" said Niles. "How long is he going to
be?" He resolved to find out what Mason was up to.
Mason was sitting on the ground by a previously locked filing
cabinet, rapidly skimming papers on his lap.
Niles knelt down, putting his hand on the filing cabinet.
"Don't do that," said Mason irritably, using his gloves to wipe
off the part of the filing cabinet Niles had touched. Using his
gloves? Mason was wearing gloves now.
"I think I... there, got it," said Mason, staring intently at a
document. "I think we've hit the jackpot." He took a device out of
his briefcase, aimed it at the document, made a few rapid clicking
sounds with it, and then carefully started to put the files back where
he had found them.
"What? What did you find?"
"Stand by the door," said Mason. "We're leaving in just a
minute. And touch nothing!"
Niles went to the door where Marsten was waiting. "He says we're
leaving in a minute."
"Good," said Marsten. "Not soon enough for me."
"Let's go," said Mason, walking by them. "Wait, did anyone touch
the doorknob?" He rapidly polished it down. "They probably won't
notice our visit. But you can never tell. Let's go."
They took the elevator down. "But how are we going to get out?"
Niles asked.
Mason said nothing, taking off his gloves and putting them in his
pockets. "Act natural," he instructed.
They walked out the front entrance, past a bored guard who looked
them over. Niles felt like they had "guilty" stamped all over them.
But the guard just said, "G'night."
"Goodnight," said Mason, calmly walking out.
They got Mason to open up a little on the drive back to
Washington. "What did you find?" Marsten asked.
"Just a little document indicating that a certain Mack's
Corporation owns a certain building on West 54th street in Manhattan."
"So?" said Marsten.
"By a small coincidence, Speaker Mandelbaum's law firm is located
on two floors of that building," said Mason.
"So?" said Marsten.
Mason was starting to look irritated. "I found the rental
document. That space is rented to Mandelbaum's lawfirm for $20 a
month."
"Oh."
"That space should be going for $20 a square foot, at least. But
the entire property, both floors, $20 a month."
"And how does this tie into Tallon & Co?"
Mason stepped on the gas. "Mack's Corporation is a dummy
corporation, wholly owned by Tallon & Co."
"So that was the payoff in return for the $5,000,000 favor," said
Niles. "A kickback in the form of free rent."
Mason raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps you're not quite as stupid
as you appear to be." He gunned the engine. Powers must be informed,
immediately.
"Very interesting," said Powers, reclining in his office chair.
"I find your report most intriguing, Mr. Mason." He was studying
several photographs on his desk which detailed certain documents. He
pressed a button on his desk. "Send the Wizard in."
His campaign manager was quickly brought up to speed on events.
The Wizard didn't ask where the photos had come from or how they had
been obtained. He did, however, nod slowly. "Right. We have to
exploit this properly."
"What is properly? We hold a news conference, we slam him on
this."
"No. First of all, we have no evidence."
Powers held up the photos, looked at them, and nodded. "You're
right. We don't want to be showing spy photos."
"Correct. But the accusation, given its specificity, will still
be valid. However, I don't want you to make this accusation."
"Why?"
"In case it blows up, I don't want you connected with it. I'll
get a third party to do the foot work," said the Wizard.
"How could it blow up? We have the goods on him," said Powers.
"Who was it who said not to underestimate Mandelbaum?" said the
Wizard.
"All right, so I did," said Powers. "We'll do it your way. But
I don't see how he's going to wiggle out of this one."
Powers sat up, triumphantly slamming his desk. "We have him!"
Niles got back late the night before and found Marie already
asleep. He didn't get a chance to talk to her until the following
evening, when he returned from work. He slammed the door closed,
hearing the familiar crunch crunch of dead roach bodies under his feet.
Must remember to get those swept up.
Marie greeted him at the door.
"You were gone late last night," said Marie, giving him a kiss.
"Another research all nighter?"
"No, I was back by 12:30," said Niles dully. "You were already
asleep."
"Yeah," said Marie. She stirred some eggs in a frying pan. She
loved to eat eggs in the evening. "I got up early yesterday, and had
an exhausting day. Were you looking at tax forms again?"
"Um... not exactly."
Marie looked up at him. There was something, something in his
tone of voice.... "What's wrong, Philip?"
Niles shook his head. "Don't want to talk about it."
"Why?"
Niles shook his head more vigorously. "I can't talk about it."
Marie put an arm around him. "Hey, I thought we weren't going to
keep secrets."
"I can't get you involved... not with potentially... illegal...
activity." Niles looked at her nervously. There, he had said it.
Marie just shook her head. "Philip, if you're in trouble, I want
to know. Now tell me!"
His resistance already crumbling, Niles related what had
happened.
"We actually broke in to those offices," said Niles. "That was
breaking and entering, at the very least!"
"It is troubling," said Marie.
"What if we were caught? That would have been the end of my
career," said Niles. "And what happens the next time they make me do
this?"
"Philip, they can't make you do anything," said Marie, looking
into his eyes.
"They would fire me," said Niles. "Without references, in the
middle of a campaign. I'd never get another job." He looked at her.
"And do you know what the worst part was?"
"What?"
"Him. Mason. I get a bad feeling from him, like he kills people
for a living. Or that he's capable of murder."
"Philip, I don't like the sound of this. Maybe you should quit."
"No," said Niles. "I can't. I'll play it by ear. I'll be ok."
"All right," said Marie. "But I want you to be careful."
Niles promised that he would.
Two days later, one Wilford Callider, director of the Civic
Coalition of New York, held a news conference. He leveled grave
charges against the Speaker of the Assembly, Milton Mandelbaum. He
stated that credible evidence existed that the Speaker, then the
Chairman of Assembly Ways and Means, had arranged for a $5,000,000
sweetheart deal for the corporation which gave his law firm free space
for rent.
The papers said it all. "SPEAKER GIVES FIVE MIL FOR CUSHY
LANDLORD" said the Post. "TALLON GETS CLAWS INTO MANDELBAUM FOR FIVE
MIL" said the Daily News. Even the New York Times on its front page
said, "Speaker Accused of Illegal Favortism" in a small article on the
bottom lefthand side of the front page.
"Ah, ha ha ha," said Powers, enjoying every minute of it. This
was all the media had been talking about for the past three days.
Mandelbaum was sinking like a rock at the polls. He made general
denials but the issue had a life of its own. It seemed the game was
over even before it had really begun.
"Don't be too confident," said the Wizard.
"What?" said Powers. "I know what you're going to say." He
rendered his best Darth Vader voice. "Don't underestimate the power of
the Speaker." He laughed. "What's he going to do, produce his law
firm's lease to dispute the charges?"
That very day Mandelbaum held a news conference to do just that.
"Here are copies of my lease," he said on television, handing
them out to reporters.
The report cut to Oxford Frame of NBC, who said, "After
examination it seemed that the lease was in order. Speaker
Mandelbaum's firm was paying $10,000 a month to rent-"
"What?" said Powers.
"-but I also asked the Speaker for further substantiation, in the
form of cancelled checks."
"Good for you," said Powers.
The scene cut to Mandelbaum saying, "Cancelled checks? Do you
think I hold on to those?"
"Surely your bank would," said Frame helpfully.
"Sure, I got them," said Mandelbaum, passing out photocopies.
The scene cut back to Frame. "The checks all seemed in order.
We went to Wilford Callider, who originally leveled these charges, and
asked for further substantiation, but his office was not answering the
phone."
The scene cut to Mandelbaum, looking triumphant. "I think this
entire episode was fabricated by my opponents who will do anything to
stop me from winning in a fair fight."
"Do you mean Congressman Powers, sir?" said a reporter.
"I'll let my statement speak for itself," said Mandelbaum smugly.
Powers, feeling sick, shut off the TV. He turned to the Wizard.
"How?"
"Forged documents, obviously. Made up another version of the
lease," said the Wizard. He immediately said, "And don't think of
using our photos. Best to burn them; there would be too many questions
about their source."
Powers nodded, numbly. Then he said, "Ok, the lease can be
forged, between two willing parties. But what about those cancelled
checks? Surely the bank will dispute them."
"My guess is that if the bank is not an active player, they will
at the very least keep quiet. Or there will be an accident in the
record vault, and certain select records will become lost," said the
Wizard.
"You're saying he controls a bank?" said Powers.
"Congressman, you're not dealing with the minor league here.
Remember, this man turned two dozen Congressmen of your own party
against you."
Powers kept nodding.
"And you can bet he'll be coming after you again, and soon," said
the Wizard.
"I can't wait," said Powers glumly.
Chapter 5
Powers' next campaign appearance was on Wall Street, in the World
Trade Center, to be exact. Next to Washington, this was where he felt
most at home. Not with farmers on some deserted and forsaken prairie,
and certainly not with some soon-to-be-unemployed blue collar types.
The Wizard explained. "We're having you meet with investment
bankers and other wall-streeters of a similar ilk."
"Won't that typecast me as being too pro-business?"
The Wizard shook his head. "Just the opposite. I'm afraid of
having you typecast as too pro-union. It's a fine line to walk,
especially for a Democratic primary, but trust me."
"Of course I trust you," said Powers. "What's the worst that
could happen? A rally where no one shows up? A rally where no one
pays attention? Or a rally where my speech is programmed to self
destruct?"
"I wrote your speech for this event. Have you looked it over?"
Powers nodded. "It's an adequate speech. Let's go."
He went there, and gave a mostly dull, business speech, to a
mostly dull, business crowd. He looked over the crowd in their fancy
suits, and noticed how much alike they looked. White, male, medium
height, hair blown-dried to a T, simple grey or dark blue suits, with
equally dead ties.
Powers sighed, droning on with his speech. "And so the business
community is the vital engine that will revitalize New York into the
next decade. I think that sometimes we forget that it is businesses,
and not tax revenues, that provides jobs." That stirred their
interest, a little.
But now Powers got to the favorite section of his speech: the
goodies. "In order to compete in this global market into the next
decade, we need a workforce that is educated and well-trained. And for
that to be accomplished the government has to be a friend and not a
foe. I'm not merely talking about taxes. I support lowering the
business tax by 2%, as you may know."
Well, if they didn't know, they did now. Sporadic applause
greeted him.
"But we must do more, beyond that, to allow business to flourish.
And I'm not just talking about reducing government regulation, which I
think is very important to do." Powers didn't mention that most
regulation of securities occurred on the federal level, something the
governor of New York had little say about, but it got him additional
applause, so what did it really matter?
"What I propose to do as one of my first acts as governor is to
pass the Business Support Act. This bill would pay a small fee to
every new employee who was trained on the job in the specialized and
highly technical securities industries."
That got him a standing ovation. Powers was effectively offering
to pay them money for doing what they ordinarily did--hiring new bodies
every year. In other words he was offering to subsidize the salaries
of the fat-cats at the top securities firms.
And the audience knew that. Not only did the ovation last for
several minutes, but support in the forms of checks and donations
flowed to Powers' aides.
"It's important to be a pro-business candidate," Powers
concluded.
"It's time to produce your first campaign ad," said the Wizard.
"But although we technically have a party primary, the candidate
is really chosen at the convention before the primary," said Powers.
"We'd be advertising to thousands to reach a select few, the delegates
at the convention."
"Correct, but the delegates are humans, and they watch television
like everyone else, and they believe what they see on television like
everyone else. Trust me," said the Wizard. "Or were you dissatisfied
by the receipts from our World Trade event?"
Powers chuckled. "I didn't realize it was going to be a
fundraiser."
The Wizard nodded. "Now let's get cracking."
They went to a top Madison Avenue ad agency, one of the best in
the industry. The Gant Group handled the advertising accounts for
Crest Toothpaste, Motts Apple Juice, and a half dozen other major
megacorporations. They had also produced campaign ads for two dozen
major state and national races.
Powers was introduced to Jose Torres, who was to be his project
director. Torres was a short but vibrant Latino man with a thin
moustache.
"So good to meet you," he said, pumping Powers' hand. "We're all
ready for you, come into the studio."
They had Powers sit on a stool, doing bits of his regular
routine.
"We need a strong state government, one that can look after the
needs of the citizenry," said Powers.
"Great," said Torres, looking out from behind a camera. "But
raise your chin a little. Lights! I want them to shine on him, not
blind him!"
Powers ran through more of a typical speech. Torres and his
people seemed uninterested in what he was saying, at least for the
moment.
"Maybe we should have him standing," said Torres. "He'd have
more stature."
"He looks more disarming when he's sitting," said one woman.
"You're right," said Torres. "Sitting it is."
Powers leaned over to the Wizard. "I don't dispute that these
guys may be good at selling toothpaste... but are you sure he knows
what he's doing?"
The Wizard leaned over, giving a quick nod.
"All right, Mr. Ross, out of the picture. We're going to rap
this," said Torres. "Congressman? Smile. We want you to... good,
hold that."
A few seconds later he looked up. "All right, we're done."
"Done?" said Powers. "But we haven't-"
"Out," said Torres, propelling him towards the door. "You'll
have the commercial in one, maybe two days."
"But-"
"First is freebie. You like, you pay, you don't like, you send
back. So good working with you, Mr. Powers." He turned away.
"Margie, where have the Fruit of the Loom people gone to? It's nearly
4 o'clock now, I need grape-man, apple-man, banana-man, all the
underwear people, IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Two days later, the Wizard entered Powers' office with a big
smile.
"Smile means good," said Powers, imitating a caveman. "Smile
means good... for me?" he inquired.
The Wizard nodded, still not uttering a word. He popped a tape
into the VCR in Powers' office.
"What's that?" said Powers, not very interested.
"Your ad."
"My ad?" Powers had nearly forgotten about that crazy session of
two days earlier. "Let's see."
A deep baritone voice said, "There's a governor's race coming up
in New York. The results will be important to all New Yorkers." The
screen was showing clips of young people, blacks, hispanics, workers,
women, the elderly.... "There's one man who stands up for the little
guy. Michael Powers. Help fight the special interests. Elect Mike
Powers for governor." The scene cut to the smiling face of Powers,
during which time a quick voice said, "Paid for by friends of Powers."
Powers turned around. "Pretty quick commercial, isn't it?"
"It's the first sample," admitted the Wizard. "It's also in a
fifteen second block that's cheap to run and can be repeated often."
"And what about the message? Fight the special interests?
Pretty simplistic, isn't it?"
"Simple is good. Simple doesn't tax the common mind," said the
Wizard. "We don't want to clutter up peoples' minds with facts and
issues. Some people even have stands on the issues, and we wouldn't
want to turn any of them off by taking positions of our own."
"Um. Makes sense," Powers admitted. "Go with it."
"Your wish is my command," said Wizard Ross.
It should have been no surprise when Mandelbaum attacked again.
Ross wasn't surprised. Toles wasn't surprised. And Powers wasn't
surprised. But he couldn't help but be a little anxious about it.
The attack didn't come directly from Mandelbaum, of course. He
was too smart for that now. But news reports started to surface about
questions concerning Power's draft record during the Vietnam war, and
Mandelbaum surrogates were stoking the flame.
"Did Congressman Powers use favoritism to avoid service in the
war?" said Oxford Frame. "I have here a document provided to me by a
confidential source stating that Congressman Powers secured admission
into the coast guard, only one day before he was to be called up for
service in the regular army. I also have another letter from one
Mitchell Stacks, then deputy commander of the local coast guard unit,
recommending that Congressman Powers be admitted into the Coast Guard,
with the recommendation dated two days after the congressman was to be
inducted into the army."
"What to make of this?" said Frame. "We tried to contact the
Powers campaign, but our calls have gone unanswered."
"We're in trouble," said the Wizard.
"I'm glad that I have you here to tell me these things," said
Powers, glaring at the Wizard.
"Tell me the story, from the beginning," said the Wizard.
"The story?" said Powers, with a small smile.
"The story," said the Wizard. "That's all I want to know."
"Ok," said Powers. "Here's how it went. It was 1967, you know?
I had just turned 18, and was of prime drafting age. They were taking
the 18 year olds first, you know."
"I know," said the Wizard. "But continue."
"Yes," said Powers. Talking about it was never easy, even with
close confidants. "Well, anyway, I wanted to join up." He stopped.
"Of course," said the Wizard. "Continue."
"Well, I wanted to join up, but I wasn't sure... I wasn't sure
the army was right for me." He drummed his fingers on the desk,
staring at them intently.
"What about the navy?" said the Wizard. "They didn't see too
much action in combat in Vietnam."
"I thought about that," said Powers. "But I also didn't like the
thought of being crammed for days on end in tiny ship quarters. Those
guys don't even have their own bunks, you know."
"In the subs they don't. I'm not sure about the other ships,"
said the Wizard. "But you thought of something even better."
"Yes," said Powers. "The coast guard. Still a way to serve my
country-"
"Without going very far from it," said the Wizard.
Powers glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"
"Yours, of course. I just want to expose you to just a little
bit of what the other side is going to say," said the Wizard. "But I
sense there is more to your story than just enlisting in the coast
guard."
"No," said Powers hastily. Then, "All right. I... got the
impression that my draft number was about to come up. I applied to the
coast guard, and it seemed probable that I was going to get in... but
they wouldn't be able to act on my admission for some time."
"So you accelerated the process," said the Wizard.
Powers nodded. "I would have been admitted in any event."
"Can you prove that? Can we convince anyone of that? I'm not so
sure. More specifics, please."
"Mitchell Stacks was the second in command of the local guard
base. He was also a friend of the family. He arranged to expedite my
admission."
"And what of the fact that his recommendation letter postdated
your admission into the guard by two days?"
"Well... it was felt that it was best to admit me immediately,
once they had decided to admit me, I mean, and then to handle the
remaining paperwork at a later date."
"I see." The Wizard sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Powers said, "Well?"
"If I had known, I wouldn't have taken you on as a client."
"What?" Powers couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"It was going to be an uphill battle as it was. This will make
it nearly impossible."
Toles looked shocked, but Michael Powers looked angry. "I can't
believe what I'm hearing," said Powers. "You claim to be this great
campaign advisor, and you can't even deal with one setback like this?"
"I am good. But there are limits to what I can do-"
"No sir!" said Powers. "You're giving up! You're quitting, even
before we've even begun! If I had known what I was hiring, I most
certainly would not have taken you aboard! How many other candidates
have you quit, simply abandoned when the going got rough for a few
days? Is that how you tally your great record, by not listing those
candidates who've you abandoned? Is this your great plan, to quit, and
hide under a rock? COME ON, SPEAK UP!"
The Wizard looked like he was about to explode. "I HAVE NEVER,
EVER IN MY LIFE ABANDONED A CLIENT!" He stood up to Powers, his fists
clenched.
Powers stood up to him, face to face. "WELL, THAT'S WHAT IT
SOUNDS LIKE YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW!"
"WHAT CAN WE DO?" said the Wizard. "YOU'RE GUILTY. YOU'VE JUST
ADMITTED IT!"
"THEN GIVE UP! QUIT! BUT GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, QUITTER! THERE'S
NO PLACE FOR LOSERS ON THIS CAMPAIGN!"
The Wizard's eyes flared. For a moment there was such a tension
in the air that Toles thought someone was about to be struck.
Then the Wizard took a step back. "I never said anything about
quitting."
Powers glared at him. "So?"
"What we need is a plan, a plan," said the Wizard.
Powers slowly nodded, sitting down. "A plan."
"Not a plan, but a spin. And a massive one," said Toles,
relieved that they did not come to blows.
"A spin," said the Wizard. Then he sat up, as if he had gained a
new lease on life. "A spin! And it will have to be a damn good one."
Niles was walking out on the Mall, during his lunch hour.
"Thanks for meeting me," he said, giving Marie a hug.
"You sounded really in the dumps," said Marie.
"I think the campaign is going down the tubes," said Niles.
"This draft thing? We've had presidents elected with draft
problems," Marie scoffed.
"I know. But these charges against the Congressman seem to be
sticking." Niles looked about nervously. "This is confidential, but
our poll numbers are really down. I think the whole thing could
collapse this week."
"What?" Marie looked shocked. "Well, if worst came to worst,
you'd still be working for him as Congressman. He could still run for
reelection, right?."
"Maybe. But I just wonder if I would get fired, as a sort of
scapegoat," said Niles.
"Then I'd have to support you, wouldn't I?" she teased, punching
him in the shoulder. "Don't worry about what hasn't happened. It may
simply never happen."
Niles nodded, but he looked unhappy.
Three days later....
Powers was holding a campaign rally in Central Park. The past
week had been a nightmare; he had been dogged with draft questions for
days. The media were being kept far enough away so they couldn't ask
any questions. The crowd, though large in size, was sprinkled with
hecklers.
Powers was trying to elaborate on his environmental policy, but
his speech was periodically interrupted by individual shouts from the
audience. Powers was having enough trouble concentrating as it was; he
had never quite figured out what his positions were supposed to be on
the environment.
Still, he read dutifully from his speech. "New Yorkers need an
environment that everyone can live in-"
"Including draft dodgers-" came a voice.
"-a country where everyone can breath the air-"
"Like Canada, you fucking draft dodger!"
"-a new policy on hot air pollutants-"
"Like hot air draft dodger windbags like yourself!" came another
shout.
Powers stopped, putting down his speech. Oblivious to the
cameras, the media, everyone, he pointed at that last heckler, a man
wearing a red baseball cap. "You! Young man, come up here."
The young man shrank back.
"If you have the audacity to make charges, then come up here,
face to face, and make your charges, like a man."
The young man did not seem inclined to go forward, but was
propelled by the generally sympathetic crowd of Powers partisans.
The protestor shrank even as he was given one last helpful push
onto stage. Powers pointed the microphone towards him. "Make your
accusation."
The young man looked uncertain, but stepped forward. "You dodged
the Vietnam war!"
"But where were you?" said Powers. "Never mind. What's your
definition of dodging?"
"Not serving! You copped out with the coast guard!"
"And serving in the coast guard is not honorable?" said Powers.
"Young man, are you aware that units of the coast guard were sent to
Vietnam?"
"N-no," said the protestor.
"Young man, are you aware that members of the coast guard were
shot and killed in Vietnam?"
"No," said the man, looking increasingly nervous.
"But serving in the coast guard is not good enough for you. Do
you hear that, people? He's impugning the honor and motives of the
thousands of dedicated people who have guarded our coastlines for two
centuries! This young punk thinks that people in the Coast Guard are
sissies, not fit to be called real Americans. Am I right?"
The crowd roared.
"Well, for your information, there are thousands of Americans out
there who are dedicated and decorated members of the Coast Guard and
Naval Reserve," said Powers. "And I won't stand here and let you
impugn the honor of those men in blue!" Did they wear blue? He
forgot. Well, it sounded right.
The crowd cheered. The young man looked very unhappy.
"Young man, I think you've been fed a lot of bull, you and your
fellow hecklers here," said Powers. "Now tell us the real reason that
you're here today, the real reason you're trying to abridge our first
amendment rights by shouting us down."
The young man muttered, "I was told it was the right thing to
do."
"Told," said Powers loudly, looking at the audience. "This is
interesting. Young man, who told you this?"
"Some guy... some guy at the Mandelbaum campaign," said the young
man.
The crowd exploded. Powers let them go on for several minutes.
"NO FAIR! DIRTY TRICKS! FOUL MANDELBAUM!" they cried.
Finally Powers restored order. "It would seem our opponent has
been busy. But busy at what? Campaigning on the issues? Discussing
the needs of New York? No! My opponent feels that he can win only by
dragging my name down into the mud! Well, are we going to let him do
it?"
"No!" they shouted, as one.
"Are we?"
"NO!" they shouted, even louder.
"Then let's get out there and campaign!" shouted Powers.
The crowd went wild again. The young man slipped off the stage.
Immediately reporters started to follow him, but they were held off for
precious moments by crowd security, and then he disappeared.
Toles, the Wizard and Powers watched the news together that
night.
"-one of the protestors admitted to working for Speaker
Mandelbaum-"
The scene cut to Mandelbaum, scurrying away from reporters as
fast as his fat little feet could carry him.
"Speaker Mandelbaum! Speaker Mandelbaum!" They cornered him for
a moment. "What do you have to say about-"
"No comment," he said quickly. But then, looking about
nervously, he added, "That man was acting without sanction." He wet
his lips quickly. "If anybody in my campaign told him to do anything,
I didn't know about it, didn't sanction it. G'bye," he said, running
off.
"Direct hit, amidships!" said the Wizard, laughing. He raised
his hand to Powers, who slapped him a high-five.
"He can dish it out but he can't take it," said Toles, lowering
the volume. "It's only fortunate that that young man confessed so
easily."
"Yes, it was," said Powers.
"It's also fortunate that he slipped away before the media could
catch up to him," Toles added.
"Yes, it was," said Powers again, grinning widely.
"But what of future questions? What about the recommendation
that came two days after-"
"You watch," said the Wizard. "The whole spin of the thing has
changed now. We're ok now."
Powers turned to him. "And you were ready to quit, all because
of this little thing."
"Whoever said anything about quitting?" the Wizard wanted to
know.
The Wizard was correct. For the next few days Powers was still
asked questions about his service record. But the issue had clearly
reached a turning point. An example:
"Congressman, did Mr. Stacks show any favortism towards you when
you obtained a position in the guard?" he was asked.
And Powers put on a stony expression. "Any favoritism? Is it
favoritism to help a young man's dream to serve his country? Is that
what you're trying to do? Impugn the honor of national service, as Mr.
Mandelbaum does?"
"But... but what about the recommendation, that came two days
after you were admitted-"
"A little slow on the formal paperwork," Powers acknowledged. "I
know Speaker Mandelbaum wants these questions asked. It's been shown
that he has paid people to do so. But these attacks on patriotism and
national service really revolt me, and, I suspect, disgust many New
Yorkers as well."
And that shut them up. After every question, Powers would either
subtly imply that the questioner was in the pay of Mandelbaum, or that
the line of questioning was unpatriotic, a slur on the good name and
proud service of the coast guard.
And it worked. It wouldn't have worked without the carefully
staged event that Powers had arranged; and it certainly wouldn't have
worked without the confession of Mandelbaum's "employee". Now
Mandelbaum was on the defensive. Now the press was once again nipping
at Mandelbaum's heels. Well, most of the press.
TWISTING THE FACTS
Personal Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
Michael Powers has weaseled his way out of trouble
again. Not because he opposed the horrendous occupation of Vietnam, as
many honorable women and men did; but rather that he sought the rich
boy's way out, to see action off the coast of Maine rather than Mei-
lei.
Once again he escaped being labeled as a hypocrite.
Once again he came out smelling like a rose. But when will the public
have enough of the excuses? When will the public finally see through
the veneer of graciousness, the grand words, the awesome vision to see
the foulness that lurks underneath?
I have not a few friends who say they plan to move
out of New York City if Mr. Powers is elected governor of the state. I
tell them not to leave. This is the greatest city in the world. We
should stay and fight to keep it so.
I should add that I have also become increasingly
disappointed with Speaker Mandelbaum. His effortless descent into
mudslinging is to be condemned.
The best candidate really is Attorney General
Sampleton. Not very much has been heard about the Attorney General in
his bid for the governor's mansion, perhaps because he has eschewed
showy electioneering in favor of plain, hard grassroots work in getting
support from the people.
It would be best for New York if the two leading
Democratic candidates withdrew. New Yorkers, all New Yorkers deserve
better than this.
"All my friends talk about leaving," said the Wizard, in a whiny
voice. "I can already see it, a vast exodus of lily white liberals,
fleeing at the nearness of your contaminating cynicism, fleeing across
the George Washington bridge, clutching their small poodles in one arm
and little jars of grey poupon in the other."
"At least she didn't call you Hitler this time," said Toles.
"At least some good came of our counterattack," said the Wizard.
"Mandelbaum's dirty tricks have turned her off to his candidacy. We're
splitting the vote, Mikey."
"Don't call me Mikey," said Powers automatically. "When are
we going to get even with this bastard?"
"Where are we going this time?" said Niles, as he and Marsten
hung to the upholstery in the back seat while Mason gunned the engine
of his ancient Buick. They were riding about somewhere in Nassau
County, on Long Island, as far as Niles could see.
"The funny farm."
"Get serious."
But Mason would say no more. It was only when he pulled over to
the side of the road in front of a sign that read
Gonzalas Mental Hospital
Speed Limit 15 MPH
that Niles and Marsten realized that he had been telling the
truth.
"Why are we here?" said Marsten.
"I have reason to believe that our friend the Speaker spent some
time here," said Mason.
"Mandelbaum? You're crazy!" said Niles.
Mason looked at him. Niles shrank back. Then, quick as a snake,
Mason grabbed Niles by the neck, pulling him close, face to face.
"Uh... uh!" said Niles, starting to choke.
Mason spoke slowly. "Be careful. Be very, very careful."
He let Niles go, flinging him back against the car seat.
Niles, coughing, eyed him warily. He started to tremble.
"Now," said Mason pleasantly, continuing as if nothing had
happened, "I have reason to believe that Mandelbaum has spent some time
here."
"How do you know that?" said Marsten, speaking in a somewhat more
respectful tone.
"I don't know that; I said that I suspected it. I came across
some information that would seem to indicate that to be the case."
"What sort of information would that be?" said Marsten. "He
wouldn't just go about leaving such documents around."
"You are correct," said Mason. He did not elaborate further.
"We, all three of us, are going to enter this institution."
"Us? How are we going to get in there?" said Marsten.
"We're doctors, from the state health board." Marsten opened the
glove compartment, took out three ID's, handed one to each.
"These are photo ID's," said Niles. "Where did you get a picture
of me?"
Mason did not answer.
"These look real," said Marsten. He looked at the name on his.
It said, "Dr. O'Brien."
"They are," said Mason. His ID read "Dr. Chandra."
"We could get in trouble if we get caught," said Niles. The name
on his ID was "Dr. Daystrom." Who had thought up these names?
"Then we shouldn't get caught," said Mason.
"Why do you even need us?" said Niles. "Can't you go in,
yourself? We'll wait in the car."
Mason gave him a look. "This time, you are necessary. This is
what I want you to do...."
The car pulled up to the gatehouse. The mental hospital was
bordered by a sturdy fence. To keep people in. Perhaps to keep them
in, if they were caught impersonating state officials.
If they were discovered, and if they tried to escape, they would
be apprehended. And prosecuted. Their careers would be over.
The police sentry at the guardhouse peered at Mason's ID. "State
Board. Here for an inspection," said Mason, sounding bored.
Niles wondered how he had ever agreed to do this. He had started
out performing some questionable tasks, but this was definitely
crossing the line. They were impersonating government officials!
The guard peered closely at them. He checked his clipboard.
"Ain't nothing here about an inspection."
"It's a surprise inspection," said Mason.
The guard checked his clipboard again. "I still don't have
anything."
Mason started to wonder if this man was an inmate, rather than a
guard. "It wouldn't be a surprise, otherwise."
The guard shook his head. "I can't let you in, without an
appointment."
Mason raised his voice. "Can I have your name? This needs to go
into my report, for the governor."
The guard bit his lip. "Hold on."
He went inside, spoke on the phone.
"This isn't going to work!" Niles hissed.
"Shut up," said Mason between clenched teeth.
"Let's go!" Niles implored.
Mason turned around. "If you blow this, I'll-"
At that moment the guard returned. Mason shifted position to
face him, his expression neutral. "Yes?"
"Drive right up, the main building. Dr. Ripley, the deputy
administrator, will see you."
"Thank you so much," said Mason, as the stick barrier in front of
the car was slowly raised.
Dr. Ripley was skeptical. A middle-aged woman, with two advanced
degrees in psychology and psychiatry, she had learned from an early age
never to take anything at face value. She had had no notice of any
inspection, surprise or no, and the two men with Dr. Chandra seemed too
young to be government officials, much less doctors. Dr. Ripley peered
at their ID's. They looked real enough.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she said. If this was really
a surprise inspection, they could be on a fishing expedition. Better
to show them as little as possible and get them on their way.
"Inspection," grunted Mason.
"Of course," said Ripley. She would take them to the A ward.
That was where the less difficult cases were, as well as her best
staffpeople. Wait, was Johansen on duty today? No, today was his day
off. Good. Johansen could be a bit brutal at times. "Come this way,"
she said, starting to walk.
But Mason was not moving. "Where are we going?"
"I'll show you one of the wards, where you can see some of the
patients-"
"If you don't mind, I prefer to avoid a guided tour," said Mason.
"Very well, but-"
Mason started walking, in the opposite direction. He walked down
the corridors with such a purposeful stride that it almost seemed as if
he knew exactly where he was going, even though he obviously had never
been on the grounds before.
Mason strode along at a brisk pace, turning right then left then
right again. Then he stopped before a door marked administration and
entered, finding himself in a room filed with filing cabinets. A
secretary looked up as they entered.
"There are no patients in here-" said Ripley.
Mason spun about. "I would be concerned if there were. I would
like to see your financial records."
"Our... financial records," said Ripley. She indicated some
cabinets against the wall. "They're there... but why...."
Mason quickly scanned all the filing cabinets, as if he didn't
believe her. Pausing for just a moment he suddenly stopped, as if in
thought, incidently staring down at one of the filing cabinets.
Casting a quick glance at his associates he continued his review of the
cabinets, arriving at the one that Dr. Ripley had indicated.
He opened one of the drawers and started leafing through the
files.
Ripley looked about uncomfortably.
Mason read silently for a few minutes. Every so often he would
say, "Hm...." or slowly nod his head. Finally, he looked up. "Dr.
Daystrom, Dr. O'Brien, you gentlemen had better have a look at these."
He started for the door.
"What did you find? W-where are you going?" said Ripley.
"I'm going to take up your kind offer to examine one of your
patient wings," said Mason. "Would you like to accompany me?"
"Of course," said Ripley. She cast a glance back at Niles and
Marsten, then turned to her secretary. "Marge... assist these gentlemen
while I'm gone. We'll be back soon."
"Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes," said Mason, glancing at his
associates.
Marsten nodded.
After they had left, Niles and Marsten resumed examining the
financial records. Once a reasonable minute or two had passed, Marsten
said, "Are these all your financial records?"
The secretary said, "All the ones for the current fiscal year,
yes."
"What about last year's?"
"Oh, that would be in the other records room, down the hall,
right around the corner-"
"Could you show me?" said Marsten.
The secretary looked about. That would mean leaving Niles alone
with the records. But these was no way to get around such a reasonable
request; besides, these were official state investigators. She nodded,
and Marsten exited, saying, "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Right," said Niles.
The secretary took Marsten to another room. "Those filing
cabinets, along the wall there," she said, turning to return to her
post.
"Just a moment," said Marsten hastily. "Can you show me how
they're organized?"
Niles burst into action the minute Marsten and the secretary had
left. He turned to the filing cabinet that Mason had subtly indicated
to them moments earlier. He opened up the top drawer, and sure enough,
it contained patient records, in alphabetical order.
"M... M... M...." said Niles, speaking aloud in the empty room.
"Mabus... Matsui... Melcher... wait, go back-"
And he found it. A single page with the tab "MANDELBAUM,
MILTON."
And that was it. The page was blank. Niles searched
frantically, to see if the rest was misfiled. But unlike the other
voluminous patient files, there was no other information to be found.
At that moment the secretary returned, followed closely by
Marsten. "Really, Mr. O'Brien, I have to be getting back to my... what
are you doing?" she said, seeing Niles rummaging in the patient files.
She looked surprised. "I don't care where you're from, those are
confidential patient files."
Niles, instead of acting guilty, became accusatory instead. "I
can see why they're confidential," he said, holding up the Mandelbaum
page. "This file has been purged."
"Purged? Let me see." She looked quickly at the name on the
page that Niles held, and then moved to the filing cabinet. The
secretary, not a great follower of politics, even in her own state,
found that the name only remotely rang a bell. She looked for a few
moments, then gave up. "Well, it must be here, somewhere," said the
secretary. "But look here, put that page back. You're not supposed to
be looking through those files, those are confidential patient files.
If Doctor Ripley sees, she's going to blow her top." Plucking the page
from Niles' hand, she put it in the drawer, and slammed the cabinet
closed.
"But what about this name?"
She glanced at the drawer. "I am not permitted to tell you the
specifics concerning a former patient."
A former patient!
Just at that moment Mason and Dr. Ripley returned. Ripley was
surprised to see everyone, including her secretary, standing about in
the middle of the room, as if in intense discussion.
"Well?" said Ripley.
"We've concluded our business here," said Marsten. "We have
enough to make our report."
"Good," said Mason. He turned to Ripley. "Thank you for your
cooperation. We'll be on our way now."
Ripley looked surprised. This seemed too easy. "You're...
welcome."
They were driving west on the Long Island Expressway, back to New
York City. "Well?" said Mason.
"He was there," said Niles. "I saw a file with his name on it."
"And?"
"That's it. The rest of the file was gone."
Mason shook his head. "Incompetents."
Mason seemed to be referring to Mandelbaum's people. "How do you
mean?" said Niles.
"They had the ability to steal the file outright; but they were
kind enough to leave a reference that Mandelbaum had been there."
"But we don't know why, for how long, or when, and we don't have
any proof," said Marsten.
Mason was smiling, which was rare for him. "For now, we have
more than enough."
"All right, what have you been doing now?" Marie demanded.
She knew that something was afoot every time Niles had that
pained expression on his face. It was a new look for him, something
that he had acquired only since the campaign had begun.
Niles closed his eyes as he spoke. "We impersonated state
officials and searched the records of a mental hospital to find that
Mandelbaum had at one time resided there."
Marie gave a low whistle. "I don't know which is more shocking--
that the Speaker of the New York Assembly is a mental, or that you've
committed a crime that could get you ten years in the slammer."
"It's no laughing matter, Marie!"
She nodded, quickly becoming serious. "I agree. I think you
should quit."
"No!" said Niles. "I'm in it deep enough already. I might as
well get something out of it."
"What?"
"A post in the governor's office. If I quit now, I get nothing,"
said Niles. "You were the one telling me to use Powers, to try to make
some good come from it."
"That was before I learned how he was using you," said Marie.
"First he has you breaking and entering, and now impersonating state
officials. What will be next, murder?"
A chill went down Nile's spine. He thought of Mason. "I don't
know."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Niles repeated.
Michael Powers was very pleased.
"A mental hospital? Interesting," said Powers, a small smile on
his lips. "I trust you will pursue the matter further."
"Yes sir," said Mason. He turned and departed.
"A pity we don't have more substantiation before the debate,"
said Powers.
For the Powers camp and Mandelbaum's people had finally agreed to
a debate, to occur on the very next day. This had followed days of
hectic negotiation between the two campaigns.
Mandelbaum had obviously agreed to debate only because Powers had
been closing in the polls. Still, even with a willingness to debate
the specific terms of the debate took a long time to nail down. An
example: the Wizard wanted both Powers and Mandelbaum to sit close to
each other, in part because Powers was so much taller than Mandelbaum.
Mandelbaum's people wanted two podiums, faced far apart, with a little
stool for Mandelbaum to stand on. They had finally compromised on
having two podiums, but Mandelbaum's feet would have to be on the same
level as Powers (although the Wizard was willing to bet that M&M would
wear his tallest elevator shoes for the event).
Another example: the two camps quarrelled over the level of
lighting in the auditorium. The Wizard had observed that brighter
lights made Mandelbaum sweat profusely, giving him a less-than-candid
demeanor. The Mandelbaum camp was acutely aware of this, and at the
end an electrician was called in to arbitrate and determine the precise
level of lumens that would drape the debating stage.
On a somewhat more substantive note, the two sides also quarreled
over the debate format. The Wizard wanted each of the candidates to
ask each other questions, without the benefit of a moderator.
Mandelbaum wanted a moderator armed with a bevy of restrictions backed
up by a determined panel of questioners. The predictable compromise
was that there would be a moderator, alone, who would ask questions.
Leo McCain of CNN was set to be the moderator. It was he who had
once asked the now famous question of a pro-life presidential
candidate: "Governor, if you came home to discover that your daughter
was brutalized and raped and wanted an abortion, what would you do?"
"All right, we need this one," said the Wizard. "We're almost
even in the polls now, just four points behind." He looked about
nervously as aides applied make-up to Powers' face. "Not so much!" he
barked. "We don't want him to look like a circus clown." He took a
deep breath. "Are you ready? Did you remember everything Sylvia
said?"
Powers did. Sylvia Plant, his speech coach, had paid a quick
visit earlier in the day, honing different aspects of his tone with
him. She had also made him practice one of her favorite buzz words,
"Safe, legal, and rare." She had turned to Powers, and commanded, "Say
it!"
Powers had raised his chin. "I want abortion to be safe, legal,
and rare."
"Again!"
"Abortion is an intensively private issue, one that should be
safe, legal and rare."
"Again!"
"Abortion should be safe, legal, and rare," Powers had said.
Plant had stood back, nodding thoughtfully. "Pretty good. Now,
say it one more time. Remember to pause after the word legal, and to
give that little smirk when you get to rare."
"Smirking? Are you sure?"
"Trust me. Now, again!" she had barked.
"I want abortion to be safe, legal... and rare," Powers had said,
giving a small smile.
"Perfect," Plant had responded. She then turned to Wizard, "He's
fully prepared on the abortion issue."
Powers blinked. He watched as they applied makeup to his face.
He gave a small smile. And rare. It came naturally, now.
It has been said that politics is just another form of combat.
This statement could not have been any less true when applied to the
battle of such seasoned political titans as Michael Powers and Milton
Mandelbaum. The Speaker came out from one side of the stage, Powers
from the other, and they shook hands, forcing wide smiles.
That was the last time that evening that either showed any sign
of congeniality towards the other.
"Welcome," said Leo McCain. He made brief introductions, and
then started with the questioning. McCain had been selected by both
camps after much negotiation. He was perceived to be neutral--that is,
he would be equally antagonistic to both Powers and to Mandelbaum.
He pitched M&M a standard question on gun control. Mandelbaum
used it as a forum to attack (who else?) Michael Powers.
"I'm glad you asked that question, Leo. Because gun control is a
very important part of crime prevention. My opponent has voted twenty
three times in the House of Representatives to increase the supply of
guns on the streets. Twenty three times! The good Congressman has
also been invited to join the N.R.A., and he has stated that he finds
gun control, and I quote, 'a necessary evil.' What's so evil about it,
Congressman Powers?"
