‘But how can this be achieved?’ he asked sulkily.

He was still trying to resist his tormentor, but there was a breech.

‘You were elected on a platform of the Middle Way,’ Stalin continued, ‘now you must sustain your power in the face of a serious challenge. The Middle Way was consensual. The New Middle Way is vigorous.’

With this, the dictator slammed his bunched fist into the palm of his other hand.

‘Previously you used words and compromised. Now you wield a bludgeon and insist. Times have changed – re-make your politics. What could be more natural? Breathe new life into the tired beast.’

‘I’m not sure that’s entirely … ’ began Tancredi.

‘Nonsense!’ interrupted Stalin.

He strode towards the Leader and grasped him by the shoulders.

‘There’s a mighty burden upon your shoulders.’ His eyes bored into the Leader. ‘You may be ridiculed, even vilified. So be it. History is made by doers, people who are prepared to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Society needs history to progress. You must lead your people through the heart of darkness, and bring them to a better place. Fill the vacuum of nihility with a new purpose. Carpe diem! Courage, little kitten! Let’s hear your lion’s roar!’

Now Tancredi was uneasy. In joining in the debate, he had intended to preach the merits of long-term thinking, not Bolshevik revolt. The Leader appeared to be collapsing in the face of Stalin’s attack. As he asked ‘What must I do?’, Tancredi no longer seemed to be part of the conversation.

Stalin held the Leader close, his breath besmirching the rose-scented skin of his face.

‘Using your security forces,’ he said, emphasising each word. ‘You must eliminate all those who stand against you. You will do this with the best possible intentions, in a caring sort of way.’

‘No!’ screamed Tancredi.

‘Onwards!’ shouted Stalin, punching his fist in the air.

‘Ruthlessness without fear of retribution! Forward with me! Forward to the New Middle Way! ‘

All eyes were on the Leader; there was total silence. Agonising seconds passed. He had lived his whole life in modest self-denial, knowing always that this moment would come. The call to greatness. The Russian was no longer his interlocutor, but his liberator. Now he too would be remembered, with streets and city squares named in his honour.

The Leader nodded his head. The room erupted. His entourage tore about the chamber, screeching orders, summoning officials. Tancredi’s further scream of ‘Nooo!’ was drowned out by loud Russian laughter rising above the commotion.

‘So much for the Middle Way, my innocent friend,’ Stalin shouted.

He strode over and clapped Tancredi on the shoulder. Then Tancredi was swept out of the room as the party of the New Middle Way prepared to fulfil its new-found ambition.

After a fast-paced sleigh ride he was back at the Professor’s hideout in the cold wilderness. A space rocket stood outside. Cocomo and Kasbek raced up to him. Tamany was busy wrapping the bedpan, fool’s hat and methane pannier into Tancredi’s game show cloak; he secured the package with his pin from the Invincible.