"I have no idea what it means, if anything." Trader was irritated that the governor would consider anything beyond what he, the press secretary, recommended.

"It's like a riddle," the governor went on, intrigued, moving the magnifying glass over the essay as if he were reading a Ouija board. "You remember the Riddler in Batman? All of these little riddles hinting at where, when, and how the Riddler was going to strike next, but Batman and Robin had to decipher the riddle first, of course. This Trooper Truth fellow is giving us a clue about something, about what he's going to do next or maybe about what / ought to do next. Something about life's highways."

"Speaking of that…" Trader seized the opportunity to move on to a subject that he might be able to control. "Speeding continues to be a serious problem, Governor, and it's occurring to me that if we emphasize speeding to the voting public, we can divert any unwanted attention away from pirates."

"Speeding on life's highways. Maybe that's what he's getting at. Maybe that's the riddle," the governor said, fascinated by his own deductions. "But I wasn't aware that speeding had gotten worse."

It hadn't. But Trader wanted to tug the governor's attention away from riddles. Crimm was known to make inane, inappropriate statements about whatever his latest whim, curiosity, or observation was, and it would not be good at all should he indicate that a riddle or the Riddler was influencing his executive decisions.

"Citizens are complaining that they're forced to exceed the speed limit even in the slow traffic lane because of aggressive motorists riding their bumpers and flashing their headlights," Trader spun his latest fabrication. "And we can't have state troopers every other mile waiting with radar guns. Not to mention, there are escalating incidents of road rage because of these jerks who want to go ninety miles an hour and don't care who they cut in front of."

"People aren't scared enough. That's the problem." The governor was halfway listening as he began to decipher what Trooper Truth had to say about DNA. "You know, he's right about trusting technology instead of human beings. Maybe we can figure out a way to make the public believe we have some new advanced technology that will catch them speeding even if there's not a trooper in sight."

The governor suddenly began to believe with religious conviction that this was the riddle Trooper Truth was hinting at. It was damn time to scare the public into behaving! Detectives and district attorneys did it daily by threatening suspects with DNA even if there was no

DNA recovered or if the analysis of it wasn't helpful. So why shouldn't the governor start scaring people, too? He was weary of being nice. What good did it do?

"We have all these new helicopters," he told his press secretary. "Let's scare the hell out of people with them."

"What? You want helicopters to find speeders and buzz them?" Trader didn't like the idea in the least, especially since he hadn't thought of it first.

"No, no. But I see no reason why we can't use them to check speeding from the air, pretend they've got fancy computers to do that, then the pilots radio troopers on the ground to go after the bastards." The governor's intestines were crawling again, as if they had some place to go in a hurry. "All we've got to do is post warning signs on the roads out there, and people will be scared into believing they'll be arrested, even if there isn't a helicopter or trooper within ten miles."

"I see. A bluff."

"Of course. Now, you go to work on that right away." The governor needed to end the discussion instantly. "Get back with me on the proposal and we'll issue a press release before the day is out."

"Using aviation to catch speeders is not a good idea," Trader warned him. "It's going to hurt your rating in the polls and create an explosive situation…"

Governor Crimm's gut was already creating an explosive situation, and he shot up from his leather chair as he ordered Trader out. Moments later, as Crimm sat behind a closed door with the fan going, he wondered who Trooper Truth really was and if there might be a way to influence what he posted on the Internet. How helpful it would be if the governor could get a thoughtful, philosophical person to disseminate Crimm's ideas and beliefs. Crimm reached for the portable phone on the shelf near the toilet paper.

"Who's this?" Crimm asked when a man answered.

"Trooper Macovich," came the hesitant reply from the Executive Protection Unit's outpost in the basement of the executive mansion.

Thorlo Macovich recognized the governor's voice immediately and hoped the governor didn't recognize his. Or maybe if he was lucky, the governor had already forgotten the incident that had occurred in the mansion's billiards room the other night. It was also possible the governor hadn't seen it, because he couldn't see much of anything these days. But that youngest Crimm daughter would remember Macovich, all right. He had never seen anyone pitch such a fit over losing a game of pool-yelling obscenities and ordering Macovich to stay in the basement and never come upstairs again, which was seriously interfering with his duties.

"Trooper Truth…" Crimm started to say as a cramp doubled him over.

"You all right, sir?" Macovich was surprised and alarmed. "Woo, what's that noise?"

"You got any idea who this Trooper Truth person is?" The governor could barely talk.

"No, sir. But everybody's sure talking about him. What's that? Sounds like somebody ripping bubble wrap. You sure you're all right, sir? Wooo, it sounds like somebody's shooting a gun in the Capitol! It ain't safe! I'll be right there…!"

"No! Don't come here," the governor blurted out as gasses pushed against his organs, struggling to escape.

"Find out who Trooper Truth… who he is. Make that your mission, you hear me? And tell the kitchen staff I want a light supper tonight. For God's sake, no apples or ham. Maybe seafood."

"From Virginia, I guess, sir." Macovich was relieved. Clearly, the governor didn't remember him.

"As long as it's not shad roe."

"Don't believe they catch shad roe this time of year. I can fly a state helicopter to Tangier Island and pick up fresh blue crabs, if that would please you, sir," Macovich added with reluctance because he hated going to Tangier Island. "And maybe trout."

"That's it!" the governor said, startled both by an idea and what sounded to Macovich like a deflating hot air balloon. "We'll start with Tangier Island! You troopers can put the first speed trap over there. Did you know they used to welcome Blackbeard on that island? Bunch of pirates, that's what they are. Well, I'll show them."

"They don't have posted speed limits on Tangier," Macovich pointed out, and he wasn't clear on what speed traps the governor meant. "Most of them Tangierians ride around in golf carts, sir. Or in little boats. And they already don't get along with the rest of Virginia. You mind if I ask what speed traps you're talking about?"

"We don't have a name for it yet." Governor Crimm mopped sweat off his face as his gut continued to play against him in a loud, painful percussion. "Forget the seafood. You can just pick it up when you paint the speed traps on the island first thing tomorrow. Now listen here, Trooper, get up with Trader and he'll brief you. We're going to make life's highways safe again, just like Trooper Truth said in that riddle on his website."

Macovich did not recall noticing a riddle on the Trooper Truth website, or anything at all that might have compelled the governor to decide that speed traps should be set on a remote island in the Chesapeake Bay with a population of less than seven hundred people. Macovich sure didn't want to be dragged into anything that had to do with Tangier Island, where there wasn't a single African American resident. In fact, when he was ordered to fly there to pick up seafood, he got the distinct impression that he was the only African American the Islanders had ever seen, except for ones on TV and in the catalogs the mail boats brought in.