Powers was scribbling madly on the writing pad before him. He
wasn't writing down Mandelbaum's attack points; rather, he was doing a
quick sketch of a short balding man hanging from a noose, with
socketless eyes and blood dripping from his neck, even as Mandelbaum
continued with his tirade.
But Mandelbaum wasn't finished. "I on the other hand strongly
support gun control. We need to get those killing weapons off the
street! Our young people should be holding diplomas, not pistols!" he
thundered.
The audience clapped loudly; at least, the half that had been
allocated to Mandelbaum's forces did.
McCain turned to Powers. "Mr. Powers, would you like to
respond?"
This was it. All eyes were on Powers. The lights, the cameras,
everything. Millions of viewers.
Powers cleared his throat. "Quite frankly, Mr. McCain, I don't
know where do begin. My friend the Speaker has made a lot of half
baked accusations. I don't know about these twenty three votes he's
referring to. Everytime the issue has come to the House floor I've
voted for gun control. I can't imagine what votes that promote gun use
that he's referring to... perhaps my support for funding the armed
forces and cops on the beat," said Powers, his eyes twinkling. "And
yes, I was invited to join the NRA... as were all other members of
Congress. It was a standard NRA publicity gag. But like all the half-
truths you've heard, what my opponent didn't tell you was that I
declined. As for gun control being a necessary evil, well, yes, I said
that. And it is. We should be living in a society where young people
don't blow each other away. We should be living in a society where
such preventative legislation is unnecessary. We should be spending
more time healing the wounds of the commun-ity rather than breaking up
fights. It's a pity and a shame that the younger generation is killing
itself like this. That's what I meant by a necessary evil, and I stand
by it!"
The Powers partisans burst out into applause.
McCain banged for attention. "May I remind the audience that
applause only reduces the time available for each candidate to speak?
Please refrain and hold your applause until the end, please."
But Powers noted that McCain didn't protest when they were
applauding Mandelbaum.
"A question for Congressman Powers," said McCain. "You have said
that abortion should be safe, legal, and rare. Would you care to
elaborate?"
The bastard. Powers winced. He had stolen one of his best buzz
phrases. But Powers resolved to forge on.
He took a deep breath. "Safe, legal, and rare," he said, giving
a small smile. "It's not just a motto. It's been the reality in New
York for the past twenty years. I've won plaudits by womens' groups
for supporting abortion rights for all my tenure in public office.
I've consistently supported a woman's right to choose. I've especially
been proud of my support for the right to abortion for poor and
indigent women. I wish my opponent could say the same. He voted
against a bill last year that would have provided ten million dollars
to help provide for family planning services, including abortion."
Mandelbaum quickly cut in, even as McCain was turning to let him
speak. "Not true, untrue! The bill in question was part of a larger
appropriation, one that would have hurt New Yorkers by providing
diminished funding in other areas. Congressman Powers is purposely
distorting the record-"
Well, he has a thin skin, Powers quickly realized.
"And Congressman Powers loves to parrot his safe, legal and rare
line, like a parrot reading a bumper sticker-"
Powers jumped in. "Mr. Mandelbaum, are you mocking a woman's
right to choose? Could it be that you're actually against abortion
rights?"
"There you go again, putting words in my mouth," said Mandelbaum,
pointing a stubby finger at Powers. "Let me speak for me, Congressman,
and you speak for you."
"Gentlemen," said McCain.
"Don't try to interpret or read my thoughts, Congressman, and
concentrate on your own dissembling," said Mandelbaum, continuing to
point a stumpy finger at Powers.
"Gentlemen!" said McCain, restoring order
The sparing went on like that for two hours. Mandelbaum would
attack, Powers would coolly respond... and then Mandelbaum, more often
than not, would fly off the handle. This was a man who was accustomed
to ruling without dissent. He ruled the Assembly with an iron hand and
was unused to tolerating any attack of any kind. But if Mandelbaum
lost points for decorum he gained points for his relentless attacks on
Powers.
Another example:
Powers was asked what he would do for the homeless. A number of
ideas came to mind, most of them witty, but none appropriate for this
debate. Instead, Powers recited his prepared text. "It's an
abomination that people are forced to live on the streets. Every
person should have the right to a home. That's why I support full
funding of the McKinney Act to give a sense of dignified justice to the
women, children, and families living on the streets." Powers blinked,
realizing he had intended to say "dignity and justice", but he had
mangled it. Oh well; as long as he inserted the precise buzz words,
their specific rendition was not so important.
Powers didn't think that his statement left him open to attack,
but it did. Anything he said was attacked by Mandelbaum. If he had
said, "I like daisies and roses," Mandelbaum would attack him for
ignoring other kinds of flowers.
Mandelbaum immediately reached for his throat. "This is what is
wrong with Washington," he said. "Most of you are unaware of the
McKinney bill, passed a few years ago in the name of a Republican," he
said, giving a dark glance towards Powers, not the first of many.
"This bill provided some paltry sums for the homeless. At so-called
fully funded levels this bill would only provide some $20 million
dollars for the homeless in New York." Actually, of course, what one
meant by fully funded was a matter of debate. But Mandelbaum saw no
need to get bogged down in details. "Twenty million dollars! That,
for all the continuous needs of all the thousands, yes, thousands of
homeless New Yorkers. That's the way Washington works. They give aid
in an eyedropper and quickly declare a symbolic victory. I, on the
other hand, have long proposed allocating at least $400 million dollars
a year to help the homeless-"
"Hold on," said Powers, interrupting. "That $20 million figure
is all wrong."
"You're interrupting," said Mandelbaum.
"You've interrupted me all night," said Powers. "New Yorkers are
sick and tired of your distortions. Twenty million? The figure for
New York is more like $700 million. So the figure that you want to
spend pales-"
"$700 million? Where did that come, out of thin air?"
As a matter of fact, it came from the very same place that
Mandelbaum's $20 million figure had come from.
"Look it up," Powers snapped, confident that Mandelbaum could not
do that during the course of the debate. "I've supported the homeless
for years-"
"Gentlemen," said McCain.
"You mean you've made noises about supporting the homeless," said
Mandelbaum. "I'm the candidate who truly supports increasing
homelessness-"
"Increasing homelessness? So, is this your real strategy?" said
Powers, curling his lip.
"You're... you're distorting...." Mandelbaum red in the face
with rage, was choking to get his words out.
"Gentlemen, we're not making progress," said McCain.
"But we are," said Powers, brightening. He looked into the
camera. "Speaker Mandelbaum has just said that he wants to work to
increase homelessness. A slip of the tongue, perhaps?" He shrugged.
"The poor of New York can only hope."
And that's the way the entire debate went. Since the candidates
had few substantive different positions on the issues, they each tried
to attack each other on small points and each one tried to prove that
he was the true champions of the downtrodden.
After the debate the Wizard rushed to where network reporters
were camped. It was time to give out the spin. The spin, after all,
was more important than the debate itself.
Stephanie Gould eagerly sought his attention. "Mr. Ross! Mr.
Ross! How do you think Congressman Powers did-"
"Fabulously! He set the facts straight about this campaign,"
said the Wizard.
"But what about all the attacks?" said Gould.
"Naturally, we were appalled by the ferocity of Speaker
Mandelbaum. Does this man truly have the temperament to be governor?"
"Congressman Powers also did his share of attacks," Gould noted.
"Steph, check the tapes. More often than not Mike was responding
to the Speaker's unprovoked aggression. By the way, what do you think
of Mandelbaum's plan to increase homelessness?"
"He did seem to slip on his words," said Gould.
"You're being quite charitable. Mike Powers has always been
clear what he stands for, and that's why people have always been clear
in standing for Mike Powers," said the Wizard. The cameras turned
away, and he quickly made his way to another network.
Oxford Frame was interviewing one of Mandelbaum's toadies. "And
our man clearly won this debate," said the surrogate, in a voice that
was small and whining.
"Not so," said the Wizard, stepping into camera range. "I've
just gotten the results of a spot poll we've conducted. It shows that
nearly three quarters of viewers thought Mike Powers won the debate."
"No one will believe that," said the surrogate.
"You mean you don't," said the Wizard. "Our poll also shows that
the Congressman, who was seven points behind before this debate, is now
dead even with your man."
"Gentlemen," said Frame, trying to get a word in edgewise.
"The only poll that counts is the one taken at the convention,"
said the surrogate.
"Which is coming up soon," said the Wizard.
"Gentlemen," said Frame, trying to reestablish control.
"Oxford!" said the Wizard, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Would your viewers be interested to know that elements of the
Mandelbaum campaign are already submitting their resumes to the People
for Powers campaign in anticipation of the convention?"
"A lie!" snapped the surrogate.
"Sticks and stones," the Wizard chided.
Frame mouthed to the cameraman, "Are you getting this?"
"So what are the real results?" said Powers.
It was the following day. He and the Wizard were fishing on a
small pond on the very large estate of the Truitts. The Truitts were
the majority owners of TruittCo, the largest pharmaceutical giant in
the northeast.
"Thirty percent thought you won, thirty percent thought he won,
the rest either didn't know, didn't care, or were brain dead," said the
Wizard. Both of them had fishing rods in the water, but so far they
had gotten nary a bite.
"In other words, a draw."
"The best you could hope for, right now. M&M is a real piranha,
if you haven't noticed."
"I have," said Powers. "It was as if two animals had squared
off, each circling and growling, each trying to bite off the neck of
the other. Blood was shed but neither was the victor. And what of our
standings?"
"Actually, that's the funny part. I didn't have to lie to old
Oxford. We did pick up a point or two. We're now two or three points
behind M&M."
"But still behind."
"In striking distance. This contest could go either way."
"But this isn't even the primary yet. We still have the
convention." Powers touched his rod. He was getting impatient to
catch something.
"That's the problem."
"What's the problem?"
"The convention. M&M already has close to 40% of the delegates
sown up, that we know of."
"40% that we know of? He may already have a majority!"
"Unlikely, but possible," the Wizard conceded.
"Then what the hell are we doing about it?" Powers hands moved,
of their own accord, to a small pouch on the floor of the boat.
"Nothing we can do. He'll be nominated by the convention, maybe,
but that's not binding, and we'll stop him in the primary vote-"
"Not binding, but it confers the mantel of the Democratic party
on him! I may never unify the party after that!" said Powers. He
fiddled with something in the pouch. "I want him stopped, at the
convention."
"That's not in our power. You should know that it's important to
know which battles to pick. That's not our battlefield. We would
lose, big time."
"I want him stopped," said Powers, removing something from the
pouch. It was a small brown stick with an electrical device implanted
on the side of it.
"I cannot do the impossible," said the Wizard, shrugging.
Powers adjusted the electrical device. It was a timer. "Then
perhaps Mason can. Have you ever seen the movie Highlander?"
The Wizard admitted that he hadn't.
"It's the story of a race of beings who are competing for a great
prize." Powers rapidly depressed several buttons. Then he sealed the
item in a hollow plastic tube, and, with a mighty heave, tossed it
overboard.
"Only one could get the prize," said Powers. The item sunk
quickly beneath the surface of the lake. "So each warrior has to chop
off the heads of the other competitors. Until only one was left."
There was a muffled explosion. The boat rocked slightly,
startling even the Wizard, who had been half expecting it.
Ripples of water came to the surface. As well as the floating
bodies of a dozen freshly killed fish.
"Only one can survive," Powers repeated.
Powers' next campaign appearance was at Niagra Falls. This time,
though, they were wise enough not to alert the press.
"We'll bring our own cameras, and give representative footage to
the press, afterwards," said the Wizard.
"Why?" said Powers.
"Because there aren't going to be many people there. We don't
want them to take footage of a half-empty rally."
"Then why go there at all?"
"Don't you see, it's the symbolism," said the Wizard, looking
excited. "You're keeping up the momentum after the debate. You're
Mike Powers, looking gubernatorial standing in front of this powerful
and unstoppable monument to nature."
Powers nodded. "I like it."
And it worked quite well. The cameras were kept aimed on Powers.
He gave his speech, and paused in appropriate places to accept
applause. It was amazing how much noise one or two staffers with taped
applause recordings could generate. When it was all done and Powers
looked at the edited version he said, "Do you think they'll catch on?"
"Never. We never showed the audience, only their applause. They
might be suspicious, naturally, but they'll be no evidence to compare
it with," said the Wizard.
Only one day had transpired since the great debate between Powers
and Mandelbaum before Mason deigned to grace Niles and Marsten with his
presence again. A large part of Niles groaned, but he only said,
"What's up?"
Mason hooked a thumb to the door, and in a few short minutes they
were in his car, driving through downtown Washington.
"We're going to the offices of the Trigna Insurance Company,"
said Mason.
"Why?" said Niles nervously. Were they going to do something
illegal again?
"This company is the one that provides medical insurance for
Mandelbaum and his family," said Mason.
Niles and Marsten didn't ask how Mason had found this out. They
didn't want to know. But Niles did ask, "And what are we going to do
here?"
"I want to see where certain reimbursements went during the time
that Mandelbaum was in the mental hospital."
"I thought they wiped those records clean," said Niles.
"The records at the hospital were wiped," said Marsten. "Don't
be an idiot. Can't you see, he's trying to trace the records from
another source?"
"I just don't want to do anything illegal," Niles whined.
"It's standard campaign work," Mason grunted.
"But no more impersonations, no more breaking and entering," said
Niles.
Mason didn't respond.
"Don't be a wuss," said Marsten.
"What's gotten into you?" said Niles.
"You've got to be a team player," said Marsten. "Didn't you hear
the Congressman say that he was going to reward us for this?"
"Some actions aren't worth a reward," said Niles. Sure, he
wanted to get ahead. He would love to have a job on the governor's
staff. But not by skulking around, and performing criminal acts. He
couldn't believe that other campaigns did this. Surely this was not
the casual actions of other campaigns.
Mason looked in his rear view mirror but said nothing.
"Special investigator E.M. Dirksen, Department of Health and
Human Services," said Mason, flashing his badge.
The clerk behind the desk was suitably impressed. "What can we
do for you?"
"We're investigating the insurance industry, doing spot checks
for fraud." Seeing the look on the man's face, Mason added, "This is
just a routine regulatory investigation. If you'll be kind enough to
show us where your files are...?"
The files were stored on computer. Mason kept the man occupied
while Niles and Marsten searched. Mason had told them exactly what to
look for. He kept the man engaged in lively conversation, so he would
not look too closely at what Niles and Marsten were doing on the
screen.
After several quick minutes, Marsten jotted something down on a
pad. Then, depressing several keys, he wrote down several more things.
Then, nodding, he stood up.
"Well?" said the clerk.
"You'll be informed," said Mason curtly as they departed, rather
quickly.
"You were right," was the first thing Marsten said when they were
safely back in the car, driving back towards the Capitol. "He made a
series of payments to that mental hospital on Long Island, about
seventeen years ago."
"We don't have even a hardcopy, your notes don't prove anything.
We need proof!" said Mason. He stopped the car on the side of the
road. He looked back. "I hope you have something else," he said, in a
chilling voice.
Marsten nodded. "I also have a series of payments to a certain
psychiatrist."
"A name?"
Marsten nodded. "And an address. In Manhattan"
Mason nodded. "Excellent work. Superb!"
Marsten said, "Then you'll tell the Congressman?"
"I certainly will," said Mason. "Good work is rewarded."
Niles shot Marsten a dirty look.
"Pack your bags, gentlemen. We're taking the shuttle up to New
York."
Dr. Sarah O'Conner had a small office on the Upper West Side of
Manhattan, in the basement of a tall apartment building. The office
had its own tiny entrance which was apart from the main building
entrance on the other side of the structure.
At ten o'clock that night Mason fumbled with the lock. This time
all of them were wearing gloves, and all had flashlights.
"Hurry up," hissed Niles, looking about nervously.
"Shut up," said Marsten. "Your anxiety is only attracting
attention."
Mason looked at Marsten. "I begin to like you." Then he turned
back to the lock. There was a click and the door slowly wheezed open.
All the lights were off, of course. This being the small office
of a sole practitioner, there was little chance of them being caught
there that night. Still Mason posted Niles by the door, while he had
Marsten assist him in the search. Niles bitterly noticed the subtle
pecking order that was emerging, and he resented it. If he had to
commit illegal acts, at least he should be able to make some
substantive contribution to the effort.
What was he saying? Why was he involved in any illegal ventures
at all? How had he gotten involved in any of this?
He heard Marsten muttering, "They may have gotten to these files
as well...."
"No!" said Mason. He held up a sheaf of handwritten papers.
"Jackpot!"
They looked over the papers quickly. It was a gold mine of
information, some of it in Dr. O'Conner's own handwriting... and some
of it in Mandelbaum's! In it he admitted to feeling "secret lusts" for
all the women around him in his workplace, and how he spent more and
more of his time thinking about things he would do with them. This
seemed to take a physical toll on him, for he also discussed how at
times he couldn't relieve himself, and sat, almost paralyzed, on the
toilet for hours on end.
"It says here that the Doctor recommended that he go to the
mental hospital for a short stay as a voluntary inmate, to resolve...
his obsessive feelings towards women as well as his physical
difficulties in relieving himself." Mason chuckled with glee.
"Mandelbaum, the great Mandelbaum, with potty troubles! We have him!"
"But we need evidence," said Marsten.
"What more evidence do we need? This is his own handwriting!"
"But how do we relay that....?"
"Oh, I see." How to reproduce these documents?
They actually found a self-service photocopy center that was
still open, up in the 90's not far from Columbia University. The
attendant may have found it odd that three individuals were alternately
chuckling and cackling as they photocopied like madmen at 1 AM, but he
said nothing to them about it.
The copying took a long time; there were a lot of papers. But by
3:30 AM they were done, and they easily returned the papers without any
trouble.
The attendant noticed one thing, though; all three gentlemen were
wearing gloves.
"We have him!" Powers yelled. "We have him!" He clinked
champagne glasses with Toles, the Wizard, Mason, and Niles and Marsten.
"Three cheers to Mr. Mason."
"Three cheers to Mason!" they cried.
"Thank you," said Mason calmly. He was still cold-blooded about
it. "I trust this serves your purposes?"
"Serves my purposes? Mr. Mason, this is all we need!" Powers
cried. He had read over the material that morning. "This man has been
all over the board. He's been harassing women for years, anonymously
sending them obscene letters, birthday cards with condoms in them,
and..." he chuckled loudly, "hiding in stalls in ladies rooms with a
polaroid!" They all laughed.
"Mr. Marsten located some of the information we needed," said
Mason. "He was quite instrumental." He said nothing about Niles, but
the silence spoke volumes.
"So?" said Powers. He put an arm around Marsten. "Stick around,
young fellow. We just may have a place for you in the governor's
mansion!" He burst out laughing again. "We have him! We have him!"
"But how to take advantage of this information?" said the Wizard.
"Do you intend to have it leaked to the press?"
"Never," said Powers. "Not in a million years."
"Never? After all the pounding you've taken from him?" said
Toles. "What about the Lake Rasco issue? What about the draft issue?
What about the debate?"
Powers waived his hand. "I'm a live and let live kind of guy,
with a very forgiving nature. I'm not the type to be vindictive."
"Meaning?" said the Wizard.
"I want him taken alive," said Powers.
Chapter 6
Powers, oddly enough, had never been to the statehouse before.
He considered Albany a small, out of the way place, that never would
have gained any prominence had it not been for the fact that the seat
of the state government was located there. Even with the legislature
and governor's mansion and accompanying encampment of lobbyists he
considered it a small and provincial town, compared to the huge, rich
colossus to the south, New York City.
Powers sat in Mandelbaum's empty office, waiting. That was part
of the indignity, of course, being kept waiting while Mandelbaum bid
his time. He had made the trip all the way to Albany, in person,
alone. Not even the Wizard accompanied him. Surely that would peak
Mandelbaum's curiousity.
And it did. Not a few eyebrows went up when he appeared in
Mandelbaum's outer office. Rushed consultations were made, and in the
end Mandelbaum agreed to meet with him. For five minutes. He was a
busy man, after all.
And Powers was kept waiting. He didn't mind. This was the last
indignity he would ever have to take from Mandelbaum. And he was about
to inflict one or two indignities of his own on the Speaker of the
Assembly.
Finally Mandelbaum came in, shutting the door behind him.
"Powers," he said, pumping his hand briefly. Then he went behind
his desk. The little man looked rather imposing sitting in his large
office chair. "You got a lot of guts, showing up here alone."
"Yes," said Powers.
"Let's cut to the quick, I'm a busy man. You've got five
minutes. What's it all about?"
"First of all if you're recording this conversation I strongly
suggest you turn the recorder off. If what I have to say gets out it
will not rebound to the advantage of either of us."
Mandelbaum looked startled, but swung his chair away momentarily
and fumbled in his little vest. Powers heard a small click, and
Mandelbaum turned back to face him. "A sensible precaution," he said.
Powers nodded.
"Now, state your business."
"Capitulation," said Powers.
Mandelbaum's eyebrows shot up. Powers coming here, alone, it all
made sense. He was giving up. "You're giving up? I can't believe
it!" He gave a broad smile. "Why?"
Powers shook his head. "I'm not giving up. You are."
Mandelbaum frowned. "You lost me."
Powers said, "I know about your little stay on the funny farm."
Mandelbaum looked sick. "You can't prove that."
"No, you were most efficient in wiping their records," said
Powers. "However, you were less careful with your psychiatrist."
"No," Mandelbaum whispered.
"Perhaps you've known her for years, and were more trusting."
"You're bluffing," Mandelbaum said.
"Really?" Powers took a paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and
started to read. "And then I went after Olivia. She was a new
assembly aide on Ways and Means. I started to send her condoms with
messages like 'get ready, I'm coming in' and 'try this on for size'.
In fact, that made it harder for me and I had to sit on the toilet for
hours on end-"
"STOP!" Mandelbaum screeched. "STOP!" He yelled.
"Certainly," said Powers. He folded the paper away, putting it
in his pocket. "This is in your handwriting, of course. I trust you
understand the ramifications if this were ever to fall into the hands
of the press."
Mandelbaum just sat there.
"Not only this race, but your entire career would be over. And
what would your wife say?"
All the blood drained from Mandelbaum's face. "Don't do that.
I'll do anything you want. Anything."
Powers nodded. "I knew you would."
"You want me to quit the race," said Mandelbaum.
Powers shook his head. "I wouldn't think of it. Not for the
world."
The next day Powers sat at home in his Manhattan penthouse, truly
relaxed. He felt truly at ease, more so since before the campaign had
started. He lazily watched the seven o'clock news, Erin at his side.
"-the Mandelbaum campaign has suddenly agreed to a second debate
with Congressman Powers. The agreement to have a first debate was
weeks in the making, but this agreement to debate again came very
suddenly. It would seem that Speaker Mandelbaum must have something up
his sleeve-"
Powers chuckled, pressing the mute button. It wasn't Mandelbaum
with something up his sleeves.
"What's so funny? Why has Mandelbaum suddenly agreed to debate
you again?" said Erin.
"Perhaps there are some things that he wishes he could do
differently from the first debate," said Powers.
Bobby wandered in. Powers hit the sofa besides him, and the
young lad took a seat.
"He'll try to cut you to ribbons again," said Erin.
"I don't think it will be as bad as that," said Powers. "In
fact, in some ways, it may be kind of pleasant."
"You're crazy," said Erin.
"Crazy!" Bobby giggled.
"Who asked you?" Powers smiled. "How's it going, sport?"
"Good. Baseball season is starting!"
Powers listened avidly to stories about his son's little league
team. It seems that Bobby was in contention to become a pitcher.
"Go for it, sport," said Powers. "You can do anything you set
your mind to."
"Yeah," said Bobby. "But Burt Mills is also angling to be
pitcher."
"There's always going to be competition, Bobby," said Powers.
"There's always competition for anything that's worth anything."
Bobby nodded, not quite understanding. "Are you going to come to
watch my games?"
"I will," Powers promised. "But the campaign...."
"Come to a few," said Bobby.
"I will," Powers promised. He was used to making promises.
Mandelbaum was wearing a hearing aid during the debate. It was a
small, transparent device in one ear, but the media noticed. Evidently
the Speaker had had a chronic hearing problem which had suddenly flared
up.
"Nothing to worry about," said a spokesman for the campaign.
"It's just his left ear, and the device just amplifies everything a
bit."
Otherwise it was not seen as an issue in the debate.
Leo McCain was back again, as was the same format. It was like a
replay of the previous debate.
But the Speaker no longer looked confident. He looked nervous,
distracted.
By contrast Powers was beaming.
The debate began. Powers answered the questions put to him in a
forthright, smooth fashion.
Mandelbaum, by contrast, fumbled over his responses. He looked
very nervous, and at times seemed to purposely pause in mid-sentence,
touching his left ear, as if his ear troubles were distracting him.
Not once did he attack Powers.
And Powers politely returned the favor. Afterwards the reporters
would remark how civil this debate had been. Powers hit all the
questions out of the ballpart.
On abortion: "I support a woman's right to choose. Abortion
should be safe, legal... and rare." (Smile.) On the budget: "We can
balance the budget by cutting the fat in Albany. Increased efficiency
can yield the revenues that we need." On transportation: "My light
rail bill has recently passed the House of Representatives. When it
passes the Senate we will begin the largest modernization of the
infrastructure of New York State since the canals were put into place
around the Great Lakes in the 1800's."
And Mandelbaum even agreed with him at times. After Powers
talked about his light rail bill, Mandelbaum got a pained look on his
face, scratched his left ear, and said slowly, "I hate to admit it, but
Congressman Powers has the right idea with that light rail bill."
"He has?" said McCain, startled.
"Yes..." said Mandelbaum. His words were halting, and his face
looked like he was sucking a lemon. "Smile," said a little voice in
his ear. "You look like you're in a hostage video. Smile, damnit, or
everyone will find out about your personal problems, potty boy."
Mandelbaum gave a weak smile. "Yes... the light rail idea will
greatly benefit New York...."
"And Powers deserves credit for getting it passed," said the
little voice.
"No," Mandelbaum whispered under his breath.
"Say it! Or the New York press will find a very long fax on
their machines tomorrow morning, Mr. Condom Man."
Mandelbaum sweated. "And I have to give credit where credit is
due, Powers did a good job on this," he said.
McCain raised his eyebrows. What was going on here?
But Mandelbaum did not praise Powers any more that night. But
neither did he attack him. Instead he gave continued to give halting,
fragmented answers to questions, and looked on the verge of collapse.
After the debate the Wizard was not forced to manufacture poll
results; the networks reported their own.
"85% of respondents thought that Michael Powers won the debate,"
said Stephanie Gould. "Only 7% could say the same of the Speaker.
This is astounding. Speaker Mandelbaum looked on the verge of
collapse, really off the ball tonight-"
On NBC Oxford Frame was saying the same. "And at one point he
praised Michael Powers! He may have been trying to be gracious, but it
almost looked as if he were endorsing the man. In fact, a spot poll by
NBC now shows Powers 15 points ahead among viewers-"
"It's over," said the Wizard, entering the Powers' living room.
He carried a small walkie-talkie in his hands.
"Not quite," said Powers. "There are still some formalities to
be wrapped up, at the convention. But you are correct. The nomination
is mine." He chuckled. "I never thought it would have been this
easy!"
The Wizard laughed. "And I never thought I would have the
opportunity to control an opponent during a debate! It was like a
boxing match where I could direct the opponent to just stand there and
take the punches!"
"And it's much more effective than simply getting him to drop
out," said Powers. "Now that we've... debated again, my stature has
risen, and his has sunk. A great gift from our good friend Mr.
Mandelbaum." He laughed again.
"Yes," said the Wizard. "Free air time where your opponent
praises you is usually hard to come by."
And they both laughed. The nomination was Powers' for the
taking. Technically, Mandelbaum had a majority or near majority of the
delegates to the convention. However, Powers had a feeling that
Mandelbaum would be only too glad to throw his support to Powers. In
the spirit of unity.
They laughed for a very long time that evening.
"That debate was wild," said Marie, chortling as she and Niles
walked in the zoo. The National Zoo was a relatively quiet place, even
on weekends, a good place to get away from it all. Two giant giraffes
loomed over them, casting a shadow.
"Um," said Niles. "It wasn't what you might think."
"How do you mean?"
"We blackmailed him, honey," said Niles. "We broke into his
psychiatrists office, we found incriminating records, and we
blackmailed him. That debate was a put-up job."
"What?" said Marie. "You used personal records concerning his
mental hygiene to blackmail a candidate for governor?" She looked
shocked. "Philip, how could you?"
"I... I don't know. I just did what they told me to do."
"Don't you have a mind, Philip? Can't you resist doing anything
they say to you?"
"Lower your voice." Niles looked about. The crowd milling about
the animal cages seemed to be ignoring them.
"Look, I don't like doing these things," he said. "But it's
gotten to the point where I have too much invested. Think of my
future."
"Future? What kind of future do you have working with criminals
like that?"
"Just bear with me a little longer," Niles pleaded. "It's almost
the beginning of August. There's just three months left. Once this is
over, things will go back to normal."
They passed a lion's cage, and dangerous dark eyes stared out at
them.
"I hope so, Philip," said Marie. "Because I don't like what
you're turning into."
Tavern on the Green was a very fancy eatery. Located on the
western edge of Central Park near 67th street, it was one of the most
elegant restaurants in the city.
Michael Powers chose to have lunch there with the Wizard and
Toles, as part of the continuing victory celebration. The media didn't
know it yet, the public certainly didn't know it yet, but Powers did:
victory was his. Mandelbaum had cut himself down in that debate, and
the sound of his fall simply had yet to reach the masses.
The trio chuckled as they ordered fancy steak lunches, with side
orders of shrimp. The bill would go into the triple digits, but Powers
didn't care; he was in a generous mood.
He was in such a carefree mood, however, that he didn't notice
someone staring at him, two tables away, until the Wizard joggled his
elbow. "I think we've got company," said the Wizard.
"What? Who?" said Powers, looking over.
He saw a tall blonde man sitting in the company of several
formally dressed men at the far table. The man had a steely gaze, and
quickly matched his with Powers'.
Powers, not in a mood for a test of wills, quickly looked away.
"Is that...."
"Him," said the Wizard, nodding.
Toles looked over at the far table. "Stratford."
Stratford. Their probable Republican opponent in the general
election. Stratford was the rich millionaire who was, according to all
accounts, the leader in the Republican primary against his rival,
right-wing congressman William Dallen. If Stratford won his primary
than he would face Powers in the fall election.
Stratford nodded incrementally at being recognized. Powers
returned the favor.
"What's he doing here?" said Toles.
"I don't know, it's a restaurant, maybe he's eating lunch," said
Powers.
Stratford's luncheon meeting, having started before Powers',
broke up just before Powers was starting dessert. As the participants
made their way to the exit, Stratford purposely made his way to Powers'
table.
"Oh oh, guess who's coming to lunch," Toles whispered.
Stratford stood over Powers chair. "Congressman Powers?" he
said, extending a hand.
Powers shook it. "Mr. Stratford."
"Bill, to my friends," he said, giving a winning grin.
"Mike," said Powers. "What can I do for you?"
"I've been following your race rather closely," said Stratford.
"I'm flattered," said Powers dryly.
"You propelled yourself from a distant second place to become the
probable nominee of your party."
"It's not going to be that probable," said Powers. "My opponent
still has the largest share of delegates dedicated to our state
convention. Everybody knows that."
"But what everyone doesn't know is that your opponent plans to
throw his support, and his delegates, behind you at the convention."
"That's a pretty interesting theory," said Powers, maintaining a
straight face. "I'd be interested to know how you arrived at that."
"Oh, I just have my ears open," said Stratford. He turned a
steely gaze at Powers. "Would you like a word of advice?"
"Constantly, when it's free."
"I'm not so easy to blackmail, and attempts to do so have often
backfired on the party making the attacks."
"I don't understand your meaning."
"Of course you don't," said Stratford. "It's been a pleasure,
Mike." He departed, nodding at each of them.
"Spooky character," Toles remarked.
"How the hell did he know what we did to Mandelbaum?" Powers
wanted to know. "Is it general knowledge?"
"No, it isn't," said the Wizard. "In fact, it's a closely
guarded secret. The only people who know it are sitting at this table,
plus Mandelbaum and one or two top people in his campaign."
"Then how....?"
"Isn't it obvious? He has spies of his own," said the Wizard.
"We're going to have to be very careful with this one. Very, very
careful."
Powers nodded. "And I want Mason to start researching him
immediately."
Toles replied, "But he said-"
"I don't care what he said. Everyone has a skeleton in his
closet, it's just a matter of finding his."
"Just be sure he doesn't find any of ours," said the Wizard, with
a meaningful look.
The Convention! The Democratic State Convention was held in a
sparkling Manhattan hotel on Sixth Avenue, just a few blocks short of
Central Park. Traffic was snarled up for blocks as police patrolled
the perimeter and fancy VIPs pulled up in large black limousines. A
few hundred feet beyond the police in every direction young women in
tight boots and miniskirts plied their trade in unusually large
numbers--many of their brethren had flocked from the Upper East and
West Side to service the burgeoning needs of the Democratic Convention.
A number of young men were also patrolling the street corners,
practically bulging out of their tight spandex outfits, undoubtedly
also present for a sport other than cycling.
The delegates to the convention were largely white, male, and
wealthy--at least, that was the profile of the delegates of the Powers
and Mandelbaum campaign. Each of them had a number of women and a
sprinkling of blacks and hispanics in their respective groups. But it
was only the delegates for Attorney General Sampleton, the third and
often forgotten candidate for the Democratic nomination, who had a
respectable number of women, blacks, hispanics, and gays in his
delegation. The problem was that his delegation numbered some seventy
members, less than 10% of the delegates and certainly less than the
number needed to be nominated. Thus he was ignored by the media, and
rightly so: what chance did he have to become governor anyway?
Word started to drift through the convention the first day that
Mandelbaum was going to quit the race. This caused quite a sensation,
to say the least, although since his disastrous performance in the last
debate he was still, in blunt numbers, the leading candidate of this
convention.
The Wizard planned it as best he could. First Mandelbaum's
senior people, acting under his direction, released that little tidbit
of information which hinted that their leader might throw himself on
his proverbial sword. In the media frenzy that ensued, where the stark
question was "Why?", the answer that was most frequently leaked was
"Personal reasons." (Short, but concise.)
Another reason given was "To spend more time with his family."
(The number one reason given by politicians with skeletons in their
closet--they suddenly develop a new found affection for their wife and
kids, especially if their reason for resigning was their new found
affection for someone else.)
Or how about "He believes that he can do more good in the
statehouse as Speaker, and he intends to run again for the Assembly
instead." (After all, which would one rather be, Speaker of the
Assembly or Governor? Never mind that someone else was already running
for the Democratic nomination for the Assembly seat in Mandelbaum's
district; he would step aside for the good of the party once Mandelbaum
decided to make a comeback.)
Another favorite of the desperate Mandelbaum campaign was "He
realized that this campaign was more nerve wracking than he thought it
would be." (This last sentiment, oddly enough, was closest to the
truth.)
Naturally nearly everyone in the Mandelbaum campaign was in the
dark as to the real reason for this resignation. Privately the Wizard
wondered just how much Mandelbaum had told his senior aides who were in
on his plans from the weeks before.
Mandelbaum made his announcement on the morning of the second day
of the convention. He did this because Powers ordered him to. Had
Powers ordered him to go wandering out among the convention crowd in a
clown suit passing out party favors while wearing a big sign labeled
"Kick me", he was confident that the Speaker would have done so.
The night before the Speaker's announcement Powers met privately
with the Speaker. Mandelbaum looked downcast, and not without reason.
"Everybody's asking me why I'm doing this," he said, looking at
his shoes.
"Personal reasons," said Powers.
"Whenever someone says personal reasons they know there's
something behind it," snapped Mandelbaum. Evidently he wasn't totally
broken.
Powers took a deep breath. "Well, which do you prefer, saying
'personal reasons', and letting them be suspicious but unknowing, or
would you prefer 'sexual harassment combined with chronic potty
problems'? Be honest. You're getting out of this awfully easily."
Mandelbaum nodded, mumbling something.
"What was that?"
"I guess you want me to resign my post as Speaker, because of
my... difficulties," said Mandelbaum. It was the least he would
expect.
"Nonsense!" said Powers. "I not only want you to remain in
office, I want you to run for reelection."
Mandelbaum perked up. "What? It doesn't bother you that...."
"I can think of no one better than yourself to be in the
Speaker's chair when I'm governor," said Powers. "I'm sure we'll have
a harmonious working relationship."
A chill went down Mandelbaum's spine. "You mean...."
"I will expose you, but only if you don't run for reelection,"
said Powers cheerfully. "You've caused me a lot of damage. If I were
vindictive, I would like nothing better than to see you dragged through
the mud, poor, disgraced, and unemployed. With lice. And
constipated." Powers smiled at the thought. "I'm certain that you've
done some not so good things to your opponents in the past. And even
worse than I'm doing to you, though there is no need for us to discuss
that now." Powers paused. "However, I am thinking only of the good of
New York. And the good of New York dictates having an Assembly Speaker
who will work closely with the governor. I'm certain that will be the
case here, eh?"
Mandelbaum nodded dumbly. "But what about that youngster already
running for my Assembly seat?"
Powers laughed. "We'll get him a job on the water commission or
something. He'll be happy to resign after we've explained to him that
it's for the good of the party." Or else, Powers thought grimly, the
young man would be given other reasons, and other incentives. "And
then once he rejects the nomination your county committee will appoint
you to be the nominee."
Mandelbaum nodded.
Powers handed him his speech for the next morning.
As Mandelbaum read through it, tears welled in his eyes.
"I'll be watching tomorrow morning," said Powers. He left the
room, leaving behind one of the most powerful politicians in the state,
a broken man. Under his total control.
Powers could only smile. He was unstoppable now.
"And so, for the good of New York, I must decline the opportunity
to run for governor of New York," said Mandelbaum, in closing. It was a
real tear-jerker, with Mandelbaum on the verge of breaking down several
times. His wife and children hung by his side.
Powers fidgeted, watching the television. There was one
important part of the speech left, one important part that Mandelbaum
had to read. He unconsciously pressed the fast forward button on his
combined remote control just as the camera focused on Mandelbaum's
rotund face, as if this were something taped that he could fast
forward.
The crowd was obviously dismayed by this announcement, but
Mandelbaum continued. "I have one more announcement to make. I am
leaving the race, but there is still one capable candidate, indeed
one... superior candidate who is worthy of endorsement. Michael
Powers. Therefore I... endorse Congressman Powers, and turn over all
my delegates to him."
And this was the last that anyone saw of Mandelbaum for a long
time. He departed, even before the end of the convention, to an
unknown retreat for two months, and only reappeared when the
legislature came back into session in the fall, after all the commotion
had abated, and after he was no longer dogged by reporters who would
ask him embarrassing questions.
After Mandelbaum's speech the day was made for Powers.
Expectations started to build concerning his acceptance speech, which
would be aired at six o'clock, just in time for the evening news. The
mechanics were simple enough; with Mandelbaum holding some 45% of the
delegates, and Powers holding upwards of 30%, the majority was his for
the taking and his nomination was assured.
All throughout the day politicians of every stripe came up to the
podium in the convention hall and praised Michael Powers. They were
fellow congressmen, state assemblymen, state senators, state
committeemen, a number of mayors, and a sprinkling of state party
officials. But around 4 PM the politicians stopped coming up and the
"common people" approached to give testimonials.
Powers and the Wizard had worked out the list the day before.
The idea was to have people from all walks of life come to the podium
and endorse Powers.
"Let's see," said the Wizard. "We have the white male union
worker, the left handed feminist nationalist, the white male investment
banker-"
"Scratch the investment banker," said Powers. "Can't you find me
a small businessman, preferably a black or a woman?"
The Wizard checked his list. "Um... how about a Native American
shopkeeper?"
"Perfect," said Powers. "Continue."
"A short male social worker with Tourette's-"
"Tourettes?"
"Sickness that causes involuntary cursing and swearing," said the
Wizard.
"And this man is going to give a speech on my behalf?"
"Trust me, it will highlight the fact that the disabled support
you," said the Wizard.
"Very well, continue."
"Let's see, there's an overweight Long Island pediatrician-"
"Overweight?" Powers inquired.
"To show your support for people of size," said the Wizard. he
continued. "A prosperous albino farmer, a balding interior designer,
an office manager with a speech impediment, a construction worker with
only one hand, a bus driver who also has the plus of being a dwarf-"
"Easy, we're doing the nominating speeches, not the Special
Olympics," said Powers. "Strike the midget. I don't think we have to
worry about the dwarf vote."
"Check. A woman with breast cancer, a young florist with AIDS, a
homeless man with tuberculosis, a middle aged man with prostate cancer-
"
"Strike the cancer man. No one talks about prostate cancer."
"-a groundskeeper from a poor family, a school teacher from
upstate, and a former convict who rehabilitated himself and now owns a
thriving toilet paper and trinket factory."
"Sounds good," said Powers, nodding. "Did you write their
speeches out?"
The Wizard nodded.
"Then they should have no troubles giving good speeches."
But as it turned out, one of them did. One of them, the albino
farmer, had trouble with some of the larger words.
"And it is imper-tive that we have governor of state who will
work to make this a state of equality. Because of my white skin and
white eyes, I have been discrim-ated against.... diff-culty in getting
workers from the comm-ity to work on my farm. As a matter factly-"
Someone came and whispered into the albino's ear.
"And please vote Mike Powers," said the albino. He was
immediately greeted with thunderous applause.
In fact, every speech was greeted with large applause. At
certain points during every speech the speaker would pause, and receive
a significant amount of clapping. The audience knew when to do this
because each floor manager had the scripts of each speaker, complete
with narrative such as "Pause here for clapping."
Oxford Frame, seeing one of the floor managers of the convention
subtly cuing his portion of the audience when to clap, approached the
man from behind and waited.
The floor manager put his script down for a moment during a lull
in speeches as someone caught his attention.
And then Oxford Frame scooped it up. Walking away quickly, he
read inside, and saw the directions for clapping. What a scoop this
would be on the air! This would certainly puncture the myth of the
spontaneity of the convention.
Meanwhile, in a booth above all the other media booths, a team of
men sat with binoculars, cameras and audio pickups, watching the
proceedings below. A few of them, however, were set to watch
particular individuals in the audience.
