She turned to Albright.

“General, this is a matter of national security,” she said.

“The documents Eleanor Harrington took contain active coordinates for our assets in the Levant.”

“That is a lie,” I said, stepping out from behind the fabric screen.

The partition rattled as my shoulder brushed against the metal frame.

Cross spun around, her fingers twitching near her belt.

Merritt stepped into the room, his shoulder blocking the exit.

“Eleanor,” Albright said, his voice dropping.

“General,” I said.

I kept my hands visible, holding my old government-issued phone.

“The documents do not contain active coordinates,” I said.

“They contain the cargo manifests from the Al-Tanf supply run in the winter of 2022.”

“The manifests Cole signed off on.”

“The ones that listed medical supplies but carried commercial drilling equipment for the Syrian border mines.”

“Be quiet, Eleanor,” Cross said, taking a step toward me.

“You are out of your depth.”

“Am I?” I asked.

I looked at the black-rimmed clock on Vance’s wall.

It was exactly 10:02 AM.

“Two minutes ago, an encrypted server in Maryland released those files,” I said.