Some Russian’s dying up in space. What in God’s name was she talking about? She didn’t breathe through the whole introduction and bit her lip in anticipation of the first question.
“Commander Stockard, our sources in Moscow inform us that there is a medical emergency on board the International Space Station at this very moment. We understand that the Russian cosmonaut currently residing there is near death. Can you provide some details on that?”
Jessica’s entire body turned to water. How could she have been so blindsided? By selfish opportunism, that’s how. She’d been so anxious to get to New York, she hadn’t even researched this story, grilled the producer, or called any inside contacts to get a handle on the interview.
She watched for his reaction, noting that not an ounce of color drained from his face. “You’re referring to Micah Petrenko. He is most certainly not near death. The International Space Station is well-supplied with medical equipment and life-support systems and the health of those on board is monitored closely on a daily basis by a medical team on earth.”
“But he has a blood clot.”
“I’m not on his medical team, ma’am.”
Good answer, Deke. Don’t let her take you down the rabbit hole.
“Even so, he’s a bit of a medical guinea pig?”
“The men and women who live on the ISS are not guinea pigs, but scientists challenged to conduct research that ultimately improves our own quality of life on earth.”
The interviewer glanced at her notes. Come on, throw a softball, lady.
“Are you aware he’s the nephew of a Russian diplomat?”
“I’ve heard that.” He had? Nobody had mentioned it to the person doing the PR.
“Many critics of the space station question the need for humans in space. They say zero gravity possibly weakens the bones, the muscles, and as in the case of Cosmonaut Petrenko, the cardiovascular system. Wouldn’t it be safer—and cheaper—to have the space station unmanned?”
The muscle in his jaw tightened. “Safer and cheaper, but not nearly as effective.”
“Why isn’t this poor man being brought home?” She leaned forward, going for drama. “Isn’t there some sort of emergency escape vehicle?”
“His condition isn’t life threatening.”
Jessica recognized the technique of not answering the question, which they’d talked about in media training. Maybe he had been paying attention, after all.
“Why isn’t NASA talking about it? It’s not like the organization is publicity shy. Certainly you’ve been making the media rounds lately.”
Don’t take the bait, Deke.
“A medical situation that isn’t life threatening on the space station isn’t news.” He leaned forward slightly. “Unless you decide to make it news. The ISS is a joint project between America and Russia. We are working closely together to monitor Micah’s situation.”
The anchor flipped to her next note card. Now comes the fluff, Jessica prayed. “There are reports that the last shuttle launch, Columbia, was within seconds of blowing up—like Challenger?”
Jessica squeezed her hands into tight balls, sweat stinging under her hair and arms despite the chilly studio. She stood on her toes to see the assistant director noting the time. Please, let this be over.
“No, ma’am. Columbia was never in any peril. The shuttle commander had to opt for a different orbit because of a fuel leak, but the numerous redundant systems that are in place to anticipate those kinds of situations ensure the safety of—”
“Could it happen again?”
“We’re doing everything in our power to make sure it doesn’t.”
Jessica’s nails dug deeper at the skin of her palms with every question and every answer.
“Commander Stockard, what, if not safety, is being cut by NASA in the wake of budget restrictions?”
She looked at a monitor as the camera focused on his face. Just a shadow of discomfort darkened his expression, but he remained calm. “There are literally hundreds of line items in our budget, ma’am. But nothing in terms of training or safety is at stake. In fact, our inspection equipment and personnel have been dramatically increased over the past few years.”
“What if this man dies in space? Who is responsible?”
Deke spoke softly, evenly, with no condescension or malice. “NASA has an extraordinary safety record when you consider what we do, how we do it, and the fact that most of it has never been done before. Is there some risk involved in space exploration? You bet. Calculated risks that come with any exploratory venture that allows us to grow and learn and literally expand our universe. Is there stupidity involved? Only from people who think NASA would carelessly risk the life of any man or woman for any reason.”
