Page 47 of False Flag

She swallowed the retort that using purple in that exact way was always an indicator that the person did, in fact, care. It was a toxic microaggression used to deflect from having a real conversation about race.

Today, she’d called out enough for their first face-to-face conversation about the project and the underlying premise it was based on. She’d stick to the archaeology details where she had expertise and address his racism in the next round.

Lucky me.

“For the purposes of my research, I need to look at the root premise behind the interpretation of the artifacts that are being used to justify conducting fieldwork in the Pacific Northwest. We know why the Native Sons made the claims they did about the Hepburn Stone one hundred years ago—they published their theories in the local paper.

“I’m also not saying we won’t conduct fieldwork—if we’re permitted by the Canadian government—in the vicinity of the Nanaimo River. I’m saying their interpretation was wildly biased and we need to ensure our research design addresses and counteracts that bias.” She nodded to the computer again. “I presume, based on the Hepburn Stone, you want to do a survey of some kind near Nanaimo.”

“I’ve been looking at a lot of satellite images of the area. I think I’ve been able to pinpoint the location where the stone was found. But I’m more interested in the waters of the Strait of Georgia. The mouth of the Nanaimo River is across the strait from the mouth of the Fraser River—it’s nearly due east, which seems significant. An important crossroad in the Salish Sea.”

That was pseudoarchaeology for you. Wild assumptions made based on the smallest evidence combined with vibes.

“So you think we should focus there? How deep is it?”

“The deepest part of the strait—the Ballenas Basin—is 420 meters deep and about fifteen kilometers north of Nanaimo.”

Staci calculated dives in meters but distance in miles. It took her a moment to convert in her head. “So about nine miles north of Nanaimo, meaning where you’re looking at is probably deep but not that deep.”

“There’s another problem,” Lloyd said. “The Ballenas Basin is so deep, it’s where the Canadian military tests their sonar.”

“So we’ll never be granted access to dive in that area.”

“Highly unlikely.”

That was going to be Gerard’s excuse for why the work was unsuccessful. She’d bet anything. He would come up with a theory to explain why that specific basin was prime for finding proof of fleeing inhabitants of Mu, but alas, no searching was possible.

And it all started with vibes.

“Let’s take a look at what we can find in shallower parts of the strait,” she suggested. “We need to do our shakedown cruise dives here before we head out to the Pacific. It’s too deep to dive in the subduction zone, and unless Osborne is ready to provide some ocean exploration submersibles, there isn’t much we can do there.”

“I’ve been looking south of here a bit. There are a few wrecks we can dive on to calibrate our equipment and assess skills.”

“You dive?” she asked.

“Since I was twelve. My brother and I used to dive all over Puget Sound.”

So Jake had been a diver long before he was a SEAL. Did he still enjoy it, or was it just a job now?

Not that that mattered to her.

Nope. Jake Burns’s hobbies were irrelevant.

“You like diving here? Even though it’s ridiculously cold?”

“I like everything about being on or in the water here. Diving. Fishing. Boating. Our dad was a commercial fisherman, and we lived right on the water, had our own fishing boat. Some of the best days of my life were spent with my brother and dad on that boat.”

He had a wistful tone to his voice. It was nice. She wondered what he’d been like as a boy. What had his family been like?

“Your dad’s gone?”

“Yeah. Died when I was seventeen. My brother was fourteen.” He gave her a half-smile. “You met him. My brother, I mean.”

“I did?”

“At the fundraiser. He hit on you.”

She could play dumb and mention that several men had hit on her that night, but better to stick closer to the truth. “Ah. Him. Jason? Jacob? Joshua?”