One of the men peered out of his binoculars. "Mr. Mason, Frame
just grabbed one of the scripts."
"What?" said Mason. He picked up his binoculars. Frame was
making his way back to the television booth. He picked up his walkie
talkie. "Units two and three. Intercept Frame. He has a script.
Repeat, intercept."
Philip Niles had been having a good time at the convention. He
was keenly interested in politics and enjoyed mixing with the
conventioneers. Some of the most powerful Democrats in the state were
here for this event. And for once he hadn't had to get involved in any
skullduggery. He was technically under Mason's command at the
convention, but so far Mason had been leaving him mostly alone.
The only trouble was that he had to stick with John Marsten.
Mason, he judged, had had a corrosive influence on Marsten. He had
become more abusive and more competitive than ever before. And Niles
hadn't missed the fact that Powers was showing more favoritism towards
Marsten. Marsten would surely get a post in the new administration,
perhaps at a subcabinet level. But what would become of he, Philip
Niles?
"Stop spacing, you look like an idiot," snapped Marsten.
This was the new Marsten. "Eat shit and die," replied Niles
coldly.
Just then their earpieces crackled. "Units two and three.
Intercept Frame. He has a script. Repeat, intercept."
They scrambled. "He's on his way back to the NBC booth. Stop
him."
And what then? Niles thought. They quickly caught sight of the
reporter, slowly but steadily making his way back to his booth.
"Bump into him," said Marsten.
"What?"
"Bump into him. Hard," said Marsten. "Don't be an idiot. Not
now."
Niles did as he was told. He pushed ahead until he was just
inches away from Frame, and then he rammed him.
Both nearly fell to the ground, and Frame was pushed against
someone else.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Niles, helping Frame up.
"Watch where you're going!" said Frame, dusting himself off. He
got up, looking around. His script! It was gone.
"Hey!" he said, turning about. But Niles and the other man were
already gone, lost in the crowd.
"You got the script?" said a voice in their ears. "Good work,
Marsten."
Good work, Marsten? It was Niles who had distracted Frame.
So this was his job. Acting as a junior assistant thug. Would
things ever get better? Niles could only hope that once the campaign
was over that things would return to normal. Perhaps he could get some
sort of policy position on the governor's staff. Only that thought
kept him going.
Meanwhile, currently at the podium was the social worker with
Tourette's.
"We need to create a new... a new... a new fucking state of
affairs!" said the man. "Fuck the system! Fuck the status quo-"
The networks, which were broadcasting this live, were rapidly
bleeping out his words, while the anchors explained the handicap that
the speaker was operating under.
Bob Pringle sprinted up to the stage, and put a steadying hand on
the speaker.
That seemed to have an effect. "Mike Powers cares about people
who are differently abled. When I volunteered to work on the campaign,
I was frank about my disability. His campaign embraced me." The man
swallowed heavily, as if another spasm was about to occur. "Shit!
Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Meanwhile, in a hotel suite upstairs, the Wizard and Toles were
meeting with Alton J. Sampleton, the only remaining candidate.
"But you've got to endorse Mike," the Wizard pleaded. "It's for
the good of the party."
"That's not the way I see it," said Sampleton. He turned to his
campaign manager, Emile Glidden. She nodded in agreement.
"But Powers is going to be nominated by 80% of the delegates.
You have no chance of being nominated. For the good of the party, come
together," the Wizard implored.
"There is the primary," Sampleton reminded him. "The primary
voters can overturn the judgment of this convention."
"But why the need for a divisive primary that you will surely
lose?"
"Because I believe in democracy," said Sampleton. "A candidate
for state office should be chosen by all Democrats, not just the party
bosses."
"But you'd lose even a primary vote," said Toles.
"That remains to be seen," said Sampleton. "But even if I do, I
will have forced the campaign to focus on the issues."
"What if... what if we could arrange to get you a good position
with the governor's office? Maybe in the cabinet, even?" said the
Wizard.
Sampleton looked shocked. "Sir, are you offering me a bribe?"
"Not at all. I'm just looking to see if we can't put together
a... unity ticket."
"I cannot help you," said Sampleton, looking away. "May I be
blunt?"
"Please," said the Wizard.
"Michael Powers is a cynical politician who cares nothing for the
poor. I have labored throughout my public career to help the poor. I
will never, ever join forces with Michael Powers."
"Ever, like never, is a very long time. A change in conditions
may bring about a change in heart," said the Wizard.
"Always in motion is the future," said Sampleton, sounding more
than a little bit like Yoda. "But for now we have nothing further to
discuss. Good day, sir."
At 5:52 PM the last speaker was wrapping things up. This was the
ex-felon who had gone on to reclaim his life and become the prosperous
owner of a toilet paper and paper trinket factory in the South Bronx.
"I started with nothing," said the man. "I had just gotten out of jail
for committing major crimes." The Wizard, when writing the man's
speech, purposely didn't mention the crimes, sexual assault and
attempted murder, because that would have distracted attention from the
elegance of the speaker's tale. "Then I got a small loan, and opened
up an Everything For $1 Store. I spent the next seven years scraping
by, selling GI Joe dolls made in China, little figurines, flashlight
batteries, pocket combs, and potato chip clips. But my best sales came
in toilet paper, diapers, sanitary napkins, but especially toilet
paper. So I got together with several other investors in the community
and bought out this local toilet paper maker who was going out of
business. That was five years ago. Now we are prosperous employers in
the Bronx, which, as you know, is an economically disadvantaged area.
We provide enough toilet paper in the space of a month to clean the
bottoms of every man, woman, and child in the Bronx for a year."
(Brief applause.)
The toilet paper entrepreneur continued. "I made it to the top
by working hard, and fighting against being disadvantaged. And that's
why I support Mike Powers. He's a man who supports the hard workers,
the people who believe they can make a difference in the community. He
believes in fighting discrimination and social justice."
The Wizard winced. That was supposed to be against
discrimination and for social justice. Oh well.
"He believes in New York. That is why he is the man for our
state, for our times."
The audience clapped hysterically.
The Wizard let the applause go on for several minutes. He stood
to the side with Powers. "Are you ready?" he whispered.
Powers nodded. The Wizard gave the thumbs up, and the applause
died down.
Powers stepped to the podium. It was six o'clock. Exactly.
"Thank you, thank you very much," he said. "You, my loyal
supporters, make it all worth it." He took a deep breath. This was
it.
"People have asked me why I'm running for governor. Some people
say that I have to have my head examined to put myself through the
grinder. But I say there are a million good reasons for running. I
want a New York where health care is affordable. I want a New York
where good housing is available. I want a New York that fights for the
rights of unions, and the little guy. I want a New York where-"
And on and on. The Wizard, who had personally drafted this
speech in close consultation with Powers, called it "the chicken in
every pot speech." Powers continued on for some time, knowing that he
was being carried live by all the major networks and most of the minor
ones. If anyone was watching broadcast television at that moment, they
had a choice of either watching him on any channel or Dr. Who on
Channel 9. (Later the Nielsen ratings would show a record surge for
Dr. Who; still, Powers garnered over 75% of the local viewing
audience.)
And finally Powers closed his speech. "And that's why I'm doing
this, to improve the lot of all New Yorkers. Governor Marchese has
given us eight years of Republicanism, and we've had enough of it. The
time has come for all of us to unite to make a better, brighter New
York!"
Powers basked in the applause when he was done. Erin and Bobby
suddenly materialized at his side. He smiled broadly. The crowd kept
cheering his name: "Pow-ers! Pow-ers! Pow-ers!" This was what
politics was all about.
Oxford Frame sat in the television booth, above the fray, and
commented, "The crowds are still continuing to cheer Congressman Powers
after he wrapped up his acceptance speech. Joining us now to comment
on the events that have transpired are Mitchell Gant of the New York
Daily News and Willard Ross, campaign manager for Michael Powers." He
turned to the Wizard. "Mr. Ross, all the applause during the day
looked spontaneous, but hasn't everything, down to the applause, been
meticulously planned and plotted in advance in scripts distributed to
the floor leaders?"
The Wizard frowned. "Oxford, our man has just been nominated to
be the next governor of the state of New York, and you're worried about
when people are clapping? Can't you see they love him! Next
question."
"Mr. Ross, not everyone loves Congressman Powers," said Gant.
"The Sampleton camp, for one, has not endorsed him; instead, they
intend to continue the race. What do you have to say to that?"
The Wizard turned to Frame. "Ox old fellow, can your cameras pan
into the audience? They can? Good?"
Obediently the cameras panned into the cheering crowds.
"Now who down there looks unhappy?" said the Wizard, confident
that Sampleton's picayune delegation would not be noticed. "The fact
is, the party is solidly behind Mike. He made a pitch to get everyone
on board, for everyone to join together for unity's sake. Speaker
Mandelbaum graciously accepted, for the good of the party. Mr.
Sampleton could not subsume his ego for the same purpose. So he and
his mighty 5% have decided to walk. So we're forced to have a primary.
We welcome the primary, as a matter of fact. We're certain that we'll
win, and we'll just have that much extra media attention that we can
use to focus on the issues."
"We have here a statement from Emilie Glidden, Mr. Sampleton's
campaign manager, stating that the people and not the party bosses
should be allowed to pick the nominee," said Frame.
The Wizard laughed. "The fact is, the people do support Mike.
Sampleton is trying to act as a spoiler. The only interests he is
serving are those of the Republicans. But I say again: we're not
afraid of the primary, bring it on! Then we'll see how many of the
people support Mr. Sampleton."
"One more question," said Gant. "Congressman Powers has not
chosen a candidate for lieutenant governor."
"So?" said the Wizard, getting a cold feeling in his stomach.
"It's customary for the candidate nominated at the convention to
select his choice for lieutenant governor. It's kind of strange that
the Congressman has not made a selection."
The Wizard sighed. "This is what I mean when I refer to the
obstructionism of Mr. Sampleton. A number of party leaders were
telling Mike to do just that, to name his running mate on the spot.
But although he is now legally the party's choice for the top office,
he now has to face the primary. He didn't think it was right to select
his running mate before the primary voters have spoken. Since
Sampleton has forced this primary, Mike wants to wait until the people
have spoken before going further." He got up, signaling the end of the
interview.
The Wizard, of course, did not give the real reason why Powers
hadn't selected a running mate. As Powers had put it, there hadn't
been just one reason for delaying, but a million.
Powers had had a meeting the night before with Fabulant Truitt,
the heir to the pharmaceutical fortune. He wanted his 35 year old
daugher, Carla, nominated to be lieutenant governor.
Powers had hemned and hawed, stating that there were a number of
qualified candidates, and what were Carla's qualifications?
Truitt had named two: one, that Carla had been active in social
work for ten years, and had worked in the New York City housing
administration. And two, he would donate $500,000 to the campaign if
she were nominated.
Powers had promised to consider the request. But he had
indicated that her chances of being nominated would be increased if
either of her characteristics were strengthened.
In other words, he was stalling to jack up the price. Powers had
hoped to sell the office of lieutenant governor for a price of at least
three quarters of a million dollars.
The campaign released new poll results after the convention
showing that Powers was ten points ahead of Sampleton.
"Only ten points?" Powers thundered. What was wrong here?
Hadn't they run a good convention? Sampleton was a nothing candidate.
If they couldn't get a better bounce then that, how would they ever
beat Stratford?
"Easy chief," said the Wizard. "That's what we released to the
public. The actual figures are more like twenty percent."
"That's a little better," said Powers. "Oh, I see, you undercut
the figures-"
"So the troops don't get complacent. Correct," said the Wizard.
"I'm still looking to get double my pay, not half, remember?"
"Every time you remind me," said Powers. "So what's our campaign
strategy for Stratford?"
"Whoa, one thing at a time," said the Wizard. "We've got to take
care of Mush Head first. Have you seen this?" "This" was a copy of
the op-ed page of the Times. Inside was a particularly long op-ed
piece.
SAMPLETON FOR GOVERNOR
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
I try to watch closely what my children are seeing on
television. Generally when I'm not supervising them I lock out all
channels except for PBS and Nickelodeon to protect their minds from
exposure to filth and violence. I am sad to report that I failed in my
duty yesterday when PBS let me down.
They were airing a speech by Michael Powers, now the
presumptive nominee of the Democrats to become the next governor of New
York. My daughter, Winnie, who I joyously gave birth to just nine
years ago last week, came over and tugged on my apron. I was
supervising the housekeeper, who was baking cookies for Winnie's class
play the following day. Winnie wanted my attention. There was this
"nice man on TV who was promising everything to everybody."
I immediately raced to the television and sent the
children out of the room, but the damage was done. Michael Powers
seems to be able to cast an irresistible spell over anyone who hears
his voice. He creates these fairytale-like myths of what he has done
for New Yorkers when in reality he has done little more than dispersing
bits of pork for the special interests.
I sat down and watched his speech but was not moved.
His speech was impressive but the sentiment behind it wasn't. He
talked of day care and prenatal checkups but he's done nothing for
pregnant women since he went to Washington. He says he's for the
homeless but he's done nothing for them either. He says he's for more
AIDS research but he's done little beyond voting for token increases.
In short, as I've indicated in this space before, he
represents the status quo.
I've been in communication with Attorney General
Sampleton's campaign manager, Emilie Glidden. She's an honest woman
who has served selflessly for the last ten years on the AIDS Action
Fund, who has tirelessly given a decade of her life for health issues.
She says that Alton Sampleton is a sincere man. She says that before
his government service he has worked for years to aid the poor, labor
in the peace corp or to offer his volunteer services to local food
banks. He is truly a man who, not just by his words but by his
actions, stands for the downtrodden.
I talked to a lot of ordinary Democrats during and
after the convention who say that Michael Powers, though nominated by
the party bosses in the wake of the self-destruction of Speaker
Mandelbaum, doesn't represent them. Sampleton's standings in the polls
aren't very high now, but if progressives rallied around his candidacy,
he could beat the special interests, and provide a true contrast to the
Republicans. This is what should be done, not just for our generation,
but for the children of the next.
"So?" said Powers.
"Don't take her lightly," said the Wizard. "She doesn't control
many votes, of course, but she represents a stream of intellectual
thoughts among many Democrats that we cannot lightly ignore. We still
haven't resolved all their doubts about you, and if we just ignore
Sampleton entirely, it could be our undoing."
"But for now the nomination is still ours to lose," said Powers.
"Correct," said the Wizard. "But let's still keep... what did
you call him?"
"Mush Head," said Powers. "That's my favorite name for him."
"Yes, let's still keep Mush Head in mind."
"Let me get this straight," said Powers, the following day.
"We're holding a fundraiser tomorrow, only we're not going to make any
money off of it?"
"You are correct, sir," said the Wizard.
"Here's another idea," said Powers, furious that he hadn't even
been told about it in advance. "What if you are employed by me during
the campaign, but I don't pay you for your work?"
"Easy, chief," said the Wizard. He stroked his beard
thoughtfully. "The purpose of this fundraiser is not to make money."
"That's funny. I thought that's what fundraisers were for."
"Normally, yes. But our cash reserves, while not endless, are
not in bad shape. And we can afford to do this."
"Do what?"
"A charity fundraiser, of course," said the Wizard. "We're
getting bashed by the Democratic left, those who truly care about the
poor. Well, the money raised at this event will go to the poor."
Powers looked confused. "Then why will anyone pay to come?"
"To curry favor with you, of course, just as in a regular
fundraiser. But instead of having the media decry your hobnobbing with
the fatcats, you'll get good press, and hopefully undercut Mush Head's
base of support." The Wizard added, "The proceeds will be donated to a
homeless shelter, a soup kitchen, a fund to plant trees in the Sahara,
and a group that is researching the causes of Short Attention Span
Disorder. All of whom are very grateful, and will make positive
statements to the media on your behalf."
Powers looked decimated. "We get no money from this?"
The Wizard put an arm around Powers. "Think of the positive
press, my boy! Think how much money that would take to buy. But in
answer to your question, we do make a little money off of this."
"We do? How?" Powers immediately brightened.
"Well, all the proceeds go to the charities. That's clear,
that's in our bulletin. But those are net proceeds. Of course there's
overhead, administrative costs-"
"How much?"
"20%. Of which we keep about half that. Not bad. Think of it
as a small bonus."
"I will," said Powers.
The event was held in Windows on the World, the classy restaurant
on top of the World Trade Center. Powers wisely decided to come late
and leave early, but when he got there he at least cherished the
thought of the outstanding night view.
The view was great--for one who could see through two acres of
thick, milky fog. For all that mattered they might as well have been
underground.
"Isn't this marvelous, Michael?" said a beaming Erin, grabbing
his arm. She had been thrilled when she heard that part of the
proceeds were going to plant trees in the Sahara. Powers himself had
to admit it was a bold stroke; that was two constituencies right there,
black voters and environmentalists.
"Yeah, real nice," said Powers.
"You know, I'm really looking forward to seeing what else you're
going to do for the environment when you get elected."
"You are?"
"I know just who to nominate for your environmental positions-"
"Hold it, hon," said Powers. "I can't show favoritism, just
because someone is a friend of my wife."
"But these are good people, committed to the environment!" said
Erin.
"I'm sure they are," said Powers. Committed, that is. But he
would have no use for them in his administration. "But they'll have to
go through a screening committee, like everyone else."
"Oh," said Erin, downfallen. But then she said, "I'm still
looking forward to what you can do as governor. Have you given any
thoughts to expanding the Adirondacks?"
Powers admitted that he hadn't.
"By the way, that reminds me, that Seton Hills project is coming
up for a vote soon. You're going to vote against it, right?"
"Of course," said Powers miserably.
"That's my Michael," said Erin.
The minute that Powers got home he immediately poured himself a
stiff drink.
"Dear, what are you doing?" said Erin.
"Just taking a drink," said Powers. Scotch swigged in his mouth.
He needed to wipe the taste of those terminal do-gooders out of his
mind. Powers had smiled for the guests and for the cameras. But he
felt too sick to even watch it all replayed on the nightly news. He
just wanted to be governor; why did he have to mix with all these
crazies?
One of which included his wife.
What was with them? The purpose of life was to care for and to
advance oneself, plain and simple. If you start looking out for other
people, who's going to look out for number one? No one. Powers
considered himself a do-gooder, only his charity had a constituency of
only one.
Himself.
Powers was gulping down a second drink when he saw Bobby
wandering around, and he brightened. "What are you still doing up,
partner?"
Bobby immediately launched into one of his little league stories.
Powers listened avidly, allowing his mind to float.
"And you missed my first two games, Daddy!" said the child
accusingly.
"I'm sorry, I've been tied up campaigning," said Powers. "I'll
catch one of your games, I promise. Have you become the pitcher yet?"
"Haven't you been listening? Burt Mills and I are switching off.
The coach says he hasn't decided yet. He's a worm, Daddy. He's not
half as good as I am."
"Then I'm sure you'll get the position," said Powers, his
attention elsewhere.
Powers' next campaign appearance was at the New York City Bar
Association.
"Lawyers are a very important constituency, both as a source of
funds and as a voting base," said the Wizard. "The vast majority are
Democrats and they are vote in great numbers. There are more lawyers
per square foot in Manhattan than anywhere else in the world. In the
world, Michael!"
"I heard you," said Powers. "Obviously Manhattan is a place
where we could put some cluster bombs to good use. But what am I
promising these people? Money?"
"Not primarily. Although they would love to hear you say that
you would allocate more legal funds for the poor."
"But what else can I promise them? Government subsidized
shephardizing services? Buying out West's federal reporter system and
distributing the books free to lawyers? Or do they expect me to
nationalize LEXIS and WESTLAW and provide those for free as well?"
"This is no time for humor, Michael," said the Wizard sternly.
"On the contrary, this is precisely the time for humor. Just
what do these guys want?"
"You're going to speak before trial lawyers, Michael."
"Ooooh," said Powers. That spoke volumes.
"They don't want or need your subsidies, Michael. That stuff is
all chickenfeed to them. Here is a list of things you're promising."
He handed over a piece of paper. "And it won't cost the government a
cent."
Powers' eyebrows went up as he read the list.
Four hours later.... Powers stood before a number of well-
dressed attorneys at the elegant building that housed the bar
association. He was in the middle of his speech, and the topic was
justice.
"The courts have improved their access in recent years to those
litigants seeking redress under our civil code. However, the situation
could be considerably better. Consider product liability cases and
discrimination suits. After the arduous process of proving a
preponderance of guilt, the plaintiff is awarded merely compensatory
damages, and perhaps punitive damages. But does that really set things
right? I think that in certain heinous cases there should be double,
even triple punitive damages!"
The audience clapped warmly. Given that most cases were taken on
a percentage fee basis, that meant double or even triple fees for them.
"Another area that has gone unaddressed is the topic of emotional
distress. Currently an individual can only recover damages in most
instances where physical harm can be shown. I think that if
psychiatric testimony can show merely psychological harm, that damages
should be awarded there as well."
"Furthermore, since psychological harm is difficult to gauge, I
think that in cases where the defendant is found liable, it should be a
panel of psychiatrists and not juries that set the damages for
emotional distress."
That really got them clapping loudly. It took several moments
for Powers to quite them down for his third and final point.
"And finally, there is the issue of statutes of limitations.
These cumbersome and archaic rules prevent legitimate cases from being
brought to court, simply because an arbitrary time deadline of a few
short years has expired. I think the current system of statutes of
limitations should be replaced by a new system... call them flexible
statutes of limitations, that would take into account the circumstances
of each case before deciding whether it would be fair to invoke such
statutes."
And then the lawyers went wild. This would permit them to bring
more cases than ever before.
By the time his speech was over, Powers had them eating out of
his palm. And the money started flowing into his campaign like never
before, donations from newfound lawyer supporters. Powers got good
press out of the event, too; he was portrayed as seeking "legal reform"
to help the disadvantaged better obtain "justice".
After the meeting Powers, sitting in his district office, nodded
with satisfaction. "You see? This is better than a charity
fundraiser. We get the money and the good press." Everything had been
going well now, ever since Mandelbaum had been defeated.
The Wizard, seeing him in a good mood, nodded, and said, "I have
some other news for you."
"Yes?"
"Our lawyers have examined Sampleton's ballots."
"And?" Powers felt a rising excitement.
"So many are probably invalid that we stand a good chance of
getting him off the ballot."
"Great!" The news kept getting better and better. Then he saw
the Wizard's expression. "What's wrong?"
"We can't do it."
"Why not?" Powers was puzzled.
"Oh, we could do it, but we shouldn't."
Powers looked angry. "Since when did you acquire a set of
morals?"
"I haven't yet," the Wizard assured him. "But knocking him off
the ballot, while handing us a tactical victory, would led to a
strategic blunder."
"How so?"
"Think of an example from military strategy. You have superior
forces, encircling a small segment of your opponent's army. You can
easily close in and slaughter them."
"Yes," said Powers, his eyes blazing. "That's what you do."
"Which will typically inflame the rest of the enemy's army,
forcing them to fight harder."
"Oh," said Powers. "You mean if we knock him off the ballot it
will generate sympathy for him."
"Precisely. And come election day his supporters may simply stay
at home. Or even vote for Stratford."
"I see," said Powers. He mulled this over a bit. "Are you sure
this man is no threat to my nomination?"
The Wizard paused. "I'm not in the business of giving
guarantees. But at this point, although he might be capable of a
little trouble... I don't see how he could get it from you."
Powers nodded. "Then we will be gracious today. But let us hope
that this show of mercy does not become a continuing trend, because I
do not like it already," he grimaced.
When Powers returned home Bobby was there, ready to regale him
with stories of his little league. Powers had been relieved that
Bobby's school troubles had seemed to recede in the distance, and that
baseball was the lad's largest quandary at the moment. But Bobby
brought disturbing news: Burt Mills, his child rival, had been
appointed pitcher instead of Bobby.
Well, there wasn't anything that Powers wouldn't do for the
child. He called the coach personally. The coach was impressed by the
attention but remained adamant. He said that the child with the best
skills would be pitcher, and on that issue Powers found him immovable.
However, he also said that Bobby would be used at times as a relief
pitcher, and his view was always open to reassessment, subject to
improvement on Bobby's part.
That was all Powers needed. He immediately made another phone
call. "Hello, is this the general office of the Yankees? Good. This
is Congressman Michael Powers, and I'm trying to track down a certain
individual. Perhaps you can help me?" There was a pause. "Thank you,
I appreciate your support on the campaign trail. I just need one
little phone number...."
"Let me get this straight," said Powers. "I'm going to do a
television advertisement, all in spanish?"
"Yes," said Jose Torres, his media advisor. "You understand
perfectly."
"Have anyone told you that I do not speak a word of Espanol?"
said Powers.
"You just said a word!" said Torres, smiling gleefully. "That
was a word! Anyway, I have spoken to your Mr. Wizard-"
"Has someone called my name?" said Ross, entering the production
studio. "Ah, good, Mike, you got here on time."
"I thought this was an English language commercial," said Powers.
"Was this another one of those little things that you forgot to tell
me?"
"Could be," said the Wizard. "I've been so absent minded
lately."
"Can you explain to me, then, how I am going to speak in
Spanish?" Powers wanted to know. "Are you going to dub my words?"
"No," said the Wizard, offended by the suggestion. "It's not so
difficult. Watch." He picked up a card. "Read the beginning part."
Powers read it. The card was not written in any Spanish he knew.
The first line said, "Ola. Me nombray soy Miguel Powers."
"Ola, me nombray soy Miguel Powers," said Powers.
"Perfecto! Perfecto! Muy Bueno, Senor Powers!" said the Wizard.
"What language is that?" said Powers. "Because I know that's not
Spanish."
"Well, that's Spanish, but translated into phonetic English. You
just read it literally, as if it were English, and you'll be fine,"
said the Wizard.
"One thing though," said Torres. "Speak in a deep voice. Es mas
macho."
"What?" said Powers.
"It's more manly when you speak in a deep voice," said the
Wizard.
So Powers read from the cards. He had no idea what he was
saying, but he spoke with a deep voice, and made the proper inflections
where told to. In the end when he saw the tape he was surprised. If
he didn't know better even he would believe that he was speaking
Spanish naturally.
"But what if someone engages me in Spanish on the street?" said
Powers.
"You're a politician," said the Wizard. "If you don't know how
to avoid an unwelcome question at this point, even I cannot help you."
"Oh."
But it was a proper concern, for just a few days later when
Powers was walking on the streets of Manhattan a man, recognizing him,
said, "Amigo Powers! Como Esta Usted?"
Powers blinked, then realized he was being addressed. "Thank,
you, thank you for your support," he said automatically. He looked
across the street, waiting for the light to change.
But the man wasn't done yet. "Como esta?" he said again.
"That's a good point," Powers conceded. "I think we need to
appoint a committee to look into that issue at a later date."
Recognition suddenly dawned on the man. "No comprende Espanol
usted?"
The light changed to green. Powers figured out that the man was
getting suspicious. So he scraped together anything, anything at all
he knew in Spanish. "Guacamole enchiladas y loco Tijuana pizzeria,"
said Powers, quickly moving on.
"Senor Powers es un poco loco en el coco," muttered the man as he
left.
The next order of business was for Powers to solidify his base of
support. The Wizard again used a military analogy, one that Powers
could relate to.
"You're a battleship. You've taken a number of hits to your hull
during previous battles, and you've patched up the major ones. But you
still have a number of small leaks in the support structure of your
outer hull, and those have to be located, and patched up."
"So how do we locate weaknesses in our base of support?" said
Powers, comprehending immediately. He was always a quick learner,
especially if things were explained to him in ways he identified with.
"Focus groups!" said the Wizard. He took Powers to downtown
Manhattan where one of his associates, a Mr. Jones, was running a rap
session with youngsters.
Powers, the Wizard, and Jones sat behind a two way mirror
watching a live interview being conducted in an adjoining room. "These
are a random sample of young people being interviewed in there.
Listen."
"How do you feel... about Michael Powers?" the interviewer asked.
There was a long silence.
"How do you feel... about Michael Powers?" said the interviewer
again.
Finally one of the young people spoke up. "He's... he's running
for office, right?"
The interviewer nodded. "Go on."
"I... don't follow what happens in the Senate very closely," said
the youngster.
"This is what I pay good money for?" said Powers. "What work if
any do you accomplish here?"
"Shh!" said Jones. "We've already identified one point; that the
young people are not getting your message."
"Great, put me in a music video," Powers grumbled.
The interviewer continued. "What sort of politician would you
like?"
The room was silent again. One of the teenagers said, "Could you
repeat the question?"
"What would you like to see, in your politicians?" said the
interviewer, deliberately speaking in baby paces.
"Uhhh..." said the one who had spoken. "That he cares about
young people."
"And our issues," said another, speaking up.
The interviewer pounced on that. "What are your issues?"
"Um... you know, that he cares, that he cares about people like
us."
"There you have it," said Jones, from behind the partition.
"They want to know that you care."
"I've had enough," said Powers, getting up.
The Wizard darted out after him. "You're doing good work," he
yelled back to Jones.
The Wizard was insistent that Powers do more to appeal to younger
voters. He forced Powers to campaign at a youth center. They talked
it up in the car on the way there.
"I'm from the older generation," said Powers. "Just what the
hell is a youth center?"
The Wizard looked surprised. "It's a place where young people
can play sports, arts and crafts, dance... you never had a youth
center?"
"When I was a kid we played stick ball on the street. That was
our 'youth center'," said Powers wryly.
"You mean your millionaire parents sent you all the way to
Brooklyn to play stick ball in the street?" said the Wizard.
Powers gave him a dark look as the car pulled up to the curb. "I
haven't been prepared with a script. What am I to do?"
"You won't be giving a speech. There won't be any crowds here.
I just want you to mix and mingle with the young people..."
Powers turned around to see the car behind them. "While the
camera crew takes pictures, right?"
"Precisely," said the Wizard. "We'll splice it and run it as one
of our commercials. Showing you with young people. Showing them you
care."
"Groovy," said Powers, still grimacing. He got out of the car.
Toles and the camera crew emerged from the other one.
Powers coughed as he entered the building. The marijuana fumes
were strong and unmistakable. Strong musclebound youngsters wearing
ripped clothing stood uneasily in the hallways, eyeing them.
"Ross," said Powers, giving an artificial smile. "Et-gay the ar-
cay eady-ray to go-ray."
"We're not leaving," said the Wizard. "Not without the footage."
They went into a basketball court. A number of street youth were
playing ball, rapidly pounding a jumpy orange ball against the ground.
"Hello!" said Powers, as they played.
They continued to play ball.
"Congressman Powers here," said Powers, coming up to the edge of
the court. One of the players came close to Powers, and body checked
him, pushing him back.
The players stopped, in mid motion.
Powers looked at them, and realized that he was surrounded by
very strong and agile young men. "My mistake," he said rapidly, edging
towards the door where the camera crew had already exited.
Powers quickly step marched towards the exit. But the Wizard
just as insistently took his arm and pulled him into another room.
They went inside and were immediately assaulted by the noise of
large boom boxes. Bearded youngsters in jean jackets were smoking
reefers. Others were making out with their women. One of them took a
knife out of his pocket. "What you want here, man?"
That was enough. Toles, Powers, the Wizard, and the camera crew
quickly left the room. The people they had interrupted got up, and
slowly followed. Powers and his people beat a hasty route to the exit
from the youth center.
"The car! The car! Get in the car!" screamed Powers, looking
back over his shoulder. The youth were following slowly, but stopped
when Powers reached the relative safety of the car.
But even in the car, the Wizard was adamant. "I'm not quitting
without my footage."
"Fine. You go back in there with the cameras," said Powers.
"I'm not setting a foot in there." He looked anxiously out the window,
as if expecting the young people to rush the car at any minute.
"I agree, the venue isn't right, but I still want to see you in
scenes with young people," said the Wizard. He frowned for a moment,
then he nodded. "Got it."
They looked at the footage the next day, after it had been
edited. They saw scenes of Congressman Powers taking off his jacket
and genially shooting some hoops with some teenagers. They showed him
in a cafeteria talking with young people about their problems. And
they showed him solemnly going "Um hm, um hm," as teens discussed the
issues of the day.
"We need politicians to care, know what I mean?"
Powers nodded. "You don't want to be left out."
"Yeah, you got it. I mean, people think we're young, and so they
can ignore us."
Powers nodded. "I'm not so old, I remember how it was."
And so on. When the clip was over, Powers nodded for the lights
to be turned back on.
"Could any of you tell that those scenes were shot in a private
school?" the Wizard inquired anxiously.
They all shook their heads.
"Or that Powers was with the same five kids the entire time?"
They shook their heads again.
"Good work, Wizard," said Powers.
"It was just lucky that your staffers in your district office had
teenage children," said the Wizard. "But they were very cooperative."
"That they were," said Powers. "I always relish contact with the
younger generation." But then he looked sternly at the Wizard. "But
never, ever again will I go anywhere that will put my life at risk. I
don't care what the gain or the cost is. Get me?"
"I got you," said the Wizard. But he couldn't help but smile.
"However, I have to warn you that you may not find your next campaign
stop entirely to your liking."
"Where are we going, to the bottom of a coal mine? Or inside a
condemned building?" Powers asked.
"Not really," said the Wizard. "I was thinking more of a
homeless shelter."
"A homeless shelter? Dream on!" said Powers. He laughed, even
at the thought.
At that moment an aide entered his office. It was Kerry Joy, a
new legislative assistant that Powers had hired on now that Niles and
Marsten were preoccupied with their... nonlegislative duties.
"Congressman, here is that House report you were asking for,"
said Kerry, with a bright smile. She had long blonde hair and gleaming
white teeth.
"Thanks," said Powers. He watched her slowly as she walked out
of the office, swaying slightly with every step.
"Think about work, Mike," said the Wizard.
"I am," said Powers. "But Kerry Joy... that's like a name of one
of those women out of a James Bond movie." He seemed lost in thought
for a moment.
"Mike?"
"Yes?" said Powers, snapping out of it.
"I was thinking you might spend the night there."
"Where?"
"In the homeless shelter."
"What? Have you gone out of your mind?" this was from Toles, who
had just entered the room.
"It would make a great campaign gimmick," said the Wizard.
"No, no, no, and no," said Powers, being as direct as he could.
"It would cut into Sampleton's base of support," argued the
Wizard.
"Hey, that's one base of support he can keep."
"It's not just the homeless, Mike. It's all the people who
sympathize with them," said Ross.
"And will they sympathize with me when I'm stabbed in the middle
of the night? Forget it."
"Mike-"
"FORGET IT. SUBJECT CLOSED!" And that was Powers' last word on
the subject.
Sampleton, however, was not idle during that time. He was
running a highly virtuous campaign, appearing with women's groups, the
handicapped, minority voters, good government coalitions, and others,
just as Powers was doing. The only difference, of course, is that his
stands on the issues weren't for show; he meant what he said. And
Powers, with some good reason, worried that the voters, stupid though
they were, might subconsciously pick up on this difference between
them.
Powers spent some time analyzing what went into the earnest
sincerity that Sampleton seemed to project. Sampleton had such a
simplicity to himself, such a simple honesty that sold well with the
voters and yet Powers could not put his finger on how Sampleton
projected this image. If Powers could figure out just how it was done,
he would bottle it, mass produce it, and sell it--after first using it
on himself, of course.
Sampleton promised if elected to forgo all perks, promising to
drive himself to work (in his own car), and not to reside in the
governor's mansion. Not to live in the governor's mansion! Powers had
to hear it twice to believe it. Instead, Sampleton vowed to convert
the governor's mansion into a homeless shelter, while he, Sampleton,
would rent a modest apartment in Albany. Naturally the governor's
private plane would be sold. But someone asked him what would happen
to the governor's domestic staff that worked in the mansion: would
they be fired? Sampleton's campaign responded that as for the
governor's chauffeur, maids, butlers, and chefs... they could either
find new jobs, or acquire a talent for serving the homeless.
Another curious thing about Sampleton is that he refused to
attack Powers. Sampleton ran a very positive campaign. All he would
talk about was how he would improve the lives of the poor and the
downtrodden. But he seemed to mean it.
And then Sampleton started to pick up endorsements. At first it
was good government groups, and consumer affairs organizations. But
the day the New York Times (as opposed to merely Michele Franswa)
started to editorialize in favor of Sampleton was the day that Powers
started to become seriously concerned.
He was even more concerned when Toles and the Wizard brought him
the latest poll results.
"What's going on here?" said Powers. The polls showed 45% of
voters supported Powers, 40% Sampleton, with 15% undecided. That was
an enormous surge for Sampleton. "This guy has a tenth of the budget
we do and one twentieth of the staff. And yet he's surging. In
another week he'll be ahead of me!"
"Quite probably," said the Wizard.
"Quite probably? Is that all you can say? Are you really
itching to find another job?" said Powers.
"I warned you," said the Wizard. "I said that you needed to
undercut his base of support. You refused."
"What are you talking about?" said Powers.
"Spending a night in a homeless shelter."
"Oh that," said Powers. He changed the subject. "How is he
doing this? Is Mandelbaum behind this?"
"Not that we can see," said the Wizard. "He's on a retreat
somewhere, trying to put himself back together. I don't think he's in
much shape to direct anything. Besides, he knows that if we ever did
trace anything back to him-"
"-that he would be revealed as the potty man," said Powers. "I
see. Then what accounts for my weakness? I mean, if this idiot can
threaten me, then what happens when I go against Stratford?"
"Remember, the two are totally different situations," said the
Wizard. "Here you're only dealing with the Democratic primary
electorate. Now, our friend the Simpleton has merely exposed one of
your weaknesses among this electorate: that you're perceived as
insincere by some."
"INSINCERE? IF I'M INSINCERE IT'S ONLY BECAUSE I'VE BEEN
PRESENTED THAT WAY!"
"Easy," said the Wizard. "I can put a dress on an elephant and
make it dance, but don't expect everyone to tap you on the shoulder for
a waltz."
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?"
"Only that you're a strong candidate as a whole, but you do have
weaknesses, like any other candidate," said the Wizard soothingly.
"And your weakness is that some, and I repeat, some, people don't view
you as sincere. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't tell you the
truth."
Powers exploded. "YOUR JOB ISN'T TO TELL ME THE TRUTH. YOUR JOB
IS TO GET OUR THERE AND LIE!"
"That's what I was trying to do when I suggested your campaign
visit to the homeless shelter-"
That snapped Powers out of it. He visibly calmed down. "That
homeless thing again. Why?"
"It's one thing to visit a homeless shelter. But to sleep
overnight? That shows commitment. That shows sincerity."
"Ug," said Powers, wrinkling his nose. He thought about it for
some moments.
"What if I get raped?"
"We can't have armed guards surrounding you, naturally, but we'll
have campaign aides close by at all times."
"What about at night? I could get man-raped at night, you know."
"As I said, you'll have aides."
"AIDS?"
"Staffers around you."
"Even when I sleep?
"Even when you sleep." The Wizard, a bit weary, sighed.
Powers thought about it some more.
"What about the sheets?"
"What about them?"
"I don't want to sleep on some sheets or mattress that has been
infected with lice and the cough-coughs of some druggies'
tuberculosis."
"We'll bring our own sheets and cot."
"Hm..." said Powers. There was another long silence. Then, "Do
you really think this will be a big boost?"
"A big boost," the Wizard confirmed.
Powers nodded reluctantly. Pointing an index finger at the
Wizard, he said, "Very well. Make it so."
Still, Powers was more than a little uneasy when the night came.
Even though he was supposed to eat dinner in the shelter, he had a
hearty supper that night at home.
The cameras were waiting for Powers at the entrance to the
shelter when he arrived. The reporters had a small pool going among
themselves over whether and how long Powers would actually last that
night.
"Hi, hello," said Powers, waving to reporters.
"Hi, hello," said a scraggly bearded man in a black winter coat
that used to be white, as he imitated Powers.
"Niles! Marsten!" said Powers, and his aides drew close.
Niles had been thrilled when he had learned that the Congressman
was going to spend the night with the homeless. Finally, to be with
some of the people that this campaign was going to help!
He was less delighted to learn that he and Marsten were drafted
as bodyguards. Bodyguards? They were to take turns taking shifts that
night guarding Powers. Ostensibly they were just staffers joining in
Powers' sleep-in, but in reality their cots were to be set right next
to Powers', and one of them would be on alert at all times. And this
annoyed him. Powers was acting as if the homeless were all a bunch of
criminals.
Powers had talked privately to them the night before. He had
inquired if either of them had ever taken martial arts classes. Both
had to admit that they hadn't, although Niles had taken a semester of
Tai-Chi once.
Their lack of prowess in the physical arts had concerned Powers
greatly, until the Wizard had intervened.
"Look guys," the Wizard had said. "Can you scream?"
"Well...."
"Can you scream?" said the Wizard.
"Of course," said Marsten.
"If something happens, scream," the Wizard had said.
"Great," Powers had replied. "This way I'll be awake while I get
man-raped."
"Don't worry," the Wizard had said.
"Look who's saying don't worry?" Powers had replied. "Do you
volunteer to spend the night with us?"
"I'm not the one running for office," the Wizard had said. "My
presence wouldn't do any good."
"Great," was all Powers had said.
Powers slowly walked into the homeless shelter. The Warren G.
Harding homeless shelter was located on the Upper West Side of
Manhattan, and, the Wizard had assured him, contained a better class of
homeless than most. Yeah, right.
Powers was greeted at the door by Rich Snyder, the director of
the shelter. Snyder, busy scratching his hair, suddenly held out his
hand to shake Powers'.
Lice, Powers immediately thought. Instead of shaking hands,
Powers gave a friendly nod.
"So good to have you here, Congressman," said Snyder, lowering
his outstretched hand. It quickly returned to the back of his head,
scratching and rooting about. "You don't know how many politicians
just breeze by for a ten minute photo-op."
"I know," said Powers, wishing he could do the same. He entered
the dingy shelter, looking down constantly as if he were afraid of
stepping into something.
The shelter was actually the basement of the office that
disbursed the government welfare checks. It was decrepit and dark, and
it smelled bad, too.
Snyder saw the expression on Powers' face. "You get used to it.
The sewer line runs right along here. Occasionally we get a little
leakage."
"Um hm," said Powers. He looked at all the people around him.
Nearly all the men, and, almost without exception, were bearded. Some
wore winter clothes, even though they were indoors and it was at the
height of the August warm season. And all of them stank. Powers knew
this immediately when he had passed within just feet of any of them.