The assistant director held up a ten-second hand signal and Caroline mercifully wrapped the interview. Jessica finally exhaled. She should have known this was coming. Deke would be furious. And Colonel Price. And, oh God, Tony Palermo. What a day to screw up.
She watched Deke shake the reporter’s hand and quietly leave the set. He didn’t look around but walked directly back to the dressing area, presumably to calm his temper. She didn’t think he’d leave without her, but she momentarily debated if she should try to find him or Liza Watson. She decided on the producer.
“I’d like to have a word with you,” Jessica whispered when she found Liza in the crowded control booth, watching the show on sixteen different monitors and whispering hushed directions to the camera crew through her headset.
She glanced at Jessica. “I know, I know. Caro likes to play tough, but he was fine.”
Jessica knew she had to tread carefully, but the anger simmered just under the surface. “Why didn’t you warn us? We had every right to be more prepared for that.”
The producer put her hand over her mouthpiece and frowned at Jessica. “Look, the leak came out of contacts in Russia, not NASA. Anyway, we spoke with someone from your agency yesterday for confirmation or denial.”
A chill swept over her. “Who did you speak with?”
“Some woman in Boston who works with you.”
Jess stepped aside as Liza brushed by her to get to the set. “Why would you call Boston on this interview? Why not the Cape? Why not NASA PR?”
“One of the other producers heard NASA was now your project. He called your office and was put through to whoever’s taken your place in Boston. They were supposed to get in touch with you and tell you. I gotta go.”
Jessica squeezed her eyes shut. She had no more fight with the producer.
* * *
With his face cleansed of the sticky makeup they had put on him, Deke continued to rub his cheeks and chin with a rough hand towel provided for guests in the dressing area. The room was empty, but he wouldn’t have cared if the President of the United States stood next to him. He whipped the damp towel into the porcelain basin and stared at his reflection. “What the goddamn hell is going on? Why didn’t she know what I was getting into?”
He took a deep breath and continued to stare but didn’t see his reflection. His logical brain was trying to figure out the events, to understand where a leak could have come from and, much more troubling, determine how close these people were to the truth. How sick was Petrenko? What if they didn’t get up there in time? Could they be sure Endeavour could fly safely?
There’d be hell to pay everywhere for this. Starting with that know-it-all-‘it’s going to be just like Leno’ Jessica Marlowe. She probably let him go on just to bask in the glory of getting her client on the Today show. No doubt that was the big time in her business.
No, no. She was too smart for a stunt like that and she had to know that the fallout from this could be fatal to the program. No doubt the phones on Capitol Hill were lit up with angry constituents who would like to kill NASA’s budget and start a Save the Cosmonaut campaign.
He flung his jacket over his shoulder and went to find her and figure out what she planned for damage control.
Deke looked aroun
d the studio for the tall, lithe figure with shiny hair he’d spent so much time admiring when she wasn’t watching. There was no sign of her. She must have slithered out in shame. It wasn’t her style, but a quick tour through the open areas of Studio 3B made him begin to doubt that he knew her at all.
Deke left the studio and immediately saw the crowds gathered outside. Pausing to watch them, it occurred to him that he could still save this. He could do the damage control they’d desperately need. But why should he? It wasn’t his job to make Americans love and trust NASA.
Aw, hell.
He walked right up to the crowd as they pressed against the roped-off areas reserved for the brief visits from the hosts and special guests. Someone called out his name and he waved in response and witnessed the mob reaction as a buzz of excitement vibrated through the group. The crowd grew around him, everyone shaking his hand and asking for an autograph.
“Way to go, Deke. You gave ’em hell, Commander!” one man exclaimed gruffly and patted him on the back.
“You were fantastic, Deke!” yelled another. He thanked them and signed some autographs, including a quick scribble on one of the “DEKE” signs, whose owner rewarded him with an embarrassed smile. A moment later, the jovial, warm weatherman approached Deke, microphone in hand and cameraman in tow.
