Page 150 of False Flag

“Whidbey. It’s where we all stayed last night.”

As a houseguest at Osborne’s Whidbey estate, Riley made sense; he was on the expedition and knew Osborne personally. But this guy? Who was he? Why would Osborne invite him into his home?

“Come out from behind the tree. Hands up, spray can closed and in the air.”

The man did as he was told. He inched around the tree. He wore a black balaclava. One hand was empty, and the other held a paint can.

“Drop the can.”

It hit the forest floor.

“Any more cans? Other weapons?”

“Two cans in my pack. Nothing else.”

Jake approached and picked up the pack and can of yellow paint from the ground. “What are we going to find when we test these? Will it have the same toxin that killed my brother?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I think you do. Does this spray paint have a toxin mixed in?”

“Maybe?”

Jake pulled the man’s mask down. The balaclava covered an N95 mask. No doubt the Truther felt safe because the spray would be directed away from himself, but not so safe that he’d skip having a mask that filtered out ninety-five percent of airborne particles.

Yeah, the spray can contained a toxin.

Jake yanked at the N95, stretching the elastic until it snapped at the man’s ears. He tossed the mask aside, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he recognized Walt Costner. “Hello, Crash.”

Costner’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Did you assault Staci Allen?”

The man said nothing.

He could be Drew’s killer, and Drew had been killed in the same manner as Lloyd. Costner had probably attacked Staci with a MRSA-laden blade.

Jake tucked his gun in its holster as he studied the Archaeology Truther. Then he pulled back his fist and punched him in the face.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Teague didn’t bother to knock. He wasn’t law enforcement, and, given what he’d gleaned from the dark web, he knew Osborne was in no mental place to complain about things like warrants. Not when he was probably looking for a way to disappear.

The man had far more to fear from his Russian buddies than he did from the US Justice Department or the US military.

Teague was here to twist the knife. Just a little.

Maybe a lot.

It would be easier if Vicki would share her intel, but he’d seen enough on the criminal side of the dark web’s financial systems to be able to guess.

He was prepared to pop the lock if need be, but the knob turned without resistance, and he stepped inside the billionaire’s four-thousand-square-foot vacation home. Because he needed a cozy escape from his six other estates with much larger houses.

He found the man in his office, sitting at his desk and gripping a landline phone. His face was flushed as he yelled into the receiver. “I don’t give a fuck. I can’t take the helicopter. They’ll track it. I need the boat here now.”

After only the shortest of pauses, he continued. “You weren’t supposed to leave the US and return to Canada. I pay those bastards enough that they shouldn’t stop you at customs. What the fuck do I pay you for? Get here in an hour and a half, or you’re fired.”

Teague knew the distance between Letora and Osborne’s estate on the north end of Whidbey was about eighty-five nautical miles. His boat was probably capable of sixty knots, but crossing an international border and navigating around several islands would make a ninety-minute crossing impossible.