And then there were the eyes. Some had dull orbs, as if there
were nothing behind them. Others had eyes that glittered, as if a wild
instinct lay behind them, waiting to spring. Powers immediately felt
he knew which ones were taking their valium and which ones weren't.
"Come, you must be hungry," said Snyder. He guided Powers over
to the serving line. "It's so good to have you here," he said again,
scratching his hair. He removed something from it, inspected it for a
moment, made a frowning face, and rubbed it against a wall.
Powers avoided looking at the man entirely. He instead watched
as a bored looking man with snake hair and a prominent cold sore
running over his lower lips ladled food on his tray.
Slop! A brown, meaty substance dropped in one compartment.
Slop! Gruelled corn landed in another. Slop! Powers looked curiously
at the runny pink substance. Jello. It must be jello, he decided.
Niles and Marsten, who weren't smart enough to have eaten before,
also watched in horror as they were served their food. Powers looked
around at the assembled reporters. "Any of you guys hungry?"
Oxford Frame made sure he was out of camera range. Then he shook
his head no.
"Yum yum," said Powers sarcastically, as he sat down at a table,
but first discretely checking the bench underneath him. You never
knew.
Snyder sat opposite him. Niles and Marsten were about to join
them when two homeless men sat next to Powers, flanking him. The
Wizard, who had been hovering about in the background, look horrified.
"We have such plans for the shelter," Snyder babbled, "If only we
had the funds. We want a day care center, a drug treatment facility, a
jobs placement program... what's wrong, you're not hungry?"
Powers was just toying with his food. He started to pick up one
of his utensils, which he saw was light orange in color. Rust.
Hopefully it was rust.
Powers was instinctively untrusting of the dark, meaty substance:
who knew what or who it had been? Powers had heard stories about
homeless people eating hot dogs that in their former lives had been
Pomeranians or Cockerspaniels. He dug into the corn pile, only to
notice partially buried speck near the top of the pile. Uncovering a
kernel revealed a small winged corpse, approximately mosquito-sized.
The Wizard looked horrified. Powers was playing with his food
while the cameras watched.
"Don't you want to eat?" said Snyder. Then something
particularly irritating happened to him, and his hand went right behind
his left ear, scratching quickly.
"I can't," said Powers. He looked into the cameras, for effect.
"I'm appalled," he said slowly.
"This is not a meal fit for people," said Powers. "Where are the
fruits? Where are the vegetables? Do you know how much cholesterol is
in this... meat? Do you know how much fat? Where are the nutrition
labels? And the corn. Is it organically grown? Do you know how much
pesticides there must be in that?"
"Ahhhh," said Snyder, still scratching.
Powers faced the cameras again. "One of my first acts, no my
first act as governor of this great state will be to get healthful food
for the homeless! Some people think that the homeless are animals,
that they can't be expected to eat better than dog food! But I say
that dignified diets is the first and most important way to bring
dignified lives back to the homeless, to get them off the streets and
back into soci-ety as a part of the commun-ity again," he said, his
voice thundering. And he made sure to stress the "ity" sounds, for
good measure.
The homeless, who had no idea what he was talking about, started
clapping like mad. Some of them started jumping on tables, making
"root root" sounds. The homeless man to Powers' right said, "Yeah,
that's the way," as he put a supportive hand on Powers' shoulder.
The suit, of course, would have to be dry cleaned. Twice. And
checked for fleas, lice, and ticks. Could one give a tuberculine test
to clothes?
After that Powers had them eating out of the palms of his hand.
Figuratively speaking, of course; he would sooner feed a rabid llama
from his palm than he would one of the homeless. And of course his
main goal had been accomplished; he had gotten out of eating dinner.
The Wizard nodded to himself. That Powers was one sharp thinker.
After "dinner", Powers went around to talk to some of the
shelter's regular denizens.
"Hi, I'm Mike Powers," said Powers to a woman who had her back
turned away from him.
"Go 'way, man," she said, turning slightly towards him. A
syringe half hung out of her arm.
"Oh," said Powers. "She must be taking her medication," he said
loudly to the cameras behind him. "I fully support methadone
treatments and esteem counseling for recovering addicts." He
remembered what Ross had said to him about appearing concerned. "We
need more compassion carrots and fewer threatening sticks, people."
Powers, walking along, addressed another man. "I'm Congressman
Powers, hello," he said.
A bearded man with spacey eyes replied, "Congressman Powers, good
to meet you!"
Finally, Powers thought, a normal person. Then the man said,
"I'm Senator Tinkle!"
"Good to see you, Senator," said Powers, quickly moving on. He
addressed the roving cameras that were following. "We need more mental
hygiene personnel to assist these people in leading normal and
dignified lives." He spoke to another young man. "Hello, I'm Michael
Powers."
"Powers? Watcha gonna do for us?" said the young man, obviously
little more than a teenager. He too had a crazed look in his eyes.
"Well, there are many sorts of rehabilitation programs,
especially for young people, such as arts and crafts, midnight
basketball-"
"Gimme!" said the man.
"We will," said Powers, with a forced smile, the only kind he had
been employing that night. "But it will take time to set up the
programs-"
"Gimme!" said the young man.
"Well, as I've been explaining-"
"Gimme!" yelled the man. "GIMME GIMME GIMME!" He got up, and
moved threatenly towards Powers.
Powers took a step back, suddenly in real fear of having his
personal space violated. And perhaps more. But before his fears could
materialize, Snyder stepped forward, grabbed the man by the arm, and
picked up a small ball from his cot. It made a small squeaking sound.
"Squeaky!" said the man, grabbing the toy.
Powers quickly moved away. "Obviously, the homeless need
entertainment, like anyone else. I would suggest sports and dance
programs. Perhaps we could have a roving band of Shakespeare
performers, going from shelter to shelter...."
Powers kept up with this for some time. The answer was always
the same: more money, more funding, more programs. Every answer he
gave had the words "dignity" "justice" and "fairness" sprinkled in.
Finally it was time for bed. Snyder guided him to the showers.
For a moment Powers thought he was being taken to the sewer.
Large toe-sized bugs crawled across the floor. Green fungi grew
everywhere. A lone man stood in one of the stalls with the water
running, but he was wearing clothes, his legs were spread apart, and a
yellow stream was descending to the ground.
"No thanks," said Powers. "I already bathed today."
There was no getting out of sleeping there, however. The camera
crews were on the verge of departing, but if Powers wasn't there when
they returned in the morning, there would be a scandal.
Powers looked down at his cot. He had been assured that the
sheets were his own. Still... he looked over at Niles and Marsten, who
had cots flanking his. One of them would be awake constantly. They
better be.
They all slept in the large main room, where cots were lined up
in rows. Powers took off his jacket and tie and gingerly settled into
his cot. It felt like an ironing board.
"We've been so cheered by your presence today, Congressman," said
Snyder.
"Likewise," said Powers gingerly.
"We'll talk more in the morning," said Snyder. "If there's
anything you need at night-"
"Yes?"
"There's a guard on duty at the front desk, down the hall, two
doors down," said Snyder.
"What a relief," said Powers.
After he departed the media went their own ways, and quickly too.
"Sleep soundly, Congressman," said Frame, not able to resist giving a
dig.
"Yah," said Powers. He turned to Niles and Marsten, after the
others had left. "You guys know what you're to do?"
They nodded.
"If either of you fall asleep, I'll kill you," said Powers
softly. "Then you'll be fired."
"Is everyone all set here?" said the Wizard, getting ready to
head off.
Powers just gave him a dirty look. The Wizard shrank away.
And then the lights went out.
Well, not entirely out. There was a distant light on the far
wall so that the room, while not in total darkness, was merely very
dim.
Powers lay back on his cot. He wondered how he would ever fall
asleep. He gripped his hard metal flashlight like a weapon.
Niles and Marsten were hardly happier; they were wondering who
would protect them. Niles was particularly unnerved to see two glassy
eyes, staring at him, reflecting in the dim light.
"Grrrr," he thought he heard.
"You hear that?" said Niles.
"Shut up," whispered Marsten.
"Mason's not here. You don't have to act like a jerk," said
Niles.
"Grrr," was the sound again.
"It's probably someone snoring," said Marsten.
"With his eyes open?" whispered Niles, staring at those two
points of light.
Powers, however, was oblivious to this, and despite himself fell
quickly to sleep.
But it was an uneasy sleep, and, tossing and turning, he dreamed
about rats, rats climbing up the side of his cot, squeaking,
squeaking....
And then Powers realized he did hear squeaking sounds. He sat up
in bed immediately.
The squeaking sounds stopped.
Powers shifted minutely to look around. He heard the squeaking
again.
"Ah! Ah!" said Powers. They were all around him!
Immediately not one but two sets of flashlights clicked on,
pointed at him. "Congressman?" said Niles.
Powers jerked up. He heard the squeaking sound again-
The squeaking of his cot.
"Oh," said Powers, feeling foolish. But now he had rallied the
other animals in the zoo.
"Stop the noise, man," said one.
"We don't want sounds," said a menacing voice. "The night is not
the time for sounds. You'd better stop!"
Powers got the message. "Ok, false alarm."
He lay back in his rickety cot. It was some time, however,
before he fell asleep again.
This time he dreamt again, only it was a dream of being chased by
the homeless. He was strapped to a chair while Rich Snyder plucked
fleas and dirt from his scalp and transferred it all to Powers' hair.
Snyder picked at a particularly irritating scab, and then, with
nameless crap encrusted under his nails, rubbed his hands in Powers'
scalp. "It's for the good of the commun-ity," he said, saying it
exactly as Sylvia Plant would.
And then as Powers' scalp started itching, a grunting drooling
homeless man wandered onto the scene. "Mine!" he said. "All mine!
Gimme gimme gimme!"
And Powers, tied to the chair, could only say, "I don't got."
"GIMME GIMME GIMME!" said the man, leaning close.
Powers nearly passed out from the smell of the man's breath.
And then the man suddenly reached down and grabbed him, below the
knee, and Powers felt his clammy flesh touch his ankle.
"Ah!" Powers cried, waking up. For there was a cold touch around
his ankle! He was being raped by a homeless man!
He cried out again, springing out of bed.
"Niles! Marsten!" he cried, spinning about. Had they fallen
asleep?
"Wha-what?" said Niles. He was supposed to be on guard duty, but
the suddenness of the event had surprised him.
"Turn on the light! Turn on the light!" screamed Powers.
Niles clicked on his flashlight. His beam cast on Powers' empty
cot, and all the homeless started sitting up, grunting and yelling
profanities.
And something glistened in the light, on Powers' cot. A silvery
metallic object. What was it, a knife? A hypodermic?
He peered closely. It was a flashlight. His flashlight.
"Fuck, man!" "You want to die!" "No noise!!!" "Jail!"
Powers tuned out the screams of everyone around him. It was
going to be a long night.
But even long nights have endings, and this one ended
unremarkably.
"Wake up... wake up...." he heard, and felt someone shaking him.
"Wha? No, No!" he cried. Then he opened his eyes, and
consciousness returned, and he saw himself staring into the bearded
face of the Wizard.
"What? What time is it?"
"Eight A.M. Time to get up. Most people have already had
breakfast," said the Wizard.
"We thought it wiser to let you sleep," said Niles. He lowered
his voice. "We stood watch over you, though. The media people are
here again. Please don't have another outburst, Congressman."
Powers glared at him, but said nothing. Rich Snyder approached
him, followed by the ever present cameras. "Ah, how did we sleep?"
"Delightful," said Powers, his morning voice cracking a bit.
"I've really enjoyed this opportunity to get closer to the homeless.
You know, by living your life, even for a night, I feel I have a
greater understanding of your issues and needs."
"Excellent," said Snyder, starting to scratch again. "We still
have some breakfast, if you like."
"Thank you, but there's no time to lose, I have to go out and
fight for your rights," said Powers. "It's a difficult life."
"I understand," said Snyder. He extended his hand, the one that
had been scratching his head most recently. "Farewell."
Powers looked at the assembled cameras. Then at the hand.
Memories of his dream returned to him. The Wizard looked at him
anxiously. Shake it, he mouthed.
But Powers only turned to the cameras, and said, "Could I have a
moment, alone, please, with Mr. Snyder. This is a very moving moment,
and I have something I'd like to say to him, in private. One moment,
please?"
The cameras reluctantly turned away, panning on the rest of the
shelter.
"Yes?" said Snyder expectantly, hand still outstretched.
Powers picked up his jacket, dusted himself off. "Something I've
been meaning to say."
"Yes?"
Powers checked that the cameras were pointed away. "G'bye," he
said, quickly walking off.
"SO WHERE'S MY BOOST? WHERE'S MY BOOST IN THE POLLS?" Powers
screamed.
The press coverage from his one night stand had been very
positive. Footage of him had been aired (free!) on television,
showing him talking to the homeless, listening to their concerns, and
eating with them... well, talking to them while they ate. But that
distinction was not readily apparent. And most commentators remarked
how compassionate Powers had been to make this gesture to focus
attention on the homeless.
The best soup, however, always had one fly.
DECEPTION UNBECOMING
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
I fear for my youngest child, my son Abbie. He's
only six years old, and that's a crucial age for a youngster. Child
psychologists are unanimous in agreeing that a child's formative years
are between the ages of five and fifteen.
I do everything I can to protect my children. I make
sure they eat the right foods--oat brans, legumes, other wholesome
fruits and vegetables, and, on occasions, cherry yogurt pops. I also
exhibit the same level of care in protecting their young minds.
Which is why I'm very disturbed by the candidacy of
Michael Powers. Governor Marchese has been the Republican presence in
Albany for the past eight years. But despite his Republican
shortcomings he's also been a leader in focusing attention on prenatal
care, family planning, and domestic violence shelters.
His would-be successor on the Republican side,
William Stratford, is a Republican of an altogether different kind: he
is just another rich millionaire who wants the office as another trophy
on his wall.
And the probable Democratic nominee is an animal of a
different sort: Michael Powers, the political chameleon. He pays lip
service to championing the rights of the poor and minorities, when in
reality his political outlook is little different from Stratford's.
Take his stand on homelessness. He's done little in
his five terms in congress to deal with this major issue. Then,
suddenly, several months before the election, he decides to hold a
sleepover at a homeless shelter. Powers garners immediate media
attention for himself, and gets himself anointed the king of
compassion--for one news cycle, at least.
But do not be fooled. One night in the shelter means
nothing. If this man becomes governor, my son, Abbie, and my daughter,
Winnie, will grow up in a cynical public environment, where favors are
bought by the rich and powerful while the silent poor suffer.
Don't let this happen to the children. The children
are the voice of the next generation. Band together behind Attorney
General Sampleton, for improved nutrition programs, improved schools,
family planning clinics, and prenatal day care. That's our only
choice.
"Ha!" said the Wizard. "Look, look at her last paragraph!
There's no such thing as prenatal day care!"
"A typo," said Toles. "I think she means prenatal care and day
care."
"All of which obscures the real issue," said Powers. "What's
happened to my slide in the polls?"
The Wizard cleared his throat. "The polls are 45% for you, 40%
for Sampleton, and the rest undecided."
"That's... that's unchanged from before! It's all been for
nothing! I spent one night in a shit hole, and it was all for
nothing!"
"Easy," said Ross. "It wasn't for nothing. You were sliding in
the polls. Now we've got you stabilized. Now we can fight back."
"Fight back," said Powers. "Fight back, yes. What is Mason up
to?"
Mason and his aides were examining all of Sampleton's financial
records. One pile contained those they had obtained through the public
disclosure system. A second pile consisted of those they hadn't.
Mason spent most of his time studying the latter pile. By now
Niles and Marsten had learned not to ask where he obtained his
information from. Mason, though, was distinctly unhappy as he studied
the documents. How could any major politician be this clean? He was
going through his pile for a third time, just to make certain that he
wasn't missing anything, when Marsten spoke up.
"This is curious," said Marsten.
"What?" said Mason.
"In 1975 he was living in a fancy apartment on the Upper East
Side," said Marsten.
"So?"
"In 1975 he was just back from the Peace Corps. He was working
for Telecommunications for the Poor."
"What for the poor?" said Mason.
"Telecom--it's a group that lobbies for public and private
donations to get electrical equipment for poor people. You know,
modems, satellite dishes, descramblers." Marsten looked at one of the
documents. "His organization's literature stated that the
communications highway of the future should have exit ramps for the
poor."
"So what's your point?" said Mason, in that chilling voice.
Niles watched closely. Perhaps Marsten, for once, was about to
take some abuse from Mason!
"Well, he had just graduated from law school, and returned from
two tours in the peace corps," said Marsten. "And then he went to work
for this Telecom group. It says here that his salary was $30,000 a
year, before taxes. Then how did he afford to live in a $14,000 a year
apartment? It's possible, I grant you, but unlikely that he would be
living in such a place on such a meager salary. I mean, he also has to
pay for food, and other necessities, and pay taxes-"
Mason, still frowning, looked over the figures. "You're right.
It's suspicious, at the very least. Perhaps our mister clean has a few
skeletons after all."
The newspapers got hold of the story the very next day.
According to anonymous sources, Sampleton had somewhat mysteriously
seemed to live very well during his days in public service. Where had
the money come from to support him?
The answers were forthcoming, the same day. Sampleton held a
news conference, and he gave the issue a thorough airing.
"I'm very disturbed by these distracting charges against me that
are based on events that occurred more than two decades ago. The
answer to the question of how I supported myself in those times was
very simple: my family gave me grants. Now, if I had gone into
corporate law, I would not have needed such grants. But as it so
happened I had a desire to strongly dedicate myself to public service.
The remunerative aspects of public service in the US are disgracefully
low. But this did not deter me, or my parents. They respected and
supported my decision to work for the poor. I stand by what I did then
because it was the right thing to do, and if salaries in the field of
public service were a little more competitive I am hopeful that more
young people would enter the field."
Sampleton took a breath. "In order to distinguish lingering
questions, I will release not just the remainder of my financial
records but those of my parents as well, which will document these
grants fully. And now, since you're all here, I'd like to talk about
an environmental issue that's often neglected, drylands policy-"
That did it. Sampleton's disclosure of his parent's finances
served to well document the money transfers. Although to some this
disclosure may have made Sampleton seem like just one more rich
playboy, his spin on the controversy had turned out to be a good one,
gathering more rather than less sympathy for his campaign.
"And what have we accomplished?" Powers wanted to know, two days
later. He was at home, talking on the phone to the Wizard.
"A torpedo hit, across the bow. A delay, a distraction," said
the Wizard. But he wasn't happy either.
"I'm supposed to debate this man in two weeks, and so far we have
nothing on him."
"If you're looking for a Mandelbaum style debate where he's
working with you, forget it," said the Wizard. "That was a one time
thing only."
"I want results," said Powers. "Keep me informed," he said,
hanging up as he saw Bobby and Erin coming into the living room.
"Something wrong, dear?"
"It's that idiot Sampleton," said Powers.
"I'm sure you'll do fine," said Erin, with a smile.
"Daddy!" said Bobby, caring little about the course of the
campaign. He jumped up and down for attention. "Guess what happened?"
"What?" said Powers.
"I got to pitch some for the team!"
"You did?" said Powers, giving a weak smile.
"That man you got to coach me, that guy from the Yankees-"
"You got a Yankees pitcher to coach Bobby?" said Erin, her
eyebrows raised in disbelief.
Powers shrugged. "One of the coaches owed me a small favor."
"Anyway, I'm pitching now, half the time."
"Half the time?" said Powers, disturbed.
"Yeah, the coach says he wants us both me and Burt Mills to pitch
for a while, until he sees who's really better," said Bobby. "I hope
he picks me, though!"
Powers looked at the lad. It was obviously very important to
him. He stroked his son's head. "He will, Bobby... he will...."
"Where are we going?" said Marsten, as he and Niles sat in the
back of Mason's car.
"The Grand Imperial," said Mason.
"What's that?" said Niles.
Mason just looked back at him with a scornful look on his face.
"That's the biggest hotel in Washington, idgit," said Marsten.
"What're we doing there?" said Niles.
Mason, with uncharacteristic aplomb, answered forthrightly.
"We're going to get ourselves a hooker."
They parked the car just around the corner of the hotel in a lot
and walked the rest of the way there on foot. As they reached the
hotel Niles started to go up its steps but suddenly noticed that Mason
and Marsten were not following. They were walking to the corner, just
past the hotel.
"What gives?" said Niles.
"Shut up," said Mason. They came to the corner and saw several
young women in mini-skirts and short furs.
"I'm looking for someone," said Mason, displaying a wad of bills.
"I can help you, fella," said one of them, with tall black boots.
"I'm looking for Belinda," said Mason, stone faced.
"Belinda not here." The woman made a face. "She's too classy to
hang around with us."
"I can see that," said Mason. He looked bored. "A twenty to the
first one who can tell me where Belinda is."
"Twelvth floor, room 1208," said the woman promptly.
"Good," said Mason, peeling off a bill. "I'd hate to go there
and find it's the wrong place, though."
"You find her there," said the prostitute reassuringly.
They left without comment, and entered the hotel, squinting a
little under the bright lights at the entrance. They walked out from
under the red carpet and decorated guardsmen at the entrance into the
cool marble interiors with fancy glass partitions along the walls.
Leafy green trees stood by trickling fountains that decorated the main
lobby.
In the elevator Marsten said, "We're looking for a fancy hooker,
is that it?"
Mason nodded.
Niles wondered what he was doing here. He was a legislative
assistant! No where in his job description did it say that part of his
official duties were picking up hookers for the boss. Why did Powers
have to get them involved?
They knocked on the door.
Niles was surprised to see a normal looking young woman answer
the door. She was dressed in a conservative dressing gown and didn't
look like a hooker; at least, she didn't wear the characteristic gaudy
clothing worn by her ilk on the street.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" she said, with just a trace of
an accent. British, maybe?
"I'd like to talk," said Mason. "If you're Belinda."
"Yes," she said. "Just talk?"
"Just talk," said Mason.
"A pity," she said, looking them over. "Ten minutes, forty
dollars."
"Done," said Mason.
She made sure he handed over the money first before they entered.
She didn't seem at all intimidated by the fact that she was alone in
the room with three men.
"Now what can I do for you gentlemen?" she said, with just the
hint of a smile.
"Nothing, for us," said Mason. "But we'd like you to help out a
friend of ours. I have a friend, one named Alton-"
He went over the details. Niles was surprised; they weren't
getting a hooker for Powers. They were getting a hooker for Sampleton!
They haggled over the price. Belinda, of course, knew what she
was getting into. She wanted $1,000, up front, and $2,000 extra for
afterwards. The $1,000 up front was for the seduction.
"Do you think you'll have any difficulty persuading our friend to
cooperate?" said Mason.
"I've never failed yet," said Belinda. "You just leave that to
me."
"Very good," said Mason, getting up.
"Just a minute," said Belinda. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't," said Mason. "Just be there at the appointed time."
He handed her $1,000 in cash while a speechless Niles looked on.
This really stunned him. They were hiring an expensive hooker to
seduce a political opponent, all for the purposes of blackmail. Niles
felt a little sick.
The event was to take place the following week, just two days
before the Powers-Sampleton debate. If Sampleton could be turned by
then he would be fodder in the debate.
The actual event where Belinda was to contact Sampleton was at a
fundraiser that Sampleton was holding at Tavern on the Green. It was a
festive event; with Sampleton's recent surge in the polls, he had
become competitive with Powers, and he now had a shot at being
nominated in the primary. All his biggest supporters were there
including Emilie Glidden, his campaign manager, who watched over
developments approvingly.
Sampleton milled about, shaking hands with supporters, meeting
with people... and then one woman, studying him flirtatiously, caught
his eye. He slowly worked his way over to her. "Hi, how are you?" he
said, shaking her hand, already prepared to go on to the next guest.
But Belinda held his hand for a moment, stroking it. "It's so
good to meet you," she said, in a deep voice.
Sampleton stood still, as if hit by a lightning bolt. "I don't
think I know you," he said.
Sampleton's voice was instantly transmitted into a van that was
parked on Central Park West. Mason, sitting in the back of the van
with earphones, listened closely.
"My name is Belinda, Belinda Gray. I work with Soup Kitchens
Anonymous."
"Really? I'm not familiar with that group," said Sampleton,
showing some interest. "Tell me about them."
And she did, drawing heavily from the prepared script that Mason
had given her. They had certainly bought good talent; Belinda told her
story well.
The two were still talking a half hour later. An aide tugged
Sampleton's shoulder. "Sir, the other guests want to see more of you,"
he said, walking off.
"Oh," said Sampleton, as if that broke him out of a spell. "I've
been a terrible host. I've got to mix more with the others-"
"Wait, don't go," said Belinda. She put a hand on his arm.
Sampleton looked at her hand.
"I've got something I want to show you," said Belinda.
"Yes?" said Sampleton, his voice cracking momentarily.
"I have a great photo album... of the homeless," said Belinda.
This hadn't been in her script; she had thought this up on her own.
"I'd like to see it, sometime," said Sampleton.
"Come over now," said Belinda. "I live just two blocks away."
Powers had arranged to have Sigfried loan him a condo on the West
Side. A very special condo. One which had two way mirrors, and a
dedicated camera crew on the other side of the wall. Sigfried had also
been generous enough to lend the van loaded with the expensive
electronic equipment.
"Now?" said Sampleton, looking about. "I don't know."
"Come on," said Mason, muttering to himself.
Sampleton was clearly reluctant. But Belinda did a class act,
and Sampleton reluctantly agreed. "For just a few minutes," he
promised. "For the homeless."
"For the homeless," she agreed.
They quietly walked out. Sampleton's aides may or may not have
noticed, but it was a good thing that Mrs. Sampleton was not at the
fundraiser that night; she had sprained her ankle while gardening, and
was laid up at home.
Mason picked up a walkie talkie. "Unit One to Unit Two. They're
on their way. Be ready."
"Unit Two, ready."
Mason, unfortunately, could not see what was about to occur in
the apartment. All he had was the bug that was planted on Belinda's
clothing.
In just a few short minutes they reached the apartment. Belinda
entered, closing the door behind Sampleton. "Make yourself
comfortable," she said.
Sampleton looked around the fancy living room. It had elaborate
decorations and bookcases, as well as a giant mirror along one wall.
But for all its elaborateness there was only one place to sit, on the
sofa.
He sat. Belinda joined him shortly, sitting down close to him.
Very close.
"Um," Sampleton stammered. "Where's that homelessness photo
album you were mentioning?"
Belinda traced a finger along his leg. "Oh, I'll get that, in a
minute." She leaned over to kiss him on the neck.
"What are you doing?" said Sampleton, leaning away from her.
"Nothing," said Belinda. "I just want... to touch you."
"No," said Sampleton. "I can't do that. I'm married."
"But I'm one of your biggest supporters," said Belinda. She
reached out to touch his chest. But as she began to stroke him, he
jumped up.
"I've got to get back," said Sampleton, looking nervous.
"What?" said Belinda.
"I thought you were going to show me homelessness. But you just
want to have sex," said Sampleton. "Have a good day," he said, bolting
for the door.
Mason slammed the headphones down in the van, and rubbed his face
in his hands.
"He's trapped in the room with a beautiful woman, and he wants to
talk about homelessness, and not sex?" said Powers, disbelievingly as
he heard the tapes. "This is it? This is what we have to show for all
our efforts?"
"The man is not normal, sir," said Mason stiffly.
"Tell me about it," said Powers. "How can anyone be a Mr.
Perfect man, without skeletons, and totally immune to temptation?"
"I tried to warn you that we were dealing with a very different
opponent than Mandelbaum," said the Wizard. "These tactics simply
won't work on Mush Head."
"Thank you, professor genius," Powers snarled. "But what will
work? I have a debate tomorrow!"
"We'll have to beat him in a fair debate," the Wizard concluded
reluctantly.
Chapter 7
Powers found the debate to be very unusual. He had very little
material to use to attack Sampleton with. And Sampleton, by either
temperament or design, found little reason to attack Powers. And as
their positions on the issues--Sampleton's by conviction, Powers by
expediency--were very similar, it was actually quite a civil debate.
Quite dull, by Mandelbaum standards.
The following question was put to Powers: "Congressman, what
would you do to alleviate poverty in New York State?"
Powers gave his laundry list answer, reciting, almost like a
robot, all the funding programs that he was in favor of. And then the
same question was posed to Sampleton.
"Congressman Powers has named a lot of worthy programs," he said,
giving a gentle smile. "But we've got to do more. We've got to push
the edge of the envelope. We've got to get skim milk to nursing
mothers. We've got to get not just more primary and secondary
educations to our young people but more masters and Ph.D programs for
children of the poor and needy. We need fax machines and computers and
word processing manuals for the poor so that they can enter this
electronic age equipped with the tools they need. We need a shoe
subsidy program so that no one will have to walk around with bare feet
or two left foot shoes." But then he started to go off on a tangent.
"But poverty is not just an economic situation, it's also a social one.
We need social activities and dating subsidies for young people who are
untutored in social skills. We need to desegregate the dating process,
so that children of well-to-do families can mix and learn from children
of the not-so-fortunate. Perhaps it would take the form of a voluntary
pro-bono effort, where children would donate one evening a month to
dating someone from outside their socioeconomic status, or perhaps a
noncoercive dating quota-"
He was cut off by the announcer, who announced that his time was
up.
"In short, we need to do much more," said Sampleton.
Powers was speechless. Desegregating dating? Dating quotas?
Was Sampleton brilliant, in pandering to the youth of the underclass,
or was he crazy?
Or both?
Unsure how to respond, Powers let the issue slide, for now. He
only made an attack when he felt he was on surer ground. One of those
times occurred when Sampleton was talking about his drug policy.
"-we're so caught up with punishment that we've given no thought
to prevention," said Sampleton. "Also, legalization can play a role in
reducing the number of drug related arrests. But overall we need more
counseling, more methadone, more drug treatment, and more prenatal
care... for addicts who are nursing."
Powers jumped in. "Those are nice sentiments, but instead of
just compiling a wish list and doing nothing, we as civic leaders
should be doing more. That's how I felt, at least. That's why instead
of just spouting rhetoric I opened a dialog with leading detergent
companies. I persuaded them to donate two tons of bleach to be
employed to clean needles used by homeless people who are chemically
inclined." Chemically inclined was the new term for drug addicts. "As
a result, incidents of AIDS and hepatitis in the commun-ity have
dropped by 7% ever since the program began," said Powers.
"Oh," said Sampleton. "That's a good idea," he said, smiling
gently.
What kind of debate was this? Powers could only be glad when it
was over. This wasn't a debate, this was a lovefest.
And the polls did little to cheer either side: they were largely
unchanged. Powers was even down one point, although the Wizard assured
him that this was well within statistical error.
"Black voters," said the Wizard.
"What?" said Powers.
"Black voters," said the Wizard. "We need to think more about
getting black votes."
"What should we do?" said Powers.
"I'll tell you," said the Wizard. "We need to make a campaign
appearance."
"Oh," said Powers. "Where should we go?"
"By no coincidence, that's our next topic of discussion," said
the Wizard. "We've been invited to speak at a protestant church in
Harlem. We have an invitation from the Reverend James Washington."
"Jim!" said Powers, smiling in delight. They had been good
friends for years, ever since Powers' first campaign. Washington had
seen an opportunity to attach himself to a rising star, and so had
pledged his congregation's support to Powers, constantly exhorting his
parishioners to vote for the Congressman's reelection. In return,
Powers saw to it that a portion of federal social spending in the
district was channeled through Washington's office. Washington was
actually a reasonably honest fellow, and the money received was piped
through to youth and jobs programs that seemed to do some good. Of
course Powers didn't know, or care, precisely where the money went; the
important thing was getting Washington's support.
But now Washington, not surprisingly, was supporting him in his
race for the top seat in Albany. Powers eagerly looked forward to
coming to the church. He appeared there regularly, once every two
years, just before the election, and always was well received by the
congregation.
Powers sat quietly through the services. Washington was a great
speaker, but Powers' mind was on his own plans, his own machinations.
He was also thinking about Kerry Joy, the new L.A. in the office.
Powers thought she was really cute. What was she, 24, 25 years old,
maybe? Couldn't be older. And what a body!
When Washington called Powers to the front, Powers, lost in
thought, was almost surprised to hear his name called.
"And now my friends, I'd like to introduce a great man, a great
man in the community, one who's done so much for the young people in
the area. This man is running for governor now, governor of our fair
state!"
A few cheers went up in the crowd.
"I speak of none other than Michael Powers. Come on up, Mike!"
Powers shook off his reverie and stepped up the platform, waving
to the audience as the organist played a hearty tune. The crowd,
clapping politely, was largely enthusiastic. Jose Torres had sent
camera crews to cover the event for a future campaign commercial, and
they stood to the side, filming the event.
"Thank you, thank you," said Powers. He started to read, almost
mechanically, the speech that the Wizard had prepared. It was a
version of his standard "Chicken in Every Pot Speech" that he usually
gave; this was his variant for minorities.
"The politicians in Washington tell you what you want," Powers
said. "But what do you really want? Jobs, and justice!"
"Yes!" said not a few in the audience.
"You want a chance to get ahead, to do something to rebuild the
community!" said Powers.
"Yes we do!" said another person in the audience.
"You want more education in the schools, a larger safety net,
more prenatal care, more school lunches, more opportunities in the
workplace, more job training, more good jobs-"
"What about jobs in your office?" someone yelled.
Powers was startled to be interrupted by the generally friendly
audience, but even so he attempted to continue.
"and we also-"
"What about the jobs in your office?" said the heckler. He moved
forward in the audience, accompanied by a few of his friends. He was a
tall black man, totally bald and bearing a determined look on his face.
"What?" said Powers.
"How come you don't have any black folk working for you?" said
the man. "Not in your district office, not in Washington. How come?"
Powers sweated a little. He funneled tens of thousands of
dollars a year to this church. Who really cared who worked in his
district office?
"We have quite a diversified office staff," said Powers. "Now,
if we can move on-"
"No, we can't," said the man. "You're a racist, man. You make
nice noises, but you're just another lying politician!"
"Watch your mouth, brother!" Washington snapped, stepping
forward. "We don't have any better friend in Washington than Michael
Powers."
"Yeah, so you say, you jive liar," said the man. His supporters
backed him up.
Now the congregation started to divide, with members yelling to
and fro on each side. Washington tried to restore order, but the bald
man had succeeded in stirring up the crowd.
Powers made a throat cutting gesture to the cameras, and hooked a
thumb towards the exit.
The next day the print media was full of it. The media went back
in time and found that not only did Powers not employ any black people,
but in the nine years he had been in Washington he had only employed
one black person, briefly, and that had been seven years ago.
"Hire someone, quick," said Powers.
"Check," said Toles.
"No, hire two people," said Powers. "And see if you can't find
someone from the community around the church."
"Check."
"And do it quickly," Powers added. "I need a quick injection of
liberal credentials."
"Check," said Toles, heading out. The Wizard passed him on the
way in.
"Did you see these?" said Powers, holding up the newspapers.
"It could have been worse," said the Wizard, stroking his beard
thoughtfully.
"It could?"
"Only the print media were there. If journalist cameras had
recorded the event...." The Wizard suppressed a shudder. "The visual
medium is the most powerful."
"But there were cameras there... but they were all ours, weren't
they," said Powers, brightening a bit. "Not that we can use the
footage."
"Ah, but we can. Watch this," said the Wizard, popping a tape
into the VCR.
"Congressman Mike Powers values divers-ity in the commun-ity,"
said the deep announcer's voice, panning to Washington's church.
"That's why he feels it's important to hear what everyone has to say."
The screen showed Powers, stepping up to the crowd, receiving their
applause. Then Powers was shown promising job and education programs
to the crowd, along with their repeated interruptions to praise him.
And then the majestic image of Powers at the podium was frozen on
the screen. "Mike Powers. One governor. For all the people." And
the ad faded.
"This is how we strike back," said the Wizard. "We put this on
the air as soon as possible, to contradict the accounts which claimed
that it was a stormy meeting. We'll say the media is blowing it out of
proportion. We'll also get Washington to do the local talk show
circuit, to say that the troublemakers were outside provocateurs."
"Were they?" said Powers.
"Washington says he's never seen them before," said the Wizard.
"Anything is possible, but I'd bet they were paid hecklers."
Powers slammed a fist into his hand. "That bastard Mush Head!
He acts like such a bleeding heart, such a goody two-shoes, and then
resorts to this."
"It's not an act," said the Wizard. "If you don't understand
that, then you don't understand Sampleton. I am by no means certain,
but I don't think Sampleton was behind this."
"No?" Powers paused, suddenly, and looked thoughtful. The
answer, then, was clear. "Stratford? But-"
"He hasn't even been nominated by the Republicans yet. Yes, I
think he was taking a swipe at you, Mike," said the Wizard. "I can't
prove it, of course. But it certainly matches his M.O. better than it
does Sampleton's."
"Hm," said Powers thoughtfully. "I'll have to repay the favor,
at some point. What are the latest poll results?"
"I haven't taken any," said the Wizard, lying. He had, and the
polls still showed a five point gap--but for the first time, Powers was
on the losing end of it. "Let's give this a few days to settle down,
ok?"
"All right," said Powers, nodding. "We'll deal with Stratford
later. Sampleton comes first. Get me Mason!"
Mason arrived in his office in a short period of time.
"I'm getting pulverized, Mr. Mason," said Powers. "What have you
been able to do for me?"
"Our last effort was not successful," said Mason, carefully
avoiding the word failure.
"As I'm painfully aware. Perhaps your operative was not
skilled," said Powers.
"She was the best, sir," said Mason. "It was... that man.
Normal means will not work on him."
"What then, do you have on Mush Head?"
Mason sighed. "At present, nothing."
"Nothing? Then what ideas for entrapment do you have?"
Mason sighed again. "Nothing promising."
"Nothing promising? I'll be the judge of that. What do you have
that is not promising?"
"Well, Sampleton has a self-imposed contribution limit. Won't
accept contributions over $100."
"Yes, go on."
"I was thinking, what if he could be tempted into taking $400,"
said Mason. "I mean, it wouldn't be illegal, but it would show, even
in a small way, that the man doesn't keep his word-"
"So do it," said Powers.
"The problem is that I don't think it will work. I don't think
he'll go for it."
"The Simpleton's campaign still needs money, does it not?"
"Yes," said Mason. "But I don't think-"
"I don't pay you to think, Mr. Mason. We have to try everything
at our disposal. Do it."
"Yes sir," said Mason. He turned to go.
"And one more thing, Mason. I want you to handle this yourself.
Personally."
"Sir?" Mason couldn't believe his ears. "What if I'm
recognized....?"
"Don't get recognized," said Powers harshly. "This is one task I
don't want you subcontracting out to third parties. I'm fully aware of
the real reason that Sigfried required Niles and Marsten to work with
you. But this task must be done alone, and I want you to do it."
"Yes, Congressman." Mason slumped his shoulders in a resigned
way.
Mason spent several hours in preparation. He felt reasonably
sure that Sampleton had never seen him before. Still, it made no sense
to risk being recognized.
Mason fussed before a mirror. First he died his normally black
hair a ruddy brown. Then he combed it back. The next addition was a
small moustache, one that matched his new color. The final change were
contact lenses. Green. Mason always wanted to have green eyes. Then,
nodding, he was satisfied. Someone who knew him well would certainly
not be fooled.
But Sampleton had never seen him before. To the best of Mason's
knowledge, no one on Sampleton's staff had ever seen him before.
The event was a dinner party, in honor of some poverty cause.
Sampleton was in attendance, mixing and mingling with people. Mason
worked his way forward, in some cases gently but persistantly pushing
his way towards the candidate.
"Mr. Sampleton," said Mason, adopting a higher pitched voice.
"Mr. Sampleton!"
Sampleton turned around, with that now characteristic goofy "I
know what you want, my friend" smile on his lips. "Yes?" he said.
"Wilford Bimly," said Mason, shaking his hands. "I just want to
tell you how much I support you and your candidacy, sir."
"Why thank you," said Sampleton. "What kind of work are you in?"
"I..." Mason was unprepared for this. "Soup kitchens."
"Soup Kitchens?" said Sampleton. He looked Mason up and down.
This man in a tuxedo didn't seem like a soup kitchen worker!
Mason knew this, so he quickly added, "I construct soup kitchens.
Architecturally. Design them, I mean."
"You do?" said Sampleton. "Why, I didn't know they were
designed. I just thought they were abandoned buildings-"
"They aren't," said Mason. "It's a new field. Designing soup
lines that directly serve the needs of the poor while maintaining a
sense of aesthetics."
"I see," said Sampleton. "Tell me some design tips."
"Uh..." said Mason. He thought quickly. "Well, it's important
to make space for the dining tables to be near the rest room... in case
dinner does not go well."
"You know, I've always thought that," said Sampleton, beaming.
Mason noticed Emilie Glidden, Sampleton's campaign manager,
scowling at him from the distance.
Sampleton said, "In fact, I've always wondered-"
"Excuse me, I don't want to take up any more of your time," said
Mason. "I just wanted to thank you, and to make a donation." He
handed over the money order.
"Why thank you!" If Sampleton was curious as to why he was
getting a money order, and not a check, he declined to comment. But
when he read the amount he said, "Oooh, I can't take this. This is
over my spending limit."
"Oh, come on," said Mason. He noticed Glidden edging closer,
eyeing him curiously. "It's for a good cause."
"No, I can't take this, I have a $100 maximum " said Sampleton.
He tried to give it back.
But Mason melted into the crowd, eyeing Glidden eyeing him.
"It's a gift!"
"I'll donate it to charity then," yelled Sampleton after him.
"That's it? That's it?" said Powers.
"That's it," said Mason, stripping off his moustache as he stood
in Powers' district office. It was late in the evening, so everyone
else had gone home. "I told you it wouldn't work."
"You're very good at predicting failure," said Powers. "What
else can you do?"
"The only thing that can be done. To keep looking," said Mason.
Powers gave him a hard stare, and nodded. "All right." He
started to turn away, and had a thought. "Did I really donate $400 to
charity tonight?"
"Yes sir," said Mason.
"A pity," said Powers. "I'll have to talk to the Wizard about
trying to get some credit for it." Then he turned to Mason again.
"Was that other... minor matter taken care of?"
"The personal one?"
"Yes," said Powers.
