‘If it’s simple, then we should be able to follow it,’ put in Shearson. ‘I’d love to know why you consider my overweight carcass to be so extraordinarily valuable.’

‘Years ago,’ said Della slowly, as if she were speaking from a remembered script, ‘years ago – when this famine was being planned – it was decided by my superiors that as soon as the President had surrendered, a new President would immediately have to be installed in his place. But, he couldn’t be a Russian. To have a Russian President, all of a sudden, would be too much of a shock for the American people, and they would react violently. You are a violent people, as the frequent riots in your cities have shown us. Apart from that, a Russian President would find the nation too difficult to handle with any degree of success. Yours is a complex, unstable, hedonistic society. Very hard for a Russian to understand.’

She paused. Shearson had cupped his hand to his ear as if he were hard of hearing. Peter Kaiser’s face was stiff as a meringue.

‘We went to considerable trouble to pick as our future Gauleiter of America an established politician who would be able to carry off the burden of Presidential duties without feeling overwhelmed by them; a man whose face was already familiar to the American public; a reassuring, fatherly figure. And yet a man whose personal morals were so flawed that he would easily be encouraged by the gift of instant Presidency and great financial wealth to assist us in taking over the administration of your country as painlessly and as quickly as possible.’

Shearson Jones’ lips were opening and closing wordlessly.

Della turned to him, and smiled, and said, ‘Of course. Senator Jones, our first choice for Gauleiter was you. And that is why I consider your overweight carcass so valuable, and that is why I have been cossetting you and protecting you all the way from Kansas to the Pacific ocean.’

‘So,’ breathed Ed, ‘we were right about Your Spread From The Sky. And I was right about you. You’re not FBI. You’re a Soviet agent.’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Della nodded.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ puffed Shearson, scathingly. ‘You’re a Red, my dear. An economy-size Mata Hari. There’s no “manner of speaking” about it.’

‘But what about the Blight Crisis Appeal?’ asked Ed. ‘If you wanted Shearson for a puppet President, why did you bother to steal all those incriminating papers?’