(FORTUNE Magazine) – Any Democrat running for President needs to be Terry McAuliffe's best friend. Vice President Al Gore flew through a snowstorm last year to attend McAuliffe's 40th birthday party. On the grip-'n'-grin photo wall of McAuliffe's Washington office is a picture signed "Al" that says, "You really are the greatest!" A few years ago, House Democratic leader Richard Gephardt bought a golden retriever puppy, spent a month housetraining it, then personally delivered it to the McAuliffe family in a box with a bow on Christmas Day. Gephardt and McAuliffe really are chums, but McAuliffe also has something that Gephardt and Gore want badly: access to money. He is the Democratic Party's most prolific fundraiser.

And you thought presidential candidates spent all their time in Iowa and New Hampshire. Ha! Those visits are mere stopovers between meetings with the people who really count: money gatherers like McAuliffe. Under federal election law, donations for the primaries are limited to $1,000 per individual. No soft money (those huge contributions given to the parties rather than to the candidates themselves). Little if any money from political action committees (PACs). In other words, no big money (unless you're Steve Forbes or Ross Perot and you spend your own). Since a serious primary campaign will cost upwards of $20 million in 2000, top candidates must find roughly 20,000 donors. The only way to do that is to court fundraisers, who in turn cajole friends and associates into supporting their favorite politician.

Problem is, there are only so many people willing to contribute $1,000. Presidential finance expert Stan Huckaby estimates that the Republicans have 50,000; the Democrats have fewer. Thus, the money available to primary candidates of both parties is less than $100 million. Yet there are at least a dozen candidates trying to sweep together $20 million each. You do the math. Even if you toss in several million dollars from smaller donors, demand far outstrips supply. It's a seller's market, and the sellers, in this case, are check raisers, not check writers. They are valued for the reach of their Rolodexes, not the size of their wallets. In the six presidential elections since the Watergate "reforms" took effect, the candidates who raised the most money became their party's nominees. It's that simple--and venal.

Welcome to the Money Chase.

You've probably never heard of Wayne Berman, Peter Terpeluk, Dan Dutko, or Alan Solomont. But they are the kingmakers of national politics--the people to see in the powerful world of presidential-level campaign finance. The candidates have been breakfasting, lunching, and generally schmoozing them--and others like them--for months. Whoever these folks bless will have the best shot to become our next President. The ones they reject don't have any chance at all. FORTUNE has canvassed the members of this elite clique and compiled a city-by-city, region-by-region list of them on page 100. All can be counted on to raise around $25,000 (and probably much more) in thousand-buck increments for the candidates they back. Examine the names closely. Among them you are likely to find many future ambassadors and cabinet officers.

Right now the candidates and fundraisers aren't shackled by the $1,000 ceiling. Under the porous campaign-finance statutes, candidates can do everything but confess their desire to move to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and still raise virtually unlimited sums. The $1,000 limit doesn't bite until a politician officially announces his run for the presidency. That's why, even in private, the contenders' appeals for support are oblique and will remain so until the presidential campaign begins in earnest about a year from now. In the meantime, the givers and takers are feeling each other out. The most sought-after fundraisers spread their money widely during this early period, waiting to see how the race shapes up. The candidates happily take it for their "leadership PACs"--a euphemism for pre-presidential funds. The money enables candidates to travel the country, test their messages, and make friends who will come in handy later.

Although money doesn't guarantee political success--neither Ross Perot nor Steve Forbes has yet managed to spend his way to victory--it is a leading prognosticator. GOP consultant John Grotta has calculated that a party's nominee isn't simply the person who raises the most money. He also tends to have the largest number of small contributors from the greatest number of states. If a candidate has broad geographic support from, say, $100 and $200 donors, chances are the electorate at large will back him too.

Indeed, the race for the White House is much easier to read when viewed through the prism of campaign finance. On the surface, several Democrats appear ready to challenge Gore. And among Republicans, the 2000 election looks as if it might attract 2,000 combatants. In fact, the only candidates with a prayer are the ones who have histories with the money gatherers. That whittles the field of Democrats to three: Gore, of course; Gephardt, who has worked for years with the Democratic fundraising arm of the House, called the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee; and Sen. Bob Kerrey of Nebraska, who has chaired the Senate Democrats' fundraising committee since 1995, an arduous task he would never have taken on unless he had national aspirations. Sen. John Kerry of Massachusetts might also be a contender, but only if his millionaire wife, Teresa, bankrolls him.

Winnow the Republicans the same way. Texas Gov. George W. Bush is the early favorite, not just because of his familiar name but because Texas is a huge fundraising state and his father's national network of fundraisers is eager to pitch in. Steve Forbes will be a factor largely because of his own money, though he'll also raise some. To that end, he recently sent Washington hostess Julie Finley a box of Godiva chocolates--after he did her a favor by speaking to a group she heads. House Speaker Newt Gingrich is an accomplished national fundraiser and so cannot be dismissed, despite his embarrassingly low poll ratings. Other candidates have positioned themselves to mingle with major givers. Dan Quayle is honorary head of the GOP Chairman's Advisory Board, a group for $5,000-a-year contributors. Lamar Alexander works with the Eagles program of the Republican Party, the GOP's club for $15,000-a-year contributors. Alexander is already trying to find 750 people who will raise $25,000 each for him in $1,000 chunks. That comes to nearly $19 million--a lot of money for a guy who doesn't have much chance of winning, except maybe in Iowa, where he's well organized.

