Page 5 of False Flag

“Holy crap,” Morgan said again.

“If Hank is going all in on pseudoarchaeology, he’s been keeping a tight lid on it,” Freya said. “I haven’t heard any chatter.”

Freya’s use of Hank instead of Henry or even Daniels sparked a memory. “You know him from your time in the CIA?” Freya had worked for the CIA for over a dozen years. She’d been a Special Activities Division operative when she quit working for the agency. The vice president had been director for a few years, but Staci didn’t know if their timelines overlapped.

“He was one of four directors I worked under. I knew him, yes, but nothing that I can share.”

“I need to know everything you can share.”

“I don’t like this,” Morgan said. “I was on board with you going to the fundraiser. It was anonymous except for your first name. But if you take this job and expose Campbell’s grift, his fans will come after you. It’s dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than going to Jordan and searching for artifact traffickers who fund terrorism.” This was Friday Morning Valkyries’ clandestine mission. While they worked publicly for clients seeking to trace provenance of artifacts and art, conducted fieldwork and background research for select clients, had a team of technical experts who used satellite imagery to monitor known sites endangered by acts of nature or military conflict, and provided trainings to the military and contractors on the protection of cultural resources around the globe, they also worked covertly in the US and abroad to stop artifact trafficking that funded drug cartels and terrorists.

Staci had pursued this job as part of her dissertation research, but it would be similar to FMV’s work, which, until now, she had only contributed to in supporting roles.

“Diana is fluent in Arabic,” Morgan said. “She has a PhD, and she trained for that mission for months. Plus, no one knew she was working to stop traffickers. If a documentary is made with you in it, you’ll be putting your face in front of millions of followers of a shyster and have to pretend to believe his lies. You’ll never get your PhD if you don’t denounce him, but that’ll put you in the crosshairs. You wouldn’t be able to work covertly for FMV after that. I’m not saying this to discourage you. Honestly, I think your plan to expose him is great, but there’s a reason we haven’t tried it before now. Gerard Campbell is too public. And if the vice president is cozying up to him, he’s about to become ten times more political.”

Staci admired Dr. Morgan Adler to an embarrassing degree. She was the reason Staci had decided to go to college and study archaeology. She would never take Morgan’s warnings lightly. Not when every word she said was true. But that didn’t change her mind. “Will you lend me a dress?”

“Of course. I’ve got just the thing.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there in thirty.”

“No. Come at five. Bring your makeup and get ready here. Freya, can you get here early too?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. And Diana should be there too. She met Hank last fall.”

Dr. Diana Edwards had testified against two American oligarchs who’d been large donors to President Crawford’s campaign. Once the convictions were handed down, he’d been quick to extend an invitation to Diana and her fiancé, Lieutenant Chris Flyte, for a meeting in the Oval Office. As an active-duty SEAL, Chris needed to remain anonymous and invisible, so Diana had gone without him, meeting both the president and Vice President Henry Daniels alone.

“It’s a good idea for me to get ready there, but I’m not sure I want to share what I’m doing with everyone.”

“You can trust all the Valkyries.”

“Of course. But it won’t just be FMV there. SEALs from Chris’s team—men you haven’t met yet—will be there too. And some will bring dates. Wives. This has to remain top secret. Only Valkyries can know.”

Among those Valkyries in the know would be Dr. Kira Hanson. Staci had been both excited and apprehensive about spending time with her this weekend. A few years ago, Staci had dated Kira’s fiancé, Commander Randall Fallon. They’d broken up amicably when they both accepted the spark wasn’t there.

Now, Kira and Rand were engaged, and it was clear they were wildly happy. Staci was thrilled Rand had found the right woman for him, but she feared Kira might believe otherwise. The art historian never gave off jealous vibes, but Staci had been the target of resentment from women and girls since she was thirteen years old and was the first in her middle school to need a D-cup bra.

From that moment forward, her body had been sexualized by all genders and ages. It didn’t matter what she wore, there were always girls who assumed she was trying to steal their guy because she was partnered with them on a group project or sat next to them in a theater.

In ninth grade, she’d been called a slut and a cock-tease by a tenth grader, simply because she’d spurned his advances in the school library. Her large breasts had convinced him she wanted to touch his penis, apparently.

She and Morgan had bonded over their similar adolescent experiences when they waited tables together. In adulthood, they’d both learned to embrace their figures, using the inherent sexiness to their advantage as they delivered drinks and chicken wings to men watching sports.

She appreciated and fully enjoyed her body now, but still, situations like this one with Kira made her nervous, because she wanted more than anything to be Kira’s friend. Even more than she wanted to retain Rand’s friendship, frankly.

She admired Kira, who was wildly smart and multilingual. She’d stood up to more than one monster in her life and persevered. Morgan, Freya, Diana, Kira, they were all women Staci admired. Wanted to be like.

They’d fought back and triumphed. Physically. Mentally. They’d won.

When her moment had come, Staci hadn’t fought at all. She’d cowered and cried.

“I’ll see you at five,” she said and ended the call. She had several weeks’ worth of podcasts to skim to prepare for a job interview that would be conducted at the vice president’s house in four hours.

Chapter Three

Three hours later, Staci stood before a full-length mirror and studied her reflection. The dress looked good. Dark teal raw silk in a simple, classy cut that hugged her bust and waist. Sleeveless with a high neckline. A two-inch band of matching teal lace encircled the hem and just touched her knees. A cardigan made from the same lace covered shoulders that would otherwise be bare. A simple string of pearls and cream-colored pumps completed the ensemble.