Page 116 of False Flag

She would expose Gerard and Casper and find justice for Lloyd. She wouldn’t do it for Jake. No. This had never been about Jake. She was doing it for herself. For Drew. For Dr. Garrison. For the archaeologists who’d been assaulted in Philadelphia and Atlanta before her and for the three universities that had suffered domestic terror attacks after. She’d do it for the archaeologists who’d been doxxed and feared being next.

Chapter Forty

Six days. Six endless days had passed since Jake had left without a word, taking the boat and the computer with Lloyd’s data with him. Five days since she went over the side of the boat and lost the phone that had just received her last unfiltered communication with the outside world.

Four days since she’d attempted to leave the island on Casper’s ferry, only to be denied by none other than Beau Sommerville, who loomed more menacing than ever. Three days since she’d received an email from Karen that was neither from her real stepmom nor from Freya.

Two days since she lost all connectivity from her office computer and marched back to Orca House and pounded on the door. The tech guy who answered was a different smug little prick than last time. He shrugged and said there was something wrong with the server and they were working on the issue.

She’d stepped forward, crossing the threshold into Orca House, and demanded to know why the issue was always and only with her computer, he shrugged again and asked if she’d tried control-alt-delete.

She’d flipped him off and left. Feeling rather smug herself that he hadn’t noticed the spider drones she’d left behind.

The drones were the latest iteration provided by Leah Ellis. These drones would find a modem and take up residence inside, ready and waiting to plug themselves in and open a backdoor for Vicki.

One day since she’d paused, on her way to collect her nightly ice cream fix, outside the entertainment room after hearing a familiar voice. The expedition team was watching a YouTube video by Drew Bishop. They were laughing and sneering, and she sneaked away, not wanting anyone to know she’d heard.

Now, today, the team had left her alone in Geoduck House as they met with Gerard. She settled in front of the TV and clicked on the YouTube app, relieved to see it was still logged in to Riley’s account. Unfettered YouTube.

She went to the recently watched videos menu and saw several from Drew Bishop’s YouTube channel. She clicked on his last upload, which had been published a few hours before Jake had fled the island.

The video was fake—it had to be—but Drew’s words weren’t what left her with a sour feeling in her stomach. No, what scared her was that the video remained viewable on his channel five days later.

It had received a million views.

Not even for the payout of a million clicks would Drew have left this fake video up on his channel.

With shaking fingers, she painstakingly used the remote to type a search for Drew Bishop in the news. The results came fast. Too fast.

She clicked on news videos and read the summary.

Several hours after recording his so-called confession, archaeology graduate student Drew Bishop had been found dead. He’d been seated in front of his computer, in the same place where the video had been recorded. The cause of death was unknown. There was no sign of injury.

She clicked on an updated report, which gave the medical examiner’s finding: idiopathic anaphylaxis.

She watched the video and paused on a clip of Drew’s final post. The clip was taken from early in the recording. He looked angry, defiant. Fired up. The same way he always looked when he called out the lies of pseudoarchaeology packaged as “harmless” entertainment.

Staci was certain the first few minutes of the video had been real. The deepfake ending had been spliced onto a real recording.

She’d seen and heard Drew Bishop cry. They’d shared tears often in the weeks following the attack. And while Drew had recorded dozens of hours of video talking about the dangers of pseudoarchaeology, he’d never once cried. His tears and pain were private. Defiance was what he showed his YouTube audience.

Whoever made the video didn’t have what they needed from his recordings to make him cry convincingly. He covered his face with his hands in a way that wasn’t natural. Nor did his voice or the pitch of his cries match her memories of the real thing.

The video wasn’t right. Wasn’t Drew.

The still image she looked at now, this was the Drew she’d known. He wore his thick glasses that made him look like Clark Kent. His pocket bulged with what was probably his asthma inhaler, which he always kept close because after the attack, his symptoms had worsened. Sometimes, filming triggered a flare.

She jolted as she stared at the pocket.

Drew had asthma. So did Lloyd.

They’d both died of idiopathic anaphylaxis.

Had their inhalers been tampered with? Was it possible that both men had shot a spray of toxin that caused anaphylaxis directly into their throats?

Had he been filming when he used the inhaler, then whoever had tampered with it had edited the end of the video and uploaded it?

Chapter Forty-One