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such services.” Graham's voice was flat and without enthusiasm.
    “You got it!” Bridges almost laughed. “We'll give them something they already have.”
    The men around the table broke into applause. Graham watched, but didn't move. Were many of the citizens really this dump?
     Yeah. They were.
    “Graham's already figured this one out,” Bridges said. “We're blowing a lot of smoke. The point is we don't have to spent
     a dime, and we sound like we're saving civilization.” Bridges winked. “That's called good politics.”
    “Good politics, indeed!” Al Meacham said. “I don't think we ought to underestimate our opponent. The other side is working
     hard to provide an alternative. They'll respond to us and might get more than a tad ugly about some of these items.”
    “Which means we're the ones keeping the initiative going,” Bridges said. “Initiative, boys That's how the game is won.”
    Graham believed in Bridges's campaign and definitely thought he was the better qualified of the two candidates. However, he
     didn't like these back-room planning sessions. They always sounded like the legendray “smoke-filled rooms” that once made
     politics pop. Bridges was aiming at the media, not the issues.
    The lack of ethical concern also bothered Graham. He wasn't sure why, but somewhere along the way he had picked up a sensitivity
     to these issues. His mother had made him go to church as a boy. Not much of it stuck, but he remembered the discussions about
     doing the right things— that part of their message stayed with him. Graham's mother had always been big on moral issues. She
     encouraged him to think about what was lasting and true. His father taught him to work hard and instilled an enduring drive
     in the boy. Graham knew politicians ought to pay attention to these things, but that wasn't where Bridges and his inner circle
     lived.
    “We're with you, Frank, but I want to know what you now consider to be the real issues. What are we truly fighting for?” Graham
     crossed his arms over his chest and didn't blink.
    Bridges pursed his lips and ran his hands through his hair. “Nothing has changed, Graham. Same game as always.” He pulled
     at his chin, thinking about the question. “I don't know what these terrorists are trying to prove or where they came from,
     but the basic issue is still the same. We need more oil than we can currently obtain. The whole world is locked into this
     question and people in a city as large as Chicago can't forget it. This country's war in the middle of those Muslim oil fields
     affected supply. The world's oil supply has slowed down ever since and the prices keep going up. Sure. Many cars run on batteries
     or hydrogen, but they still need petroleum to produce energy. Everyone remains afraid of nuclear power plants. I need to get
     a large percentage of the vote to enable me to make the long-range negotiations we need for this city.” He stopped for a moment
     and then looked straight at Graham. “I don't want to talk about this problem in public, but I believe that Borden Camber Carson
     may be our only hope. We need more production from his Royal Arab Petroleum empire coming our way. Do you disagree?”
    Graham knew the mayor enjoyed putting his attackers on the defensive. He didn't want to say so in this meeting, but Graham
     wasn't a big fan of Carson and his far-flung oil empire. Who knew what this egomaniac was actually about? No one had ever
     actually seen the recluse. The only clear evidence was that he was good at bringing oil production under his control.
    “Do you disagree?” Bridges asked again.
    “I don't disagree that energy is our big problem.”
    “There you have it, boys.” Frank Bridges tossed his hands up in the air. “We're all on the same page.”
    “However,” Graham continued, “my contention is that most citizens are terrified of criminal elements in our society and they
     can't do anything about it. Low income is killing the