Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
My heart is hammering in my chest as I stand up, my hands balled into fists.
“No one knows anything about this guy,” I say in a tight voice. “He’s refused all invitations from the press. This would get international coverage!”
Walter bangs his fist on the table. “I’m not having one of my reporters waltzing into a vicious cartel where she can be tortured and killed!”
“Walter,” I snap. “I’m doing this interview!”
“No, you’re not!” he shouts back. “I’m forwarding the request to CNN.”
I grab his laptop and yank it off the table. His big mouth drops open as he stares at me in disbelief. I snatch his phone too and back toward the door, clutching them to my chest like I’ve taken them hostage.
“I’m doing this story,” I tell the room of powdery-faced ‘journalists’. “I got the interview and I’m doing it. None of you can stop me.”
I storm out of the conference room and head to my desk with Walter’s electronics. My pulse is racing, but it’s less from the big scene I just made and more from the opportunity of a lifetime.
This is just what I need.
Just what I’ve been waiting for.
An interview with Hector Contreras.
That Pulitzer is as good as mine.
CHAPTER TWO
Gracie
“Gracie,” Walter says as I sit at his desk. I’m still holding his laptop and phone hostage until he agrees that I can go. “What are you doing?”
“My job,” I say as I stare him dead in the eyes. “I’m a journalist.”
“We do fluffy stories around here,” he says with a sigh. “A clown who can make balloon animals with his eyes closed. A dog who can water ski. Fun stuff that doesn’t make you think.”
I don’t break eye contact. “I’m doing the interview, Walter.”
He drops his head and sighs. I’ve been called stubborn all my life, but I prefer tenacious. Once I have my mind on something, I don’t let anyone stop me from achieving it.
“Let me tell you what it will entail,” he says with a hard stare. He’s trying to scare me, but it’s not going to work. “You’ll have to fly to El Nicanduras, one of the most dangerous countries in the world. You’ll stay in a hotel where you will probably be robbed, murdered, or both.” He looks at me like he’s hoping I’m going to give up already.
“Cool,” I say with a nod.
“Then, you’ll board a rickety-old helicopter and fly into the jungle at a meeting spot given to you that morning. The lethal jungle is riddled with man-eating panthers, giant snakes who would be thrilled to swallow you whole, and all sorts of deadly insects and parasites that will swarm you the second you step foot on the muddy soil.”
“Panthers, snakes, and parasites,” I say with a smile. “Not a problem.”
“If the helicopter doesn’t crash in a fiery ball of flames,” he continues. “You’ll be brought into the vicious cartel’s heinous lair where you’ll come face to face with a psychotic killer. You’ll be completely at his mercy. If you ask a question he doesn’t like, whack. You’ll lose your head. If you insult him, willingly or not, whack. If he doesn’t like your face, whack. There’s a good chance you won’t make it out alive.”
I smile like it’s Christmas morning. “When can I leave?”
He drops his head in despair.
“You really want to go?”
“I want to be a journalist,” I tell him. “A real journalist. This is what I signed up for.”
He shakes his head as he watches me, but I can tell he’s cracking.
“Contreras says you can bring one person with you. A cameraman.”
“Cool, I’ll bring Steve.”
I drop Walter’s laptop and phone on his desk and race to the door. “Steve!” I shout as I stick my head out. “Want to go to El Nicanduras?”
“Not a chance,” he shouts back.
“Anyone?” I ask, looking around the office. Everyone is suddenly very busy with their computers. “Oh, come on! You call yourselves journalists?”
“Gracie,” Walter says, waving me back into the office. I close the door and retake my seat. “You’re not bringing a cameraman. I’m sending you with a bodyguard.”
“But I need a cameraman to—”
“This is not up for discussion,” he says, interrupting me in a forceful tone. “I’m letting you go against my better judgment, but I’m not budging on this. You’ll have a bodyguard by your side at all times. He can record the interview.”
I don’t like it, but I nod and agree. I’ve pushed this man enough for one day, plus it might make me feel a bit better to have some muscle beside me, even though it won’t do much good if the machetes and bullets start flying.
“Okay,” I say. “Fair enough.”
“I know this great security place out of Montana,” he says as he opens a desk drawer and starts riffing through some papers. “Spartan Shield Corp. They have the best bodyguards around. We’ll find someone very capable for you.”