The vague reply gave him hope. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been, uh, convinced to stay for the launch. NASA needs PR support.”
Hope melted into relief. She wasn’t going home. Not yet, anyway.
“Don’t worry,” she insisted before he could talk. “They just want as many people as possible geared up to handle the international attention on this mission. No fluff. No spin for you. I’ll leave you alone.”
Don’t do that, Jessie.
“To be honest,” she continued, “I didn’t plan on staying. I didn’t expect all of this crisis control… or any of this…” She paused and he held his breath. “This other stuff.”
“This other stuff being me, I take it?” He wanted to hear her talk about it. About them.
He heard her soft moan of admission. “Yeah. That’d be the stuff.”
“I miss you already, honey.” He had no real control over his words. He needed to say them.
“Don’t do this.”
“I need to. I need to talk to you. I can’t be here, isolated and away from you. I want to call you and know I can talk to you.” His gut twisted with the confession as he waited for her response.
All he heard was the gentle static of long distance. Then she spoke so softly, he hardly heard her. “I guess it can’t hurt to talk to you.”
He closed his eyes at the reprieve and realized the sound he heard was the beating of his own heart.
“So, how are they treating you at Johnson?”
He flicked the remote to turn off his TV. In the dim light of the apartment, he leaned back on the sofa, ready to unload his troubles. “Mac was God. I’m Poster Boy. Use your imagination.”
She laughed softly.
“And we had another bitch of a landing today.”
“Tell me about it.”
She meant it. He knew that. She relieved all the pressure on his brain and, in the process, lightened his very soul. She listened and laughed and understood. He couldn’t believe an hour had passed when she yawned and reminded him of the time difference.
“Sorry if I cut into your beauty sleep, Jess. But hell, you don’t need it anyway.”
“You’re sweet. You can call and compliment me anytime.” The sincerity in her voice touched him. “Now, get some rest, Stockard. You do need it.”
“I know. But I needed this, too.”
He needed her. She had no idea how much.
* * *
Jessica let the warmth of his goodbye soothe the ache that had been in her heart all day. It was no solution, one phone call in the night. Just a truce. Just a stopgap until… until what?
With her feet dangling off the bed, she stared into the darkness, replaying every word, every nuance of their conversation. Suddenly, she reached for the lamp and bathed the room in soft light. She slipped her bare feet onto the cool tile floor. Opening the top dresser drawer, she reached into the corner. There, among some lingerie, she found what she wanted.
She took out the neatly folded Navy-issue handkerchief she had intended to return to him. Holding it, she tiptoed back to her bed and turned off the light.
Then she unfolded the soft piece of cotton and smoothed it over her pillowcase, laying her cheek on it with a soft sigh. She only wanted to fall asleep with the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-one
As the next two weeks passed, the focus of Jessica’s life shifted entirely. During the day, she worked as any other employee of the Public Affairs staff, handling media requests and positioning the messages NASA delivered. At night, she waited for Deke’s call and the hour of secret bliss it gave her.
All the interview requests for Deke were declined, with the one exception of Paul Zimmerman of Newsweek. Jessica quietly continued negotiations for a cover story. This would be the definitive NASA story. Not about Deke, but a chance to remind America that the men and women who risked their lives were true heroes—twenty-first-century pioneers who made a profound difference to humanity.
That was the feature story she wanted, but Paul continued to dig for dirt. A Newsweek cover on NASA would be a coup for her, but more importantly, a turning point for the space program.
Jessica confided her strategy to Tony Palermo the first time they spoke since the harsh conversation instructing her to stay at the Cape. She wanted to open communication with him again, hoping for some answers.
“It’s a gamble, Jess,” Tony warned her when she told him about Newsweek. “Without Stockard as the centerpiece of that story, you have to keep the focus on NASA’s successes and not safety issues or the danger that cosmonaut is in. We don’t want another Today show debacle.”
“We certainly don’t,” she agreed. If Carla Drake would stay out if it, things should be fine. But she didn’t mention the other vice president’s name. Moot point, she decided.
