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Imagine this December 1956, the Cold War is in full swing. In Washington where you work, rumors that the Soviets are about to launch a satellite into space have only added fuel to the fire.

But that couldn't be further from your mind. Because right now, you have a deadline.

You're sitting at your desk, staring at a blank page, hoping for a little inspiration, your journalist, or you used to be.

These days, you're what your boss calls a leg man. Your job is to dig up political gossip and, lately, in spite of all the drama with the Soviets, good gossip has been scarce.

You're right for a daily must-read periodical. It's pretty low-brow stuff, definitely not the New York Times, but hey, it's a paycheck.

Yours is one of five offices housed in a yellow brick townhouse on 29th Street in Georgetown. Your boss is currently out of town on business, and that's perfectly fine by you. He can be a bit of jerk.

Coffee, sir? Is she talking to me? You think yourself? I just made a fresh pot. The office girl almost never asked if you want coffee when the boss is around.

But he left you in charge, so for today at least, you're calling the shots. Sure, why not? You got it.

Oh, I almost forgot. An envelope came for you. Hand delivered. Who's it from? I don't know, sir. There's no name on it. No address either.

When you take the envelope in your hands, you notice a seal on one side. It's from the storied, willard hotel in Washington.

You flip over the envelope. On the flap at the top is a hastily scribbled, handwritten note. The words read, this may be of some use.

You tear into the envelope. Inside you find two documents. Almost immediately you know what you're looking at.

You've been on the beat in Washington long enough to know classified records when you see them. And these aren't just any secret documents.

They're military papers about the Army's ballistic missile program. You quickly scan the file. There's a trove of top secret info.

Missile launch dates, rocket specifications, and details about missiles still under development.

And then your eyes land on something else. A big something. As you scan the words, you can't believe what you're reading.

According to this document earlier this year, the United States Army secretly launched Jupiter C, the first ballistic missile fired into space.

And what's more, according to the page in your hand, the Army is capable of putting a satellite into orbit, but is stuck awaiting defense department permission to fire.

Your heart pounds, your mind races. So you do what any good writer does when they've been given the gift of inspiration. You pick up a pen.

On a stand-up pad you scribble a single sentence in sloppy cursive. This envelope is packed with as much explosive power as is packed in the warhead of a ballistic missile.

You have no idea where this story is going to lead, but you can't wait to find out.

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