Page 3 of False Flag

Campbell said he didn’t recognize her, which meant she wasn’t a regular patron. Was she hoping to land a spot on the dig? Followers didn’t have to attend the dinner to apply, but attendees were promised special consideration.

Without a doubt, the brunette was already the recipient of special consideration.

The expedition would be filmed with the intention of making a documentary if—when, according to Campbell—they found evidence to prove his theories. Fieldwork was to be conducted on land and underwater. Lloyd was scuba certified, which was a big plus in his favor. The brunette, if she was a diver, would bring another bonus to the team: she’d look amazing in a wetsuit.

He returned his attention to his brother, who was pitching his scuba experience to Campbell. “But I’m not the most experienced diver at this table—that’d be my little brother here, who⁠—”

Jake gave a sharp shake of his head. Lloyd knew better, and Jake wasn’t interested in joining the team. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He was assistant officer in charge of a SEAL team and could be deployed at any moment.

“Taught scuba when he was in college,” Lloyd finished.

That wasn’t exactly true, but it worked to deflect.

“College,” Campbell said. “Are you an officer in the Navy?”

“Yes, sir. I’m a lieutenant.” He’d have been happy to avoid being that specific, but it wasn’t exactly a secret. He’d just hoped to remain more anonymous this evening.

Lloyd owed him big.

Across the room, the brunette rose from her seat, distracting Campbell. Another reason to be glad she wore the stunning dress. He’d thank her if he could.

Fully half the men at her table rose too—but she waved them off and headed to the cash bar alone. Jake decided to escape Campbell’s attention and stood. Perfect time for a refill. And if he got the brunette’s phone number, he’d consider Lloyd’s debt paid.

Jake was far from the only man here who was interested, but he figured he had a reasonable shot. He was attractive—thanks, Mom, for the dimples—and constant training for the job gave him muscles women appreciated.

His confidence was justified.

Two men ahead of him steered off-course when faced with the prospect of approaching her. The third addressed the bartender—not her—with his offer to pay for her drink, which sealed his fate. She sent him packing faster than a hermit crab under attack.

He sat at the bar next to her and ordered a drink without glancing in her direction. His day job required excellent peripheral vision, and he used it as the bartender delivered her cocktail in a martini glass. She took a sip of the pink concoction, clearly in no hurry to get back to her table for dessert.

He settled in as well. His brother was the one who’d paid big money for the high table. He could enjoy his cheesecake without Jake.

He searched for an opening that a fan of Campbell’s would appreciate. “Interesting concept Gerard proposed tonight.”

She swiveled the stool and met his gaze with piercing brown eyes. “Really? Which part?”

He considered how to respond. She’d seen him at the high table. They’d had a…moment. He’d look like a dumbass if he misquoted the podcaster. He searched his memory for the most salient point. “The stuff about Big Archaeology. How they’re hiding the truth so they can control the narrative and be the gatekeepers of human history.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. It was interesting. So…insightful.” Her smile said he was spot on. Her eyes said he was a spider interrupting her shower.

He flashed the smile that had melted more panties than he was prepared to admit and tried to slow the freight train before it went off the rails. “I never really considered how much motive archaeologists have to lie. But it makes a sad kind of sense.”

“Yeah. Everyone has an agenda when it comes to the past.”

He’d been avoiding looking at her nametag—it was so wrong given that she was a few Ds above average and only a rectangle of plastic hid what had to be a spectacular view—but he was desperate to know her name. His gaze flicked down then up in a flash. “Anastacia, can I give you my number?”

She glanced at his nametag as she slid from the barstool. “No, Jacob. I have your number already.” She picked up her martini and returned to her table.

Chapter Two

Arlington, Virginia

5 Months Later

May

The subject line of the email began with the word SPAM in brackets, and it was easy to guess why her mail application was suspicious, given that the sender claimed to be none other than Gerard Campbell and the subject line was even more suspect.