Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
intercom began feeding out a long sheet of paper the new answer from the Brain. It reached a certain length, then was automatically sheared Jery Delvin had a most unusual talent. He could detect the flaws in in the ad agency where he worked. So when the Chief of World Security told him that he had been selected as the answer to the Solar System's greatest mystery, Jery assumed that it was because of his mental time to pierce the maze of out-of-this-world double-dealing. For Jery end of the whole puzzle of THE SECRET MARTIANS—with Jery as the first Grade, when he realized all at once that "someone wrote all those stories in the textbooks." While everyone else looked forward variously to becoming firemen, cowboys, and trapeze artists, Jack was devouring every book he could get his hands on, figuring that "if I put enough After sixteen years of education, Jack found himself teaching high school English in Chicago, a worthwhile career, but "not what one would call zesty." After a two-year Army hitch, and a year in advertising determined to make a career of full-time fiction-writing. Oddly enough, it worked out, and he now does nothing else. He says, "I'd like to say I do this for fulfillment, or for cash, or because it's my destiny to retrace quite a bit of my lifetime up till that moment, seeking vainly for some reason why they'd be standing there, so terribly and inflexibly efficient looking. Mostly, I ran back over all the ads I'd created and/or okayed for Solar Sales, Inc. during my five years with the firm, trying to see just where I'd gone and shaken the security "Jery Delvin?" said the one on my left, a note of no-funny-business in are Jery Delvin?" "I suppose you're wondering why I've called—" he started, then stopped short and flushed with embarrassment. I felt a sympathetic hot wave flooding my own features. A copy chief in an advertising company almost always reacts to an obvious cliche. Then, with something like a look of relief on his blunt face, he snatched up a brochure from his kidney-shaped desktop and his eyes raced over the lettering on its face. "Jery Delvin," he read, musingly and dispassionately. "Five foot eleven civic-minded, slightly antisocial...." "Well, in my job—See, I've got this gift. I'm a spotter." "A what?" "A spotter. I can't be fooled. By advertising. Or mostly anything else. Except girls." "I'm still not sure that I—" "It's like this. I designate ratios, by the minute. They hand me a new ad, and I read it by a stopwatch. Then, as soon as I spot the clinker, they stop the watch. If I get it in five seconds, it passes. But if I spot it in less, they throw it out and start over again. Or is that out of five New York lawyers use Hamilton Bond Paper for note-taking'?" "I've heard that, yes." "Well, the clinker—that's the sneaky part of the ad, sir, or what we call weasel-wording—the clinker in that one is that while it seems to imply sixty percent of New York lawyers, it actually means precisely what it says: Three out of five. For that particular product, we had to question seventy-nine lawyers before we could come up with three who "On file?" Baxter frowned. "What for?" "In case the Federal Trade Council got on our necks. We could prove that three out of five lawyers used the product. Three out of those five. See?" "Ah," said Baxter, grinning. "I begin to. And your job is to test these ads, before they reach the public. What fools you for five seconds will fool the average consumer indefinitely." I sat back, feeling much better. "That's right, sir." Then Baxter frowned again. "But what's this about girls?" "They—they block my thinking, sir, that's all. Why, take that example I just mentioned. In plain writing, I caught the clinker in one-tenth of a second. Then they handed me a layout with a picture of a lawyer dictating notes to his secretary on it. Her legs were crossed. Nice legs. Gorgeous legs...." slight antisocial rating. You avoid women in order to keep your job." is.... You have been chosen for an extremely important mission." I couldn't have been more surprised had he announced my incipient Colonies, by the Brain." "You mean that International Cybernetics picked me for a mission? and said, without referring to it, "Jery Delvin, five foot eleven "If you can find it, I'll read it!" he said, almost snarling. I looked over the sheet, then turned it over and scanned the black opposite side. "All it gives is my description, governmental status, and address!" "Uh-huh," Baxter grunted laconically. "It amuses you, does it?" The smile was still on his lips, but there was a grimness in the glitter of that the Brain always picks the right man." I let this sink in, then asked, "What made you ask for a man in the first place, sir? I've always understood that your own staff represented some of the finest minds—" "You were telling about how this gesture, the WG sending these kids off for an extraterrestrial romp, will cement relations between those nations who have remained hostile despite the unification of all governments on Earth. Personally, I think it was a pretty good idea, myself. Everybody likes kids. Take this jam we were trying to push. Pomegranate Nectar, it was called. Well, sir, it just wouldn't sell, and then we got this red-headed kid with freckles like confetti all over his slightly bucktoothed face, and we—Sir?" getting letters and—" "Forgeries, Fakes. Counterfeits." men are doing the work. Handpicked crews, day and night, have been sending those letters to the trusting mothers. It's been took the factors, weighed them, popped them through its billions of relays and tubes, and out of the end of the answer slot popped a single sheet. The one you just saw. Your dossier." "Then I'm to be sent to Mars?" I said, nervously. "That's just it," Baxter sighed. "We don't even know that! We're like a is not answering questions to his satisfaction and simply blast the position, but his face looking happier. "See, I was supposed to pilot the kids back here from Mars when their trip was done, and—" He gave looked them over anyhow. I carefully tugged back the canvas covering that fitted envelope-fashion over a foam rubber pad, and ran my finger automatically act the part. A shame, in a way." "The hell it is!" Baxter snapped. "Good grief, man, why'd you think the Amnesty was created in the first place?" Jery Delvin, and even the finest history course available these days involvement. Forms to be signed, certain factors to be considered, protocol to be dealt with, government agencies to be checked with, classifications, bureaus, sub-bureaus, congressional committees. It was impossible, Jery, my boy, to get anything done whatsoever without consulting someone else. And the time lag and paperwork involved made Baxter smiled. "No chance of that, Jery. We didn't leave it up to any to the Brain. We'd find ourselves in a tight situation, and the Brain after being fed the data, would come up with either a solution, or a name." I stared at him. "Then, when I was here before, I was here solely to up with, and it had been coded and fed to the Brain. As soon as the solution came through, I could be on my way back to the world of hard and soft sell.

<question>:
What does Jery do best?

<options>:
A interplanetary security
B come up with the best ways to sell products
C work closely with women in advertising
D develop products for the advertisement company

<answer>:

B