Malenkov blinked his fat-enveloped eyes. Chenkov stared.
"Very well. The day my body died, a quick operation removed the brain and preserved it. Comrade Zhubin—working under the direction of a man you've only seen once or twice—transferred the brain, my brain exactly as it was in life so that when I speak you will know it is Stalin, the Man of Iron, talking, into this case. I have since conferred with the man who made the operation possible, the man who can do great things for Mother Russia, and because talking tires me in some strange way and he knows the situation more completely at this time than I do, I want you to listen to him as if it were I, Stalin, talking."
There was a silence. The half dozen figures still stood around the brain case, but one of them turned slowly around to look at all the earnest faces. His eyes raked Laniq. "A woman?" he said, incredulously, and his eyes wandered, then darted back. "Laniq Hadrien!" he cried. "Who brought this woman here? Fools! Speak!"
"It was Chenkov," fat Malenkov said spitefully.
"Is that true?" the man demanded.
Chenkov nodded defiantly. "So what?"
"So what? So this, you idiot! That girl is a representative of our most dangerous enemy."
"The United States?" wailed Malenkov.
"Far worse than the United States."
Laniq sprinted for the doorway at the other end of the room, heard the voice call from behind her: "Guards! Stop that woman!"