"Yes sir," said Mason.
"No... complications?"
"None," said Mason. "Although we're not used to dealing with
such... young targets."
"Understood. And you have my thanks," said Powers.
Powers went home, and was immediately greeted by his son, who
bounced up and down to tell him the latest news.
"You're home, dear?" came Erin's voice from the other room.
"Um hum," said Powers. "What's up, squirt?"
"I'm the pitcher!" Bobby screamed.
"What?" said Erin, coming into the room. This was evidently news
to her.
"I'm the pitcher, the only pitcher for the team!" Bobby yelled.
"Really?" said Powers. "Did that coaching pay off?"
Bobby nodded enthusiastically. "That, and Burt Mills broke his
arm."
"What? Is he ok?" said Erin. "How did that happen?"
Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "Fell down or something. He
doesn't come to the games anymore. Anyway, I'm the pitcher!"
"This calls for a celebration!" said Powers, grinning broadly.
What a great way to end an otherwise dismal day.
Erin smiled. It was good to see Powers so happy. "Dear, why
don't we have dinner tomorrow? Just the three of us?"
"Great idea," said Powers. "I have to be in Washington tomorrow,
but I'll be back by seven."
She nodded, writing a note to herself on the calendar. "You
won't forget?"
"I won't forget," said Powers.
At six o'clock the following evening Powers sat in his Washington
office. He knew already that he would be a little late for dinner.
Piles of paper had accumulated that required his attention. Campaign
papers, bills... couldn't Toles handle any of this? Powers sighed, his
thoughts elsewhere. Everyone else had gone home for the day, except
for one of the L.A.'s who was working late.
Kerry Joy came into his office. She was wearing a tight-fitting
dress that accentuated all the right curves. She handed Powers a
report. "Is there anything else I can get you, Congressman?" she said,
giving him a little smile.
Powers, thinking a moment, nodded in the affirmative.
At 8 PM, Erin looked at the clock and frowned.
At 9 PM, Erin called the office, but got no answer.
At 10 PM, she sat on the couch, fuming.
And at 11 PM... she was still on the couch, fuming, when Powers
came home.
"Honey, I'm sorry," were the first words that Powers uttered.
"What happened?" Erin wanted to know.
"We had a late night strategy session... something came up that
had to be attended to," said Powers.
"I called your office but got no answer," said Erin.
"Yeah, we went to the office of one of Ross's consultants," said
Powers. "You know how it is." He took off his jacket, loosened his
tie, and prepared to take a shower.
"I know how it is," said Erin. But she added, "You could have
called." She looked curiously at his clothes, which he had dropped
into a pile before he had stepped into the bathroom. Something was
sticking out from one of his pockets....
"I'm beat," said Powers from the shower.
It was a condom wrapper! An empty condom wrapper!
"I'll bet you are," said Erin, barely containing her fury. For a
moment, she didn't know what to do. She settled for sitting on the
couch. Waiting.
When Powers got out of the shower and entered the living room
Erin said, "Why don't we have lunch tomorrow?"
"Lunch?" said Powers. "But I'll be at the Capitol tomorrow."
"Yes, I'm going to be in Washington as well. Greenleaf
business," said Erin.
"Well, if you can fit me into your busy schedule," Powers smiled.
"Good." She didn't return the smile.
"I think we've got something," said Niles. He sat in his little
cubicle in the Capitol Hill office of the Congressman, pouring over
records.
"What?" said Marsten, doing the same.
"Our friend Sampleton has identified a toxic waste dump that
needs cleaning up... but the case has dragged on, and still hasn't gone
to trial for three years."
"Let me see that." Marsten examined the records for a moment.
Then he nodded, "Let me bring this to the Congressman."
"What? I'll bring it to him."
"He wants to see the July report. I'll bring this, you bring
that," said Marsten. Not waiting for a response, he left the office,
clutching Nile's papers.
Powers was in executive conference with his top advisors,
including the Wizard, Toles, and Torres. The Wizard was blowing some
truly amazing smoke rings, and sending them flying to different corners
of the room. He puffed like mad, pleased that his efforts were
attracting attention in the otherwise serious meeting.
Marsten entered the office, handing Powers the papers.
"What's this?" said Powers.
Marsten filled him in.
"He's dragged his feet? On a toxic waste site? Terrific!" said
Powers. "Marsten, you're perfect!"
And then Niles came in, bearing the July report that Powers had
requested. Powers took it, and said, "Wait... this is wrong." He
looked at the folder. "This is the July report. I want the August
report, numbskull! Can't you do anything right?" He slammed the
folder to the ground. "Damn it, Niles, get your act together. Ship up
or shape out! And get me that report!"
Niles picked up the folder from the floor. He noticed the eyes
of not less than a half dozen persons on him. Gulping, he fled the
room.
Powers shook his head. "I'm starting to regret hiring the
fellow. Now, where were we?"
At that moment Erin entered the outer office.
"Can I help you?" said Kerry Joy. She was substituting for the
receptionist, who was out sick that day.
Erin studied the pretty young woman. "You're new here, aren't
you? I don't recognize you."
"I'm Kerry Joy, the new legislative assistant," said Kerry. "I'm
just standing in for the receptionist today. And you are...."
Powers, with the door open and a direct line of view could see
his wife in the reception area. His mind half on her, he continued his
conversation with his advisors.
"I'm Mrs. Powers," said Erin.
"Oh," said Joy, a little bit of the blood draining from her face.
"I'm supposed to have lunch with my husband," said Erin.
"Actually, I was supposed to have dinner with him last night, but he
was here, working late."
"Yes, he was here late, working on the campaign," said Joy,
gulping.
"So he told me," said Erin, her gaze hardening. Powers had said
that he had left to go to a meeting of one of his advisors. "Were you
around to help?"
"Uh...." said Joy, realizing that she was slipping up, but not
quite sure why.
Powers caught all of this from his inner office. He excused
himself and exited from the meeting, and quickly took in the situation
in the reception area. "Here for lunch, dear?"
"Yes, Michael," said Erin. "But are you ready?"
"Anytime you are," said Powers evenly.
The media swallowed up the news. Sampleton, the great champion
of the environment, had dawdled for three years in bringing the
perpetrator of a toxic waste site to court.
"And he's been long on lofty rhetoric," said Powers, this time
leading the attack himself. "But what about action? What about the
people who have to live with the toxic waste for three years? When
will this case come to trial, if ever?"
Sampleton replied the only way he could, with a narrow legalistic
explanation. He tried to give a coherent answer based upon the demands
of discovery proceedings and the fact that legal and scientific
wrangling over the results of complex chemical testings at the dumps
had consumed three vigorous years of court time but it was true, in a
narrow sense, that the case had not yet proceeded beyond discovery
findings.
However, most laypeople had no idea what he was talking about,
and his answer sounded either confusing or evasive, depending on who
one talked to. And so, for once, Powers scored a minor victory of
sorts against Sampleton. Even Michele Franswa could only offer lame
excuses in his defense.
"It's not his fault, of course," said the Wizard. "He cannot
control the pace of discovery proceedings."
"Who cares?" Powers said, and that was that.
Erin returned to Capitol Hill later that week. She told Powers
that she was just dropping in to say hello. Powers nodded, taking that
at face value.
"But dear, where is that nice woman?"
"Who?"
"That young lady who you just recently hired. I did want to say
hello to her again," said Erin.
"Oh, she... she decided to leave. To make a new career move."
"Really? Where is she working now?"
"She's... I believe she's working out of the district office of
Congressman Jim Burns. He's the Congressman from Idaho," said Powers.
Erin nodded, "A shame."
"I feel the same way," said Powers truthfully.
The next day they held a senior staff meeting. The new deputy
chiefs of staff weren't there; duties had been found for them, but in
the district office. The only ones present were Powers, Toles, and the
Wizard. And the topic of conversation was William Stratford.
"I'm still convinced he was behind that attack at the church,"
said Powers.
"Whether he was or wasn't, what do you intend to do about him?"
said the Wizard.
"From what I've been reading, he's the favorite to win his
Republican primary. His opponent is... what's his name?"
"Dallen. William Dallen."
"Another Bill," said Powers. "He's a real right wing
congressman. I'd love to run against him. He has a record I could do
a million things with."
"But Stratford looks to be the nominee for the Republicans."
"Does he? Perhaps we can give Bill Dallen, the Pino, a little
help." Powers had taken to calling him the Pino after Augusto
Pinochet, the notorious former right-wing dictator of Chile.
"What do you mean?" said Toles.
"Research has come up with the interesting fact that Stratford
got a $5,000 donation from a foreign sheik, a sheik who also is reputed
to fund terrorist groups. I wonder how that would play with New York's
Jewish voters," said Powers.
"There's only one way to find out," said Toles, liking the idea
immediately.
"I just have to warn you again about crossing Stratford," said
the Wizard. "He had many resources that he can throw against us."
"Which he will certainly do when the general election comes
around," said Powers. "You almost sound like you're afraid of him,
Ross."
"Afraid? No. Contemplative, yes."
"Contemplate all you like, but get this information leaked to the
press, and I mean today, please?"
The news took the media by storm. The New York Post said in bold
letters "STRATFORD TAKES 5K FROM TERROR MAN", the New York Daily News
read "SECRET SHEIK GETS CAMEL'S NOSE IN STRATFORD TENT", New York
Newsday had a cut out and juxtaposed picture of a leering bearded sheik
handing money to an eager Stratford, and the New York Times... well,
the New York Times had a small box story on page B4.
Stratford responded that he didn't know the sheik, had never met
the sheik, didn't even know who had accepted a donation from the sheik
or who had been responsible for taking it, and that the donation would
be promptly returned. Stratford gave a tight grin for the cameras.
"With a campaign the size of this one, it's inevitable that small
clerical errors are going to be made from time to time."
And Powers immediately went on the attack, even though Stratford
was not even the nominee of his party yet. "You see? He can't even
manage his own campaign. How can he possibly think of managing New
York State?"
Powers' reaction in private was even more elated. "This is
great!" he grinned.
"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction," said the
Wizard tensely.
The reaction came three days later. It suddenly surfaced in the
press that Powers had not reported an aggregate total of $400 in
donations that he had received from three different sources. A
campaign spokesman announced that this was a clerical error, that the
reporting would be done and a small fine would be paid, but the damage
was done.
"I trust you see my point," said the Wizard. "This counterattack
was not on the scale of the Sheik accusation, but this was just the
initial reaction."
"I'm not afraid of Stratford," said Powers. "And if you are,
I've got the wrong man on the job."
The Wizard, puffing his pipe, was taciturn.
Later that day Powers got into an elevator on Capitol Hill.
"Hold, please," said a man.
Powers pressed the CLOSE DOOR button. He had no time for this.
But the man darted in, just as the elevator doors were closing.
"Thanks," said the man. But the curious thing was, he didn't press a
floor. Perhaps he was getting off at Power's floor.
Powers ignored the man, not even looking at him. But then there
was a jolt, the lights flickered, and the elevator stopped.
"What's happening?" said Powers. The elevators were usually
pretty reliable. He looked around for the button to ring the alarm
bell.
"I don't think that will work, Mike," said the other man in the
elevator.
Powers suddenly got a chill down his spine. Turning around
slowly he looked at the man. And recognized him.
"How're you doing, Mike?" said William Stratford.
"Fancy meeting you here," said Powers, suddenly feeling
vulnerable. And, for one of the few times in his life, a little
scared.
"I'm here on business. It's just good fortune that we happened
to run across each other in the same elevator, isn't it?" said
Stratford.
"Good fortune?" said Powers.
"Depends on your perspective," said Stratford. He slowly reached
into his jacket. Powers tensed up. And then, quite suddenly,
Stratford whipped out a dark, long object.
Powers jumped back, even before he could see what it was.
But it was only a cigar. "Smoke?" said Stratford.
Powers shook his head numbly.
"Then I will," said Stratford, lighting up. He puffed a bit.
"Ah, that's good. So how's the campaign going, Mike?"
With the elevator stuck, Powers felt trapped, cornered by his
opponent.
"My campaign is going fine," said Powers.
"That's what I hear," said Stratford. "So fine in fact that
you've started concentrating on the general election. Don't deny it, I
know you were behind that last salvo concerning the sheik. Didn't
matter. I'm still going to win my primary. By a wide margin."
Powers said nothing.
"But I just wanted to let you know, personal like, that I
appreciate the effort. Your efforts don't go unnoticed. And when my
attention turns fully to you, as it will, in just a few weeks, I'll
remember." He puffed some smoke in Powers' direction.
"Are you threatening me?"
Stratford laughed. "Don't be an idiot, Mike. If I wanted you
gone, you'd be gone. Just like... just like this." He snapped his
fingers. Suddenly, the elevator was moving again. In a few seconds it
stopped, two floors above the floor that Powers had indicated.
"Don't forget that," said Stratford, stepping out of the
elevator.
"I want him stopped! I WANT HIM STOPPED HARD!" Powers was
yelling again.
"Calm down, Michael," said the Wizard.
"Don't tell me to calm down," said Powers. "The guy almost
snuffed me out!"
"He did nothing of the sort," said the Wizard. "He just got your
attention, that's all. He's trying to rattle you, Michael. Is he
succeeding?"
"You bet he's succeeding!" said Powers.
"All because he can stop an elevator," said the Wizard, shaking
his head.
"You had to be there. You weren't there."
"That's right," said the Wizard. "I'm here. And I warned you
about him."
"Yes, you did," said Powers. "You did."
There were two weeks to go until the September 7th primary. The
race was close on the Democratic side. Very close. All the
progressive Democrats had united around Sampleton. Polls showed Powers
leading by an uncomfortably small margin of 48% to 45%. And that was
well within the margin of error.
And so endorsements could be pivotal. New York Newsday was not
endorsing anyone but that left the Daily News, the Post, and the New
York Times. Endorsements probably didn't account for much, perhaps a
percentage or two at most--but that could be the deciding margin.
"And keep in mind that after the primary you're going to lead a
fractured Democratic party into the general election," said the Wizard.
"We can only worry about one thing at a time," said Powers.
"Please note also that Stratford is leading comfortably in his
primary by 60%-40%," said the Wizard.
"Duly noted," said Powers. He was busy checking his last minute
notes. He was about to meet with the editorial board of the New York
Times.
Powers did not expect to get the endorsement of the New York
Times. For one thing, Michele Franswa positively hated him, and while
she officially wasn't part of the editorial board, being an op-ed
columnist, the Times in general was cool to his candidacy, to say the
least.
However, as the Wizard noted, there was nothing to lose by
trying. It was always possible that Sampleton would somehow alienate
the Times and lose his probable endorsement.
And so Powers went into the den of the lions. He entered the
Times Building in midtown, just off Times Square, and was led to a long
boardroom, where the editors awaited him.
The room was filled; this was the big event of the year for the
Times editorial staff. But the big players were only three in number:
the Editor-in-Chief, David Altman, the Senior Editor, Simon Mudd, and
Roger Nussbaum, the Editorials Editor. They shook hands and cordially
introduced themselves.
And then the interview began. Powers was immediately asked
probing questions. What was his youth policy? He wanted to expand
youth programs? Which ones? Where would the money come from?
Powers was at his best when describing his programs. That was
the easy part. But when asked where the money to pay for them would
come from, he would only say, "By cutting waste in government."
"Oh come now," said Nussbaum. "Come on, you're going to raise
taxes. 'Fess up."
"No," said Powers carefully. "I have not promised not to raise
taxes, however, I currently believe that there is no need to generate
revenues at this time."
"Then you're going to cut government programs," said Altman.
"No," said Powers. "Savings will be generated by cutting waste."
"What waste?" said Nussbuam.
This was not a question that Powers had anticipated. He had
never thought that someone would challenge the accusation that
government was wasteful. So Powers stuck to the script. "Wasteful
practices need to be reduced. State government is not run
efficiently."
"All very nice," said Nussbaum. "But could you answer the
question?"
"I just did," said Powers.
They exchanged looks. Then Mudd said, "Don't you think that
announcing a policy on Israel and Chad is demagogic, considering that
the governor of New York has no impact on either?"
"On the contrary, the governor can be a statesman to nudge
federal policy in the right direction," said Powers. "Haven't you ever
heard of the governor of New York lobbying the federal government?"
There was a murmur. That was a good answer.
But then Mudd said, "Quite frankly Mr. Powers, we're skeptical.
Your record up to date has not exactly been a model for a reform
politician."
Powers was prepared for this one. "If you're saying that you're
troubled, troubled that I work within the system to achieve change
rather than just criticizing it from the outside without attempting to
make any change, then I stand guilty as accused."
The interview ended shortly thereafter. Nussbaum shook his hand.
"You got a lot of guts, Congressman. I admire your style, if not your
form."
"Perhaps we can yet unite forces," said Powers, already looking
to the general election. They wouldn't endorse a Republican over him.
Would they?
They offered to show him the way out but Powers declined. He had
a specific errand to run. Curiousity had killed a goodly number of
cats and the errand he was embarking on could have negative
consequences for him, but Powers couldn't resist the temptation.
He purposely checked a directory, and made his way down to a
spacious corner office two floors below. The sign on the door said
"Michele Franswa."
What would a visit to the New York Times be without stopping by
to say hello to an old friend?
But Michele was not in residence, although her word processor was
on, and in midsentence. Evidently she had not gone far.
Powers walked in, and the first thing he noticed were the long
shelves of books. He spoke their titles aloud. "Women and Gender.
Bella Abzug: Profiles in Courage. The A's to Z's of Child Rearing. A
Woman's Perspective. Womyn are not Men. Little Women. The Return of
the Little Women. Hm, I didn't know they made a sequel." Powers was
tempted to flip through the book, but time was pressing. He turned
instead to the word processor, where he saw an article, in the state of
being typed:
SAMPLETON FOR GOVERNOR
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
The New York Times Editorial Board has endorsed
Attorney General Sampleton for governor, as most responsible liberals
have. And yet Michael Powers still has a small lead in the polls, a
testament to the power of the various monied interests that back him.
It's important to make the right decision now. If
this election contest turns into Powers v. Stratford, it might as well
be Stratford v. Stratford. Already some of my friends are considering
changing their residency to Vermont, which doesn't have the kind of
acid politics that New York regrettably is becoming known for.
I don't want to move. I enjoy living in New York,
the greatest city in the world. My daughter, Winnie, takes ballet
classes at Lincoln Center and my son, Abbie, enjoys assisting at the
gardening collective in SoHo. I won't say that I will move if Michael
Powers or William Stratford gets elected, but I will say that
And there the text stopped, in mid-sentence. Humming a mournful
tune, Powers sat down at the keyboard and quickly added
I will say that I am a highly repressed and neurotic individual
who simply cannot stand the thought of such a brilliant and charismatic
politician as Michael Powers getting elected to the governorship.
Standing up to go, Powers almost bumped into a woman coming in on his
way out.
She took one look at Powers--and then quickly took a second look
again. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Michael Powers," said Powers, forcing a grin. "Michele, I
presume?"
It was Michele, in the flesh. He hadn't seen her in person since
that news panel she had been on, several months ago. She aimed her
hawklike pointed nose in his direction. "What are you doing here?"
"Just thought I would come by and say hello," said Powers. "I
was in the neighborhood."
"Have you been... invading my private space?" said Franswa.
"Not at all," said Powers, stepping to the door. "I just wanted
to say hello, that's all. The door was open." He coughed
diplomatically. "Although I couldn't help but notice your fine writing
prose."
"Really?" said Franswa.
"Yes," said Powers. "I'm very interested to know that the Times
has just come out for Sampleton, especially since I just finished
meeting with them, not five minutes ago."
"Well... that's just a presumption," said Franswa. "You
shouldn't come in here, invading my private space. I can write about
this, you know!"
Powers smiled. "And I can write about what I saw on your word
processor. But I think I'll have to wait and see what your column
says, first." And he headed out the door, even as she was turning to
frantically reread her article.
"Powers!" he heard her yell, just before he reached the
stairwell.
Franswa didn't mention the incident in her column, and the Times
predictably endorsed Sampleton. It said that while Powers had a
"promising career" his commitment to the disadvantaged "was at times in
question" and that Sampleton was the more "committed" candidate.
"Committed all right," grunted the Powers. "But to a mental
hospital, like M&M."
"If only it were so," said the Wizard. "That would make our job
a lot easier."
The next meeting with editors came with the New York Post. But
the New York Post interview was unusual in that both he and Sampleton
were to meet with them at the same time. A spokesman for the Post said
that the purpose of this joint meeting was to "examine the character of
the interpersonal dynamics". Powers was not overtly concerned; the
Post had been one of the most sympathetic New York newspapers towards
his campaign. He suspected, however, that the Post people wanted to
have a bit of fun with Sampleton.
Powers shook hands with John Corn and Buckley Morgan, senior
editors at the Post, and a number of midlevel staff at the meeting.
And then Sampleton came in.
"Congressman Powers," he said, shaking Powers' hand.
"What's shaking, Alton?" said Powers.
"Call me Al," said Sampleton. "And as for what's shaking, I
would say my campaign has shaken the status quo, to enrich the lives of
the downtrodden and oppressed, to bring hope back to the hopeless...
that is what is shaking."
"I see we're getting right down to business," said Corn.
They immediately started asking each of the candidates separate
questions. But Powers, by the tone and the type of questions being
asked, noticed a subtle difference between his interrogation and
Sampleton's.
Powers was asked questions such as "What's the strongest aspect
of your candidacy?" "What has been your biggest accomplishment in
Congress?" and "What's the first thing you will do in office?", all
softballs, each of which Powers hit out of the ballpark with his
standard responses. The editors seemed to like his answers even as
they came out, chuckling and smiling approvingly.
Sampleton, however, had an altogether different time of it. The
first question he was asked was from Buckley Morgan: "What's your
position on the reintroduction of the VAT?"
Sampleton looked surprised. "The... the what?"
Morgan was not immediately more forthcoming. "The VAT."
"The VAT," said Sampleton, furrowing his eyebrows.
"The value added tax," said one of the junior editors charitably.
"Oh... oh, that," said Sampleton. He still didn't know what a
value added tax was, but he did know about taxes in general. "I think
an income tax structure is the most progressive form of taxation."
Morgan immediately threw out another question. "Your campaign
seems to have become stalled lately. Do you think you're capable of
reinvigorating it in time for the election?"
"Um...." This was one of those "What have you done about the
time you beat your wife" questions. To simply answer it was to
acknowledge the truth of the premise. To his credit Sampleton did not
merely do that.
"Uh, I don't think we've been stumbling. You know, I think, well,
that we've been doing pretty well."
"What about your reputation for eccentricity?" said Corn.
"Eccentricity?"
"Like your idea of giving modems to the poor."
"The poor need to be properly equipped to compete in the next
decade," said Sampleton stubbornly.
"But do you really think that modems are a high priority, like
food and shelter and job training?" said Corn.
"Just because you're giving someone a cake doesn't mean you can't
also give a spoon to eat it with," said Sampleton.
The editors looked puzzled. But then Morgan asked, "We've heard
good things about your campaign, Mr. Sampleton. But what would you say
is your biggest weakness? Or weaknesses, you can list a few," he said
graciously.
Sampleton stumbled a bit over that one, although he eventually
came out with a good answer, that his campaign was underfinanced. But
then the next question nearly made him hit the roof.
"Do you have anything nice to say to Mr. Powers? Is there
anything that you can say you admire about him?"
It was that kind of interview. The editors could barely suppress
their smiles. They had known in advance who they would be endorsing,
of course, just as the people at the Times did. They were just having
a bit of fun in the process.
Powers, of course, did get their endorsement, and, a few days
later, that of the Daily News. New York Newsday elected to stay
neutral on the race.
It was the dog days of August with one week left to go before the
primary, and the race was in a virtual dead heat, with Powers ranging
anywhere from a 54% high in one poll to 44% in another. In the latter
poll Sampleton was at an uncomfortable 47%.
"How can all these polls be right?" Powers thundered.
"Margin of error," said the Wizard. "But I'm comforted by the
fact that three quarters of these polls show you ahead."
"Three quarters? What about the other quarter?"
"You've got to play the odds," said the Wizard coolly.
"No," said Powers. "No, I don't."
For the past week Niles, Marsten and Mason had been holed up in
an unoccupied apartment across the street from Sampleton's. A high
powered set of binoculars on a tripod was aimed directly into their
window. Mason walked across the room to where Marsten was staring in
the binoculars.
"Anything?" Mason inquired.
"No," said Marsten. "He's just sitting around, reading
something."
"We've been at this almost a week, and we've gotten nothing for
it!" said Niles, suddenly exploding. "What are we doing here?"
"Obeying orders," said Mason curtly. "Now shut up and-"
"Just a minute," said Marsten suddenly. "Mrs. S. is going out
the door."
"Trail her," said Mason harshly, pointing to Niles.
Niles, sighing, knew better than to argue. He quickly headed out
the door.
He tried to collect his thoughts in the elevator going down.
What was he doing here? They were actually spying on the private life
of another individual! But Niles realized they had crossed the line
long ago. They had been committing illegal acts ever since he and
Marsten had gotten involved with Mason.
He tried to tell himself that it would all be over soon. After
all, it was now the end of August, and the general election was just a
little over two months away. But what would happen after that? Niles
still burned from the way that Powers had publically humiliated him the
week before. After all this effort, would he even get a post in the
new administration? Would any of this, any of the risks he was taking,
be worth it in the end?
He came onto the street the same time as Mrs. Sampleton did. She
didn't notice him, or at least, didn't appear to notice him. Niles and
Marsten had been trailing her for the past five days, it's a wonder
that she didn't start to notice him.
She walked about two blocks, and Niles trailed her, leaving at
least fifty feet between him and his target.
And then she went into a liquor store. She bought something,
came out, and returned to her apartment.
Niles returned and duly reported this fact to Mason. Mason,
nodding, wrote it down on a chart. Then his eyebrows lifted. "This is
the third time in the past five days that she's gone to the liquor
store."
"So?" said Niles. "Maybe she's planning a party."
"What did she buy?" said Mason.
"I don't know," said Niles.
"Idiot," said Mason, under his breath. He turned to Marsten.
"What's going on?"
"She's taking out a bottle. Looks like... looks like scotch.
She seems to be pouring it, no, she's getting into an argument with
Sampleton... now she's pouring again...."
"Three times in the past week," Mason whispered.
"This doesn't mean anything," said Powers.
"On the contrary, we have them," said the Wizard.
"Even if his wife is a drunkard, how can we use that to our
advantage?" said Powers. "He's not the drunkard. It doesn't say
anything about him." He reflected on that. "Although if I were married
to him, I might be tempted to drink too. Everytime she wants sex, he
probably runs off to a homeless shelter. But in any event we don't
even have any proof, so what's the point?"
The Wizard shook his head. "Mike, you've missed it all along.
You've been looking for dirt on Sampleton, something you can use to
turn him."
"Correct," said Powers.
"But he's Mr. Clean. I told you that you weren't going to find
anything." The Wizard puffed on his pipe thoughtfully.
"So how is this information useful?"
"It's not useful in the direct sense that it could harm his
candidacy. However, it could be used to harm him."
"How do you mean?" said Powers.
"He's an emotional man. In the right time, in the right context,
it could provoke the proper reaction." The Wizard elaborated on his
plan.
The right time proved to be two days later. Only four days
before the primary. Sampleton was giving a speech where he was
discussing his drug policy, and speaking contemporaneously on the
issue.
"We spend so much time on the issue of apprehension and
punishment," said Sampleton. "But what of education and
understanding?"
A young reporter interrupted Sampleton, speaking up, "And what
about alcohol?"
Sampleton stopped, in mid speech. "What about it?" he said, in a
low voice.
The young reporter was Alfred McConnell, a cub reporter for a
local radio station. "What about alchohol? You've talk about
legalizing other drugs, but alcohol is legal, and that does a lot of
harm. In fact, aren't you personally aware of that fact?"
Sampleton's face screwed up. "What do you mean?"
"Doesn't your wife have a substance abuse problem in the form of
alcohol dependency?" said McConnell. Other reporters were starting to
give him angry looks now. What right did he have to get so personal
about the candidate's wife?
"Alcohol abuse, Madge," said Sampleton, looking as if he was
going to be sick. It was unclear as if it were a statement, or a
question, or simply a reiteration of McConnell's remark.
"I understand she's attended a number of alcoholic anonymous
meetings, and that she's had a number of violent tantrums," said
McConnell. "How, sir, have you been dealing with her addiction?"
"Don't say things about my wife!" said Sampleton. Tears started
to welt in his eyes.
Other reporters started to shout McConnell down, but he wouldn't
be stopped. "If we legalize other drugs, won't more people end up like
your wife, sir?"
Sampleton was crying now, leaning on the podium for support.
"Why are you saying these things?" he said, choking on the words.
"How are you dealing with your personal tragedy?" said McConnell.
"How does it feel?" he said, with a little smirk.
Sampleton was beyond words, crying his eyes out for the camera.
Choked up, he turned away.
The newspaper headlines were predictable. "SAMPLETON GOES MENTAL
OVER WIFE'S ALKY" said the Daily News. "A.G. HAS MELTDOWN UNDER
PRESSURE" said Newsday. The Post just had a picture of the sobbing
Sampleton, with the caption "This man for governor?". Even the Times
covered it, picture and all--hidden deep in the B section.
"This has cut pretty well," said the Wizard, examining the
coverage. "Some people feel a little hostile towards the reporter, but
the overall effect is unerasable: the image of Mush Head breaking down
right in front of the cameras. The election is yours, sir."
"Thank you," said Powers. "But how...."
"McConnell? I've worked with him before," said the Wizard. "But
if your question is, how did I know, well, it's my job to know these
things. You were going after Sampleton the wrong way. He was weak,
but not in the way you think. He was not weak in that he would succumb
to temptation. But he was weak in the sense that he couldn't handle a
little emotional trauma, a little pea shot against his lovable Madge."
"And we did it," said Powers. "Polls?"
"A spot poll has you up ten points. Frankly, I'm expecting even
more. No one wants to vote for a sicko."
The primary vote might as well have been held that day. But
Powers kept going through the motions, going on campaign trips and
making various stops across the state. When asked about the Sampleton
incident, Powers merely looked sad, and said, "That's awful, what
happened. I feel sorry for him. Perhaps he needs to seek professional
help." And with his concerned expression, he got away with it.
It didn't take Niles very long, however, to figure out what had
happened. Once again another opponent of Michael Powers had been
destroyed. Utterly. Not just as a politician, but as a person. Just
what kind of monster was he working for?
He told Marie what had happened. She just exploded.
"What? You spied on that man's private life? You literally had
binoculars pointed into his bedroom!" Marie was livid. "What right
did you have to do that? That woman had a chemical dependency, and you
had to broadcast it over the airwaves. You embarrassed the hell out of
her, and in the process, you ruined a fine man who, I might add, was a
hundred times better than your boss!"
"I didn't want to do it! They made me do it!"
"Oh no, that excuse won't cut it any more. There are some
limits, there have to be. And you crossed the line a long time ago,"
said Marie. "Nothing you could achieve could justify this. Nothing!"
She looked at him in horror. "You've changed, Philip. You've become
one of them." Turning, she sprinted into the bedroom.
Niles heard the rustling of drawers. He tentatively followed
her. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," she said.
"What?"
"I'm leaving you. You sicken me."
"Don't leave me," Niles cried. "Please!" He put a hand on her
shoulder.
"Take your hand off me," she said, in a dangerous voice.
Niles, gulping, took a step back.
It was over in less than an hour. She took her clothes, her
possessions, and slammed the door behind her. Niles, stunned,
collapsed into a chair.
It was clearly no longer worth it now. Marie was right, he had
crossed over the line. He had no more respect left for Powers. And
yet something kept him from resigning. Perhaps it was still the vague
promise of a better ending for himself. He had sacrificed so much to
get this far, that he just couldn't quit. But from this point on his
attitude changed, his perspective hardened.
The victory party, as it was dubbed even before the polls were
closed, was held in a fancy hotel with a Fifth Avenue address. But
Powers wasn't there; he was in his East Side penthouse, alternatively
watching the returns by television and playing with his latest toy. It
was a miniature boxing rink, with two gloved mannequins standing
inside, both facing each other in a boxing pose. Powers stood behind
one of the boxers, his hands in gloves of their own that were attached
by wires to a console.
"-on the Democratic side, the 12th precinct reports 65% for
Michael Powers, 32% for Alton Sampleton-"
Powers lunged forward with his right hand. The boxer in front of
him lunged forward in the same way, striking the other boxer on the
cheek. The opposing boxer staggered back.
"-returns from the 17th precinct give Michael Powers a decisive
lead-"
Powers lunged again, this time with a downward motion. His boxer
caught the other boxer in the pit of the stomach, making the opposing
boxer buckle.
Powers kept it up for an hour and a half. Finally, at 8:30, one
of the networks announced, "-Michael Powers has gone over the top! Our
projections indicate that he has won his primary, by a 57%-43% margin-"
Powers attacked with a swift left/right to the chest, as hard and
as quickly as he could. His boxer attacked in the same fashion, and
the opposing boxer collapsed to the ground. An indicator rang, and a
big sign on the side of the ring flashed "KNOCKOUT!!!!".
Erin's voice floated from upstairs. "Dear, you won! Did you
hear?" She raced into the den. "Oh," she said, seeing what Powers was
doing. "You and your crazy toys. Michael, you won, you won!" She
gave him a big hug.
Powers smiled, embracing her.
"Just think of all the things you can do for the environment,"
said Erin. "My organization has an entire agenda!"
"I'm sure," said Powers.
Just then the phone rang. Powers disengaged himself and got it,
expecting it to be the Wizard. But it was someone else.
It was Morgan Truitt. He was calling, ostensibly, to
congratulate Powers on his primary victory.
"Why thank you, Morgan," said Powers calmly. "So nice of you to
call."
"You're going to make a great leap from your campaign into the
general election," said Truitt. "Have you given any more thought about
the lieutenant governor spot?" This, of course, was the real reason
that he had called; he wanted his daughter to be on the ticket. He had
already offered to "contribute" $500,000 to the campaign for the second
spot. Powers wanted to see if he could get some more.
"Truthfully, I was thinking of selecting an established
politician," said Powers. "One who has the ability to raise a lot of
cash, which we're going to need in the general election."
"I might be able to help there," said Truitt. "How does...
$700,000 sound?"
Powers whistled. He hadn't expected Truitt to go up that much.
Obviously there was more that could be milked here. "It could help,
Morgan, it could help a little. What I'm going to have to do, of
course, is interview the candidates, compare their attributes, and
select the best one." He made a number of minor pleasantries, and then
made his goodbyes.
Immediately there was another call, from the Wizard. "When are
you going to get here?" was his first question. He was calling from
the hotel.
"When that idiot Sampleton makes his concession speech," said
Powers.
"I've been getting calls from Sampleton's people. They want to
know if he's going to be your number two on the ticket before they make
the concession speech." Obviously, Sampleton was trying to hold up on
an endorsement until he could see what he would get from it.
"Tell him I'll be interviewing candidates all this week," said
Powers.
"Michael-"
"And tell him that he's invited to be one of them," said Powers.
"That's all. Oh, and tell him if he doesn't endorse me, publically,
tonight, his future in the Democratic party in this state, which I will
control after this election, is finished. Fineto. Forever. I'll be
over as soon as he makes his speech." Powers hung up the phone.
Erin heard the exchange. "Are you considering picking Sampleton?
He's very good on the environment."
"No," said Powers. "But Sampleton still has a part to play."
"Who are you considering, Michael?"
And then Powers realized that Erin wanted a voice in his decision
making process. He smiled. "A woman. One who has spent her life
caring for the poor."
"Over an established politician? Michael, what a dramatic move!
Who is she?"
"All things in time," said Powers. He turned to the television
set. Stratford had just won his primary, and was giving his victory
speech. Powers had to whistle; Stratford, a political newcomer, had a
72%-27% margin over Dallen, the right-wing congressman. Stratford gave
a bold speech telling how he wanted to change New York, and put an end
politics as usual... in other words, a speech as usual. He ended his
speech to crowds who cheered his remarks about trouncing the "party
machine Democrats" in the fall elections.
"Very nice," said Powers. He changed into a suit, and watched
the clock. What was Mush Head up to?
Finally, at 9:30 Sampleton came out before a thinning crowd.
Looking nervous and yet relieved, he went into a laundry list of all
the issues he cared about and had highlighted in this campaign. It was
only at the end, when he talked about his own plans, that Powers really
listened. Since he hadn't run for attorney general this spring, he
would be out of office. He vowed to continue to be active in causes
important to him "in or out of office", and he vowed to "support the
nominee of the Democratic party", without mentioning Powers by name.
In other words, he did the bare minimum. Powers put on his suit
jacket and headed for the elevator.
If Sampleton's gathering was a funeral, Michael Powers' was a
party. Everyone was cheering and having a good time. Even Niles was
reasonably happy. The end of the primary meant that they were one step
closer to the end of the election. But part of him had secretly wanted
Sampleton to win the election. Sampleton was the committed candidate
who would work for social justice and truly champion the rights of the
poor. However, if Sampleton had won Niles would have been out of a
job.
Powers arrived to great cheers. He thanked everyone on the
campaign, and said that they had won because "they had run an issue
oriented campaign." Such as the issue of alcohol abuse, he thought
wryly. Then he gave a variant of his "chicken in every pot" speech one
more time. The Wizard had rearranged some of the phrases to make it
sound different but essentially it was the same list of promises to
different special interests, different segments of society that made up
the crucial voting blocks that would catapult Powers to victory. As
for his lieutenant governor candidate he only said that a decision
would be forthcoming in the following week, after he had interviewed a
number of qualified candidates. It was unusual but not unprecedented
to choose a candidate at such a late date, but Powers didn't care.
Dragging it out might jack up the price even more.
And so Powers made a great show of interviewing different
candidates during the course of the next four days. He interviewed a
state legislator from the western part of the state; he interviewed a
Puerto Rican congressman from the Bronx; he interviewed a politically
active union boss from Syracuse; and he also interviewed one or two
others. All for show. Of course he interviewed Carla Truitt on the
very first day; the media took note of that, but thought she was a
longshot due to her lack of political experience.
But Morgan Truitt called that first night and asked how it was
going. "I need to interview other candidates," said Powers sternly.
And Truitt offered $750,000.
On the second day of interviewing Truitt called and offered
$800,000. But Powers still was not done interviewing.
On the third day the stakes were raised to $850,000. Powers
definitely had an incentive to drag this out for as long as possible.
But he sensed that Truitt's patience was wearing thin. So he said on
the third day, "I just have one more interview tomorrow. Alton
Sampleton. After that, we'll see."
"Are you giving him serious consideration?" said Truitt
anxiously.
"I give all my candidates serious consideration," said Powers
levelly.
The meeting with Sampleton was a bit uncomfortable--for
Sampleton. Powers, who was quite relaxed, found it a little amusing.
After posing for the press, they went inside, and started talking.
Toles and the Wizard sat to one side.
"You have quite a parade of interviewee's going through here,"
said Sampleton.
"It's important to choose the best candidate," said Powers.
"What can you offer to the ticket?"
"Well," said Sampleton, "I have a natural constituency, among the
poor, minorities, the handicapped-"
"I was thinking financially," said Powers. "How much money could
you bring into the campaign?"
"Money?" said Sampleton, looking offended. "Is that what this is
about? Listen, I had some qualms about coming here, I have to tell
you. Philosophically you and I have some important differences. But I
come here in good faith, for the good of the party, and you say this is
about money?"
"You have a clear perception of the situation," said Powers. "We
need more funding to carry us through the general election campaign.
You've already told us that your constituency is the poor and the
disadvantaged; now that I am the designated nominee for the Democrats,
that constituency is mine as well. What else have you to offer?"
"This... this is ridiculous!" said Sampleton. "I was the number
two vote getter in the primary! I garnered 44% of the vote."
"43 percent," corrected the Wizard.
"Is that your answer?" said Powers.
"Listen, I didn't come here to be grilled by you or anyone else.
My record speaks for itself," said Sampleton.
Powers sighed. "Unfortunately, it does. Quite frankly, Alton,
I'm afraid to have you on the ticket. You've become quite well known
for emotional problems-"
"Emotional problems? What emotional problems?"
"-such as crying in front of large crowds," said Powers. "I
can't have my lieutenant governor candidate speaking somewhere on my
behalf and suddenly starting to cry, like a little baby-man. How would
that look for the campaign?"
Sampleton opened his mouth, closed it, and then got up. In a
moment he was gone.
"Alienating him wasn't wise," said the Wizard.
"But on the other hand it was entertaining," Powers pointed out.
"He's caused me a considerable amount of trouble. Now excuse me, I
have a phone call to make."
In moments he was on the phone with Truitt. "Yes, hello Morgan,"
said Powers. He paused a moment. "Yes, I just finished. A quick
interview. It's obvious that he's very well qualified. He can bring a
lot to the campaign. I just wanted to tell you personally, before you
heard from a third party.... what? $950,000... I don't know... hm...
an interesting proposal... well, how about one million, just to have a
nice even number.... That might do it... Yes, that would probably be
enough... Agreed? Perfect. Have your daughter over here with a
certified check within the hour. Thanks... Bye."
Powers hung up, and looked at his aides. "Gentlemen, we have our
candidate for lieutenant governor."
Under certain circumstances appointing an unheard of candidate
with no political experience would have been a large liability, but the
press fell in love with the spin that the Wizard had Powers put on it.
He told the press, with Carla at his side, that "the time has come to
bring outsiders into state government. Carla Truitt has spent all her
adult life working on the outside, helping the poor and needy. She
will bring a fresh perspective to the workings of state government."
This muted any potential criticism; after all, who could be against a
fresh perspective?
And the fact that the 35 year old Truitt was fairly attractive
and photogenic did not hurt either. She smiled for the cameras, saying
little. As she had been instructed. As an unknown quantity, Powers
did not plan to have her actively campaigning in front of groups of
more than five people. He didn't want any amateur's gaffes to mar the
campaign.
The next day Powers got a call. It was his old friend Sigfried.
"Mike, congratulations on the primary," he said. "Another
$20,000 check is on its way in the mail."
"Why thank you, Sigfried," said Powers. "I appreciate your
confidence."
"Indeed, I have great confidence in you," said Sigfried. "Mason
tells me you're doing a bangup job."