“Good morning, Commander. I’m Mark Dobson.” His eyes twinkled as he shook Deke’s hand. “Nice of you to come out here. I’m about to go to the weather. Can I get you in this shot for one more comment? I promise I’ll be cool.”
Deke returned his handshake and agreed to one more minute on camera, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
Crouched below the minicam in front of them, a studio crewmember gave the ten-second signal to Mark, then counted down before pointing to the weatherman to indicate he was live.
“What a crowd we have braving the icy cold New York air today!” The cheers of the visitors cut him off. “We are just at the edge of a fairly major storm here in New York and we should see some of the white stuff soon. But folks, who cares? We’ve got America’s favorite astronaut, Deke Stockard, out here with us!” Again the crowd reached a slight frenzy.
“These folks love you, Deke!”
He gave his best “I can’t imagine why” smile when he really wanted to ask why the hell anyone would want to be a celebrity. “No, Mark. They love the space program that I’m a part of, not me.”
“Are you kidding?” Mark rolled his eyes for the camera. “I love you, man!” More cheering. Mark gushed for a few minutes about the heroes of space and how half the breakthroughs in meteorology were a result of NASA inventions and satellite technology. Deke shook some more hands and kissed the windburned, cherry cheek of a baby boy whose mommy thought he would grow up to be an astronaut, too. The camera rolled.
When the excitement died down and it seemed safe to slip away, Deke backed off from the crowd, then looked beyond it. He touched his chin as his eyes scoped the entire area with the skill of a fighter pilot doing a visual check of the skies and accepted that Jessica was gone.
He turned back toward the skating area to catch a cab on Sixth Avenue. Then he spotted her. She was sitting on a bench across the rink, a white coat wrapped around her against the cold, black boots tapping while her fingers furiously punched numbers on her cell phone. All determination and fury. He watched her hold the phone to her ear and talk, then took the circuitous route around the rink and ended up standing beside her without her ever seeing him coming.
She gasped. “You scared me!” Her eyes were huge, the deep color of ink flecked with gold dust, the thick lashes wet with something he’d never seen on her before. Tears.
Her body shivered in reaction to the icy temperatures, or maybe in response to him. The urge to kiss her hit him so hard, it stunned him.
“Would you like to go inside and get warm?”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Clearly, she expected anything but kindness.
* * *
Jessica had braced herself for Deke’s icy attack, prepared for it to sting worse than the frigid air. When she couldn’t find him in the studio, she was certain he’d left without her, too disgusted to even bother with a confrontation. But here he stood, with a look so unbelievably tender that the hard and painful lump building in her throat nearly exploded, threatening to ruin her remaining shreds of composure.
It would have been easy to start on the offensive, but she knew the blame for his ambush lay squarely on her shoulders. “I’m really sorry.”
“So you sneak off like a thief, too ashamed to face me?”
“I didn’t sneak off.” The lump lodged in her throat. “I went to talk to the producer and then couldn’t find you.” She toyed with the cell phone and looked back at him. “When were you going to tell me about the sick cosmonaut?”
“If you had done your homework on this interview, you would have found out they had that story. Then we could have avoided this altogether.”
True enough, she thought. “But if I had known something like this was going on, I might not have pursued the interview.”
“And give up a chance to shine? Not Miss ‘I’m going to succeed at any cost.’ Never. You’d hang me from a billboard in Times Square if you thought it would help your cause.”
The criticism stabbed at her already guilt-laden heart. “I screwed up, Deke.”
He sat on the bench next to her. “Don’t they usually warn you about these rumors? I thought you had such a great relationship with all these media types?”
How could she possibly tell him the truth? He would never understand such petty rivalries with so much at stake.
“Someone in the agency knew, but didn’t get the message to me.”
“I find that hard to believe since I’ve never seen you when you aren’t wired to a cell phone and a PDA.”
