Page 36 of False Flag

“Yeah. If he doesn’t give Osborne what he wants, he’s going to find a way to blame it on you.”

Four hours later, nerves had Staci’s stomach in a knot as she boarded the billionaire’s private jet. Thankfully, the big man wasn’t joining them for this flight. She had no clue where he was and didn’t want to know.

Gerard Campbell also wasn’t flying to British Columbia with them, which was another relief. She had time—possibly days—to brace herself to face him.

Campbell is dangerous.

Vicki’s words had echoed in her mind for the last few hours.

There had been a point late in the evening when they were in the VP’s home when Osborne had asked Staci if she believed Lost Civilizations was a cult, as a few vocal critics—all archaeologists—had stated.

It had been prudent, in the moment, for Staci to disavow her colleagues because she’d seen the spark of rage in Campbell’s eye.

What would he do when he learned the truth? Was he the type to turn to violence?

She would probably find out in the coming weeks.

The flight attendant, who dressed in a uniform in the same style as a commercial airline, indicated which seats were available for Staci to choose from and showed her where to store her bag.

This was Staci’s first, and almost certainly last, flight on a private jet, and while she enjoyed the novelty of it, this was not something she’d ever aspired to.

Still, she didn’t complain when the flight attendant offered her the cocktail of her choice and showed her the dinner menu. If she was going to be forced to fly on a private jet, she might as well enjoy it, right?

“We’ve got four more passengers who will be arriving shortly,” the flight attendant said as she handed Staci a grapefruit mimosa. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

She sipped her drink and let out a sigh. Fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, she was certain.

It was enough to make her wonder if Casper Osborne had somehow gleaned her love of grapefruit cocktails in all forms from her internet profile. That thought was enough to make the drink taste sour in addition to the bitter flavor she loved.

Her travel companions arrived. All four were members of the expedition team. Three men, one woman. They’d been at the meeting at the VP’s house and had received a passing introduction—roles without names. Assistant. Mapping. Financials, or maybe it was logistics? Whatever that was… She couldn’t remember who was whom. Her focus had been directed elsewhere.

One of the men looked vaguely familiar, but not in the context of having seen him Friday evening. No. It was something she couldn’t put her finger on.

The man in question chose the seat beside her, which she supposed was normal considering they’d be working together and now was a solid opportunity to get acquainted, but still, she hoped he’d move to his own section of the largely empty aircraft for the majority of the flight. The flight would be at least five hours, and she intended to tilt her seat all the way to the flat setting and sleep.

He gave the flight attendant his drink order—a very specific single malt scotch, which the attendant served without batting an eye.

Special order for a frequent flyer? Or a favorite brand of the billionaire who owned the jet?

She sipped her grapefruit mimosa and wondered once again just how much Casper Osborne knew about her and the others on the expedition team.

Drink in hand, the man turned to her. “It’s a pleasure to finally get to talk. Third time’s a charm.”

“Third? We met at the vice president’s residence. Was there another time?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid I’m not as memorable as you are.”

He looked down, embarrassed, and she felt rotten for not recognizing him. “Sorry. I meet new people every day waiting tables. Faces blur together after a while. Did I serve you at the restaurant?” She studied his features. Was that why he seemed familiar?

“No. I was at the dinner last December.”

“Oh. Of course. I should have realized.” She felt silly for not thinking of it. But then, one man dominated her memories of last December, blocking out everyone else. Especially now.

He straightened his shoulders. “I was at the head table with Gerard.”

Ahh. So he was one of the apostles. It wasn’t his fault she didn’t remember his face; she’d been distracted by dimples. “Oh. That must have been a thrill. And now you’re on the team. Unless you already were then?”

“I was brought on board several weeks later. He posted about me on the Lost Civilizations website.”