Edna’s gaze narrowed. She looked Tully up and down steadily. “Follow me.” She spun on her black boot heel and marched down the hallway, toward the office in the corner of the building.

Holy cow.

Tully’s heart was pounding. She’d never been invited into this office, never even met Maury Stein, the big kahuna on the morning show.

The office was huge, with two walls of windows. Falling snow turned everything outside gray and white and eerie. From this vantage point, it felt vaguely like standing inside a snow globe, looking out.

“This one will do,” Edna said, cocking her head toward Tully.

Maury looked up from his work. He barely glanced at Tully, then nodded. “Fine.”

Edna left the office.

Tully stood there, confused. Then she heard Edna say, “Are you epileptic? Comatose?”

Tully followed her out into the hallway.

“Do you have a pen and paper?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need an answer, just do as I ask and do it quickly.”

Tully fumbled into her pocket for a pen and found some paper on a nearby desk. “I’m ready.”

“First off, I want a detailed report on the upcoming election in Nicaragua. You do know what’s going on there?”

“Certainly,” she lied.

“I want to know everything about the Sandinistas, Bush’s Nicaraguan policy, the blockade, the people who live there. I want to know when Violeta Chamorro lost her virginity. And you’ve got twelve days to get it done.”

“Yes—” She stopped herself from saying ma’am just in time.

Edna came to a stop at Tully’s desk. “You’ve got a passport?”

“Yes. They made me apply for one when they hired me.”

“Of course. We’ll be leaving on the sixteenth. Before we go—”

“We?”

“Why the hell do you think I’m talking to you? Do you have a problem with this?”

“No. No problem. Thank you. I really—”

“We’ll need immunizations; get a doctor here to take care of us and the crew. Then you can start setting up advance interview meetings. Got it?” She looked down at her watch. “It’s one o’clock. Brief me on Friday morning at, say, five A.M.?”

“I’ll get started right now. And thank you, Edna.”

“Don’t thank me, Hart. Just do your job—and do it better than anyone else could.”

“I’m on it.” Tully went to her desk and picked up the phone. Before she’d even finished punching in the number, Edna was gone.

“Hello?” Kate said groggily.

Tully looked at the clock. It was nine. That meant it was six in Seattle. “Oops. I did it again. Sorry.”

“Your goddaughter doesn’t sleep. She’s a freak of nature. Can I call you back in a few hours?”

“Actually, I’m calling to talk to Johnny.”

“Johnny?” In the silence that preceded the question, Tully heard a baby start to cry.