The Leader’s attendants shuffled uneasily. Some heads nodded as Stalin spoke. They had never before seen the imperturbable Leader under fire, and he wasn’t winning the argument.

‘People are lazy,’ the Leader shrieked, upset and red-faced. ‘They don’t want to make decisions. They only absorb so much, simple ideas that create a reaction, not a thought. Politics is spectacle, not substance. You do whatever it takes.’

He glared at his opponent. He had climbed the ladder without a slip, he knew how things worked. Maybe there had once been a role for greatness in public life, but not any more. Politics was a profession. Politicians had no other ‘job’. You did your time, after which you wrote a biography filled with obvious insights and remorse for opportunities missed. Then you filled your boots with appropriate sinecures. This was the way of things.

Yet deep down he knew there was a flaw in his thinking. Although a fanatic, he was able to recognise when he took positions to be heard or adopted policies for effect. In doing so he was storing up a deficit of integrity which could only be concealed in the perpetual scramble to sustain himself. But the pretence was tiring. The Russian’s expert assault was now drawing the sensation he most dreaded to the surface of his consciousness – fear of exposure.

‘Of course,’ Stalin shot back with growing sarcasm, ‘short-term success is preferable by far to long-term conviction. Pathetic intellectual coward! Politically correct prude! Pampered poodle to mediocrity! You think you’ll be remembered for feeble moralising blandishments? You deprived piece of historic ash. There’s no longer a flame! You have burnt! Has it ever occurred to you that real leadership involves the defiance of conventional wisdom, breaking the rules?’

Tancredi was surprised to find himself agreeing with Stalin. There seemed to be no point to the Leader. He imagined a universe where a drug was administered to all those in positions of power, inducing continuous bold behaviour. The Leader of Correctomondo had achieved his position, but so what? Although Stalin was like a siege gun, relentlessly pounding its target, his basic philosophy – moving forward, speaking out, taking risks – chimed with Tancredi’s view of life.

‘What about another approach,’ he cut in, trying to balance the Russian’s blitzkrieg with a positive suggestion, ‘a New Middle Way?’

To Tancredi’s surprise, the bombast agreed.

‘Exactly,’ rejoined Stalin, deftly picking up the idea, ‘what else is the Middle Way if not all things to all people? It is whatever you want it to be to suit the situation. The New Middle Way. Exploit your position.’

This wasn’t exactly what Tancredi had meant, but they needed to shift the Leader’s focus to a longer-term horizon. The Leader fell silent, hurt and brooding. He brought his hand to his chin, thinking about re-casting his political creed. He knew he had been overwhelmed.

But what if the fearsome Russian was right? There was nothing wrong with adjusting his position; change was one of his favourite words. It made sense. What worked one day could be discarded the next in the name of progress. His attendants moved closer, anticipating that they might be needed to support him in some great act.