"Trying to subvert the United States," Malone went on. "Reducing everything to chaos. And that brings in everything else, Tom. That brings in the unions and the gang wars and everything." Boyd blinked. "How?" he said. "Obvious," Malone said. "Strife brought on by internal confusion--that's what's going on all over. It's the same pattern. And if we assume an organization trying to jam up the United States, it even makes sense." He leaned back and beamed. "Sure it makes sense," Boyd said. "But who's the organization?" Malone shrugged. "If I were doing the picking," Boyd said, "I'd pick the Russians. Or the Chinese. Or both. Probably both." "It's a possibility," Malone said. "Anyhow, if it's sabotage, who else would be interested in sabotaging the United States? There's some Russian or Chinese organization fouling up Congress, and the unions, and the gangs. Come to think of it, why the gangs? It seems to me that if you left the professional gangsters strong, it would do even more to foul things up." "Who knows?" Boyd said. "Maybe they're trying to get rid of American gangsters so they can import some of their own." "That doesn't make any sense," Malone said, "but I'll think about it. In the meantime, we have one more interesting question." "We do?" Boyd said. "Sure we do," Malone said. "The question is: How?" Boyd said: "Hm-m-m." Then there was silence for a little while. "How are the saboteurs doing all this?" Malone said. "It just doesn't seem very probable that _all_ the technicians in the Senate Office Building, for instance, are spies. It makes even less sense that the labor unions are composed mostly of spies. Or, for that matter, the Mafia and the organizations like it. What would spies be doing in the Mafia?" "Learning Italian," Boyd said instantly. "Don't be silly," Malone said. "If there were that many spies in this country, the Russians wouldn't have to fight at all. They could _vote_ the Communists into power--and by a nice big landslide, too." "Wait a minute," Boyd said. "If there aren't so many spies, then how is all this getting done?" Malone beamed. "That's the question," he said. "And I think I have the answer." "You do?" Boyd said. After a second he said: "Oh, no." "Suppose you tell me," Malone said. Boyd opened his mouth. Nothing emerged. He shut it. A second passed and he opened it again. "Magic?" he said weakly. "Not exactly," Malone said cheerfully. "But you're getting warm." Boyd shut his eyes. "I'm not going to stand for it," he announced. "I'm not going to take any more." "Any more what?" Malone said. "Tell me what you have in mind." "I won't even consider it," Boyd said. "It haunts me. It gets into my dreams. Now, look, Ken: I can't even see a pitchfork any more without thinking of Greek letters." Malone took a breath. "Which Greek letter?" he said. "You know very well," Boyd said. "What a pitchfork looks like. _Psi_. And I'm not even going to think about it."