Page 10 of False Flag

“Anastacia, thank you for meeting us on such short notice.”

She glanced around the room, empty except for the two of them. “Us?”

“Yes. Sorry. We’ll join the others shortly. I figured it would be best if we spoke alone first.”

“What don’t you want them to hear?”

Campbell smiled. “Don’t be so suspicious. I just wanted to have a moment alone with you. We’ve never had a chance to meet personally and the role I want to hire you for is…pivotal.”

“You need a professionally trained archaeologist or historian who meets the Secretary of Interior Professional Qualification Standards to be a principal investigator for a project that falls under the regs outlined in Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act. Because you won’t have credibility without a real archaeologist acting as PI for the fieldwork. Plus, while my degrees were earned in the US, I’ve worked on projects abroad, and most countries will accept my expertise as long as I consult with local experts.”

He nodded. “That about sums it up.”

“You’ve been writing on this topic for over a dozen years, podcasting for seven, yet you’ve never cared about meeting the standards before.”

“I’ve never attempted an expedition like this before. I’m putting my money where my mouth is. Risking everything to prove to you”—he flashed a self-deprecating smile—“well, and the rest of the world, that my theories are correct. The archaeological record—as vetted by you—will prove me right.” He sounded almost nervous as he said the last part.

She had to admit his apprehensiveness combined with singling out her importance was kind of flattering. But this was his skill. He knew how to talk to crowds, and he knew how to engage one-on-one.

She needed to tread a fine line. Push back, but not too hard. “Your money? I was at a fundraiser where your fans spent big money just to be there. I was in the cheap seats, and I spent two hundred.”

“That was your choice to make. For that amount, you received a meal with wine and a presentation. Fans of the podcast had the chance to finally meet in person and most stayed to enjoy the mixer that continued until midnight. Every event I hosted to raise money for the expedition was a success, and zero people were forced to donate or attend. And you see, the way a business works, once tickets are purchased, the money goes into a corporate account that pays for the venue, food, and drinks. Anything left over after expenses are covered is profit. As my business isn’t a nonprofit, the money is quite legally mine. I’m using that money to pay for the expedition and, yes, the costs far exceed what I was able to raise with the dinners. Dive boats and film crews who can work both on land and underwater aren’t cheap, and I strongly believe the bulk of the evidence I’m seeking is underwater.”

“You’re referring to the lost continent of Mu—AKA Atlantis—which is supposedly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”

“We’ll discuss my theories in detail after you take the job. Tonight is about how you’ll fit in with the team even though you’re a skeptic.”

This had been the risk she’d taken in submitting her application. She’d admitted her doubts because it would be illogical for her to claim to be a fan given her background. Gerard Campbell was many things, but dumb or naïve wasn’t one of them.

Now she was at an important ethical crossroads. If she was going to work for him, she needed to not just present herself as open to his theories, but to actually be open to his theories. Or she’d be guilty of the same confirmation bias he accused all archaeologists of having.

“It’s not so much about being a skeptic as being a scientist. No archaeologist has ever found or presented evidence that supports any of your theories.”

“Because they haven’t looked.”

This wasn’t true, but she wasn’t about to debate him on that here and now. That could wait for evenings around the dinner table or campfire when they were in the field together. “Why do you really want me for this project? Or rather, why do you need a Secretary of the Interior-qualified archaeologist?”

“Vice President Daniels is interested in the political ramifications of proving my theories. It could change how cultural resources are managed, but the findings would need to be publishable in a scientific journal and backed by a reputable foundation. I’ve applied for a National Science Foundation grant, which Hank assures me I will receive if I bring an actual archaeologist on board.”

“NSF grants aren’t awarded like that. The vice president can’t just wave his hand⁠—”

“Things have changed, or haven’t you been paying attention? NSF is desperate to keep their funding. They’ll do what the VP wants, and he’ll use his influence to maintain their budget at current levels for the next fiscal year.”

A year and a half ago, Staci had changed her dissertation topic from strategies for protecting cultural heritage sites in war zones to studying the connection between pseudoarchaeology, disinformation, and white supremacist narratives. But her PhD focus was irrelevant when it came to being qualified to be PI of Gerard’s expedition. Still, it was imperative he not know about her shift in topic. That was between her, her advisor, and her committee. They’d agreed that keeping her focus secret would give her a chance to interview pseudoarchaeologists as part of her research.

He might guess, but he couldn’t know.

For this project, all that mattered was that she had a master’s degree from East Carolina University in an underwater archaeology-related field. In a search for Mu, an underwater specialty would be vital.

“But still, for the vice president to pull those strings, you need me and my master’s in maritime studies from ECU.”

“Yes. I’ve got a diver on the team and hope to get a few more, but the one I’ve got isn’t an archaeologist.”

“What about you? Do you dive?”

He gave a sharp shake of the head. “Can’t. I want to. Lord, I want to. And I tried but…it’s a phobia thing.” His expression was vulnerable. Pained.

She felt for him, which she hadn’t expected. She knew exactly what he stood for, but the phobia was so…human. And she didn’t imagine it was easy for him to admit.