She reached into her bag and slipped on a pair of black leather gloves over her numb hands. “The account team in Washington is meeting with NASA right now. We’re going to issue a joint statement with Russia. It’ll die down soon.”
“It won’t.” He turned away from her and watched the skaters. “I’m not happy that you put me in that situation, but I guess we shouldn’t have kept the facts from you.”
Damn right. She swallowed the retort. “Tell me the whole story now. Please.”
He turned back to her. “Micah Petrenko developed deep vein thrombosis shortly after he arrived at the space station.” At her questioning look, he nodded. “That’s a blood clot. Right now, it’s not serious, but it could be. By mid-February, the supply of anticoagulant medicine on the space station will run out. The doctors feel it’s critical to get him out of zero gravity by then.”
“So, is he coming home on Endeavour?”
Deke shrugged. “If we can get to him in time.”
“What could happen if you don’t?”
“He could have a stroke or heart attack. A fatal embolism is the most common and serious complication.”
“It just confirms what all the critics say about the cost in human and dollar terms of manned space travel,” she added.
“You’re catching on, Jess.” He patted her hands with a bittersweet smile. “Now you see why I hate all this time away from inspections and launch prep. A life literally depends on getting up there on time.”
Her cell phone jangled, startling her. When she heard Tony Palermo’s secretary’s familiar voice, she couldn’t fight the urge to pour her story out. “Mimi, don’t tell me, Tony’s on the line to rap my knuckles. Tell him to cool it. I have plenty to tell him.”
Although Deke stepped away to give her privacy, she knew he could hear her end of the conversation. Trying to concentrate on what Mimi was saying and block out the Christmas music guiding the rhythm of the skaters, she put a finger to one ear and looked down self-consciously.
“Well, he can’t talk to you now,” Mimi informed her.
“Didn’t he see the Today show?”
“Oh, yes. He saw it.” Mimi�
��s thick New York accent dripped with disdain and Jessica’s heart sank a little.
“Why can’t he talk to me?” The black ball of disappointment numbed her limbs even more than the cold.
“His schedule just booked up completely with some client problems. Including the NASA issue.”
“Then he must want me to help with damage control.”
“He’s working with Bill Dugan.”
She was worse than in the doghouse. She was dead. Emerging Technologies, here I come.
Deke walked back to the bench when she hung up, studying her face. “I take it this is not your greatest moment at Ross & Clayton.”
Once again, his gentle tone got to her. Far worse than his attacks. Surprising her, the burn of tears started swimming in her eyes and suddenly spilled over. She tried to swipe them with her gloves and laughed at her clumsy effort to hide the obvious. “My whole career is about to crumble. And it’s not even my own doing.”
He sat down close to her and handed her a white handkerchief with the U.S. Navy insignia on the corner. “What drives you so hard, Jessica?”
The combination of tenderness and intensity nearly unraveled her. She dabbed at her eyes and avoided his gaze. “The same thing that drives you, Deke. Motivation to succeed. Really, what else is there?”
He stared at her for a moment, and she couldn’t help looking back into his navy blue eyes. “I don’t want to succeed for the sake of succeeding,” he told her. “I have a job to do and I want to do it well. You seem so focused on the reward and not on the process.”
She tried to laugh a little. “You’re such an engineer.”
“Guilty.” He nodded. “And maybe that makes me too analytical. But, I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman like you. Even the female astronauts and pilots I know… they all want something more.” He paused and searched her face. “At the risk of sounding horrifically old-fashioned, don’t you want to get married, have babies, you know, follow the ticking of the infamous biological clock?”
She folded the white cotton square on her lap. “I love my work. I don’t want to give it up.”
“Why should you give it up? Lots of women do both. My mom did. She had two jobs—a science teacher and a newspaper columnist. Three if you count raising Melissa and me.” He laid his arm on the bench behind her and she thought of how much she wanted him to wrap his arm around her and just… comfort.
Space in His Heart Page 11