“On the other hand, if you pull it off, I suspect our budget for next year would more than double on the NASA account,” Tony mused. She could count on Tony to get to the heart of what mattered to the agency. Profits.
She took a deep breath. “We need to talk about my role when I return.”
“I’ve been carefully examining the management structure in Boston. I personally like the idea of you heading up ET, but I know you don’t.”
“No, I don’t. It’s not what I want to do.”
“I understand. However, it makes sense to me.” He paused, and she didn’t dare interrupt but visualized the corner she was being backed into.
“I’m prepared to offer the position to you with a twenty percent salary increase.”
Not such a dark corner. She wished the money mattered, but it didn’t.
“What about my staff?”
“You can keep most of your staff, not everyone. I’m not sending you to Silicon Valley. And you know that’s where this job ought to be.”
So this was it. He offered a partial staff, a twenty percent increase, and a promise not to relocate her away from Boston. Take it or leave it. Damn, this wasn’t fair.
She wanted the GM job so badly and deserved it so much that she could scream. But what option did she have? Another agency? No, that’s not what she wanted.
“I hear you. I’ll do it.” She kept all enthusiasm out of her voice. “But, please, don’t announce it until I’m home.”
“You got it, Jess. Keep up the good work down there.”
Yeah, sure. It really made a difference. “You bet.”
Jess pushed her chair back with the sudden and urgent desire to leave the stuffy little office. Without even taking her purse, she bolted into the hallway and headed for the lobby. She needed air. She needed to think.
Thrusting the glass doors open, she stepped outside and inhaled, gazing into the vivid azure of Florida’s winter sky. Days like this occurred about five times a year in Boston and everyone took two-hour lunches or called in sick to celebrate and treasure the beauty. Here, perfect days were the norm.
Maybe it wasn’t the worst place on earth.
Silently blessing her choice of flat loafers that morning, she walked the winding paths of the Space Center and before long she arrived at the entrance of the Visitors’ Center. Most weekdays were quiet at that end of the complex, with a few school field trips and a smattering of international tourists. It seemed like a safe escape from the problems that plagued her.
Flashing the Kennedy Space Center employee badge that hung around her neck, she skipped the ticketing process and crossed the main entrance without the slightest idea of where she wanted to go. Slowly passing exhibits and gift shops, she stepped into the courtyard.
She followed the intended flow of the Center, wandering through the Rocket Garden, an expansive outdoor exhibit of giant fuel-burning cylinders that had thrust men and monkeys into space.
Lingering at the base of the towering rockets, she realized that the more she learned about space, the more it amazed and inspired her. Astronauts were a magnificent breed of human beings. Hungry for knowledge, curious, and driven to push
the boundaries of earth. It humbled her.
She found Enterprise, a retired orbiter, at the far end of the Visitors’ Center. In about four weeks, Deke would get in a space ship exactly like it and trust technology to take him so far off this earth that he would not even feel the most fundamental pull of nature… gravity. Why?
Because the son of a bitch flies seventeen thousand miles an hour.
He’d lied to her. His reasons were far nobler than the appeal of speed and risk. He just didn’t want to admit it.
Climbing the metal stairs that took tourists inside the cargo bay of Enterprise, she peered into the cockpit where the commander and pilot sat to fly the shuttle. Jessica stood directly behind the glass to study the gauges, switches, dials and controls that swam before her. How did he know what to press?
She leaned her forehead against the glass, feeling the distinct weight of embarrassment and shame. What difference did it make if she was general manager or nothing? Her job seemed so insignificant, so frivolous in the face of his world-altering challenge.
She had no desire to rush back to work. Leaving the exhibit, she took the inclined path that led to the only area she hadn’t yet seen at the Visitor’s Center. For some reason, the drama of the Astronaut Memorial finally drew her in.
