"I was wondering when you would call," he says.
You feel the familiar cold settle in your chest. "You knew."
"Not about the photo. About the operation. There is something in Copenhagen, and it has your name on it — not because anyone put it there, but because of what you know. What you translated, four years ago. The file you were never supposed to see."
You remember it. The Lindqvist memo. Sixteen pages of encrypted Danish, routed through Langley by mistake, describing a weapons-grade plutonium cache hidden somewhere in Denmark since 1973. You translated it, filed it, and assumed it disappeared into the bureaucracy. Apparently it did not.
"Someone is cleaning house," Marcus says. "The photo is a warning. They want you to run. If you run, they can justify what comes next."
Outside your window, a white van has been parked on the street since yesterday. You notice it now for the first time.
What happens next?
1 Ask Marcus what he knows about the Lindqvist memo