Lindqvist does not move. He is looking at the wall behind you as though he can see through it. "What will you do with it?" he asks.
"I do not know yet."
"That is the honest answer." He folds his hands on the table. "The cache is in a concrete chamber beneath a farm in South Jutland. The farm was purchased in 1974 by a shell company. It has changed hands three times. The current owner does not know what is beneath his field." He pauses. "On page eleven, you will find the coordinates."
You already know them. You translated them four years ago.
You leave the building through the boiler room, through the service door, into the November night. You walk to the end of Strandvejen and stand at the water. The Øresund is black and the Swedish lights are a thin line on the other side.
You call Marcus one last time. "Tell your people the cache is real and I know where it is. Tell them I will send the coordinates to NATO command in 72 hours. If anything happens to me before then, the coordinates — and everything else — go to the press."
You hang up and do not turn on the phone again.
Two months later, you are living under a different name in a city that is not Copenhagen. You read in the news that a routine infrastructure survey in South Jutland has been postponed indefinitely for "environmental assessment."
You sleep without a camera in the corner.
You are, in the only way that matters, free.
✦ Ending A: The Hero's Disappearance