The room is smaller than the floor plan suggested. Stone walls, a single bulb on a cord, steel shelving along three walls stacked with archival boxes. In the centre, a table. And at the table, an old man in a grey cardigan, reading a document by lamplight.

Erik Lindqvist looks up without surprise.

"I wondered which of them would send you," he says. His Danish accent is thick. He looks tired in the way of someone who has been tired for fifty years. "The Americans or the Russians."

"Neither," you say. "I came for the document."

"Of course you did." He sets it down. The Lindqvist memo — original, sixteen pages, the first page bearing the 1973 stamp and his own signature at the bottom. "I have been trying to destroy this for four years. But copies keep appearing." He looks at you. "You made a copy. When you translated it."

"It was standard procedure."

"Nothing about this is standard." He is quiet for a moment. "The cache is real. I was twenty-six years old when I helped hide it. We were told it was temporary. NATO contingency planning." He pauses. "Nothing is ever temporary."

He slides the document across the table toward you.

"Take it. Do what you think is right. I am too old to run anymore."
Written by IStory Segment ID #3f0265

What happens next?

1 Take the document — and walk away 2 Expose Lindqvist publicly — burn it all down