"Mason has been invaluable," said Powers. "His... assistance in
the campaign has proved most useful."
"Good," said Sigfried. "By the way, I'm still wondering what's
happening with the light rail bill. It's passed the House, but there's
been no motion in the Senate, and it's almost the end of the session."
"Exactly my thought, Sigfried," said Powers. "Now that this
primary is out of the way I'm going to apply a little pressure in that
regard."
Madison Wills was the senior senator from New York, a Democrat,
and a powerful member of the Senate Finance Committee. For all these
reasons he was could be a very important ally for Powers. Although the
two were merely passing acquaintances, Wills graciously agreed to meet
with Powers for several minutes in his spacious Capitol Hill office.
Powers made his way to the other side of the Capitol. As a rule
House members stayed on their side and Senate members stayed on theirs.
It felt a little uncomfortable making the short trip to "the other
body". Powers also felt a little unease at the thought of asking Wills
for a favor.
But Wills was friendly enough when Powers entered his office at
the appointed time. Shaking hands, he encouraged Powers to sit down.
"So, how is the Democratic standard bearer for the governorship of New
York doing?" he asked.
"Fine," said Powers. He noted that Wills had been neutral on the
Sampleton-Powers primary race.
"Are you going to give Stratford a good run for it? It's about
time we got the governorship back in our hands. Eight years of
Marchese-omics have been ruinous. Our great Republican governor is not
very popular in the state right now, you know."
Powers knew.
"So what brings you here?"
"I have a small favor to ask."
"Really?"
Powers told him about the light rail bill. Of course, he already
knew the reason for Powers' presence, but Wills was just being
difficult.
"Yes, I understand," said Wills, after Powers had explained his
need.
"And?"
"I'm sorry, I can't help you," said Wills.
"What?" Powers couldn't believe it. "This is a project that
will benefit all New Yorkers!"
"Young man, budgets are tight now. You and I both know that
ridership alone does not justify this project. We simply cannot afford
such an extravagant expenditure."
"But the initial funding is only $20 million!"
Mills took a deep breath. "Mr. Powers, may I be frank?"
"Please."
"I don't agree with your style of politics. I don't think
politics is just about bringing home the bacon, whether it's needed or
not. I think politicians need more of a commitment to issues, to
principals, and need to be seen less as gofers for various interests in
the state."
Powers' eyes narrowed. Wills had never had any qualms about
getting projects for New York that he liked, and he could think of a
few egregious examples. But this wasn't about that; obviously Wills
just didn't like him. "So instead you'd like to see the Republicans
keep the governorship."
"Why, nothing of the kind," said Mills. "But your campaign needs
to focus on the issues, sir, and not on the bacon." He started to get
up. "Now, if that's all...."
Powers nodded, but he didn't get up. He said, "Just a moment.
You know, if I am elected governor, I'll be the highest elected
Democrat in the state."
Mills smiled, "That, sir, will be in dispute."
"Oh? Who do you think elected all the key party officials at the
last convention?" Powers said. "I'll be in a position to do a lot of
things for the state, and my supporters. Now, I know you're up for
reelection next year. I know that you had a difficult reelection fight
last time. As governor, I could be very helpful in your next
reelection."
"I'm not concerned about my own reelection effort," said Mills
stiffly. "My opinion polls-"
"While still high, are at their lowest point of any time in any
of your terms," said Powers. "I know. You're in a slump. But what
would happen if, during your reelection cycle, the state party
apparatus just sat on their hands? What if donors refused to give?"
"Are you threatening me?" Mills blustered.
"No," said Powers, raising a hand. "I'm just contrasting
different styles of politics." He got up. "I admire your principled
position, I really do. You're going to stand by what you believe in,
regardless of what it might cost you." He actually shook Mill's hand.
"Good luck, fella. And pray that I don't win. Because if I do win my
election, I'm going to devote the entire following year to making
certain that you don't win yours." He started to walk out the door.
"Wait!" said Mills.
"Yes?" said Powers.
"I never said that I couldn't support the bill," said Mills.
"I want a vote on it. This week. The House version. And I want
it to pass," said Powers.
"But it has to go through our committees-"
"Come come, you're a senior member of the Finance Committee.
Surely you can twist a few arms." Powers repeated his phrase. "A
vote. This week. The House version. It passes. Period. Less I will
not accept. And I will remember." And he walked out.
It was a dangerous bluff, but the Wizard, who had thoroughly
researched Mill's background, had stated categorically that this was
the only sort of tactic that might work.
And work it did. Sure enough, a week later the measure passed
the Senate, on a voice vote.
Powers immediately broadcasted this fact in his campaign
commercials, showing what he had brought home for New York voters.
This was to be the largest public works project in New York in 30
years. The media ate it up, portraying it as an example of what Powers
could do for the state.
Powers was kicking back, taking it easy for a few moments in his
Capitol Hill office, when someone came in the door. It was a young
lady, in her mid 30's, with long auburn hair. Powers sat up. "Hello,"
he said.
The woman smiled. "Hello. I'm Ingrid Smeal, from the Greenleaf
Fund. Do you have a few minutes, Congressman?"
Powers considered his answer, weighing his dislike of the message
for his interest in the messenger.
"I always have a few minutes to deal with the birds and the
bees," said Powers.
She nodded. "I'm just here to confirm that you are going to vote
against the Seton Hills project when it goes to the floor late next
week."
"Of course," said Powers, wondering what she was talking about.
Seton Hills? Hadn't Erin been blathering about that, at one time or
another? "But refresh my memory. I may have lost some minor details."
Smeal took out a small map, handing it to Powers. "They're
planning to build a dam in the highlighted area which will utterly
destroy the habitat of the southern aquatic darter."
"Well, we can't have that," said Powers. He admired her angled
cheekbones, her sparkling green eyes.
"This is the last major habitat of the southern darter, and we
have to preserve it at all costs."
"At all costs," said Powers, undressing her with his eyes. He
turned to the map for a moment. "This map is a little unclear. Can
you come around the desk here... yes, just over here... and show me
where things are going to happen?"
Smeal complied, with a puzzled look on her face. The map was
clearly marked. She moved to stand next to where Powers sat. Powers
gently maneuvered the chair so that he was in body contact with her.
"You see, this mark, right here, is where...." Suddenly she was
aware of Powers hand on hers, tracing a pattern, up her arm.
"And the darters...." She felt his hand roam over her side.
Looking flustered, she turned to Powers, and said, in a low voice,
"Congressman, I'm good friends with your wife."
Powers reached up to kiss her on the lips. "Why, so am I."
Chapter 8
"We're five points behind Stratford," said the Wizard.
"Five points!" said Powers. "The general election campaign has
just begun, and already we're down five points."
"You forget, you came out of a badly splintered primary, while
Stratford racked up a huge margin against his opponent."
"What do you have to report?" said Powers, turning to Mason.
"Nothing," said Mason. "I'm sure that a character like him has
to have something to hide, but so far we've been unable to find
whatever it is."
"Then keep looking," said Powers. He turned to Toles. "What's
next on the agenda?"
"The light rail signing ceremony," said Toles.
"That's great," said Powers. He hadn't even been sure that the
President, being a Republican, would sign the bill, but this was great
news. "Make sure all the media is there at the signing--what's wrong?"
he said, noting the dour expression on Tole's face.
"You're not invited to the signing, to the White House ceremony,"
said Toles.
"What? Why?"
"Stratford. He prevailed on the President not to invite you,"
said Toles. "At least, that's the rumor going around. They've invited
the chairman and ranking member of the House and Senate Committees, to
sign a series of transportation bills, but you're expressly not
invited."
"Not invited! Not invited!" Powers kept repeating this to
himself. "So close!"
"Relax, Michael," said the Wizard. "The important thing is that
it's passed. Now we can use it like a bludgeon to get weeks of
positive press for ourselves."
"But I wanted to be at the signing," said Powers petulantly. He
sat still for a moment, the mental wheels obviously in motion. "The
signing is on September 20, right?"
"Right," said Toles.
Powers flipped through his calendar book. "September 20...
wasn't I invited to a subcabinet meeting on fisheries the morning of
the 20th?"
Toles sat up. "That's right, you were. But you said, and I
quote, "I don't give a damn about any fucking tuna-"
"That was before," said Powers, a gleam in his eyes.
"What are you thinking?" said the Wizard.
"I have an open invite to the White House that morning," said
Powers.
"But the signing ceremony isn't until noon, at a different part
of the White House, where you're still not invited," said the Wizard.
"I don't know, Michael."
"But I do," said Powers.
"What are you going to do, play tag with the secret service?"
Powers shrugged. "I'll play it by ear."
Powers presented his invitation to the marine sentry on duty at
the White House gate.
The guard peered at the pass, and checked his roster.
"Fisheries? You're pretty late for the meeting," he said, checking his
watch.
Powers gave an innocent smile. "Sorry. Unavoidable." The
signing ceremony was still an hour off. But Powers had to arrive
before the fisheries meeting adjourned.
The guard stared at him a moment, then said, "Old Executive
Office Building, room A-22. Want an escort?"
Powers shook his head. "I know the way." He started walking
towards the EOB, never once looking back at what he imagined would be
the suspicious guard, watching him. In fact, Powers kept going
straight for the EOB... until the path he was on rounded a corner, past
a set of bushes. Then he doubled back to the oval office.
Powers casually made his way to the back of the lawn in the Oval
Office. Aides were setting up chairs, and secret service agents were
casing the area. But they ignored Powers, who just walked casually by.
And then Joe Roberts, the ranking Republican on Public Works,
casually walked onto the far side of the lawn, chatting to a White
House aide. Roberts knew that Powers was not invited to the signing
ceremony. Quickly, Powers turned away, entering the White House
through an open door on the back porch.
How easy it was to get in! But Powers did not marvel at his
luck; instead, he quickly opened a closet, and walked in.
Powers considered hiding there for the better part of an hour.
That would have been the safest course of action. But he became
restless, standing there in total darkness. Still, he resolved not to
move.
He sat like that, for more than forty minutes. He counted down
the time on his watch, which had glow in the dark counters.
And then Powers heard a voice. A familiar voice.
"I'm sure we put that stool somewhere," said the voice. It
sounded close.
And then the door open, and Powers was blinded by the light for a
moment.
"What are you doing here?" said a distinguished, middle aged
woman.
It was the Emelda DuPont, wife of the President of the United
States, Alfred E. DuPont.
Powers had had some warning before the door opened. Therefore
when the voice had gotten closer he had turned around and crouched
over. It was in that position that Mrs. DuPont found him.
"What are you doing in my closet?" she said again.
Powers turned around. "I could ask you the same question. Isn't
my partner outside?"
"Who?"
"Bob."
"Who?"
"My partner. He's supposed to make sure that no one comes in
here." Powers looked past her, out into the foyer. "Where is he?"
"Who are you and what are you doing in my closet?" DuPont asked,
refusing to be moved from this basic issue.
"Carruthers, Ma'am," said Powers, extending a hand. It was
ignored. "Talco Service."
"Talco Service?"
"Extermination," said Powers. "We understand you have a vermin
problem."
"Vermin! In my White House! Where?" said Mrs. DuPont.
"Oh, I hear them, scurrying all over, in the walls," said Powers.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Dewey. But she still looked suspicious. "If
you're an exterminator, where are your tools?"
"This is just a scouting visit, to locate the source of the
infestation," said Powers.
"And why are you dressed in a suit? I've never seen an
exterminator dressed so well," said Mrs. DuPont.
"Ma'am!" said Powers, hurt. "I said I was from Talco Service!"
"And so?"
"We've been the White House exterminators for over 120 years.
We're the Harvard and Yale of vermin exterminators, consummate
professionals who are at the tops of our field. Of course we wouldn't
come to you in" Powers snickered, "coveralls."
"I'm not sure I believe you," said Mrs. DuPont.
"Fine," Powers shrugged. "Then I will go. I will leave you and
your rats in peace." He exited the closet, heading directly for the
exit leading to the south lawn. Everyone should be there by now.
"Rats? Wait!"
Powers walked past the kitchen staff as he rapidly walked to the
exit. Mrs. DuPont, sensing something was wrong, said, "Stop that
man!"
But by this time Powers was out of the door and stood just feet
away from a podium where the President was giving warm up remarks to a
crowd of perhaps 100 people. "So good of you to all be here," he
started to say.
The secret service around him, alarmed by his wife's cry,
immediately closed in on Powers like a magnet. In seconds they would
be on him.
"Mr. President! Mr. President!" Powers cried.
The secret service grabbed him, and started to hustle him out.
"Wait! I'm a congressman!" said Powers, loudly.
"Hold up a minute," said the President, raising a hand. He cast
a worried glance to one corner of the lawn.
The corner he looked at collectively contained 50 or more manned
video cameras, with enough journalists to write half a mile of column
in forty minutes.
The secret service immediately froze.
"What is this?" said Powers. "Is this how you treat a member of
Congress from the opposing party?" He looked aggrieved for the
cameras. He hoped CNN was carrying this live.
"What?" said the President.
"Michael Powers, Mr. President," said Powers, shaking aside the
clutches of one of the secret service guards. "Lead sponsor of the
Transportation Modernization Act, which you are now about to sign." He
walked over, unhindered, to where the President stood, and started to
leaf through the papers in front of him.
"Uhhh," said President DuPont, sensing the situation was getting
out of hand.
"Don't be in a rush," said Powers, rapidly going through the
documents. "Ah, here it is." He turned to the cameras, holding up the
bill. "This piece of legislation will ensure that New York's
burgeoning transportation needs are assured into the next decade-"
"Uh, excuse me," said the President.
"-and will provide hundreds, no, thousands of new jobs before its
completion-"
"Mr. Powers," said the President.
"-as well as the creation of many, many permanent jobs-"
"Congressman!" said the President.
Powers turned to DuPont, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. President. I see I'm in the way. Here's a pen.
Sign right there. Yes, right there, that's right, you may sign away."
The President, holding the pen, glared at Powers. But with the
cameras on him, he saw no easy alternative, and so what could he do?
He signed the bill.
Out of the corner of his eye Powers saw the audience, mostly
Republicans, glaring at him. And he caught Mrs. DuPont talking to
reporters in the corner.
"He said he was here for the rats. He didn't say he was from the
Congress."
"Way to go, Mike!" said Toles, slapping him on the back.
"You made the local and the national news!" said the Wizard,
nodding approvingly.
"Spin?" Powers inquired.
"The Republicans are trying to portray you as a rude madman. But
we're spinning that you were unfairly locked out of the ceremony for
partisan reasons, and that you broke in to put the good message forward
for the people of New York."
"One thing's for sure, I didn't make many friends in the White
House today," said Powers.
"DuPont's a Republican; who cares?" said the Wizard.
"But we've finally done it!" said Powers. "Do you realize what a
feat we've accomplished? Now I want this rammed down their throats.
Every campaign stop. I want this touted as the biggest federally
funded pork barrel project to come to New York since the Statute of
Liberty!"
"It's a great symbol for the campaign," the Wizard agrees. "But
however good it is, don't believe that it alone will get you elected.
Because it won't. The race is too tight."
Powers nodded, sobering at the thought. "We still have work to
do."
But it was still a great victory. Powers celebrated his victory,
in his own way, the following day.
In the Washington office, Niles, sitting alone in the reception
area, was quite dissatisfied. Every day of his life he found himself
in misery. He no longer wanted to be any part of the Powers campaign.
Every day when he came into work he had to paint a smile on his face.
Frankly, he hated his co-workers, he hated his job, and most of all, he
hated Michael Powers.
And yet still he did not quit. He still held out hopes of
getting some position in the New York State government. Maybe water
commissioner. Niles didn't care. At least that would put some
distance between himself and the Congressman.
Right now Niles had been put on guard duty. He was supposed to
make sure that no one interrupted his "conference" with the Greenleaf
woman, Ingrid Smeal. Niles heard small moans coming from within
Powers' office, leaving it not too hard to guess just what body of
politics Michael Powers was studying.
He was babysitting for an adulterer. That's what Niles had
fallen to. He sat, aimlessly staring into space in the reception area,
not even pretending to do his work.
And then Mrs. Powers came in! Niles immediately sat upright.
Mrs. Powers had an angry look on her face. Niles immediately jumped
up, juxtaposing himself between her and the door.
"Out of my way, young man," she snarled.
"You can't go in there, Mrs. Powers" said Niles. He spoke
loudly, hoping his voice would be heard in the next room.
"What?"
"The Congressman is in conference, Mrs. Powers," said Niles. For
a moment he wondered what he was doing. What did he care if Powers got
caught in the act? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marsten, coming
in from one of the side offices.
"Out of my way!" said Erin, shoving Niles aside roughly. She
turned the handle, and saw-
Powers, behind his desk, rapidly putting on his suit jacket. To
one side sat Ingrid Smeal, the lobbyist from Greenleaf.
"What's... what's going on here?" thundered Erin.
Smeal said, "Erin... I... I...."
"We were just talking about your proposal, dear," said Powers.
"The proposal that you voted for, Michael. The Seton Hills
project!" She yelled, at the top of her lungs. "YOU VOTED FOR IT!"
"Now, take it easy," Powers began.
"Why, Michael? Why did you do it?" said Erin. She herself
wasn't sure what action she was referring to.
"I owed the chairman of Public Works a lot of favors," said
Powers. "He was instrumental to getting the light rail bill passed.
This Seton Hills project was his baby, I couldn't antagonize him by
voting against it...."
"So that's it," said Erin. "You lied to me, and did the
politically expedient thing. And then I find you here, doing... this."
"Doing what?" said Powers.
Erin gave him a hateful stare. For a moment, neither moved. And
then she stomped out of the office.
Powers and Smeal exchanged long looks. "I better go," said
Smeal, fumbling as she lifted her handbag.
Powers said nothing. He just sat there, in his office chair.
Several long minutes passed.
And then Niles slowly entered the office.
Powers nodded to him to come forward. He did.
Powers said, in a calm voice, "I thought I told you I was not to
be disturbed."
"She... she was forceful...."
"You've failed me," said Powers. "You've failed, big time." He
drummed his fingers on his desk. "To even think that I was considering
you for my cabinet, for Deputy Secretary of Transportation. Obviously
that will go to someone who has proven himself capable, such as
Marsten." He drummed his fingers again. "What is not obvious is
whether there is any role for you, anywhere; in the campaign, in this
office, anywhere." He stared at the ceiling for some time. Then,
looking down and seeing Niles still there, he said, "Get out of my
sight."
Niles, trembling, excused himself.
"And now all our hard work pays off," said Toles, rubbing his
hands.
They were in Grand Central Station, celebrating the kickoff of
the light rail project. Construction workers clad in hardhats and
orange vests stood on one side of the grand terminal.
Powers smiled, nodding his agreement. He found the subtle
ironies of this campaign event more humorous than usual.
Only $20 million had been appropriated for the light rail
project. That was enough for studies and perhaps enough money to lay
seven miles of track, when several hundred would be needed. Nor was
there any indication that Washington would fund the project any further
beyond this initial allocation.
Furthermore, since the $20 had only been allocated four days ago,
there was no way that construction could actually begin. These
"construction workers" were actually Sigfried's men, on temporary loan.
But the greatest irony of them all was that construction of the
project was not slated to take place in Grand Central Station! The new
rail line was supposed to terminate at a new train station on the upper
east side--which, like much of the rest of the project, was unfunded
and almost certainly never would be.
It had all been the Wizard's idea.
"Sure, we could do the ground breaking ceremony anywhere, say, in
an open field," the Wizard had said. "But think how much more imposing
it would be to have Grand Central Station as a backdrop!"
So they had borrowed some of Sigfried's people and their
equipment, and set up shop in the large lobby of Grand Central Station.
And the Wizard was right; Grand Central was a great place to have a
photo-op. With its tall, imposing ceiling and grand architecture, the
station was the perfect backdrop for a campaign appearance. Evidently
the Wizard had had little trouble in persuading the management of the
station to permit the workmen to set up shop in the main lobby.
Sigfried's men had put orange cones around one small corner of
the huge lobby, and fumbled with their equipment, pretending to look
busy.
One of the reporters asked one of Sigfried's men what
construction work needed to go on here; after all, the bullet trains
were hardly likely to pull up in the main lobby itself.
"Uh...." said the man, scratching his head.
The Wizard smoothly interposed himself between the worker and the
reporter. "New power lines have to be installed to accommodate the new
tracks," he said.
Of course, the real reason why the workers were not posed before
a railroad track (aside from the fact that the light rail project would
never reach Grand Central) was the fact that the track area was dark
and dingy. The main lobby was a much better setting, camera-wise.
"Oh," said the reporter, accepting Ross's comment at face value.
There was a sudden electricity in the air when Powers began his
speech. "This is it!" said Powers, referring to his speech with only
occasional glances at the body of the text. "Behind us is the
beginning of a grand new transportation system for the State of New
York! This will be the biggest project... the biggest project for New
York since the Manhattan project!" Powers figured that it was an
impressive phrase, and that most people didn't know that the atom bomb
project had nothing to do with Manhattan.
A number of commuters were adding to the numbers in the crowd,
and they were listening attentively.
"Those of you about to board trains for Albany, and all points
north, are you ready to spend several hours in a crowded, slow train?"
said Powers. "Don't accept it! Within five years, you'll be speeding
along at 200 miles an hour, and you'll reach Albany in a half hour!"
The commuters gave him a thunderous applause. But several
reporters looked skeptical about the thirty minute figure.
"This is the wave of the future!" said Powers. "And by
rebuilding our infrastructure, our community is strategically poised to
compete into the next decade, with the Japanese, the Europeans... and
everyone who has an advanced mass transit system!"
The audience applauded loudly again.
"My record as a congressman speaks for itself," said Powers.
"But just wait until I become governor. Then you'll really see this
state moving again!"
"Pow-ers! Pow-ers!" the political hacks in front chanted, waving
placards. The Wizard frantically pulled the camera crews to one side,
so they could better see the chanting crowd.
"-and it looks like Michael Powers can really deliver," said
Stephanie Powers. "Despite the hype, he does have a point. He has a
strong message: if this is what he can do as one Congressman among
535, imagine what he can do as governor, leader of our state."
It was one of the Sunday morning news shows. A political analyst
to her right concurred, saying, "This has been a big boost for Powers
in the polls. He's shown that he can deliver. Most polls now show him
seven or eight points ahead of Stratford."
Powers nodded in a satisfied way. It was all paying off. Even
the latest New York Times attack amused rather than annoyed him.
LIGHT RAIL BAD SALE
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
The Barbie Doll had a birthday last week. It's been
the heinous tool of cultural oppressors for 35 years, telling all women
that in order to be pretty they have to be emaciated airheads with
large breasts and long blonde hair. As I've mentioned in previous
columns, I give my daughter, Winnie, more wholesome toys that will
provide more positive examples, such as the purple dinosaur hygiene
kit, Eskimo action figures, and the vegetarian solar cooker.
But I'm beginning to think that there's another toy
that should be on the market. It should be called the Michael Powers
doll, which would symbolize all cynical politicians. Wind it up, and
the Powers doll would spout all sorts of campaign promises. The Powers
doll even comes with accessories, such as campaign advisers, speech
writers, and construction workers for good photo opportunities.
Unfortunately, Michael Powers is more than a doll;
according to polls, he is now the leading candidate to become governor
of New York. How did this cruel turn of events come about? Everyone
seems crazy about the trains he's bringing to New York.
The trains? But what about health care, day care,
prenatal care, family planning, homeless counseling, housing
infrastructure... the list is endless. If Michael Powers had the
ability to bring money to New York, couldn't he have allocated funds to
more pressing needs?
That's not the way Powers thinks. There would have
been no flashy photo-op if he had gotten more money for family
planning. No, he needs big, bold, sparkling trains in the background.
I still shudder to think of Michael Powers as
governor. But this is not a brief for the Stratford campaign. I'm
beginning to think that a right-in campaign might be in order. It's
still possible New Yorkers might come to their senses. What has become
of Attorney General Sampleton?
He has been strangely quiet since the end of the
primary.
"That's right, he has," said Powers the next day, to the Wizard
and Toles.
"What do you want, you're seven points ahead in the polls," said
Toles.
"What I want is not to hear complacency from my staff," said
Powers. "The race is still fluid."
"He is correct," said the Wizard. "If Sampleton were a right-in
candidate, he could siphon seven to ten points from Powers, in a worst
case situation. That could cost Mike the election."
"Then we need his endorsement, publically and unequivocally,"
said Powers.
"I'm not sure if we can accomplish that," said the Wizard. "You
were none too nice to him at your last meeting."
"Was I?" said Powers, with a small smirk. "Perhaps I was."
"Getting his overt support will be exceedingly difficult. I
warned you," said the Wizard, pointing his unlit pipe at Powers
accusingly.
"So you did," said Powers. "And now you're going to warn him.
Tell him I want his endorsement. No, I want an ad of his endorsement."
"Oh, an ad? Is that all? Should we also expect a campaign
contribution?" said the Wizard.
Powers grew stern. "Do as I say. Tell him that if he doesn't
cooperate he's finished in the party. Tell him I'll make sure he's
finished in politics for life. If that doesn't work, tell him that
we'll arrange for the media to do a fifteen part series on the personal
habits of his wife. Tell him all these things."
The Wizard nodded. "It just seems a shame to play hardball.
He's not a bad fellow, you know."
"Getting soft in your old age, Ross?" said Powers. "Or are you
just looking forward to getting half your salary out of this, rather
than double?"
Ross said nothing.
"This is a battle of competitors. There is nothing personal
about it," said Powers. "When the panther bites the throat out of the
llama, is it ever personal?"
Three days later, Powers received a videotape of a new campaign
commercial. It featured Attorney General Sampleton, standing in front
of a featureless wall, staring dully straight at a camera.
"Hello. I am Attorney General Alton Sampleton." He spoke in a
dull, unsmiling monotone. "I'd just like to say that I fully endorse
Michael Powers for governor of New York. He is the best candidate for
all New Yorkers, and all New Yorkers should support him."
"This is terrible!" said Powers. "This looks like a hostage
video! It looked like someone had a gun on him the whole time. I half
expected him to hold up a newspaper showing that he was alive on a
certain date!"
"Relax," said the Wizard. "That's just the unedited portion.
Wait."
A new commercial came on the screen. A deep announcer's voice
said, "And now, a message from Attorney General Alton Sampleton." The
screen showed a beaming Sampleton, speaking before crowds, boomed, "I
have an announcement!" And then the scene cut to Powers meeting with
New Yorkers of every stripe: construction workers, young people, old
people, social workers, businessmen... and all the while they heard the
words, "I'd just like to say that I fully endorse Michael Powers for
governor of New York. He is the best candidate for all New Yorkers,
and all New Yorkers should support him." And then the scene cut again
to Sampleton, giving a rosy smile and a big thumb's up. "Michael
Powers for governor. For all New Yorkers," said the deep announcer
voice.
"We still have the monotone, even though we can't see him,"
complained Powers, when it was over.
"Correct," said the Wizard. "But with the camera focused on you
instead of him, it sounded like he was trying to be solemn."
"Where did you get that first and last footage of Sampleton
beaming like that?" said Toles.
"From his speech where he announced for governor," said the
Wizard.
"Oh, very clever," said Powers. "But you couldn't get any better
out of him?"
"Mike, it was a pull to get this much. I had to threaten doing a
special on the wife, like you said, and he went ballistic."
"The Simpleton went ballistic? This I would have liked to see."
"You wouldn't," said the Wizard. "We were lucky to get what we
got. Believe me. And it's enough for our purposes."
"You are correct," said Powers. "And that is all that is
important."
Stratford was nobody's fool. Seeing his standing drop in the
polls, he did what any intelligent candidate would do.
He attacked.
Ads started appearing in the New York market, saying that Powers
had lobbied for death squads while he had worked at Kassenbaum &
McKinney in Washington. The ad went on to charge that "Powers, while a
hot shot lawyer inside the beltway, lobbied to make it easier for the
oligarchies in El Salvador to import their coffee beans into the United
States. At the same time, workers in El Salvador were paid pennies a
month by the powerful families that owned the plantations, many of
which employed death squads to keep the rebellious workforce in line."
Powers blew his top when he saw the ad. "This is awful!"
"Nice it's not," the Wizard admitted. "The basic charge is easy
to obfuscate, of course."
"Of course!" said Powers. "I was just a lobbyist for foreign
business interests."
"But therein lies the underlying problem," said the Wizard.
"What this ad is really getting at is that you were a big beltway
lobbyist at a time when you should have been out pursuing more worthy
efforts, and that is an effort to distract from the main issues of the
campaign."
"So what should I do?" said Powers.
"Say what I just said," said the Wizard. "It happens to be the
truth.
"That's right," said Powers. But he considered, for a moment.
"It seems kind of odd, to be telling the truth, though. But I'll do
it."
"-so you see, Oxford, Mr. Stratford is just trying to distract
attention from the real issues of this campaign," said Powers. He sat
in a comfortable chair provided by the staff of "Face the City".
"Instead of talking about what we're going to do to create jobs, to
make this a safer, environmentally cleaner state, we're talking instead
about my work to get more coffee beans to the consumers of New York."
"But Congressman, doesn't Mr. Stratford have a point?" said
Frame. "You do claim to represent a new voice, one that will speak for
outsiders. How can you be believed when you spent most of your life in
private practice representing large foreign business interests?"
"You're falling for it, Oxford," said Powers. He repeated the
words, slowly. "You're... falling... for... it. This is just what
Stratford wants. He's watching this now and laughing uproariously.
Honestly, do you think anyone believes that I spent my private
professional life representing death squads? It's an outlandish smear,
pure and simple, and it just goes to show how bereft of ideas the
Stratford campaign is. They're worried, they're a little behind, but
they're running on empty, and all they've able to do is to shoot with
blanks. So what more can they do but throw a little mud?"
But Powers was not so indifferent about it after the broadcast.
Polls showed him two points down; that is, his seven point lead over
Stratford was now a three point lead.
"But we contained the downswing, I think," said the Wizard.
"Contained? This is not a holding action. I want a substantial
lead! We're within the margin of error of the poll. For all we know
he could be ahead!"
"We'll do what we can," said the Wizard.
"That's not enough," said Powers, picking up the phone. "Get me
Mason."
A month and a half. Niles kept thinking it to himself as he sat
in the backseat of Mason's car. In a month and a half, he would quit.
He no longer had any illusion about obtaining a job in the New
York State government. The only thing left to do now was to quit.
But not before the election. That could just feed the flames of
Powers' wrath. Maybe, after he won the election, he would be in a
better mood, and would provide reasonable references on Nile's behalf.
Then he could go back to Marie. Then maybe she would take him back.
A month and a half.
Suddenly the car stopped. It was shortly after 9 PM, and they
were somewhere in the mid 50's in midtown Manhattan.
"What now?" said Niles wearily. Obviously they had another
trespassing excursion planned. It was all becoming routine.
"If you had paid attention, you would know what we're doing,"
said Marsten, who was sitting in the front seat with Mason.
"If you're saying that I didn't listen to you whispering with
Mason, you're correct," said Niles.
Mason gave him a cold look through the rear view mirror.
"Stratford has an office on the 25th floor of the building just around
the corner." He handed them passes. "These will get you past the
guard at the front desk." He handed Marsten a small gadget that looked
like a swiss army knife. "This will get you through the lock. When
you get inside check the files for anything incriminating." He handed
each of them small walkie-talkies. "Any questions?" Then he stared at
them.
Realization slowly dawned on Niles. "You're not coming in with
us?"
Mason shook his head.
"Why?" said Niles.
Mason just stared in another direction.
But Marsten spoke up, for once sticking with Niles. "Is there
something you're not telling us?"
Mason said, "It's nothing."
"If it's nothing, how come you're not coming in with us?" said
Niles.
Mason said, "See that parked car, there, across the street?"
Niles looked hard. It was very dark, but he could just make the
outlines of a car. "So?"
"There are two men in there. It could be that they're waiting to
pick up someone; chances are, in any event, that their presence is
unrelated to our task," said Mason. "After all, they were here before
us; how could they have known that we're coming?"
"But you're not sure, and you don't want to risk your hide," said
Niles.
"Watch your mouth, boy," Mason growled. "I will stay on lookout.
I'll warn you by walkie talkie if there's any trouble."
"No way," said Niles. "If you don't go, then I don't."
Mason slowly turned to face him. He gave Niles a murderous look.
"I won't," said Niles, gulping.
Mason spoke in a low voice. "Go now... or I will kill you." He
said it matter of factly.
Niles' resolve suddenly melted, and without even thinking about
it he found himself opening the car door. Part of him knew that Mason
was bluffing... and yet he found himself slamming the car door, heading
down the street, with Marsten in tow.
"Did he mean that?" Niles hissed.
"Shut up," said Marsten.
They walked by the parked car. Two young men, sitting ramrod
straight in the front seat, gave them unfriendly stares. Niles and
Marsten walked by without making eye contact.
They entered the building and flashed their ID to a bored guard.
The men in the car didn't seem to be pursuing them, much to Niles'
relief.
Niles and Marsten made their way up to the 25th floor, which was
deserted at this time of night. They came to a door marked "Stratford
Industries," and Marsten took out the lockpick and started fiddling
with the door.
After a moment or two of struggling with the lock, Niles
commented, "Are you sure you know how to use that thing?"
"Shut up," was the noncommental response.
"No, you shut up!" said Niles. He had had about enough of
Marsten. What was he even doing here?
"Ah ha." The door clicked and slowly moved inward.
The office seemed abandoned; at least, all the lights were off.
Niles and Marsten, brandishing small pocket flashlights, made their way
to the first of a series of rooms, and immediately headed for the
filing cabinets. They were all locked, and Marsten started working on
one of them.
Suddenly Niles heard a sound. It sounded like a creak, as if
someone had stepped on a particularly squeaky part of the floor. "What
was that?" he whispered.
Marsten looked up. "What was what?"
They listened for a moment in silence, but heard nothing. All
around them was darkness. Marsten snorted, and returned to work.
Niles stood behind him, fretting silently. Then he heard another
cracking sound, as if someone was quietly walking around. "What was
that?" he said again.
"Shut up," said Marsten. "This is tough enough as it is."
Suddenly, their walkie talkies crackled. "Guys, guys." came a
voice.
"Mason?" said Niles, holding his talkie.
"Get out of there! Get out of there now! It's a setup, it's a
trap-". The voice cut off.
Niles and Marsten looked at each other. They immediately headed
for the door.
"I'm afraid that your departure will have to be delayed."
Niles and Marsten turned to see several men, standing in the
semi-darkness with guns pointed at them. The men had weird-looking
goggles over their eyes.
One of them turned on the light and on cue they all removed their
goggles.
"Well, what do we have here?" said their leader, a tall, heavyset
balding man. He had just a trace of a British accent.
Niles and Marsten looked at each other. They had been caught
red-handed. What was there to say?
"Let me guess," said the leader. "Your names are Philip Niles
and John Marsten, and you were sent here by Michael Powers to see what
dirt you could dig up on William Stratford. Correct?"
"Don't say anything," said Marsten quickly. "He could be
recording this."
The leader chuckled, taking a recorder from his pocket, and
turning it off. "You're too clever by half for us," he said, still
leveling a gun with his other hand.
"How did you know our names?" said Niles.
"We know all about you," said the leader. "Your mistake, if you
want to know, was adhering to the same M.O. That stands for method of
operation."
"We know what that is," Marsten snapped.
"Oh, I forget, you have an ivy league education, of course you
would know," said the leader. "Where was I? Oh yes, your mistake.
You tried the same tactic with Mr. Mandelbaum, I believe. Breaking and
entering. It would have worked here, maybe, if we hadn't been on to
you. We've been watching you, your campaign, for quite some time now."
"What are you going to do with us?" Niles gulped, fearing the
worst.
"Why, whatever we like," said the leader, raising the gun for a
steadier aim.
"Wait!" said Niles, his pulse racing. "Does your boss sanction
murder? What if Stratford finds out about what you intend to do?"
Another man walked into the room. It was William Stratford.
Niles withheld a gasp.
"There isn't much I don't know, Philip Roger Niles," said
Stratford. "You were about to offer up a reason why you shouldn't be
wacked a bit?"
Niles was speechless.
"I suppose we could turn you over to the police. It would make a
good bit of headlines, don't you think?"
"We'd deny it," said Marsten. "We'd say that you kidnapped us.
It would be our word against yours."
"Yes," said Stratford regrettably. "It would be, at that. Well,
I can't turn you in... then I guess I'll have to just let you go...."
But then he addressed Niles directly. "Give a message to Michael
Powers. Tell him that if he tries such a stunt again, he won't get off
so easily. Tell him I'll be watching."
"I'll remember," said Niles.
"I'll help you remember," said Stratford. He turned to the bald
man who led the others. "Give them the treatment. No broken bones, if
you can help it; just enough to give them something to remember us by."
And he turned towards the door and left.
There were five men. Three of them lowered their guns while the
other two kept Niles and Marsten covered. One of them closed the door
while the three in front moved forward, smacking their fists against
their palms.
"You can't be serious," said Niles, crouching back against the
wall.
One of them took out a set of brass knuckles. "Think this is
ok?"
"Sure," said the leader. "Just don't hit'm where it will show."
He turned to Niles and Marsten. "If you move, this will only hurt even
more."
Fists clenched, they closed in. Niles and Marsten were now
pressed against the wall, trembling.
At 2 AM in the morning Powers got a call. "'Lo," he said, very
groggy. Erin, at his side, was either asleep or pretending to be. She
hadn't talked to him since she had stormed out of his office the week
before.
"This is Mason, sir," said the voice on the other end.
"Mason? Mason. What are you doing calling at this time of
night?"
"We've had a little incident, sir."
"What sort of incident?" said Powers, immediately sitting up.
Niles and Marsten were in the hospital. They had been found,
dumped on a park bench in Central Park, badly beaten up. The official
version was that a bunch of muggers had attacked them. But Mason
reported how they had been set up. Shortly after Niles and Marsten had
entered the building, another car started to pull up behind his. Even
before the first car he had noticed earlier started to back up in an
attempt to box him in, Mason had the engine going and was gunning the
car down the street, barely clipping the car in front of him. He
briefly shouted a warning into the walkie talkie, but had to devote his
full attention to driving, as his tail opened fire on him.
"I managed to evade pursuit, sir," said Mason. "But I have two
bullet holes in my car, one in the windshield next to the steering
wheel."
Powers gave a low whistle. "How did they know....?"
"I have some ideas on that, but I need a few hours to check them
out."
"And how are Niles and Marsten?
"Black and blue, for the most part. They say they told Stratford
nothing, but they're in the hospital overnight, under observation."
"Do you believe them?" said Powers anxiously.
"Well, sir, I'll put it this way; if Stratford had anything on
you, don't you think it would have been on the wire services by now?"
"I see your point," said Powers. "Report to me first thing in
the morning. All of you. First thing."
Philip Niles hobbled a little, walking on a cane. Every part of
his body hurt. The men had pummeled him and Marsten, professionally,
for what felt like the whole night but actually had probably been more
like an hour. Their attackers knew how to throw very hard punches, and
only stopped when both he and Marsten had blacked out.
They awoke on cold park benches, to find men dressed in blankets
muttering foul language going through their pockets. And then things
got hazy again, until they landed in the hospital.
Niles winced. Every part of his body was in pain. Marsten was
in little better shape, and was black and blue over better than half
his body.
"What went wrong?" Powers immediately asked. He didn't ask, "how
are you feeling", or "were you seriously injured". There was only one
thing that concerned Powers.
"He said he's been watching us, sir," said Marsten.
"Who?"
"Stratford."
Powers eyed widened. "How did he know where you were going to
be?"
"I think I can answer that, sir," said Mason. "I ran a check of
my car last night. There's a homing beacon in it."
"What?"
"I went earlier in the day to check out the building. Once they
pegged me there it was just a matter of waiting until I returned," said
Mason.
"I want this office scanned immediately for bugs," said Powers.
"Call...." he cast a glance at Niles and Marsten, "our mutual friend
and make this so."
Mason nodded.
"What else did Stratford say?" said Powers.
"He warned that you'd better not try anything else like this
again," said Niles, wincing at the memory. "He said he wouldn't let
you off so... easily next time."
Powers turned his chair away from them, considering the
implications. They sat, uncomfortably, for several minutes. Then he
turned back to address them. "Take it easy for now. Do what research
you can from public sources."
They turned to go.
"And gentlemen?"
They turned about.
"I forgive you for this incident. You must be very tired. Take
the morning off. Niles, Marsten, I'll need you back at 2 PM, there's
some constituent mail that needs going through."
They nodded, wordlessly, and exited.
The Wizard came in from a side office. "You took a terrible
risk," he said.
"Obviously, our normal tactics will not work with Mr. Stratford,"
said Powers. "I know we're in a virtual deadheat in the polls; can we
win this race fairly?"
The Wizard nodded. "I think it is possible."
On the other side of the Mall, near the imposing Lincoln
Memorial, Erin Powers sat on a park bench, staring into the long
reflecting pool. She looked up, almost surprised, when someone sat
down next to her.
"I thought you weren't coming," said Erin.
"I almost didn't," said Ingrid Smeal.
Erin grabbed Smeal's hand. "This has been a very difficult time
for both of us. We've been friends a long time, haven't we?"
"Eight years," said Smeal.
Erin looked at Smeal. "I want to believe that nothing happened.
You're my friend, he's my husband. But I must know... did you sleep
with him?"
Smeal looked away. "Nothing happened," she said.
Erin grabbed her face, turning Ingrid towards her. "Ingrid, I
have to know. Did you sleep with my husband?"
Smeal stared at her for a long moment. Then she burst into
tears. "Yes!" she choked.
Erin grabbed Smeal closely, hugging her tightly. "Why, Ingrid,
why?"
"I didn't want to... I didn't want to... he just... he just
seduced me...."
Erin's face was a mask of hatred. "What?" She didn't want to
believe it."
"Yes...."
Powers was going to pay. He was really going to pay for this.
Neither of them noticed, in the bushes, a man with headphones
pointing a shotgun mike towards them.
When Powers came home to find half the items in his East Side
penthouse smashed, he knew that something was up. Erin had not been
talking to him for two weeks, but this was a new phase in their
deteriorating relationship. He gingerly stepped over a cracked picture
frame containing a picture of him and Erin. "Honey... I'm home," said
Powers.
