Page 4 of False Flag

[SPAM] Anastacia Allen: Welcome to the Lost Civilizations Team!

Staci’s heart thundered. Was it possible? Could this be neither canned meat product nor junk mail?

She’d baited the hook but had lost hope of catching the big tuna when the expedition started weeks ago without her. Now she had to wonder, was this fish? Or phish?

She took a deep breath and opened the email. Before reading, she checked the sender’s address, confirming it was from Campbell’s official website domain and not a spoof with a repeated letter or other tell. Given his popularity, she figured scammers probably sent emails claiming to be him all the time.

Ironic given that he was a scammer himself.

Regardless, the email appeared to be the real deal, and her fingers started to tremble as she read the message. Weeks ago, she’d told herself it was for the best her application had been passed over, but given her nerves now, she hadn’t believed her own nonsense.

The message opened with an apology for the belated response to her application, but the position she’d applied for had become available again, and she topped their list of qualified candidates.

In spite of her excitement, she still rolled her eyes. No doubt she was ten times more qualified than whoever he’d hired first. It was hard to imagine another real archaeologist would get within a hundred miles of this project. Of course, it was also possible Gerard Campbell had learned the hard way that principal investigator of an archaeological expedition was a job that couldn’t be filled by artificial intelligence.

The next paragraph left her with the impression the project wasn’t going well. At all.

It is essential you begin work immediately. This job offer is only valid if you can be on a flight to the project headquarters on Wednesday.

Wednesday.

Seriously?

It was early afternoon on Friday. The email had been sent twenty minutes ago.

Not to mention she had no clue where the project headquarters were. It was some sort of secret. Probably because he hadn’t figured out where he was supposed to be looking for his fake sites yet.

I am available by phone or video call to discuss the offer ASAP; however, as a regular listener to my podcast, you are likely aware I’m in Washington, DC, this weekend. Would it be possible for you to meet me this evening? Tomorrow at the latest?

She wasn’t a regular listener. She’d taken a mental break when she didn’t get the job. But more importantly…she had plans, not just for tonight but all weekend long.

Tonight, Morgan was hosting a barbecue for a team of SEALs who were in town for a bachelor and bachelorette party for two team members and their fiancées, both of whom freelanced for Friday Morning Valkyries. Tomorrow was the actual party, which started early—the bus would leave at eight a.m.—and would continue through breakfast on Sunday.

Morgan’s barbecue was intended to give the SEALs and Valkyries a chance to get acquainted before the main event. No way would she miss the party, but she could miss the barbecue.

She replied, saying she was available this evening but otherwise busy until Sunday afternoon.

Minutes later, she received an email with the location and time to meet that evening.

Be on time. Wear business attire or a dress like the one you wore in December. Photos will be taken, and you will be required to sign a release for use in promotional material. Bring ID, preferably a passport. You’ll be searched with a metal detector upon entry. Leave your cell phone in your car. If you don’t have a car, it will go in a box at the door.

Well, he remembered her from December, that was something. But the rest was uncomfortably specific. She understood the photos and press release, but passport and metal detector? No cell phone? She frowned and reread the address.

Number One Observatory Circle.

She sat back as understanding dawned. One Observatory Circle was the official residence of the vice president of the United States.

First order of business: ask Morgan if she could borrow a dress. Again. It was great having a best friend who was her size and build—their friendship began when they waitressed together at Double D—but even better that Morgan’s hobby was shopping at vintage clothing stores.

She also needed to call Freya, who could give her much-needed advice.

She copied the job offer email into their text group with the note that she needed to talk. She gave them a full minute, then made the three-way call.

“Holy crap,” Morgan said instead of hello.

“Well done,” Freya said.

“I’m meeting him tonight. At Vice President Henry Daniels’s residence. Morgan, I need something to wear.”