Page 117 of False Flag

Vicki glared at the vibrating phone. What kind of savage made a phone call without texting a heads-up first? Even Freya, an elder millennial who weirdly preferred talking over texting, knew better.

Vicki turned over the phone to see the screen.

How the hell did he get her number? Sure, she had his, but that was only so she knew to ignore it if she ever received a call from him.

She hesitated. He could be calling out of concern for Jake and Staci. But why call her? He shouldn’t know about her involvement. He wasn’t even supposed to know about the connection between Russian oligarch Grigory Laskin and American/Canadian oligarch Casper Osborne.

But of course, he knew. Teague Collins had made it his life’s mission to track everything to do with the oligarch who’d paid for the death of the three men on his Fire Team. That Teague was alive to seek revenge was something of a miracle.

She let the call go to voicemail, which she would delete without listening. If NSWC needed her to know something about the Letora Island operation, they’d contact her directly, or Freya would pass on the information.

Teague was not to be trusted. Ever.

Her phone rang again. Same number.

She tapped the button to decline the call and returned to her computer. After days of searching, she’d managed to find a cell phone number that had logged on to Laskin’s network in Malta in the last six months that also showed Truther chat activity.

A year ago, she’d set up hidden malware that embedded in every device that logged on to Laskin’s network. It was easily erased with a device reset, but she found Laskin’s cronies were more likely to use short-term burner phones than reset their devices. This user had done neither.

Thanks to her malware, every time that phone backed up to the cloud, Vicki was able to download the data. She hadn’t confirmed whose phone it was—it was a prepaid phone with no names attached—but it contained dozens of photos of Staci taken at a distance, which made Vicki think it belonged to Beau Sommerville, and he was stalking her.

The phone had updated fifteen minutes ago. She checked the chat group. They’d been busy in the last twelve hours, with over 600 new messages. Not unusual given that there were over fifty members, with more than twenty who posted regularly.

One post could get two dozen thumbs-up reactions, for a total of twenty-five notifications, not including replies.

This conversation, however, was less reactions and more information.

The Truthers were planning a protest. Were these messages code for an attack? Or were they using the word unambiguously?

The timing was yet to be determined, but it would be soon and in the Pacific Northwest.

She needed to bring this to Freya’s attention. Dread crept over her. An actual phone call with her boss would be required.

This amount of anxiety is totally normal, right?

She was saved from the imminent horror of making a phone call by a knock on the door.

Was a drop-in worse than a phone call?

Of course, that depended on who it was…

She hadn’t buzzed anyone into the building. It could be her elderly neighbor who frequently needed tech support. She liked the woman and never minded helping her, but after eighteen months of training, Vicki had finally gotten Mrs. Birmingham to limit her requests to between eight and ten a.m., so she could be mentally prepared for interruption.

It was after one in the afternoon.

She tapped the button to lock her computer and walked on silent feet across her small apartment to the door. Fezzik, ever curious and a fan of the neighbor lady who sometimes brought him catnip-filled toys, brushed against her ankles along the way.

At the door, she peered through the peephole and stifled a gasp at seeing Petty Officer Second Class Teague Collins.

Shit.

How did he get in the building?

No doubt one of her helpful neighbors had let him in. She’d be posting a sharply worded complaint on the building’s message forum. The one she had set up and moderated because so many of her neighbors were not concerned enough about safety to ensure both their digital and physical homes were secure.

She slowly backed away from the door, bumping into Fezzik, who let out a yowl.

“Vicki? What are you doing to that cat?”