He found Erin sitting on the couch, looking very cross. Powers
heard the crunch of broken glass under his feet. "Is there a problem
with the maid?"
"You bastard!" she said. "You slept with Ingrid!"
Powers frowned. "Dear, I already told you, nothing happened. I-
"
"Don't lie to me, you son of a bitch! Ingrid told me."
"She...." Powers looked startled. Then he sighed. "All right,
you caught me." He sat down on a chair opposite her.
"Wh.. what?"
"You caught me," said Powers. "There's no sense denying it. I
slept with her."
"How many time?" Erin was caught a little bit off guard by his
sudden candor."
"Oh, three, four maybe," said Powers.
"Don't act so smug! I should divorce you!" Suddenly, the phone
rang.
"Aren't you going to get it?" said Powers.
"I know who it is," said Erin. The phone continued to ring.
"It's the press. They've been calling me all day."
"What?" said Powers.
"They want to know if there's any truth to the rumors of your
infidelity. The phone's been ringing off the hook all day."
"You told them...?" Suddenly, Powers' heart started pounding
wildly.
"I haven't said anything... yet. They seemed to have found out
on their own." Erin looked a little puzzled. "But I can't imagine
Ingrid telling them."
"Neither can I," said Powers, frowning. He turned to her. "What
are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure," said Erin. "I should really tell them
everything. It's the least you deserve."
"You realize that this will sink my chances of becoming
governor," said Powers.
"All the better."
"Think hard, dear," said Powers. "Think about being the wife of
the governor of one of the largest states in the country. Think of all
the glamour and prestige, all the important people you can meet."
"Don't try to con me."
"Then think of your environmental agenda," Powers implored.
"Think how far you can push it as first lady in the governor's mansion.
Then think how far you can push it as the ex-Mrs. Powers."
"You think you can bribe me?" said Erin incredulously.
"I know how your mind works," said Powers. "Cooperate with me
and we both benefit. Betray me and we both fail. Which will it be?"
The phone started ringing again.
"There's no truth to it," said Erin, staring unblinking before
the cameras. "I have complete confidence in my husband." She gave his
hand a tight squeeze and an adoring smile.
"But Mrs. Powers, what about the rumors-"
"I am satisfied," said Erin. "And I'm his wife. On this issue,
mine is the only voice that matters. This is just a cynical attempt by
opponents of my husband to distract attention from the issues again, by
maliciously spreading lies about his character." She looked up at
Powers, who nodded approvingly.
"Perfect," said the Wizard approvingly. "I haven't seen any
performance this good since Hillary Clinton went on 60 Minutes to stand
up for Bill."
"But how did you get her to do it?" said Toles.
"My wife more than anyone else wants me to have the opportunity
to serve the people of New York," said Powers.
"No, really, how did you do it?"
Robert Jones, the sociologist, led Powers and the Wizard into the
small room. On the other side of the familiar two way mirror was a
small focus group in session, led by an interviewer. The subjects were
sitting around in a circle, and they were all quite elderly.
"What do you think about Michael Powers?" said the interviewer.
"Who?" said one. The others shrugged their shoulders.
"Michael Powers. He's running for governor," said the
interviewer.
"I heard the name, but we don't know him," said an elderly woman.
"What's important to you in a candidate for governor?" asked the
interviewer.
There was a long pause. Then an elderly gentleman spoke up. "He
has to, you know, he has to stand for seniors."
The others made approving noises.
"How does one stand for seniors?" said the interviewer.
There was a longer pause.
"What would you like your governor to do for you?" said the
interviewer.
"Not take away our social security," said the woman who had
spoken before. The others nodded in vigorous agreement.
"There you have it," said Jones, turning to lower the volume of
the sound from the other room, to Powers and Ross. "Social Security.
That's the key."
"What's the key? I'm for social security," said Powers. "And
the state government has nothing to do with social security; it's a
federal program. What are we doing here? How much am I paying you for
this?"
"Take it easy," said the Wizard, placing a restraining hand on
his shoulder.
"You can take it easy, you're not paying for this," said Powers.
"And time is money. Do you have any practical suggestion to make in
the next sixty seconds?"
Jones looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot. "Uh, can
you be more specific?"
"Anything, anything at all that I could use in the campaign."
Jones scratched his head, "If I had more time to analyze-"
"That's what I thought," said Powers, getting up to go. "Don't
bill me, I'll bill you."
"Just a moment, Mike," said the Wizard. "I think Jones is on to
something here."
"On to what? He hasn't said anything."
"Social security. You have to be the candidate of social
security."
"I am. But what does it mean? All candidates are."
"No," said the Wizard. "You have to be for more than just social
security." An idea sparkled in his mind. "You have to be for...
social security plus."
"Plus? What's that?" said Powers.
"Subsidies, from the state government, to match federal
payments."
"Sounds expensive," said Powers.
"Who cares? You're only promising it, it's not like you're bound
to do anything with it once you're elected," said the Wizard.
"That makes sense," said Powers, brightening. "Tell me more."
It was, as the Wizard predicted, a boost in the polls. Powers
went to Seniors' centers announcing his Social Security Plus proposal,
and it quickly won over large audiences. Everyone in the elderly
population loved social security; so who could be against more of it?
Certain newspaper editorial writers could, of course. They
accused Powers of fiscal irresponsibility by proposing programs that
the state government could not possibly afford. But Powers, on camera,
pooh-poohed the critics. "The hard working citizens of New York
deserve the best when they reach retirement. I'm not going to listen
to the scrooges who want to take away a little bit of appreciation for
the contributions that the elderly have made to our society."
Powers' standing in the polls soared, and his lead widened to
nine percent over Stratford.
And then Stratford struck back. He accused Powers of spending
hundreds of thousand of dollars over limits set by the Federal Election
Commission.
Stratford himself spoke to reporters about it. "My opponent has
funneled money to his campaign from a committee run by Bob Pringle, the
same man who ran the "draft Powers" committee just a few short months
ago. By contributing to this so-called independent committee, campaign
donors help Michael Powers evade electoral rules!"
Powers immediately held a news conference to rebut the charges.
"Bob Pringle heads a distinct entity, Citizens for Budget
Responsibility. Any contributions that his organization has received
have not ended up in my campaign. I challenge any of you to show that
one penny of his organization has been commingled with mine. This is
just another attempt by my opponent to smear me."
And then the questions began. "But Congressman, didn't CBR spend
thousands of dollars on ads supporting you?"
"Nonsense," said Powers firmly. "Their ads not only didn't
endorse me, but were nonpartisan and were focused only on producing
reform in state government."
Well, that was only half the story. The ads produced by the
Citizens for Budget Responsibility vaguely called for reform in state
government, showing pictures of typical New Yorkers juxtaposed with
pictures of the candidates for governor. However, the pictures of
Powers were inevitably happy, smiling photos, while the images of
Stratford made him look brooding, or almost sinister.
"But isn't it true that the slogan at the end of every CBR ad,
'Taking New York into the Next Decade', is the same slogan your
campaign employs?"
Powers shrugged. "Slogans are meaningless. What you're asking
is, are the goals of my candidacy similar to those of the CBR? And I
have to admit to you that the answer is yes. We both want reform in
state government. We both want change at the top. We both want a
government that is responsible to the people." He wet his lips.
"Perhaps this is why Stratford feels threatened. He's concerned that
people at the grassroots are, for the first time, speaking up, letting
us know about issues that concern them. And my campaign, which
highlights the concerns of the middle class, is also a threat to the
entrenched monied interests that Stratford represents. So if he's
concerned about my campaign standing for the same concerns as the CBR
campaign, I plead guilty. Perhaps Mr. Stratford might spend a little
less time attacking me and a little more time listening to what the
working man and woman on the street have to say."
"Brilliant spin," the Wizard remarked.
"Not bad," said Powers grudgingly. "But I see we've eroded a
point or two in the polls."
"It goes back and forth. This week we have a two point lead. It
may be that nothing has changed; you usually seem to be two to five
points ahead of Stratford, and that's always within the poll's margin
of error."
"But where will he attack next?" said Powers. "I feel like a
sitting duck."
"You could activate Mason again," said the Wizard.
"The last time I did that Mason got set up," said Powers. "I
don't want to risk him getting caught and exposed. Not unless things
get desperate again. No, we'll give Mason a rest, for awhile. But I
would like to go on the offensive again, when the opportunity presents
itself."
The opportunity came sooner than Powers expected. Governor
Marchese, the current Republican incumbent, had been enmeshed in an
ethics scandal for the better part of the last year. A whistleblower
in his administration who had uncovered enormous scandal in the state
agriculture office had been summarily fired. The Governor was not
directly involved, but a number of mid-level and senior staffers had
been implicated in a scheme involving favoritism, patronage and
revenge, which the media had been unraveling over the past several
months with relish.
"It's a pity that we can't tie Stratford to all this," said
Powers, gesturing to a story on the subject on the front page of the
New York Times. He frowned. "Wasn't Stratford involved in something
similar?"
"What do you mean?" said Toles. The Wizard shook his head in the
negative, but looked uncertain.
Powers scratched his chin. "Not sure... something I read, a few
months ago...." He snapped his fingers. "I got it. One of the
employees in his company got fired, also for whistleblowing."
"Now I remember," said the Wizard, nodding vigorously. "I read
about it in the background report we prepared on Stratford."
"Then why didn't we ever do anything with it?" said Powers.
"Mike, that employee was also an alcoholic. Stratford's company
had good grounds for firing him," said the Wizard. "The two situations
aren't the same, the similarities are only... similar...." he stopped,
as if the wheels in his head were suddenly turning in the opposite
direction.
"What?" said Powers.
"I was just thinking of an ad I saw a number of years ago, on the
air in New Jersey," said the Wizard slowly. "It wasn't even a campaign
ad, but a tourism ad."
"So?"
"It featured then New Jersey governor Tom Kean promoting
vacationing in New Jersey. His slogan was, New Jersey and You, Perfect
Together."
"So?" said Powers again.
"Well," said the Wizard, getting a gleam in his eye. "A lot of
people remember the ad, even here in New York. What if we had an ad,
comparing the similarities of Marchese's plight with the time that
Stratford fired the whistleblower. We could close with a powerful
slogan...."
A few days later....
On Stratford's television, a frowning face of Governor Marchese
appeared on the screen. "Governor Marchese fired a whistleblower,
because he was exposing corruption in state government." Then the
screen showed Stratford, with a greedy expression on his face, as if he
were about to steal money from orphans. "William Stratford, who would
succeed him, also fired a whistleblower, because he was exposing
corruption in Stratford's financial empire."
The deep announcer's voice concluded, "Marchese and Stratford,
perfect together."
The ad immediately drew a deep resonance with voters, in large
part due to their familiarity with the former slogan that it was based
on. Never mind that the charges against Stratford were shaky at best,
or that there were good reasons why Stratford had fired the employee;
it made the news for two full days, and resonated in the media for many
days thereafter, with not a few chuckles made at Stratford's expense.
"But we also need another ad," said the Wizard. He had invited
Jose Torres and Robert Jones to explain.
"We have an attack ad of Stratford, and that's fine," said
Torres. "We're giving people reasons not to vote for him. But they
also need reasons to vote for you. We need a positive ad to focus on
you."
"Fine," said Powers, picking at food wedged between his teeth.
"What've you got in mind?"
"Demographically we need to shore up support among young people
and older voters," Jones began.
"Older voters! I already gave them social security plus! What
else do they want?" Powers fumed.
"To know that you care, of course," said Jones. "That's the most
important thing, for all age groups."
"The only thing that's not clear is whether you should be in an
ad with young voters, or senior citizens," said the Wizard.
"I think seniors," said Jones. "They have a higher voter turnout
rate on election day, and are a significant percentage of the
electorate."
"I disagree," said Torres. "Showing Michael with younger voters
will give his campaign a younger, hipper image."
"He's not running for governor of Woodstock," said the Wizard.
"Hip we can do without."
"Don't underestimate hip. Hip is in," said Torres.
"Yah," said the Wizard. "Mike, what do you think; seniors or
youngsters?"
Powers shrugged his shoulders. "Why not both?"
So a few days later an ad appeared showing a genial Powers
talking with seniors, while a deep voice said, "The Congressman listens
to the voices of the elderly." And then the scene cut to Powers
lecturing in front of a college lecture hall, and the class
spontaneously clapping for him in droves. "The Congressman also cares
about the next generation is thinking," said the deep voice.
But Stratford was hardly resting on his laurels. He was
blanketing the airwaves with ads showing him playing with young
children.
"Kids? Who cares about ten year old kids?" Powers asked. "How
many will vote for him?"
"It's not the kids, obviously," said the Wizard. "He wants to
lose his hard edge, to look soft and cuddly for their parents. The
women especially like that."
But not all of Stratford's commercials were that benign. He also
ran a slew of attack ads, accusing Powers of being in league with
insiders and the politicians "in the beltway". His ads also painted a
picture of Powers as a money hungry politician who would stop at
nothing to get himself elected, and who took positions on the issues
based on whichever way public opinion was leaning.
One comical ad showed Powers tilting one way on term limits.
"This is Michael Powers against term limits two years ago," said the
voice. A big wind blew a little image of a man (presumably Powers), to
the left, where he bent over in an awkward position.
"This is Michael Powers for term limits last year," said the
voice. Then the image of Michael Powers bent awkwardly to the right.
"And this is Michael Powers for term limits today, but only if
they're approved by a constitutional convention."
The image of Powers spun about, like a clock caught in a dizzying
time warp, until his head slowly settled down at his feet.
"One can only wonder what his stand on the issues will be
tomorrow," said the voice, as the image of Powers looked up, a little
worriedly, as if to say "What next?"
Powers needed some time to unwind, especially after seeing that
latest attack ad. So he agreed to the Wizard's suggestion that they
get together in his Washington office that night with Toles and Torres
to play a little game of cards.
Powers shuffled the deck like an old pro. "House rules," he
said. "2's are wild. And 5's-"
"And 7's," said Toles.
"-and 9's and the King of Diamonds," said Powers.
"That's a lot of wild cards," said the Wizard. "And why the last
one?"
"He's the king," said Powers simply, shuffling the cards.
"Minimum bet, $50 dollars."
They started playing. Powers said, almost conversationally, "I
hear I'm slipping in the polls."
The Wizard's eyes narrowed. "Stratford's attack ads are bound to
take some toll."
"I hear we're just about even now," said Powers, studying his
cards.
"It's a horserace, no doubt about it," said the Wizard. "That's
why we have to keep one step ahead."
"And how do we do that?" said Powers.
"We've shored up our base of support with the seniors," said the
Wizard. "Our polling shows you garnering the support of 69% of senior
citizens."
"What about the other 31%?" Powers wanted to know.
Ross disregarded that question. "The area that we remain weak
in, however, is young voters. The 18 to 25 crowd," said the Wizard.
"Our support number in that regard is only 37%. We could do better,
especially since you're the younger of the two candidates."
"So what do you want, another ad of me in the playground?" Powers
snapped.
"I was thinking for something a little more elaborate," said the
Wizard. "I was thinking of an interview."
"Another interview?" Powers shrugged. "So set it up. But I
don't see what good it will do." He picked up a card.
"Ah, this one will do a world of good. It's on MTV."
"MTV?" Powers burst out laughing. "The music video channel?
You can't be serious!"
"I am. Both you and Stratford have been invited to appear.
Stratford seems to have declined."
"For good reason! What sort of stature would any candidate have
who appears on that network? Why don't you also schedule me for
Donohue and Oprah?"
"Because I don't think Oprah would be good for the campaign,"
said the Wizard. "I do, however, think that an MTV forum would be just
the thing to brush up your image with the young crowd. Your ante."
Powers tossed some chips into the pile. "Fifty. What sort of
questions would I be asked? Congressman, how much money are you going
to spend on acne research? How come when they hand out the condoms in
school I always get the short one? Congressman, why won't you pass a
law to keep bars open 24 hours a day?"
"Easy," said the Wizard. "You like the young people."
"I do?"
"Yes, you do. Say it."
"Say what?"
"Young people," said the Wizard.
"Young people," said Powers.
"No! Like Sylvia taught you," said the Wizard. "You need the
practice. Say it."
"Young people," said Powers, giving a condescending smile.
"Good, very good. Now use young people in a sentence."
"Young people age 18 to 24 commit most of the crimes in our
country."
"Maybe a sentence we could use," Toles suggested.
Powers complied. "We need more money for education and job
training, so the young people of today will lead us into the future of
tomorrow."
"We need more money for education and job training, so the young
people of today will lead us into the future of tomorrow."
Powers matched eyes with the crowd, projecting confidence. He
was facing an audience of rock groupies, clad alternatively in tie-dye
shirts or chain-decorated leather jackets and ripped jeans. He was
being interviewed by Thigh Bone, perhaps the most popular VJay on MTV.
Thigh Bone was a young caucasian who must have been in his early
thirties but did his best to act like he was in his early 20's. His
hair was twined into little snakes, or dreadlocks, as the young people
called them. Powers looked at his hair but simply called it dreadful.
Thigh Bone wore a ripped biker jacket and green army fatigues at
least two sizes too large. His real name was Peter Skepsi, and he was
a magna cum graduate of Suny Binghamton with a degree in Communications
who had spent the past ten years working in restaurants and working in
movie theaters aisles with those little guiding flashlights. And then,
two years ago, while playing the banjo on a subway platform in
Greenwich village, he was discovered. And then he became Thigh Bone.
The crowd clapped approvingly at the tail-end of Powers' opening
comments, Thigh Bone leading the crowd.
"Give it up for our man, Mike Powers," said Thigh Bone, one hand
holding his mike while his other hand curved curiously in front of his
crotch, grazing it without touching.
Powers, distracted, looked curiously at the young man. What was
this hand thing all about?
But then Thigh Bone called for questions from the audience.
"He's really here to tell it to us straight, you know what I'm saying?
A good speech, but we need to hear what the young people in the
community are thinking, know what I'm saying?"
Powers knowing what he was saying, nodding as Thigh Bone selected
a questioner from the audience.
A young woman with green streaks in her blonde hair stood up.
"What are you going to do about the oppressiveness of the drug police?"
"I am firmly against police brutality," said Powers sternly. "I
think the drug problem can only be fought by showing compassion, and
increased edu-cation for the young peo-ple."
Sylvia Plant would have been proud. He said two key words,
education and young people, with perfect intonance.
The crowd clapped approvingly.
"We hear you, we hear you," said Thigh Bone, as his hand snaked
down to his crotch in that curious gesture again. Powers wondered if
the young man had an itch down there.
Most of the questions went quite well. Powers addressed the
concerns of the young people, speaking in the broadest generalities as
possible, while sprinkling in a generous number of buzz words. Only
once did he fail to elicit a positive response from the crowd.
What, he was asked, was his policy towards the current strife in
Europe?
And for once Powers was flip. "We need to distract them from
their mutual hatreds; maybe we should give them the latest music videos
of Madonna and Michael Jackson."
No one laughed. The audience was silent.
"Of course, we need to open up a dialogue in the region, and have
workshops in the area-" and that perked up their interest again. From
that point on Powers took all their questions seriously.
Finally, at the end of the forum Thigh Bone congratulated him.
"Mike, you've told it straight, and we're glad you dropped by, know
what I'm saying?"
"I know what you're saying," said Powers, nodding.
Thigh Bone said, "Thanks for rapping with us, Mike." And his
hand snaked up from his crotch to shake Powers'.
Powers, startled, knew that the cameras were still running, so he
quickly put up his hand with the peace sign. "Peace, my friend," said
Powers.
"-wasn't about to touch his hand after he had played with his
groin on live television," said Powers.
"Mike, he never actually touched it," said Toles.
"I don't get it," said Powers. "What was the point of it?"
"It's the hip thing to do nowadays," said the Wizard.
"Pantomiming with your genitals is considered trendy by the young
people. All the young MTV announcers do it."
"Then the young people are perverted, and should have electrodes
tied to their genitals and should have a few volts pumped into them
until they learn how to act civilized, know what I'm saying?" said
Powers.
"I don't think we should include that in our issues platform,"
said the Wizard.
Powers campaigned hard into late October, and so did Stratford.
The two flooded the airwaves with competing aids, each making
outrageous charges about the other and each portraying himself as the
protector of small children and little puppies.
And yet the two were still locked in the polls, 47%-46%, with
Powers one scant point ahead. And yet neither side would debate the
other; negotiations for a single debate, much less a series of debates,
went nowhere. Each side wanted different formats, different panels,
even different lighting.
But finally with time running out on the clock both campaigns
came to the collective decision that a debate, though risky, was worth
an effort to break the electoral deadlock. A decisive win would move
one side ten points ahead in the polls, which, at the end of the
campaign, would be nearly impossible to be made up for by the other
campaign.
And so in the beginning of the last week of October, a scant two
weeks before the election, the two sides agreed to debate. They would
be questioned by a panel of journalists, who had been mutually selected
by the two camps. But each candidate would also be allowed to question
the other. It would be a veritable free-for-all. In short, all the
cards would be wild.
"This is it, Mike," said the Wizard, nervously adjusting Powers'
tie in the backstage area. "Are you ready?"
"Why, can we just go home and eat pizza if I'm not?" Powers
quipped.
"No," said the Wizard. "Good luck."
A few moments later the candidates stepped out, to thunderous
applause. Powers and Stratford came together, shaking hands. But then
Stratford wouldn't let go. He fixed Powers with a steely glare.
Powers returned the stare. Then Stratford let go.
The moderator, none other than Oxford Frame, got the debate going
quickly. "Mr. Stratford, what are you going to do about crime?"
"I think we need to get tough, with more cops on the street,
longer mandatory sentences and a greater use of the death penalty,"
said Stratford. "However, my opponent thinks the answer to crime
consists of social programs such as midnight basketball, dance and arts
and crafts programs, and furloughs for criminals so they can scout out
places to burglarize before they get out for good. Well, I say New
York cannot afford this sort of coddling of criminals!"
He received a thunderous applause from his half of the audience.
"Congressman Powers?" said Frame.
Powers smiled wanly. "Mr. Stratford speaks about getting tough
on crime, but given his previous statement I just have to wonder what
he's been smoking."
His half of the audience burst out into laughter.
"I supported the toughest crime bill to come through Congress,
which expanded the death penalty and provided more cops on the streets
than ever before," said Powers. "But unfortunately we could not ban
semiautomatic weapons. Mr. Stratford has been against a semiautomatic
weapons ban from the beginning, despite the fact that they are the
weapon of choice for gangsters that are killing children on our
streets. I suspect that Mr. Stratford listens less to the grieving
mothers and more to his big donors at the N.R.A. If only he could put
the public good ahead of his right wing machine gun toting friends, he
might be a more credible candidate."
And that was the pattern of the debate. The candidates, asked
about their own position, spent most of their time attacking the other.
At one point Stratford was asked about welfare programs. "We
need to cut them! We should have workfare. People should not be
getting something for nothing. And yet my opponent has supported
expanding the welfare system, paying people even more not to work!
Perhaps Mr. Powers wants the welfare queens to have not just color
television sets, as many of them do, but big screen projection TV's!
In the meantime good, decent hardworking taxpayers foot the bill for
this sort of waste and corruption, while the only ones who will make
out well are the welfare bureaucrats and the alcohol and drug trade."
"Whew!," said Powers. "I think we see a clear example of Mr.
Stratford's hostility towards the poor. He's never met a poor person-"
"-I have!"
"Then name one. Name a poor person you know."
Stratford stumbled. "Um... that's not the issue."
"You don't know, do you? Because you've never met a poor person.
You wouldn't know what they looked like, if you never watched TV."
"Untrue! You're distracting from the issue-"
"If you'll let me finish, I believe this is my time," said
Powers, smiling thinly. "Thank you. As I was saying, Mr. Stratford
has demonstrated that he has never met a poor person in his life, much
less talked to one. He doesn't care about the poor. He thinks they
should be swept out of sight, or even be made to suffer. Rich boys
like Stratford don't care about government assistance. But for a
pregnant, nursing mother with three children struggling to get by, a
little assistance from the government can make the difference between
life and death for her toddlers." Powers looked at Stratford, and
thundered, "Will you be responsible for the death of young children?"
Frame attempted to move on with another question, but Stratford
wanted to respond.
"We've finished with this question, Mr. Stratford."
"But I've been charged with being delighted at the prospect of
children dying."
"You'll have your turn to speak again later."
"Well... ok, but I want it on the record that I'm not for the
death of children."
"So noted." Frame moved on to the next issue, which concerned
fiscal responsibility. How would each candidate balance the budget?
Naturally, both Stratford and Powers avoided the question,
preferring to talk about their opponent.
"Stratford has a sure-fire way to balance the budget," said
Powers. "He wants to cut programs for the poor. As you can see, he
has an unrelenting hostility for programs for the poor and the middle
class. He would also eliminate social security plus-"
"No such program currently exists!" said Stratford.
"But it would if I were elected governor," said Powers.
When his turn came Stratford said, "Mr. Powers is very good at
giving a big list of things he would spend on. But what about
balancing the budget? We know there are no programs that he will cut,
therefore he's going to raise your taxes. That's all he knows, tax and
spend, tax and spend, tax and spend, tax and spend."
"You sound like a broken record," said Powers.
"I'm just revealing your true platform."
"You're deceiving the voters."
"Let them decide that."
"How can they, with your NRA buddies flooding your lying ad
campaign with thousands of dollars?"
"Gentlemen," said Frame. "Please."
"Liar."
"Cheat."
"Rich boy."
"Politician."
"Gentlemen!" said Frame. "This is not a boxing match. Now, we
have another question for Mr. Stratford."
Stratford took the question, which concerned his policies towards
public schools. "We need to get back to the basics of education,
reading, writing, and arithmetic. But nowhere in the three R's do I
see RU-486, or other birth control pills, or the handing out of condoms
in schools. Yet that is what Mr. Powers is promoting. He wants every
student in homeroom each day to be handed out a condom along with their
schoolbooks, with the tacit instruction "use them early and often,
there's many more where these come from". This is not the sort of
instruction that should be going on in our schools."
"I can see Mr. Stratford has no idea what goes on in public
schools," said Powers. "Perhaps that's because neither he, nor his
children, nor any generation of Stratfords going back to the Puritans
have ever set foot in one."
The audience laughed.
"Mr. Stratford doesn't care about teen pregnancy; his answer is
to let kids learn about sex on the streets, and let nature take its
course. But Mr. Stratford does have agenda that the right wing zealots
in his party have pushed on his campaign: banning abortion.
Forbidding women to have control over their bodies. Forcing them back
to the days of back alley abortions. Abortion is not a very important
issue to Mr. Stratford, of course; but it's red meat to his right-wing
allies who have taken control of his party."
"You say I'm the one who's a captive of radical elements in my
party on the abortion issue?" said Stratford.
"Mr. Stratford-" Frame began.
"No, I'm going to respond to this." Stratford took a piece of
paper out of his pocket, and started to refer to it. "I have here a
statement from Leslie Aspen, a leading Powers campaign official in
Brooklyn. She calls for abortion services to be subsidized by the
state, to be made readily accessible to everyone in the community.
Aspen has called for the creation of abortion booths." He read from
the paper. "They would be the size of phone booths on their sides,
with dark glass so that privacy would be protected for the individual
inside. The individual in need would insert a quarter to open the
doors of the booth and enter, to lie down on a small couch in the
booth. After removing her clothes, advanced machinery operated by a
doctor on a remote video link would perform an abortion, quickly and
cleanly, while soothing muzak played from speakers on the walls."
Stratford looked up at the cameras. "In short, in contrast to
his slogan of making abortion safe, legal, and rare, Michael Powers
wants to make abortion as commonplace and as easy as placing a local
call. Your response, Congressman?" He looked over at Powers, with
just a hint of a sly grin.
Powers felt stunned. But he covered up his reaction. Instead,
he went on the attack. "What are you talking about? I've never heard
of this Leslie Asp-"
"Aspin. In your Brooklyn campaign office. Look her up sometime-
"
"And even if a low level official in my campaign made such a
preposterous suggestion, she wasn't speaking for the campaign," said
Powers. "I have said that I want abortions to be safe, legal and rare,
and when I say safe, legal and rare, I mean safe, legal... and rare.
No distortion from my opponent will change my position on the issue."
"No distortion. Just a quote."
"Distortion," said Powers. "How could you possibly say that I
support abortion phone booths? That's just silly. You're the one with
the abortion problem. The right wing in your party wants to prevent
women from having the right to choose at all costs. You want to put
such burdensome regulations to prevent any abortions from occurring in
this state-"
"Not so! Just a waiting period and consent for minors-"
"-today, but that's just the first step, isn't it?" said Powers.
"You'll gradually racket up the regulation until abortion becomes
almost impossible to obtain."
"Should minors have an easier time getting an abortion than
getting a bicycle?" said Stratford.
"You're obscuring the issue again, just like with your fantastic
talk of abortion booths," said Powers. He took a paper out of his
pocket. "Perhaps you got the idea out of something from your own
campaign. One of the advisors to your campaign on crime issues is
Professor Roger Korby, is it not?"
"So?" said Stratford.
"Professor Korby wrote an article four years ago suggesting the
early parole of felons, both violent and otherwise, from prison."
"I don't-"
"Furthermore each parolee would be required to wear a collar
around his neck," said Powers, referring to the paper. "If a parolee
threatened to attack a civilian, the civilian could clap twice,
activating the collar, which would cause paralyzing pain to the felons.
Professor Korby said, and I quote, "I got the idea from an episode of
Star Trek."
What was this? This was the first that Stratford had heard of
this.
Powers turned to face the cameras. "Star Trek! That's where
Stratford gets his ideas on criminal justice from. Think about it; he
wants to release dangerous felons on the street, and then give everyone
the right to torture them simply by clapping twice. What if a car
comes rumbling by? Will that activate the clapper? What if two doors
close quickly? Will that activate the clapper? Mr. Stratford, what
sort of nonsense is this?" said Powers, his arms on his hips.
Stratford chuckled story. "Do you realize how ridiculous you
sound, with your little fantasy story about clappers and collars?"
"Not my story, it's yours."
"What kind of credibility do you have with the people of New York
after concocting up such an incredible tale?"
"Ask Professor Korby."
Stratford addressed the cameras. "No, my friends, Mr. Powers is
attempting to distract attention from the issues again, by contriving
these fantastic tales. He knows I'm the tougher candidate on crime.
He knows that there's no way he can take the crime issue from me. So
he makes up a crazy story and tries to tie it to me."
Frame took this opportunity to speak. "Now before we come to our
closing speeches, we have one more question to ask of each of you," he
said. "Is there anything... anything at all that you can say that's
nice about your opponent? Either of you may respond first."
Stratford looked at Powers. Powers looked at Stratford. Then
they both looked away, both lost in thought.
"Mr. Powers?" said Frame.
Powers looked Stratford up and down. "Well... He has a nice
tailor."
"That's it?" said Frame. "All right. Mr. Stratford?"
"What was the question?"
"Something nice about your opponent."
"Well... he's a good storyteller," said Stratford.
Frame sighed. "Thank you both. And now, for closing
statements."
Stratford, of course, used his time to attack Powers one last
time, reiterating many of the same phrases he had used during the
course of the debate. When it was Powers' turn, he turned on his
standard speech as well, stressing how much he had already given to New
York, how the light rail project would bring thousands of jobs to the
state, and only adding at the end, "In closing, we need a governor of
New York who is going to show compassion for its citizens. We don't
need a governor who's going to put people in collars."
Powers sat with Toles and the Wizard, watching the postgame
commentary. Most commentators seemed to agree that it had been a dirty
and vicious debate, with both sides appearing aggressive and punitive.
"A tie, the best we could have hoped for," said the Wizard. "But
you see, I told you we were going to need the collar story."
"I'm just not sure whether they are going to laugh more at him,
or at me for telling it," said Powers.
"At him. Stratford strained a good deal of credibility with his
abortion booth story. That left him open to the smear that we planted
in advance. And so we have a tie."
"Do we really have a campaign aide in the Brooklyn office who
advocates abortion booths?"
The Wizard nodded. "I met her once, I think."
"Fire her," said Powers dismissively.
The next day...
THE SAMPLETON OPTION
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
It's a pitiful sight when two grown men spend ninety
minutes throwing mud at each other. But that was the scene of the
first and only gubernatorial debate between the two major candidates,
Michael Powers and William Stratford.
Both candidates were disturbing by the viciousness of
their attacks. But Powers made the good point that Stratford supported
so-called "moderate" abortion restrictions, and such restrictions could
just be the nose in the camel's tent, as far as such regulation go.
Michael Powers, however, continues to be a wholly
unappetizing candidate. It's clear that his only principal is that he
has none.
What is the solution? Alton Sampleton used to be in
this race. He was not a perfect candidate, but he cared. Then, when
he was defeated in the primary by Powers, who was backed by the special
interests, Sampleton reluctantly, for the good of the party, endorsed
Powers.
Really it is Sampleton who should be governor. That
is why I am beginning to think that for the good of New York the
grassroots should mobilize to organize a write-in campaign for Alton J.
Sampleton.
Attorney General Sampleton will almost certainly
lose. But there is nothing to be lost by standing on principal. If he
garners even ten or fifteen percent of the vote, thus denying the
winner the legitimacy of an absolute majority of the electorate, it
will be making a statement that the two top candidates for election,
both Democrat and Republican, were deeply flawed.
In my last column before the election next week I
will elaborate on how we can achieve this goal.
That evening Powers sat in his Capitol Hill office, talking to
Mason alone.
"The race is particularly close, Mr. Mason," said Powers,
lighting up a large cigar.
"Mr. Bos is aware of that, sir," said Mason.
"He should be. A lot is riding on this." Powers paused,
exhaling smoke. His elbow jutted out, accidently bumping against his
phone. The little red indicator next to INTERCOM lit up.
"Do you want me to take... actions, sir?"
"Do you have any leads concerning Stratford?"
"None that I was able to come up with. If I were to inspect some
of his personal records...."
Powers shook his head. "The risk of capture would be too great,
and would be more than embarrassing to the campaign."
"And yet the race is close, very close."
"Yes it is," said Powers, puffing out lazy smoke rings.
"There is an alternative, sir."
Powers raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"
"We could do what we did for Stanley Bayren."
Powers sat up. "What?"
"It could look like an accident, sir. Just like the brakes on
his car, but we could do it another way."
A shadow stirred in the outer office.
"Are you out of your mind?" said Powers. "We're talking about a
major candidate for governor. If anything went wrong, who do you
suppose would be the number one suspect?"
"Nothing went wrong with Congressman Bayren, sir."
"No," said Powers, shaking his head vigorously. "The risk is too
great. Too great." He turned his chair away. "I want you to start
watching Michele Franswa. Full surveillance."
"The New York Times columnist?"
"You heard me. You have your orders. Go."
Mason nodded. When he stepped out of the inner office, he
surveyed the empty reception area around him, and left.
A small mug of coffee, still steaming hot, sat in one corner.
Powers received the endorsement of the New York Post, Newsday,
and a flurry of upstate newspapers. The Daily News and the smaller
upstate gazettes went for Stratford. The only endorsement still in
play was the New York Times, and, with the election statistically
deadlocked, 47%-47%, every endorsement counted.
"I don't see how they'll endorse you," said Toles. "They hate
your guts."
"That they do," said Powers. "But I will get their endorsement."
"How do you know?"
"Abortion," said Powers. "They'd never endorse Stratford,
because of his abortion restrictions. Their endorsement is mine for
the taking. If only it weren't for Franswa...."
"What about her?"
"She'll never endorse me, and she has a narrow if not loyal
following," said Powers.
"You'd never get her endorsement anyway," said Toles.
"Maybe so," said Powers.
But Powers was shocked to find out the next day that the Times
had not endorsed him. Their editorial laid it out.
TROUBLING CHOICES
This has been a very vicious campaign, even by New York
standards. It's seen the emergence of the far right wing as
represented by Republican William Dallen, who has said that New York
City "should be razed to the ground, and started over again" and who
has joked about "cutting off the bridges, and letting Manhattan float
out to sea, until it hits France." It's seen the almost pitiful self-
destruction of Assembly Speaker Milton Mandelbaum. And it's also seen
the elimination of a quirky but earnest reformer, Alton Sampleton.
What we're left with are William Stratford and Michael
Powers. William Stratford is an altogether unpalatable candidate. A
candidate of the monied classes, he does not even begin to understand
or appreciate the plight of the poor and needy. His electoral success
thus far has been based solely on the wealth of his family and his
contributors.
But neither is Michael Powers the candidate by default.
Although he ostensibly seems to take progressive stands on the issues,
there seems to be a troubling undercurrent of cynicism in his career of
public service. He has often done not what is best for New York but
rather what is best for Michael Powers. The fact that these needs
sometimes coincide with the needs of New York does not make him a good
candidate for governor.
In short, rather than rationalize which of two poor
candidates is least defective, we issue no endorsement. It can only be
hoped that whichever candidate is elected governor either quickly grows
in office--or is replaced quickly, four years later.
"What? Fuck you!" said Powers, ripping up the editorial page
into shreds. A small piece of paper, with the big headline proclaiming
"UN to Act on New Guinea Human Rights", floated up into the air, and
then gently floated down to the ground.
"Feel any better?" inquired the Wizard.
"No," said Powers.
And that was just the beginning.
The person making the phone call looked nervously about. "Hello,
get me Stratford," he said, shifting his gaze left and right.
"This is Roger Johnston, his campaign manager. What can I do for
you?"
"Stratford. I speak to Stratford only." The man, sweating
profusely, looked nervously about.
"Unless you tell me a little more what this is about you're not
getting through to anyone," said Johnston. "Now, what is this about?"
"Powers," said the man softly, watching people walk by him on the
street. "He killed Stanley Bayren. I have proof."
"What?" said Johnston. Bayren, wasn't he the congressman who had
died, several months ago? "What proof do you have?"
"Later, I'll have to contact you later," said the man. "Let's
set up a meeting. But I must speak with Stratford."
"Indeed you will," said Johnston. "If you have proof to back up
your statement, you will."
Chapter 9
In an abandoned apartment on the upper west side, Mason sat
calmly on a small chair, eating a sandwich. "Anything?" he inquired.
"Nope," said Marsten, staring through a telescope. "Looks like
she's bawling out the maid. Yeah, she's pointing to the countertop,
running her finger against it, showing it to the maid."
"I pity the maid," said Mason.
"We've been here for nearly a week, what are we looking for?"
Marsten wanted to know. "What can Franswa possibly have of interest to
the Congressman?"
Mason shrugged, peeling a banana. "Ours is no wonder.
"Hey, now she's pulling something from the closet. Looks like a
wire hanger. She's yelling at the maid, and waving it around."
"Ho hum," said Mason. "Say, where's your buddy, isn't he
supposed to relieve you?"
"Yeah, where is-"
At that moment Niles stepped through the door.
"You took your time," Marsten grumbled. He sat up. "It's your
turn. Happy two hours."
Niles took his position behind the telescope without comment. "I
see Franswa, I see the kids... where's the husband?"
"He went to work," said Marsten, biting into an apple. "You
missed it, while you were gone."
"What's she doing now?" said Mason.
"Don't know, she's out of camera vision," said Niles. "No, wait,
I see her now. She's got that tight black dress on again. She's...
she's putting on that dark blue sweater over it."
"The tight black dress," said Mason, his eyebrows lifting.
"Third time this week. I wonder if she'll go to the same place.
Interesting, don't you think?"
Marsten nodded. "But what are we going to do about it?"
Mason said, "We'll button her. It's time, gentlemen. The
button, please."
Marsten picked up a small button off the floor.
"You, John Marsten, may have the honor," said Mason. "Don't get
caught."
"She's heading out the door," said Niles.
"Then be quick about it," said Mason.
Michele Franswa left the lobby of her upper west side apartment
building. She started walking north, her heart thumping briskly. She
loved her children dearly, but there were times when one had to get
away. It was fortunate that she had good friends close by.
A young man, in his mid 20's perhaps, brushed against her.
"Sorry," he said, pushing on.
Franswa glared at him but said nothing. She certainly didn't
notice a small button, held into place by little hooks, latched to the
back of her sweater.
She walked briskly, and in no time was at the building on the
corner of 87th Street. The doorman there nodded by way of greeting; he
had seen her many, many times before. And then she went up to the 14th
floor.
"Richard, so good to see you," came Franswa's voice, from a small
box in the empty apartment where Mason, Marsten and Niles stood.
"Richard Sutton," said Mason. "Close friend of Franswa. Artist,
37, married, to the former Cynthia Pernell."
"I missed you so much," said Sutton.
They heard sounds of intimate kissing.
"We got them!" said Mason, high fiving Marsten. Niles simply
looked bored.
Sounds of kissing continued to be heard.
"Are we recording this?" said Mason, checking the device
anxiously. "Good."
Suddenly they heard footsteps.
"Cynthia!" said Franswa.
"Oh oh, got caught by his wife," said Mason, chuckling. "I
wonder what happens now."
"I wondered where you were," said Franswa. "I've been thinking
about you all week."
"And not Richard?" came Cynthia's joking tone.
They heard a tussle, presumably the sounds of clothing being
removed.
"What's going on there?" said Marsten.
"I think this may be bigger than we imagined," said Mason.
Now they heard sounds of kissing again, and even occasional
moaning.
"Oh, Richard, that's so delicious," said Cynthia.
"Cynthia, faster, faster," said Franswa. "No, slower."
The three eavesdroppers sat, spellbound, as they listened to the
events unfolding, to the moaning, to the shouted obsenities, to the
cries of "Faster faster, slower, slower". Finally, when it was over,
Mason said, "They're swingers."
"Swingers?" said Niles.
"Husband and wife teams who swap," said Marsten.
"Teams? But I didn't hear Franswa's husband in there," said
Niles.
"No," said Mason, giving a large smile. "No, you didn't, did
you?"
"You mean-"
"Yes, she's cheating on him. She's found another man. And
another woman. Another couple," said Mason, chuckling outrageously.
"Wait till the Congressman hears this!"
"I have to admit to being skeptical, but I have agreed to this
private meeting," said Stratford.
"I'm telling you the truth," said the young man.
"So you say," said Stratford. "But why are you telling me this,
Mr. Niles?"
Niles looked up at Stratford. They were alone in the room, with
only Roger Johnston, the campaign manager, standing to the side.
