“Edna Guber is sending me to Nicaragua. I want to ask him some background questions.”

“Just a second.” Kate handed the phone off; there was a sound like wax paper being balled up and a flurry of whispers, then Johnny came on the line.

“Hey, Tully, good for you. Edna’s a legend.”

“This is my big break, Johnny, and I don’t want to screw up. I thought I’d start by picking your brain.”

“I haven’t slept in a month, so I don’t know how much good I’ll be, but I’ll do what I can.” He paused. “You know it’s dangerous down there. A real powder keg. People are dying.”

“You sound worried about me.”

“Of course I am. Now, let’s start with the relevant history. In 1960 or ‘61, the Sandinista National Liberation Front, or FSLN, was founded . . .”

Tully wrote as fast as she could.

For just under two weeks Tully worked her ass off. Eighteen, twenty hours a day she was reading, writing, making phone calls, setting up meetings. In the few rare hours when she wasn’t working or trying to sleep, she went to the kind of stores she’d never frequented before—camping stores, military supply outlets, and the like. She bought pocketknives and netted safari hats and hiking boots. Everything and anything she could think of. If they were in the jungle and Edna wanted a damn fly swatter, Tully was going to produce it.

By the time they actually left, she was nervous. At the airport, Edna, wearing a pair of razor-pressed linen pants and a white cotton blouse, took one look at Tully’s multipocketed khaki jungle attire and burst out laughing.

For the endless hours of their flights, through Dallas and Mexico City and finally onto a small plane in Managua, Edna fired questions at Tully.

The plane landed in what looked to Tully like a backyard. Men—boys, really—in camouflaged clothing stood on the perimeter, holding rifles. Children came out of the jungle to play in the air kicked up by the propellers. The dichotomy of the image was something Tully knew she’d always remember, but from the moment she got out of the plane until she reboarded the flight for home five days later, she had precious little time to think about imagery.

Edna was a mover.

They hiked through guerrilla-infested jungles, listening to the shrieking of howler monkeys, swatting mosquitoes, and floating up alligator-lined rivers. Sometimes they were blindfolded, sometimes they could see. Deep in the jungle, while Edna taped her interview with el jefe, the general in charge, Tully talked to the troops.

The trip opened her eyes to a world she’d never seen before; more than that, it showed her who she was. The fear, the adrenaline rush, the story; it turned her on like nothing ever had before.