PREFACE – When we hop on this runaway train—destination November 3rd or later—we notice that it occurs during a worldwide pandemic, deteriorating economy and struggle for the nation’s soul. This story will have an ending—some month, some year—and at that time the reader will learn whether this was an adventure tale, a tragedy, or an epitaph.

CHAPTER ONE — Still technically a democracy—a woman recently mailed the president an intercepted poisoned ricin-laced letter—the day dawns with a struggle to fill a Supreme Court seat vacated only a week before by the death of its occupant, after Wisconsin had already begun the November third presidential election process. The CDC has just published and then retracted recommendations to safeguard lives from the corona virus, and the Post Office which has been busy ripping up public mail boxes has been told by the Court to undo its mischievous behavior. Deaths by police of African American citizens via the use of chokeholds has prompted nationwide demonstrations against racism, with the president sending in governmental troops to quell the “lawless.” Racial sensitivity training was halted by the president, who said it was “un American.” And one bright day only a week ago the president admitted he had hidden the ominous imminent danger of the corona virus—which was perched on the U.S. horizon—from the people, so they wouldn’t panic. At the same time he did nothing to lessen the impact of the approaching deadly pandemic. The unafraid public thus became sitting ducks.

Meanwhile, a group of patriotic republicans formed the Lincoln Brigade in order to influence the coming presidential election, which the president warned would be rigged, adding that he wasn’t sure if he would honor the results of the election or not, saying “We’ll see.” The drama unfolds while in the wings–and throughout the United States–pandemic deaths escalate. Today it is sunshiny where I write, but as a nation more than 200,000 have already died in this the former land of plenty. The deaths of those who didn’t panic continue. Indeed, where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing.

TO BE CONTINUED AS THE MYSTERY UNFOLDS AND PICKS UP SPEED