The set-up, to say the least, is modest. They operate out of a few clinical upstairs rooms, separated from Adi Roche's Cork home only by a fire escape. There is no high technology, executive washroom or cappucino machine; just fax, phones, a good filing system and scrupulously maintained accounts.
There are four full-time paid workers as well as two FAS workers - one of whom has requested that her stint be extended by a year. The sense of purpose is palpable, though the atmosphere is light and non-hierarchical - which is just as well because none of them is in it for the money.
The project manager, Danny Thompson, took a drop of £5,000 in salary when - captivated by Adi Roche's vision and achievements - he left his job in London with a major charity to work here. His bride of a month is still in England at her teaching post; they survive the separation, he says, because of their commitment to the project.
This is Adi Roche's HQ, where she stuffs envelopes when necessary and where the staff sometimes manhandle her down the fire escape to make her take time out for herself and her husband, Sean.
From here, Roche, the staff, the board of directors, the 70 hard-working outreach groups around the State and some 900 host families somehow contrived this summer to give 1,500 wounded children the holiday of a lifetime.
From here, millions of pounds of aid - medical, education, practical - has been assembled with the help of hundreds of volunteers. It has been packed, documented and driven across Europe to Belarus, through a minefield of bureaucracy, massive corruption and diplomatic hurdles.
On Saturday afternoon, as the media storm crashed around her, the candidate took a boat trip with 17 Belarussian children, organised by the Chernobyl Children's Project. Their illnesses were sufficiently grave to warrant a break at Paul Newman's Barrettstown Gang Camp. It was their last weekend in Ireland.
She had seen them when they arrived - pale, wan, dispirited. What she saw on Saturday was a different picture; as well as a newfound physical energy and a healthy sheen, the Barrettstown ring of pride and confidence was reflected in the Gang baseball caps many of them sported to replace the ghastly wigs they wore on arrival.
"Focus. Focus", Adi Roche reminded herself, as they sailed along. "This is what it's all about."
This is no politician spinning a line. Anyone who has seen her with a child of whatever age, nationality or health status, has noted a rare connection between them. Anyone who has been to Belarus with her and seen her create time among a hundred other commitments to spend long hours in a cold, malodorous orphanage, stroking a tragically deformed child, could never suspect that publicity or personal aggrandisement was her guiding influence.
In fact, far from courting the media, she can be quite indifferent to them.
Last year, when this reporter attempted to join her on one of her trips to Belarus, it took over two months to get her agreement. Once there, it was obvious her finger-marks covered the entire country; contacts were waiting at every point; local drivers ready with shaky old ambulances, ready to risk health and security to drive into the contaminated areas; families opening their hearts and homes to her.
It was also obvious that she takes no silly risks - either on her own or anyone else's behalf. As far as possible, she brings her own food and water supplies with her to avoid Chernobyl-contaminated food.
But all this effort - and her vegetarianism - are dispensed with in the face of the heart-wrenching hospitality of the Belarussian families who, with a few minutes warning, would lay a table of hastily-assembled food including precious meat, to be washed down with tales of unimaginable human tragedy, tears and many toasts of undiluted local vodka. No sign of rudeness, impatience or aloofness here.
Through it all, that racy, tongue-in-cheek humour is constantly in play. It's what keeps the volunteers afloat when it seems they might sink in the misery. It impels her companions on to one more unspeakable dustbin of humanity, but it translates poorly into cold print, as was evident in extracts from a private and confidential document carried by some newspapers at the weekend.
She has thought through the wider issues of her work. For example, she met the much-maligned Duchess of York a couple of years ago to discuss a holiday refuge for Belarussian children in Poland.
On paper, it seemed like a good idea. The children would be closer to home and their own culture. But it wasn't pursued because for children whose immune systems were already perilously fragile from low-grade radiation, the industrial pollution that shadows much of eastern Europe would not have helped.
"The key is to get them out of the contaminated areas," she says, "but apart from that, every one of those children deserves to see broader horizons and the gift of a holiday abroad". Next year, the project hopes to purchase special "chairs", capable of reading children's body radiation counts on arrival and departure. This will enable us to measure the benefits of a holiday in a pure environment.
Yesterday, she was "numbed" by the media reports, concerned mainly that negative publicity would jeopardise the extremely sensitive negotiations going on between the project and Belarussian authorities concerning adoption of Belarussian children currently in Ireland.
Questions regarding the vetting of Irish host families were instantly responded to by enraged project staff, otherwise immersed in getting the next convoy out for November 5th. Proof of contact with health board officials was furnished in the form of letters from nearly every health board in the State, usually from senior social workers, assuring the project that no family on the lists submitted for approval was of concern to the relevant authority.
Similarly, they have been forced to explain a policy that is behind the grief of some disaffected families; namely, that no matter how attached a family may become to a visiting child, it may not "request" that same child the following year without some extenuating factor - the reason being that the project is acutely conscious of its obligation to all the children of Belarus. This in turn has led to some families attempting to go it alone, only to come up against the fearsome bureaucracy the project has long since come to accept and negotiate.
"Having said all that, we don't claim to be perfect," says Danny Thompson, "but then, no one is perfect".
Meanwhile, questions continue to be asked about the timing of the allegations against Adi Roche.
In yesterday's Examiner, her opponents insisted the group was not politically motivated and had no personal vendetta: "If it was a personal vendetta, we would have gone public before now. The reason we have not gone public before now is that we did not want to damage the work of the project."
However, last December, in the newspaper Cork on Sunday, a detailed report appeared quoting anonymous sources claiming an "underground rebellion" in the project, complaining that volunteers at lower levels were not being given a high enough profile and that the value of aid convoys was being exaggerated. The charity's legal advice at the time was that "it was beneath contempt and could be quite easily refuted".
On the other hand, the private document quoted in some newspapers has been in the hands of some of those opponents for well over a year but has only surfaced now.
"If some of us suspect some political manoeuvring, it's hardly surprising," said a Roche campaigner. The candidate herself was getting back on track yesterday evening, doing a photo-shoot, meeting with Boutros BoutrosGhali, dealing with the media.
"In the scheme of things - the things that matter - this isn't even a blip. There is the hurt of course, but I will not be bullied out of the presidential campaign. In fact, all it has done is shown me that I have more qualities and strengths than I ever suspected," says Adi Roche.