Page 108 of False Flag

Beau lunged, but Jake was ready for him. He blocked the punch, swiped his right leg to the side, then grabbed Beau’s wrist and arm. With precise pressure, Jake twisted Beau’s limb behind his back.

He sank to his knees, immobilized with pain, and grunted softly.

“It’s okay. You can scream. The walls up here are thick, and the recording studio is soundproof. You won’t bother them.”

If Jake was forced to go, Staci would be vulnerable. He needed to make his position absolutely clear. He leaned down and whispered, “If you so much as breathe too close to Staci again, I will make you wish you were still locked up in jail.”

“She’s…she’s not the…angel…you think she is.”

Beau’s voice was a harsh rasp. It pitched higher as Jake torqued his arm tighter. “Her attack…was…false flag.”

“Bullshit.” With just a little more pressure, he’d destroy the guy’s shoulder.

“It’s true. Turn on the news. You’ll see.”

Casper sat in the wing chair that was positioned between the two couches and flashed a polished smile that made Staci’s skin crawl.

Was he high today?

Last night, she’d wanted to search online to see what was rumored to be his drug of choice but knew that data would be caught in the information embargo that enclosed the island.

He spoke directly to the camera, as if Staci—and even Gerard—didn’t exist. “I hope you don’t mind my crashing the interview. Having studied this for decades, I’m something of an expert in this area.”

Just like you were going to be a Navy SEAL? But she bit back the retort. Gerard was already setting up his audience to hate her. Best not to alienate everyone in the very first interview.

“A few years ago, I paid a team of archaeologists to excavate right here in the Gulf Islands.” He paused and flashed a smile. “We knew where to dig because my great-grandparents noted the location where several baskets were found.”

This was an obvious reference to the artifacts in his dining room. She’d known that callout was a plant. She merely smiled, refusing to acknowledge what could easily be a bogus claim, especially when it came to intact basketry, which would only be found in a fully submerged wet site or a completely dry one. Like a bog, or in the back of a rockshelter well above any flood zone.

When she didn’t take his bait, Casper resumed as if he hadn’t been waiting for validation. “My crew was searching for more artifacts like the Hepburn Stone.”

This was something she could interrogate. “I’ve found no evidence of any such crew or dig in my research. No permits filed with the province.”

He shrugged. “When you own the land, you don’t need a permit.”

“That is decidedly not true. The law is spelled out in the BC Heritage Conservation Act. Real archaeologists would know this, and if they wanted to remain in good professional standing with the province, they would have filed a report to show compliance with provincial law.”

He waved a hand. “There was a fire. Destroyed most everything before he could write the report. But I did get an analysis of the residue found in a mortar stone, the fibers of a basket, and the surrounding soil, which had been sent to a lab in Taiwan before the fire.”

“Taiwan? Why not Canada or the US?”

“The labs here were too busy.”

That might be so, but a billionaire was likely to pay a premium for rush service. More likely the sample was suspect as far as provenance, or Casper didn’t get the results he wanted so he shopped around.

“The analysis shocked me. The lab discovered a toxin created from shellfish, tree sap, and something else that has yet to be identified. Proof of an ancient bioweapon that was wielded by invaders who crossed the land bridge and was used to wipe out the refugees from Mu. This weapon was so powerful, it was hidden away for millennia, until Europeans came in the 1800s. They tried to turn it on us—my family—but it backfired. They infected themselves, causing their own genocide. Smallpox and all the other diseases were a lie.”

“That’s quite a fairy tale based on nothing more than an undocumented soil sample.”

“My ancestors knew what happened. They told their children—my great-grandparents. We’ve always known. Now science has caught up with my family’s oral history, and I finally have proof.”

“Proof found in undocumented soil samples and residue analysis. Can you produce the basket that had these fibers? The mortar with the residue?”

“Both were burned in the fire. The mortar, being made of stone, still exists, but there’s no way to get a new, clean sample.”

“Surely the lab still has a fragment of untested basketry.”

“Sadly, no. The sample was destroyed in the testing.”