Page 89 of False Flag

Xavier responded. “I wish we could have gone, but our schedule only allows for one trip across country this spring, and my wife, daughter, and I will be there for the marriage ceremony in two weeks.”

“That’s right,” Staci said. “I forgot you’re Chris’s best man.”

He chuckled. “The ceremony is so small, I might be the only man. I’m deeply honored he asked me. Chris and I…we’ve been through it. More than once.” Xavier faced Jake. “And, while I haven’t met most of the people who work for Raptor, I do know Ian Boyd, who I understand you met at the party. I met Ian and his wife through Luke Sevick, a former Navy SEAL who works for NOAA in Port Angeles. Luke, Bastian, and I are all on standby if you need us to have your back.”

Jake swallowed, hit by a rush of emotion knowing three virtual strangers had agreed to back him. And not just any three men, but a Green Beret and two SEALs.

Luke Sevick, Bastian Ford, and Xavier Rivera were no longer in the military, but all had been special forces operators for years. As an officer, Jake might outrank them, but he was a neophyte in comparison. “I’m grateful.” His voice was a bit hoarse, but he didn’t care. “We really have no idea what we’re walking into.”

Brie studied him and Staci. “My initial thought was that this is far outside the scope of the kind of work FMV does, but really, with the political machinations of using archaeology for political gain, it’s not all that different. I went over the Letora Island report you sent to Freya and agree with your assessment, Staci. The report was written by AI.”

Staci let out a pent-up breath. “I don’t dare make that assertion public until I can prove it. I could blow my credibility before we even begin if I toss an accusation like that right out of the gate and end up being wrong.”

Brie nodded. “The first step that could disprove the AI assumption is finding the author. The name Jennifer Meyers is way too common, but even so, I have yet to find an archaeologist or historian with that name who would be qualified to write that particular report and the other ones that were cited as having been authored by her.”

Staci nodded. “I found a citogenesis circle of Jennifer Meyers-authored reports that link backward to Wikipedia as the only source. Osborne absolutely has the technology to populate a website with fake links. Hell, he can create a whole person out of thin air and give them a credit rating and hack their fake Netflix account and tell you their watch history, complete with glowing reviews of pseudoarchaeology pseudodocumentaries.”

Jake realized how much time he’d wasted while Staci had been working thanks to having unfettered internet access. At the very least, he could have asked her what she’d done yesterday while he’d been shopping for booze and a quaich.

Her work was far more complex than he’d expected. He hated that he hadn’t realized it before this moment. “Why would Osborne give you a fake report written by a fake person?”

Staci’s eyes lit. She didn’t smile, but her expression was pleased. “That, Jake, is the exact right question and precisely what I wondered the first time I read the report. It was just…off in several ways. What does Osborne have to fear from an accurate history report about land his family has owned for a hundred and fifty years?”

Brie, on the other hand, did smile. “Xavier’s wife, Audrey—she’s the park archaeologist for Olympic National Park—and I discussed this. In most situations, identifying archaeological or historical sites could lead to land-use restrictions, but the built environment of Letora Island is on land that was logged and worked over several times in the last hundred and fifty years. The oldest structures are already protected by historic preservation laws—laws that were passed due to the efforts of the Native Sons of British Columbia, a group his ancestors were a part of—and his upgrades to the mansions aren’t just permitted, they’re required for maintaining the property.”

Staci nodded. “Exactly. So what history is he trying to claim? Or what history is he trying to deny?”

Brie slid a USB drive across the table. “On here, you’ll find a reparations bill that’s going to be passed by the Washington State Legislature and signed very soon by the governor. The bill is also the basis for a federal bill that’s being sponsored by all of Washington’s Democratic representatives and both senators. Bastian and other tribal chairs across the state have been in discussions with the governor and key members of the legislature for the last eighteen months. The meetings have been very hush-hush because there’s going to be a massive amount of pushback, if⁠—”

“When,” Bastian said.

Brie smiled. “When the bill is passed. Private landowners like Osborne, who’ve held land since before statehood, won’t be exempt from having to pay reparations to the tribes. Depending on the circumstances, they might even have to forfeit their land.”

“But that’s in Washington,” Staci said. “Letora Island is in British Columbia.”

Brie leaned forward. “This is where it gets interesting…aside from the fact that Osborne has holdings on both sides of the straits—straits plural, because we’re talking about Juan de Fuca, Rosario, Haro, and Deception Pass—but even more important, Washington’s governor has been working with BC’s premier to pass a similar law in British Columbia, which will then be the model for Canada’s own federal reparations bill. As we’ve done here in Washington, First Nations have been in talks with the provincial government. Everyone is consulting together. Tribes, state, and provincial governments are all unified on this, knowing we’ve got one shot to make it work if everyone stands together.”

Staci picked up the thumb drive. “Which means that no matter how quiet you’ve kept it, there’s no way Osborne doesn’t know exactly what’s in the proposed bill.”

“He’s paying off politicians to keep him in the loop and stealing files when he can’t buy them.”

“The Washington signing may be imminent,” Staci nodded toward the window, “but how close is the British Columbia bill?”

Jake followed her gaze, seeing the Victoria Parliament Building.

Bastian answered. “If Governor Kelly has his way, it will happen around the same time, and both will be before the Democratic presidential nominee picks their running mate.”

This had Jake’s attention. He might not be a Washington resident anymore, but he still paid attention to the state’s political landscape. He intended to move back here someday. “Governor Kelly has been quietly campaigning to be the vice president nominee.”

“Exactly,” Bastian said. “And if he gets this bill passed in Washington—and British Columbia—he’ll have huge support from minority voters, along with international clout that the top of the ticket nominee lacks.”

Staci’s gaze remained fixed on the Victoria Parliament Building. “But zero support from billionaires like Osborne. Reparations have always been a no-go for the oligarch class. They’ll dump outrageous sums to defeat any ticket that includes Kelly.”

“But it will give the liberal wing of the party new life. Governor Kelly has a great record in Washington, and reparations are wildly popular among several minority groups. Descendants of enslaved Americans know they’d be up for reparations next.”

Brie nodded. “Hence erasing the history of slavery in North America being at the top of conservatives’ action items. This brings us back to the question of what history Osborne wants erased and replaced with AI-generated accounts in which white people were the saviors of all.

“Immediately after reviewing the report, I reached out to leaders in the Gulf Islands First Nations groups. A few of the supposed interview subjects have passed in the four years since the report was written”—she used air quotes on the word—“but one Elder is adamant her sister would never have agreed to speak with any historian Osborne hired.” She frowned and cleared her throat. “Let’s just say that word among First Nations is that speaking with any anthropologist researching the Osbornes doesn’t end well for the tribe. The Osborne family has been covering up their part in genocide for a hundred and fifty years.”