Page 40 of False Flag

She was also not permitted to share information about anyone who lived with or visited Osborne, which made her believe Letora Island was where the billionaire’s ex-wife and five children lived.

She could understand why the man would go to such lengths to protect his children, all under the age of ten—the threat of kidnapping was very real. But why would a man so determined to protect his children open his home up to Gerard Campbell and his team? It made no logical sense.

The waters were rough as the small ferry, owned by Osborne, of course, navigated the stormy water between Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands. The ferry could transport twenty passengers in the main room; more could ride on the upper deck, and no doubt Osborne also had a private cabin on the 150-foot vessel. She and Lloyd were the only passengers on this crossing.

The boat pulled into the island’s only developed harbor, and, minutes later, they were tied to a pier and a ramp extended to shore. It felt weird to walk off the boat without her two suitcases, but baggage was handled by the crew. She carried only her laptop bag and purse.

The sky lit twice in rapid succession as they disembarked. Seconds later, thunder boomed.

“Aren’t lightning storms unusual here?” she asked Lloyd.

“Rare, but they happen. You can count on a few each year. We just got lucky to arrive during one.”

She laughed softly. “I’m not sure this counts as lucky. You know this area?”

“I grew up in Washington.” His face turned wistful. “We had a house on a bay connected to Puget Sound.”

She imagined that would be a treat—when it wasn’t raining. As it was, she got drenched as they descended the gangway. On shore, they took refuge in a two-bay garage-sized three-sided shelter with a slanted metal roof.

“Surprised the car isn’t here,” Lloyd said. “The deck mate should have informed the staff the moment we entered the harbor.”

Their bags were unloaded and dropped in the shelter, and then, to Staci’s surprise, the staff returned to the boat, which set sail minutes later.

“They’re leaving us here?”

Lloyd shrugged. “No more runs tonight. The boat crew lives in Nanaimo.”

That made sense. The airport where they’d just landed was in Nanaimo.

Lloyd crossed to the back of the shelter and picked up a phone handset. “I’m calling the house. See what’s up with the car.”

Mounted to the wall next to the phone was a sign with the four-digit code for the important extensions. Actual landline phones. It was surprising to see old technology on a tech billionaire’s property, but the port structures had probably been built in the seventies, and the phone lines were buried, which meant they wouldn’t go down in bad weather like this. Nor would it be an issue if cellular or satellite communications were cut off due to electrical issues or cloudy skies.

But upon studying the phone and wall-mounted instructions, she realized the handset was part of a closed-circuit intercom. It only connected to other extensions on the same system. She wondered if the houses had landlines at all.

Of course, landlines could be bugged as much as cell phones could be monitored. No matter what she did, Osborne would have access to every call or text made from this island.

“No one’s answering.” Lloyd hung up and tried another extension.

Rain pounded on the metal roof; she felt the vibration in her chest. Lloyd worked his way down the short list of numbers and finally gave up. “We can walk up to the house. It’s not quite a half mile on the other side of the ridge.”

“With our suitcases? In the rain?”

“You can leave your bags here. They’ll be safe.”

Staci debated her options. She didn’t relish the idea of being left behind on a dark and stormy night with only a three-walled shelter to keep her warm and dry. Worse, she had no idea where the house was, thanks to the no-maps-of-the-property provision, so if she didn’t go with Lloyd now and he didn’t return, she’d be stuck here.

He’d come back. Of course he’d come back.

Wouldn’t he?

It suddenly hit her that she was stranded on a somewhat remote island with a group of cult members—and she had no idea who or how many people were on the island with her, and technically, she wasn’t supposed to have told anyone where she was headed. It was pure luck she’d spilled the beans on Saturday morning, on the bus ride to Anderson Lake, a full day before she received and later signed the NDA.

“Just a sec. I need to call my mom and tell her I’ve arrived safe.”

“Your mom? I thought she was dead.”

She took a step back. “How would you know that?” But it was obvious. “Osborne,” she muttered under her breath.