"After all, I inflicted certain... harm to your person," said
Stratford. "Why should you want to help me?"
"Is that important?"
"It is if I'm to believe you."
"I don't like you," said Niles. "I never did. But I simply
despise Michael Powers. He treated me like dirt, worse than dirt. He
used me, as an expendable tool, and enjoyed cutting me down in public.
I'm not a spy, I'm a legislative assistant, and a damn good one. But
he made me into a spy, to serve his own twisted purposes." Niles
swallowed. "I had planned on quitting, after the election. But when I
heard... when I heard...."
"That he killed Bayren," said Stratford.
"Yes, that he killed Congressman Bayren, then I knew that that
man could never be elected governor. We simply cannot allow a murderer
to become governor."
"I agree," said Stratford simply. "What do you suggest?"
"Well...." Plainly Niles had not thought that far ahead. "A
news conference, I guess. To reveal this."
"But you have no proof," said Stratford.
"I worked for Powers. I will testify to my part in it. Surely
parts of my story can be corroborated."
"Surely," said Stratford. He appeared to consider for a moment.
Could this man had been sent by Powers to set a trap? What sort of
trap could it be? To set Stratford up into making wild accusations
about Powers, only to have his aide disavow them?
But if this young man was telling the truth, that would be the
end of Powers. The election, right now a close toss-up, would be
Stratford's. Automatically.
Stratford made a decision. To proceed. But cautiously.
"I agree with you, young man," said Stratford. "You should hold
a news conference. In three days."
"Four days? The election is in seven days!"
"Correct. Three days to the election will be more than enough
time to reveal the details." He didn't add that he wanted time to
corroborate elements of Niles' story. Or that he didn't want to give
Powers more than two days to try to turn the tide again. Powers had an
impressive history of getting out of tighter situations than this.
He had the young man led out, then turned to Johnston. "What do
you think?"
"He's a nut," said Johnston. "He's sinking his own boat too.
Don't you think he'll go to jail for admitting to what he did?"
"He might get immunity, in return for testifying against the
others," said Stratford. "But that's not important. No, I don't think
he's crazy, merely idealistic. And I believe him."
"What shall we do?"
"See if you can check into any elements of his story. About his
spy activities, about the accident, anything. And spread the word,
anonymously, to the media, about this story."
"Right now?" said Johnston. "Won't that warn Powers what's
coming?"
"If this young man is speaking the truth there's little that
Powers can do. I am curious to see how Powers will react. We're in a
very volatile time, Roger, and though I don't suspect a trap, you have
to be very, very careful in dealing with Michael Powers."
Michael Franswa dashed out of the lobby of her building the next
day. She noticed an empty cab just outside her building. What luck!
She was late for a staff meeting already.
She got into the cab, and said, "Take me to the New York Times
building. That's in mid-town, next to Times Square."
"I know where it is," said a chillingly familiar voice. The cab
did not move.
"What?" said Franswa. "Do I know you?"
Franswa stared at the back of the cabbie's head. He slowly
turned around to reveal the smiling face of Michael Powers.
"You!" she said, looking surprised.
"I'm afraid you'll be a little late for your appointment at the
Times," said Powers.
"What are you doing here?" said Franswa.
"I wanted an opportunity to talk," said Powers.
"Talk? About what?"
"Oh... I don't know. Maybe about Richard... or Cynthia." He
pressed a button on a small tape player he held in his hands.
"Oooh, Richard," came Franswa's voice. Then she laughed.
"Cynthia, your hair is getting all over my face!" Then there was a
click, as if the tape had been edited, and they heard, Franswa say,
"Faster, Richard, faster!"
Powers turned off the tape, fully enjoying the expression of
horror on Franswa's face. "Faster, Richard, faster," he said
pityingly.
"How... how did you get that?" Franswa whispered.
"Is that the foremost question in your mind? I don't think so.
I think the most important question to you right now is what am I going
to do with it," said Powers. He looked thoughtful. "I could arrange
to have it broadcast, anonymously, of course, so it wouldn't get back
to me. It might not hurt your standing as a columnist, of course...
but what would your husband, Tom, think?"
Franswa flinched merely at the mention of his name. "Tom?"
"You mean, he doesn't know? Well surely... and what about your
family, do they know? Your children, for instance. Do they know they
actually have two pairs of mommies and daddies?"
"What do you want?" said Franswa, looking pale.
"Why, nothing, nothing at all," said Powers. "In fact, I want to
make life easier for you." He handed her a piece of paper.
"What... what is this?"
"Your next column. Your last before the election, I believe."
Franswa read quickly. "I... I can't say this."
Powers shrugged. "All right." He opened the car door. "Before
I leave, though, I just want to let you know that I respect your
adamancy, your toughness, your determination to stand on principal,
regardless of the cost. That's one of the things I always liked about
you."
He started to get out of the cab.
"Wait!" said Franswa.
"Yes?" said Powers, one foot out of the door.
"If I do this... how will I explain it... to the others?"
"Your column will explain it," said Powers. "And it has to be
word for word."
"Word for word?" she said, dismayed.
"You hear very well," said Powers. He looked at his watch.
"Well?"
Franswa slowly nodded, looking unhappy.
"Good," said Powers, getting out of the cab.
"Where... where are you going?" said Franswa.
"To my limo around the corner. I've got places to go, people to
see," said Powers. "Say, you'd better get a cab, you'll be late."
The next day a very short but very interesting op-ed piece
appeared in the Times.
POWERS FOR GOVERNOR
Private Sentiments
By Michele Franswa
Last week I wrote that people should support Alton
Sampleton for governor. After much consideration I realized that I
have made a mistake.
In the best of all possible worlds, Alton Sampleton or
someone like him would be governor. But this is reality, and we have
to face up to the fact that two imperfect candidates are running for
governor.
I am no great fan of Michael Powers. My previous columns
can attest to that.
However, I have to admit that he is head and shoulders
better than Stratford. His stated positions--on the poor, the
homeless, family planning, and prenatal care, are far superior to Mr.
Stratford's.
A protest vote in favor of Alton Sampleton would be nice in
the short term. But we have to think about what is best for the people
of New York. This is why I am endorsing Michael Powers for governor.
You may say that I'm being fickle by this sudden change of
opinion, and that perhaps my previous analysis wasn't terribly well
thought through. Well, perhaps you are correct. But I believe, in my
heart of hearts, that Michael Powers is the choice for New York.
"You didn't have to embarrass her, with that bit about being
fickle," said Toles.
"And why not?" said Powers. "She's caused me enough trouble."
"You like to humiliate your foes when you get them into a corner,
don't you?" said Toles.
"You mean you've been working for me for ten years and you've
only now figured that out?" said Powers, grinning.
The Wizard rushed into Powers' office. "Stop being happy," he
ordered.
"What?" said Powers.
"We've got troubles," said the Wizard. "The press has gotten
wind of rumors...." He quickly turned to close the door behind him.
"What kind of rumors?"
"That you killed Stanley Bayren," said the Wizard bluntly.
Powers looked shocked. "What? How could they say such a thing?
This must be another Stratford smear tactic."
"Maybe, but the word has it that there's going to be a press
conference in two days, with evidence presented to prove it," said the
Wizard.
"Evidence," said Powers, slumping into his chair. The gravity of
the situation suddenly hit him. What evidence could they have?
"Mike, I've got to know what they could have on you," said the
Wizard.
"You think I did it?" said Powers.
"Not at all," said the Wizard. "I just want to know what they
might have on you. We have to know what we're up against."
Powers nodded dumbly. He mumbled something.
"What?"
"Get out!" said Powers. "Both of you, get out!"
"But-"
"GET OUT!"
The Wizard and Toles quickly vacated the office.
Powers picked up the phone... and then put it down again.
He went to a payphone down the hallway instead.
"What?" said Mason, incredulous.
They were sitting on the Mall, near the reflecting pool, near, in
fact, the very same site where Ingrid Smeal had confessed to Erin
Powers.
"They say they have evidence," said Powers.
"How could they?" said Mason. "There's no evidence to have. The
car was already checked over the first time. There were no witnesses."
"Are you sure?"
Mason blinked. "Of course I'm sure."
"Then how does he have evidence?"
"He's bluffing."
Powers shook his head. "Stratford wouldn't start such a rumor
unless he was ready to provide substantiation."
"If he has the goods on you, then why is he waiting two days?"
"I don't know," said Powers. "That's what you have to find out."
"You're letting me go against Stratford?" said Mason.
"No," said Powers. "That's still too risky." Suddenly a thought
occurred to him. He snapped his fingers. "Of course!"
"What?"
"When's the last time we were talking about this subject?"
"Uh... last time I saw you, a few days ago-"
"In my office at night," said Powers.
"You think they've been bugging your office?" said Mason. "But
we've been sweeping it every day."
"Obviously someone overheard us talking," said Powers.
"Someone on your staff?"
"Perhaps. Or someone who wandered in. Or maybe the janitor.
How should I know? I need you to look into it, and find me the answer.
In two days."
"Two days? The guys and I-"
"No, just you," said Powers. "I want everyone in the office
monitored. Everyone. Including Niles and Marsten. Including Ross and
Toles. Including my wife. Everyone."
"Everyone?"
"You're the only one I can trust on this. You're the only one
who has absolutely no incentive to see this story leak out," said
Powers.
"I'm going to need more men," said Mason.
"Talk to Sigfried, on a secure line. Get a dozen men," said
Powers.
"A dozen, on short notice? That's going to be very difficult,
Mr. Powers-"
"Don't give me that!" Powers snapped. "Listen, let's drop our
cards. Don't you think I know the real reason that Sigfried insisted
that you work with members of my own staff, rather than turn this job
solely to his own people? He wanted to be able to implicate me if
things went bad. He didn't like the idea of going to prison alone.
Well, tell Sigfried that if we don't find this traitor, I won't be the
one to go to prison alone!"
"I'll tell him," said Mason. He paused, considering. Then he
said, "You know...."
"Yes?"
"My natural instincts tells me it's Niles."
"Niles?" Powers looked surprised. "Why would he do that? You're
just making wild guesses. Don't jump to conclusions. Just get me the
evidence."
"I'd better get going."
"Yes, you had better."
The campaign moved into its frantic final days. With three days
to go until the election, the campaign workers moved into overtime.
The Wizard got along with four hours of sleep, with an occasional
catnap during the day. Toles handled tasks sluggishly, and at times
found himself on the verge of dozing off. But neither of them talked
to Powers again about their new problem; Powers simply said that he
"would handle it."
They both knew what that meant; Mason.
Niles groaned as he got up that morning. His alarm was set for
6:30 but he suddenly noticed that it was 7:30. He must have overslept.
It was ironic that he was working so hard on the Congressman's
behalf, on these last few days. But he couldn't afford to arouse
suspicion, not before the press conference.
Niles had not decided what he would do after the press
conference. His career would be ruined, of course. But he was firmly
convinced this was the right thing to do. There was no way he was
going to allow that murderer to become governor!
Niles yawned, walking around in a button-down shirt and
underpants, as he looked for his trousers. Where were they?
Suddenly there was a knock on his door.
"Just a minute," Niles groaned.
The knock came louder.
"Just a minute!" Niles screamed. Where were his pants?
There was a crashing sound, and the door was battered in. Men in
ski masks burst in, grabbing him.
"Hey, I don't have any money!" said Niles, not quite
understanding what was going on.
Then one of them held him while another stuffed a rag in his
face. It had a strong, choking smell.
"Hey... what... what....." He fell unconscious.
Niles felt a stinging sensation.
He felt it again. It was pain, against his face.
He struggled to open his eyes.
Niles felt his face slammed again, and this time it really hurt.
He opened his eyes. There was a glaring light above him, but the
room around him was dark.
"What's going on?" he croaked.
"Don't you know?" said a familiar voice, stepping into the edge
of the light.
Niles tried to shield his eyes from the glare, but for some
reason he couldn't move. He was strapped into a chair!
And then Mason came into view.
"Mason, what's going on?"
"This is what's going on... traitor!" And Mason slammed him
across the face.
"Easy," came another voice. Marsten came into view.
"Marsten, stop him, he's gone mad," said Niles.
"You're the one who's gone crazy," said Marsten. "Did you really
think you could betray us and get away with it?"
"Betray you?" said Niles. He didn't have the strength to flatly
deny it.
"Betrayal," said Mason. He leaned close to Niles' face. "Do you
know what we do to those who betray us?"
Niles gulped, not responding.
Suddenly a sharp scalpel appeared in Mason's hand, inches from
Nile's throat. It gleamed in the spotlight as Mason made a slow
cutting motion in Nile's direction.
"No!" said Niles. "Don't! Please!"
"We're just supposed to get information," said Marsten. "Mason?
Mason, are you listening to me?"
Mason glared at Niles. The scalpel was now touching Nile's
throat. Then he slowly nodded, pulling back.
"Information, eh? All right, we'll get information. We'll drill
it out of you," said Mason. Suddenly a portable drill appeared in his
hand. He touched its activator, and it started to rotate, whining
loudly.
"We're not supposed to kill him."
"Kill him? All right. I'll just maim him." Mason, with a mad
look in his eyes, moved the drill closer to Niles' bound wrist.
"No, don't do it!" said Niles. "John, call the Congressman!"
"I am here," came a voice. "Mason."
Mason, looking surprised, turned off the drill, stepping back.
Michael Powers came into view.
"I'm very disappointed, Philip," said Powers. He neither looked
angry nor surprised.
"I... I had to do it," said Niles, suddenly admitting everything.
"You murdered Congressman Bayren."
"Funny how your conscience suddenly decided to act up. It didn't
seem to bother you when you were performing questionable tasks in my
employ," said Powers.
"It did," said Niles feebly.
But Powers ignored him. "You could have had it all. You could
have had an important post in my new administration, an important post,
yes, that I had planned to give you. But now...." Powers shook his
head, sighing. "What am I to do with you? You're a liability to the
campaign, Philip."
"No," said Niles, seeing what was coming.
"You have to go," said Powers. "It's for the good of the
campaign, don't you see? Don't worry, I'll write a very nice letter to
your parents, telling them all the wonderful things you've done for the
campaign." He turned to Marsten. "John, come with me. There are
somethings that you don't need to see."
Marsten moved with Powers.
"Wait!" said Niles, as Mason moved forward, activating the drill.
The sound of the drill sent Niles into a state of terror. "No,
no!" he cried, watching the drill press against his bound arm. It
slowly drilled into his flesh, and Niles screamed-
6:30. Niles found that he was holding the alarm clock, with the
alarm now in an OFF position. It was 6:30.
Niles looked at his door. It looked solid enough.
Niles looked at his arm. It looked unharmed.
It had been a nightmare. All just a nightmare.
One more day to go.
That evening Powers nodded to Mason as he entered the office.
"I've heard that there's a news conference scheduled for 11 AM
tomorrow," said Powers. "If you don't have the answer before then, my
campaign is doomed."
But Powers didn't look worried. He had to have been concerned,
of course; this could mean not only the end of his campaign, but all
his political aspirations, indeed, the end of his civilian life.
And yet Powers was as calm as he ever would be.
"It's Niles," said Mason bluntly.
"Proof," said Powers tightly.
Mason played a tape of a panicky Niles talking to his parents on
the phone. He was telling them of his plans to come home to visit
them.
"There's nothing wrong with visiting his parents, after the
election," said Powers, his lips pursed.
"He plans to leave tomorrow. With two days left to go until the
election," said Mason. "But let me show you exhibit two."
Exhibit two was a bus ticket, to Ithica, New York, Niles'
hometown. Dated for tomorrow. And it was only a one way ticket.
"Exhibit three," said Mason. "He's been seen going into pay
phones to make calls no less than six times in the past day."
"Yes?"
"These were not transient calls. Each call was in excess of ten
minutes," said Mason.
"He overheard us," said Powers dully.
"He overheard us," Mason nodded.
Powers conidered the implication for a moment. "But... he
doesn't have proof."
"No," said Mason. "Not that we can tell."
"So it will be my word against his," said Powers.
"Maybe so," said Mason. "But he can also provide elaboration of
his other spy activities, and those will be harder to challenge."
"He has to be stopped," said Powers.
"Yes," said Mason. "I have explained the situation to Mr. Bos.
He has authorized me to take... extraordinary measures."
Powers looked alarmed. "No! He's obviously told them what he
knows. If he should disappear before he provides elaboration, the
press will go public with what they know."
"So what other way is there?"
Powers looked up at the ceiling. "Perhaps there is one more
service that Mr. Philip Niles can perform for the campaign."
The following morning Niles allowed himself to sleep until 8 AM.
He had no intention of showing up for work that day. There was no
longer any reason to pretend. He had a date on the steps of the
capitol at 10 AM with a large number of camera crews and Roger
Johnston, Stratford's campaign manager.
The alarm woke him. He turned it off and got up. If he had had
a nightmare again, this time he didn't remember it. He put on his
clothes, had a quick breakfast, and Niles was actually whistling as he
got his keys and opened his front door to leave.
"Good morning," said Mason pleasantly. He was pointing a gun at
Niles. "Come with me, please."
"What?" said Niles. This was his dream, all over again!
They took him in a car and sped off down the road.
"Where are we going?" said Niles fearfully.
"Not far," said Mason. "The Congressman's office, on Capitol
Hill."
"On a Sunday?"
"That's right," said Mason.
"What's this all about?" said Niles. How much did they know?
"You'll see," said Mason.
When they arrived Mason said, "I'll be pointing this at you from
under my jacket. Don't try to signal to the guard as you show him your
entry pass. If you follow my instructions you will not be harmed."
Niles nodded dumbly. But for once he actually found himself
believing the man. If they had meant to kill him, they would hardly
take him to Capitol Hill. Just what were they up to?
Niles was also aware that the place he was being taken was mere
feet from the sight of his press conference, on the steps of the
Capitol. He looked at his watch. It was a little after 9 AM. It made
no sense. If they intended to keep him cooped up until after the press
conference, why were they keeping him so close by?
Mason escorted Niles into Power's office.
"Ah, Philip," said Powers, looking up from some paperwork. "Sit
down, sit down." He looked at Mason. "Wait outside, please."
Mason nodded, leaving them alone.
"Just a moment," said Powers, looking over a document. "Just
have to finish something." He finished writing something, and then
looked up. "There. How are you, Philip?"
"Fine, Congressman," said Niles.
"Would you like a drink?" Powers moved to a mug of coffee.
"No, Congressman," said Niles.
Powers poured two cups of coffee. "Oh, come now. If we had
wanted to harm you, there were much easier, less public ways." He
handed one cup to Niles, took the other. "See? I'm drinking from the
same mug."
Niles nodded, his hand shuddering as he took the cup. He was a
little thirsty.
Powers put the cup to his lips. Niles did the same, and drank a
little.
Powers put down his cup. "Now, what's this about your holding a
press conference?"
"I have to do it, Congressman," said Niles. "I can't let you get
away with it."
"Away with what?" said Powers.
"Killing Congressman Bayren. And all the other terrible things
you made me do?"
"Terrible things? How could I make you do anything terrible?"
said Powers.
Niles put down the coffee. It was starting to create a buzz in
his head.
"I can't let you win," said Niles.
"After you've worked so hard to help me win? It doesn't make
sense, Phil," said Powers.
"Are you going to... to stop me?"
Powers shook his head. "No, you've told the media you're going
to appear. Stopping you would not be wise. But I had hoped to
convince you to call this off, to call this all off."
Niles shook his head. "It's too late... I've already spoken to
the media, in generalities, off the record." He tugged at his collar.
It seemed a little hot in here.
"It's never too late," said Powers. "You can still do one more
service to the campaign. In fact, I'm sure you will."
"No," said Niles.
Powers looked at his watch. "It's almost 10 AM, isn't it?" He
sighed. "Your press conference must be assembled by now." He sighed.
"I really wish I could have convinced you, I really do. Mason!"
Niles' heart lept as Mason entered the room.
"Let him go," said Powers. "Don't escort him out, that will only
make him more nervous. You're free to go."
Niles couldn't believe his ears. It couldn't be this easy. He
got up, a little unsteady on his feet. Nodding to the Congressman, he
left.
"Did he take it?" Mason inquired.
"If he hadn't, I would have called you in to force this stuff
down his throat," said Powers, indicating the coffee mug. He handed
Mason the mug and the coffee cups. "Get rid of this stuff, and then
clear out. Quietly. From the back exit."
"Where is he?" said Johnston, looking worried at the assembled
camera crews. They really should have taken Niles into their
protection. But Niles had insisted on staying with the campaign until
the very end. Perhaps he felt safer continuing to pretend to be
working for Powers. Or perhaps he still remembered his treatment at
the hands of Stratford's men.
It was 10 AM. The camera crews were ready, everyone was there.
And then Niles stumbled down the steps of the Capitol.
"You're here, good," said Johnston rapidly.
Johnston stood before the cameras. "I have with me Philip Niles,
a senior staffer from the Powers campaign. Mr. Niles has very
important information to impart about what's really been happening in
the Powers campaign. Phil?"
Niles, nodding stood before the crowd, as flashbulbs popped and
cameras whirred. Suddenly, he felt very sick. But he found the
strength to speak. "I come here to tell a tale of murder and deceit.
My employer, Michael Powers, arranged for the murder of Congressman
Stanley Bayren of Utah. I overheard him talking about it-"
Powers sat in his Capitol Hill office, watching the news
conference, which was being carried live on CNN. He hummed a solemn
tune as he smoked a large cigar. He checked his watch quickly, and
nodded.
"-and I also spied on the opposition, and blackmailed them."
Suddenly Niles was feeling very lightheaded. He was still talking, but
he seemed to be detached now, not at all clear just what it was that
was being said.
"and... and there were other conspiracies," said Niles. He got a
wild look in his eyes. "Powers wanted to kill the Speaker of the
House! And the Senators from New York! And then I wanted to kill them!
They had to die. They all had to die! They were plotting against us!"
He looked around at the assembled reporters. Suddenly, he noticed
sinister faces in the crowd. "He has agents, here, in the crowd!"
Niles screamed. "They're coming to take me away... they're going to
choke me with my tongue, and make it look like an accident-" He was
yelling at the top of his lungs now.
Johnston tried to calm him down, putting an arm on his shoulder
to steady him, but Niles would not be touched. "And Stratford! He's
against me to! He tried to kill me once! I wouldn't let him! I
couldn't let him! You, you!" He pointed at Stephanie Gould.
"You work for the killers! You work for them! You should be in
jail! Fuck! Fuck! JAIL! JAIL! I HAVE TO CLEAN MYSELF, I HAVE TO
WASH MY HANDS!" He stared at Gould. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!
WHAT... ARE... YOU... DOING... HERE!!!"
Gould took a step back, horrified, as Niles, sweating profusely
and twitching wildly, advanced on her, arms outstretched. She moved to
get out of the way, but he grabbed her by the shoulders, and said, "YOU
WERE THERE! YOU WORK FOR THEM! THEY MUST BE STOPPED!" And then he
started to choke her.
Cameras turned to capture this event. Gould gasped for breath.
But then a number of valiant print reporters entered the fray,
bludgeoning Niles about the head and neck with their fists and
notepads.
"NO!!! NO!!! THAT'S JUST WHAT THEY WANT!!!" Niles screamed, as he
went down under an assortment of blows.
Powers, watching it all on television, shook his head, and took
another puff of his cigar. And smiled slyly.
That afternoon Powers flew into New York where he gave a broad
interview.
"Of course I feel terrible," said Powers. "Obviously his mental
illness has been festering for months, undetected by all of us. It
must have been the strain of the campaign, especially the charges made
by the opposition."
Oxford Frame said, "Mr. Johnston claimed he had no knowledge-"
"Of course he had no knowledge," said Powers. "Nor did he care.
He just wanted to use a poor, sick individual as a tool to get to me.
It's typical of the kind of dirty schemes that Stratford has employed,
but I'm saddened that he had to use someone so defenseless and so ill
as Phil Niles as a tool."
"What has happened to Mr. Niles?"
"Mr. Niles is under psychiatric observation at the McGovern
Charity Mental Hospital outside Bethesda, Maryland," said Powers. "For
the moment, I'm told that he's been kept deeply sedated." An
expression of concern crossed his face. "I've arranged for him to be
taken care of. I'm told that he exhibits classic paranoid-
schizophrenic symptoms. He'll be given the most advanced medicines in
an effort to cure him, even if it takes years," said Powers. "Phil was
a very important part of my team. I want to make sure that he gets the
best care I can arrange for him. It's the least he deserves."
"Congressman, there have always been some whispers that you've
had some involvement in Congressman Bayren's-"
"What? You're going to take the word of a mentally ill
individual? Can't we leave Phil Niles alone? Let him rest," said
Powers. "Please. For his sake."
"But Congressman-"
"If you somehow believe his deranged charges against me, you'd
also believe all of his charges, including the fact that I had the
Speaker of the House and both Senators from New York killed. Aside
from the fact that the Speaker is a good friend of mine," Powers smiled
widely, "it is an uncontroverted fact that all three are still alive.
In addition, Phil also made a number of charges about Mr. Stratford, I
believe. Called him a killer, I think. Are you also investigating
that?"
That stunned the press into silence.
"Well then," said Powers. "I have a campaign to run."
Later, in private, Powers said, "How did I do?"
The Wizard nodded. "It's basically a wash. However, there was a
backlash against Stratford's obvious attempt to use that poor, sick,
lad."
"So? How many points are we ahead in the polls?" said Powers
eagerly. This was it. With two days to go, he had survived the last
strike, and turned it against Stratford. Now, victory was his!
"Um, there's one complication," said the Wizard.
Powers' stomach sank. "What do you mean?"
"Patricia Bayren, the widow of the Congressman," said the Wizard.
"She always seemed to think you had a hand in it. Now the word on the
street is that she's emboldened enough to make the accusation in
public."
"Let her make it," said Powers, with a dismissive wave of the
hand. "She has no proof."
"Stratford's people did some more testing on Bayren's car. They
found microscopic cuts which could have been, I repeat, could have been
caused by a saboteur," said the Wizard.
A shadow crossed Powers' face. "That's still not proof."
The Wizard took a deep breath. "You're right, it's not. But
imagine the image of a widow, on national television, accusing you of
murder. It could shake enough votes, Mike, it really could."
"Where is she?" said Powers suddenly. "Back in Utah?"
Ross shook his head. "Washington."
Powers suddenly got up.
"Where're you going?"
"To see her."
"She'll never see you. She hates your guts, remember?"
"She'll see me," said Powers. "Get me Mason."
A swarm of reporters were clustering around the Bayren home in
the District of Columbia the following morning. With the election set
for the following day this was the hottest news item in town. Bayren
was inside her home, the home her husband had held when he had been
Congressman.
Powers edged his way through astonished reporters, who
immediately recognized him. "Congressman! Congressman Powers! What
are you doing here!" they cried.
"I'm here to console a widow against a campaign of lies," said
Powers. "But I could ask you the same. What are you doing here?"
"Mrs. Bayren is holding a news conference in 15 minutes," said
one journalist. "And I think it's about you."
"Oh, you do, do you?" said Powers.
He went up to the door and knocked.
"Fifteen minutes," came a voice.
"I'm not a reporter," said Powers.
"Who?" The door opened.
Patricia Bayren stared at the figure in her doorway. "You," she
cried. She started to shut the door, but Powers was quicker, jamming
his foot forward. "I think we better talk," said Powers. He eyed the
camera crews behind him. "In private."
Later that morning William Stratford watched on CNN as a beaming
Patricia Bayren endorsed Michael Powers. "He's really quite a dear.
Definitely the best man for the job."
One of the journalists said, "What about the charges-"
"Charges? Charges from that sick Stratford fellow?" said Bayren.
"I dismiss that."
"Wasn't it true that the Congressman Powers and Congressman
Bayren were natural enemies?" said another reporter.
"Er, well, they had differences on the issues," said Mrs. Bayren
hastily. "But Michael Powers is an honorable man, and I cannot sit
still and have him smeared.
"Impossible!" said Stratford, turning off the television. "How
does he do it? How?"
"I don't know," said Johnston slowly, shaking his head. "When I
spoke to her, she gave me the impression that nothing in the world
would change her mind. And then...."
"Powers got to her! Somehow, he got to her!" said Stratford.
"Well, we're all out of tricks now! Get out of my sight! We have one
more day to campaign, we had better make it good!"
When Powers arrived back in New York in mid-afternoon, he was met
at the airport by the Wizard.
"How did you do it, Mike?"
"People are animals," said Powers. "I simply appealed to her
natural instincts."
"No, really, stop with the animals crap. She really hated you.
How did you do it?"
Powers gave a broad laugh. "If we get through this, if we win,
I'll explain everything. But for now, we have to squeeze one more day
of campaigning into five hours."
When Powers got home that night he was exhausted. His part in
this campaign was now complete. Now the last minute organizational
tasks were all up to the Wizard, Toles, and their senior aides.
"How is it going, dear?" said Erin, sitting on the couch with
him.
"Don't care," said Powers, his eyes closed. "Tired."
But if he was tired, Toles and the Wizard were exhausted. They
stayed up all night, making final preparations for the morning.
Election day, November 7, came quietly. The sun started to rise.
Outdoors, the birds chirped.
"Checklist," said the Wizard hoarsely.
"Checklist," said Toles, raising a tattered notebook.
"Rotary clubs"
"94 rotary clubs, liquor nights," said Toles, checking it off.
The Wizard had determined that the primary profile of a Stratford
voter was a small-town upstate small businessman. So the Wizard had
spread some money around to various rotary clubs and other small
business associations to persuade them to hold meetings right after the
workday ended, in the hopes that their members would go straight there
from work... and forget to vote.
"Transportation division."
"Transportation division, check. 134 buses and minivans, around
the state."
The Wizard had arranged to bus their most reliable supporters to
the polls.
"Absentee ballots, ours."
"Absentee ballots, ours, check."
The Wizard had also arranged to have absentee ballots mailed to
reliable supporters as well. His motto in the campaign was "vote
early, vote often."
"Absentee ballots, theirs," said the Wizard.
"Absentee ballots, theirs, check," said Toles.
This was an interesting twist. The Wizard had arranged to send
out over 100,000 absentee ballots to voters who seemed likely to vote
for Stratford. Only these ballots weren't quite the same as the
absentee ballots that were sent to Powers voters. These had small but
material defects that would disqualify them from being admitted as
absentee ballots. The Wizard hoped that large numbers of Stratford
voters would feel more comfortable using them than voting in person.
Even if Stratford also mailed them correct absentee ballots, there was
a 50-50 chance that his voters would use the invalid ones.
They went through the rest of the checklist until the Wizard,
satisfied, gave a small nod. "Very good."
"What do we do now?"
"Now... we wait."
Powers went to vote that morning in the district voting center on
Central Park South. He took Bobby with him into the voting booth and
smiled for the cameras.
"Congressman! Who's your son voting for?" they asked.
"Tell them, Bobby," said Powers, before he pulled the lever to
close the curtain shut.
"The winner!" said Bobby, pointing to his father.
"What more can I say?" said Powers, pulling the lever.
When he came out, the reporters were still there. "Congressman,
are you confident of a victory?"
"I am confident that the people of New York will move forward,
not backwards," said Powers.
"Is that a yes?" said one of the reporters.
The big victory bash was held in the Roosevelt Hotel. Democrats
of all stripes gathered there to watch the incoming returns. Powers,
as usual, was staying put at home, watching the returns in the
penthouse.
"-first returns coming in, with half a percent of the precincts
reporting, Michael Powers is ahead, 64% to 34%-" said the announcer.
"I won," said Powers, shrugging as he shuffled the cards. In two
hours, it would all be over. He looked over at the Wizard and Toles as
he puffed a big cigar. "Ok, do you guys know the rules to Ultimate
Poker?"
"How can you think about cards at a time like this?" said the
Wizard, straining to see the television behind Powers' head.
"Easy," said Powers. "I'm always relaxed when it comes to
something that I can't do anything more about. The campaign's over;
relax, take it easy."
"What's the rules? Everything's wild?" the Wizard asked, his
eyes still glued to the television.
"No. No wild cards. We each get our hands dealed, but we can
look at each other's cards."
"What? What kind of poker is that?" said the Wizard.
"The only catch is, while we can look at each other's cards, the
only cards we cannot look at are our own."
"What a crazy game!" said the Wizard. "How are we supposed to
know what to bet if we can't see our own cards?"
"By guessing what the strength of your own hand is," said Powers.
"It's actually quite like regular poker, but instead of knowing your
hand and guessing your opponent's, it's just the other way around.
There's a $50 minimum bet as always," said Powers. He started dealing
the cards.
"What's going to happen to Niles?" Toles asked.
"He'll be locked away for a goodly number of years," said Powers.
He saw Toles instinctively starting to look at his own cards. "Don't
look at those. They're your cards."
"Oh. Sorry. Instinct," said Toles. "What if he suddenly
recovers?"
"He won't," said Powers quietly. "He's being quite well looked
after."
The first substantial returns came in. They showed Powers ahead,
55% to 44%.
Powers looked at the Wizard and Toles. It was obvious that he
was not happy. But, to an outsider, the reason would not be
immediately apparent. The first returns, of course, would come from
heavily democratic New York City, which was expected to heavily favor
Powers. The Wizard had projected that Powers would need to lead with
between 58%-62% in New York City in order to off-set other losses
upstate. A 55% lead just wasn't good enough.
Powers said nothing, and just continued to shuffle the cards.
But he did say to the Wizard, as he started dealing, "Better hope you
win a lot at poker tonight. Remember our little bet? You might only
get half of your salary that we discussed."
"I have full confidence," said the Wizard, lifting up his cards.
"Don't look at your cards," Powers snapped.
"Oh. Sorry. Habit."
The returns kept coming in. At one point Powers' lead did
increase to 58%, but that was only for a few minutes, and then his
percentaged started to decline again.
The Wizard looked at his watch. "Upstate returns are starting to
come in," he said.
"Oh no!" said Toles, slapping his own forehead.
"What?" said Powers. Had Toles forgotten to do something
important?
"I forgot to vote!"
Powers gave a dry laugh.
The Wizard chimed in, puffing a steady stream of smoke from his
pipe. "They did a survey once, and found out that a majority of
political consultants never bothered to vote, even for their own
candidates."
More returns came in. Powers' margin had slipped, and was now at
52%-47%.
"Your bet?" said Powers calmly, turning to the Wizard.
"Um...." The Wizard looked over their other cards. "How am I
supposed to bet when I don't know what I have?"
"You could base your bet on ours. Presumably if we bet small
amounts, that means you have a very good hand," said Powers.
"But you could be bluffing," said the Wizard.
"Reverse bluffing," said Powers. "Trying to con you into
thinking you have a different set of cards? Why, I never thought of
that."
"Aren't you listening to the returns?" said Erin, coming into the
room. "Michael, when are we going over to the hotel? We've been
getting calls."
"When it's over," said Powers. He studied Toles cards intently.
A short time later they heard, "-and the race has turned, and
William Stratford is leading, 51%-49%."
Powers turned to the Wizard. "Your turn to deal." He raised his
voice. "Honey? Do we have any more of this sherry?"
"It's been quite a campaign, however it turns out," said Toles.
"Um," said Powers. "Shut up and look at my cards."
After a while they hadn't heard any further returns, and even
Powers showed some interest, turning up the volume.
"-and in the race for water commissioner-"
"Who cares about water commissioner?" the Wizard fumed. He
changed the channel.
"-with 80% of the vote counted Michael Powers and William
Stratford are deadlocked, each with a little over 49% of the vote-"
"Whose turn is it to bid?" said Powers. He turned down the
volume.
"Hey! I want to hear it!" said the Wizard.
"Shut up and bid," said Powers.
A half hour later, Erin came running into the room. "Michael!
Michael!"
"Hm, yeah, what?" said Powers.
"Didn't you hear? You won! You won!"
Powers looked surprised. He immediately turned up the volume on
the television.
"-our projections show a narrow but solid victory for Michael
Powers. With 98% of the vote counted he has a narrow 52%-48% lock over
William Stratford-"
The Wizard gave a low whistle. "With a point to spare. Who
would have thought. Well, Mike, we did it!"
"Yes, we did," said Powers, giving a broad grin. "We must have
gotten that extra point from the New York Times. I'll have to be sure
to thank Michele Franswa for her endorsement."
"Never mind that. We did it!" Toles yelled. "It's over!"
"Do you want to pay me double my salary now, or tomorrow?" said
Toles.
Powers took a check out of his pocket. It was made out to the
Wizard, in the amount of double his salary.
"You knew," said the Wizard. "You had confidence!"
"Of course I did," said Powers, as he took out another check from
his pocket and slowly tore it up.
"Michael, it's so wonderful! Let's get over to the hotel!" said
Erin, giving him a hug.
Powers looked at his watch. "Yes, it's about time."
An hour later, Powers was finishing his victory speech. "And so,
in closing, I want thank all of you, my supporters. You were the ones
who made this possible. We are going to bring forth a better, brighter
New York. Thank you."
An unorchestrated cheer went up in the crowd. Balloons descended
from the ceiling. The Wizard, standing to the side, gave Powers the
thumbs-up sign. Toles looked incredibly tired, but pleased. And John
Marsten stood to the side, looking smug. He wondered if a certain
mental hospital in Maryland allowed its patients to watch television.
Powers was smiling and laughing uproariously, with his family and
supporters at his side. At that moment he was indeed tremendously
grateful to his supporters. A single recurring thought went through
his mind.
Thanks a lot, idiots.
John Marsten had never before been invited to go on one of
Powers' hunting trips. Perhaps it was a measure of the new confidence
that Powers placed in him that he was invited to go, along with the
Wizard and Toles. Only the day before Powers had formally asked him to
be his deputy secretary of transportation, an offer Marsten had eagerly
accepted.
"Keep your nose clean, and you'll be a full cabinet secretary in
my second term," Powers had promised.
Marsten hefted an unfamiliar weapon in his hands as he trudged
through the forest with the others. It was heavy. Powers said that it
was a modified M-16 with a "special attachment" added. Marsten didn't
even wonder how Powers had gotten his hands on these assault weapons.
A small group of deer stood in a clearing, just a few feet away
from them. Powers immediately raised his weapon, and started spraying
them with automatic gunfire.
He laughed as two of them dropped, the rest scattering in every
direction.
"Ah, ha ha ha," he said, looking at a blood splattered tree.
"You know, I begin to see what Stratford and his NRA buddies see in
using automatic weapons for hunting."
The Wizard and Toles gave weak grins. They didn't find it quite
as exciting as Powers did.
"We must track the survivors," said Powers, moving forward
eagerly. "I always love a good hunt."
"Is that why you like campaigns?" said the Wizard.
"Why, yes," said Powers, looking as if this were obvious. "I
enjoy the hunt of tracking down my electoral opponent in the polls,
slowly stalking them... until they are destroyed."
"Well, you can add Mandelbaum, Sampleton, and Stratford to your
trophy wall," said Toles. "It's just a pity you can't get their
heads."
"What?" Powers seemed intrigued. "Yes, quite right," he
laughed.
"One thing I'm curious about," said the Wizard, following Powers'
brisk pace.
"Hm?"
"The widow."
"Ah... the widow. You want to know what I said to her," Powers
smiled.
"Yes. I mean, she really hated you."
"She still does." Powers paused. "I asked for her
endorsement."
"And why did she give it?"
"I gave her incentives," said Powers, quickening his pace.
"Such as?" the Wizard persisted.
"You really want to know?"
"I really want to know."
"I'll tell you." Powers stopped in his tracks, turning to face
the Wizard, who nearly bumped into him. "I said that if she didn't
endorse me, I would dedicate the rest of my life to making hers
miserable. I said that I would fabricate evidence that she was a child
molester, that I would have her put in jail and her kids put into
foster homes. I said that I would make certain that she was repeatedly
beaten in jail by the other inmates. I said I would have her brother
killed in an industrial accident and her sister drowned in the river.
I said that I would make certain that her children were adopted by
abusive parents, and that I would work my best to expose her kids to
the drug culture and turn them into hard-core crack addicts. In short,
I said I would destroy her and her family." Powers stared at the
Wizard. "Now is your curiousity satisfied?"
The Wizard nodded dumbly.
"So let us turn to lighter matters," said Powers, chuckling
slightly as he turned to walk forward again. "Have any of you
gentlemen ever seen the movie "The Candidate" with Robert Redford?"
Powers heard three sets of "Um hm."
"Well, as you know, there's this dopey character, played by
Robert Redford (who, come to think of it, is also kind of dopey in real
life), and this character he plays runs for the Senate. And after he
wins, he looks dumbfounded, like an idiot--a handsome idiot, but an
idiot nonetheless--and turns to his campaign manager, and says, in a
whiny girlie-man voice, "What do I do now?"
"And what do we do now?" said Toles, suppressing a grin.
"We conquer! We make every interest in the state line up just to
have lunch with us! We control all the bills moving in and out of the
legislature with my veto pen! We have power, we have authority, we
have prestige!" His voice grew low. "We have control."
Powers saw another grouping of deer in a clearing ahead. He
motioned for the others to put down their rifles, and then he pulled
back on a small tube underneath the barrel of his rifle. Powers raised
the rifle again, but only to waist level, in the general direction of
the deer.
"It was a battle between animals, and the superior animal emerged
the victor. And now the spoils are mine!" he laughed, pressing the
trigger.
There was a loud popping sound, as a small ball shot out of the
tube, landing squarely in the group of deer. The deer looked about, as
if something was wrong. One of them lowered its neck to sniff at the
small ball that had landed at its feet.
There was a loud explosion, sending dirt and leaves into the air.
Everyone except Powers was shaken off their feet.
When the dust had cleared, they saw no less than ten shrapnel
infested deer corpses in the clearing.
And Powers was laughing, laughing hysterically. "Mine, all
mine!" he yelled. He spotted a few deer stragglers slowly limping away
from the scene. Powers popped a new round of ammunition into the
rifle.
"You're insane!" said the Wizard.
Powers wheeled around, pointing the gun at the Wizard. Anger
flared in his eyes. "Governor Insane, to you."
There was tension in the air for a moment.
Then Powers started laughing. The Wizard, and then Toles and
Marsten joined in.
"Come on," said Powers, putting an arm around the Wizard. "Let's
go home. I'm in the mood for some governing."
The End
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