The file took all afternoon to finish. I had hoped it would be possible to skim most of it, but the major was right. The information was dense. Many names. Many connections. I didn’t bother to try to memorize anything. Whatever stuck, stuck. The captain didn’t say a word the whole time. He looked at his watch now and then but did nothing else that suggested impatience.
“All done,” I said finally, and stood up to stretch. The room was cold, windowless, no pictures or mirrors on the walls. No decoration of any kind. It was a room. It had a door that locked from the outside. Either it was soundproof or the rest of the world had gone away. This was an interesting thought: The captain and I were the last people on earth, in a cold room with no windows.
“No one could hear your screams,” he said.
“They couldn’t hear yours, either.”
“Well then, let’s not scream, shall we?”
“Like I said,” I closed the file, “I’m done. You want me to sign anything?”
“Sign? Sign what? No one gets to see that file. Ever. You didn’t see it. I didn’t see it.”
“The major didn’t see it.”
“Especially the major.”
“If no one has seen it, it must not exist.”
“You might be right.”