You go in through a side door that has been left unlocked — deliberately, you are certain.
Inside: stacked shipping containers, a forklift with a dead battery, and at the far end of the space, a folding table with a laptop, a lamp, and a man sitting with his back to you.
He turns before you are halfway across the floor. Sixty, heavily built, in a good overcoat. He speaks in accented English.
"We have been watching you since your translation was filed," he says. "We had hoped you would stay retired."
Russian. SVR, almost certainly. This is not the meeting you expected.
"I am not here to negotiate," he says. "I am here to give you one opportunity to walk away. The cache will be recovered. The document will be destroyed. You will never hear about this again." He pauses. "Or you will end up like Holger Dahl."
Behind you, you hear the side door open.