Writing Prompt #29--The Washout

You never wanted to be a super spy. It was sort of your mom’s thing. A retired super spy herself, she wanted you to follow in her footsteps since you were sperm. As you grew up, you developed a true gift for journalism. Yes, you spoke eight languages, mastered three different fighting styles, and could outshoot four gunslingers with your eyes closed. But when mommy threw you into the Agency’s Elite Training Academy, you intentionally got yourself washed out. Disowned and “disgraced,” ended up becoming a respected investigative journalist.
Your unique upbringing and dangerous contacts afforded you unprecedented levels of access to all kinds of people—from reclusive billionaires to wanted terrorists. About five years after you washed out, you ended up in a certain Third World country that’s briefly came into possession of a black market nuke. Facing U.S.-led sanctions (over some humanitarian sins), this nation’s long-standing dictator was crazy enough to retaliate by having the nuke shipped to the U.S. via commercial freight. You get wind of this and warn the usual intelligence agencies, who scoff at the rumor (that you believe but cannot prove). Your boss won’t run the story without more evidence, which would be useful . . . seeing as you don’t know the details of this imminent terrorist act. Just that the blast will be in the megaton range.
What happens next?

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