The candidates must keep up-to-date lists of who's giving what to whom. Donors change constantly. What's more, the fundraisers are in the midst of a generational shift, as some of the icons fade into retirement and their disciples step up. Among Democrats, Lew Wasserman, 85, in Los Angeles and Walter Shorenstein, 83, of San Francisco are still active but in eclipse. Disney executive John Cooke, 56, Gore's man in L.A., and Dan Dutko, 53, a Washington lobbyist and Gore backer, are on the rise. In San Francisco, fundraising is moving south to Silicon Valley, as entrepreneurs and venture capitalists learn the trade.

Among Republicans, legendary Detroit fundraiser Max Fisher, 90, has given way to Heinz Prechter, 56, who made his first fortune manufacturing auto sunroofs and is now George W. Bush's man. Longtime Bush backer and former Commerce Secretary Bob Mosbacher, 71, has handed the lead to Wayne Berman, 41, and Peter Terpeluk, 50, both of Washington, and, oddly, to his former wife Georgette, 50, a New York cosmetics executive.

Collecting money in $1,000 increments is hard work. "People who say they enjoy fundraising ought to have their heads examined," says Debbie Dingell, a Democratic gatherer and wife of Michigan Congressman John Dingell. "I hate it. I hate it more and more. I want to help, but it's distasteful to ask people for money. Your friends don't return your calls." But the money does flow, if only because each party's special interests want a friend in the White House. That's why so many of the Democrats on FORTUNE's list are trial lawyers; on the other hand, many of the the Republicans we identify are real estate moguls and oil company executives. Some fundraisers play both sides, including Carl Lindner of American Financial, the company that owns Chiquita Brands, and Ron Perelman of Revlon. Florida Crystals, a sugar company, is headed by the Fanjul brothers: Pepe, the Republican, and Alfie, the Democrat. Sweet, no?

At the same time, conspiracy theorists will be disappointed to learn that the majority of money raisers don't seek quid pro quos. Most have made their fortunes and dabble in politics because they are partisans and get a kick out of it. Of course, few would turn down the Court of St. James's if it were offered. And some, especially the professional lobbyists, are happy to mix politics with business. But what they really crave is status and minor celebrity in the nation's capital. The nastiest battles between fundraisers are often over who gets to sit next to the President, or to presidential wannabes. It may seem absurd to the uninitiated, but among fundraisers, top pols are the rock stars of the Beltway. In some ways, the real scandal of the White House coffees and overnights that got President Clinton in such (pre-Monica) trouble is that so many sophisticated people were willing to raise or give so much to become little more than Washington groupies.

Fundraisers at the highest level get involved for the sport. Their goal is to outraise the other guys, including the ones on their own team. They have surprisingly sharp elbows. The best of them work for years to locate the most reliable givers and then are loath to share their bounty. The list is all. "I guard my database," says Georgette Mosbacher, one of the most prominent women in a mostly men's club. The candidates she supports sometimes ask to borrow her list. But she says, "I never do that." There's too much danger of "poaching" by other fundraisers, she says. And there's the worry of "database burnout." In one recent week, Mosbacher was asked to collect money for three in-state and six out-of-state office seekers, and had already fielded calls from a half-dozen presidential hopefuls. Her donors don't need any more badgering, she says, especially from strangers.

How grateful to these money gatherers is the future President? According to a confidential memo obtained by FORTUNE, 81 people in the 1996 Clinton-Gore campaign raised more than $53,000 each. Of these, 20 became ambassadors or received some other choice offer from the Clinton administration. In addition, all but 28 were treated to at least one of those infamous White House coffees. Get the picture? To be fair, some of the courting is done by the fundraisers. Sure, the candidates need the money, but the gatherers want a winner. Don Evans, a Midland, Texas, oilman, thinks he has found one in George W. Bush; he will likely be Bush's finance chairman. The governor is so hot now that a $5,000-a-seat dinner in Washington this summer to benefit his reelection in Texas was oversubscribed before the invitations went out. The meal had to be moved from a private home to the Four Seasons Hotel to accommodate the overflow.

Gore, too, is taking care to please the right people. Although it was President Clinton who named Tom Leonard, a Philadelphia money raiser, to the board of Fannie Mae, one of Washington's choicest appointments, it was Gore who recently called Leonard to deliver the good news. Gore's PAC, called Leadership '98, has in effect been holding tryouts for fundraisers around the country. Gore envoys, led by lobbyist Peter Knight, have organized steering committees to raise money in major cities. The most aggressive fundraisers for the PAC are sure to be recruited for the real event in 2000.

In the meantime, the Money Chase will only gain momentum. Mel Sembler of Florida will be up for grabs soon, when he steps down as finance chairman of the Republican Party. The last time he declared himself available, during the 1996 campaign, five GOP hopefuls immediately got on the phone to him. He backed Alexander then, and says he hasn't decided whom to back in 2000. Bigtime Democratic fundraiser Terry McAuliffe may have found a clever way out of a sticky position. If his good friend Gephardt declines to challenge Gore, McAuliffe will be firmly in the Gore camp. But if Gephardt does run, McAuliffe is likely to take a senior position with the party. That way he can deliver the goods for the Democrats without hurting the feelings, or the coffers, of his two most ardent suitors.

REPORTER ASSOCIATES Eileen P. Gunn and Michelle McGowan