At the top of a slope, a black onyx monolith, nearly a hundred feet wide and tall, balanced on a slowly rotating platform that followed the sun. It reflected a mirror image of the sky in its glistening ebony surface. Carved into the stone were the names of the men and women who had died in their efforts to expand man’s horizons, giving the appearance that they were floating forever. Each one forever destined to touch the sky.
The impact was heart stopping.
Taking a seat on the single bench in front of the Memorial, Jessica paused to appreciate the perfect and changing replication of the clouds against the sparkling surface. She read the twenty or so names, some so familiar, some she had never heard.
In one cluster were the seven astronauts of Challenger, now etched into her memory from the day she’d watched the accident repeatedly in her college dorm. The teacher, Christa McAuliffe. The teacher that America had fallen in love with. Gone.
To the right of the Challenger names, the astronauts of Apollo-1 who had become little more than a lesson in her grade-school education. Gus Grissom. Roger Chafee. Edward White. All colleagues of Deke’s namesake, Deke Slayton. All gone.
She stared at the etched names. Others could, and would, be added. No stranger this time. No two-dimensional photograph in a history book. But a real and loved human being. He could be gone, too.
Tears burned her eyes. She gripped the edge of the bench as worry and love squeezed her heart. Daring, risk-taking, gravity-defying heroes. Isn’t that what she came to this place to find? Well, she certainly had.
And in the process, she’d learned a lot about the definition of success. Giving your life for progress and mankind. That was success. Not a well-placed photo op.
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat but failed. It didn’t matter. She surely wasn’t the first person to sit on this bench and weep. Wiping her cheeks, Jessica knew that late tonight when Deke called her, she would tell him about her conversation with Tony. And she’d tell him that she found some comfort in the Rocket Garden and that a tour of a retired orbiter helped her put it all in perspective.
But, she would never, ever tell him of her visit to this sacred ground.
* * *
Deke turned the corporate jet into the clouds above Houston, activated the reverse thrust, then struggled with the difficult drag that simulated the dead-stick landing of the orbiter. It pulled and tortured his arm until he finally saw the runway and landed the trainer.
“That’s it for now, Endeavour.” The static words crackled in his headset. “Crew is to report to building thirty for a briefing.”
Deke frowned at his pilot, Kurt Muir, when he heard the command. “Roger that, but we’d like another pass before we hit the remote manipulator,” he told the training manager through his microphone. “And we have time for on-orbit procedures in the sim.”
“Negative, Commander.” The response was eerily definitive. “We got a situation change on the ISS. Director Casey has called a briefing.”
Deke grabbed his shoulder harness and threw a knowing glance at Kurt. A situation change on the space station did not bode well. Wordlessly, the crew deplaned and jumped on the waiting golf carts that took them across Johnson Space Center to a meeting with the man in charge of the entire operation.
A black pit formed in his stomach when he saw the astronaut standing next to Casey. Janine Harmon. One of three heart surgeons in the astronaut corps. It could only mean one thing.
Without any introductions, Richard Casey confirmed his fears. “Micah Petrenko has had a pulmonary embolism. He’s not responding to the anticoagulant.”
No one said a word as they waited for more information.
“He is stable and not in shock,” Casey said. “However, his chest pain is increasing and he’s coughing blood. He needs surgery to insert a clot-trapping filter and to avoid a potentially fatal myocardial infarction.”
A heart attack. Not something to have in zero gravity orbiting around the earth. Deke studied the surgeon, her expression unreadable.
“How much time does he have?” one of the crew asked.
“A week is pushing it, but it’s the best we can do.” Casey leaned back in his chair and put both hands on the table in front of him. “Obviously, we’re changing the mission schedule. We need to launch as soon as possible with the addition of a surgeon on board.” He glanced at Janine, who caught Deke’s gaze with a terse smile and nodded.
“As you know, Janine Harmon has two missions on her bio, including a trip on Endeavour two years ago. She’ll start emergency training with you today.” Casey’s tone left no doubt as to the finality of the decision.
“What’s the launch schedule?” Deke asked.
“The shuttle is on the crawler as we speak, on its way to the pad,” Casey told him. “You’ll all leave for the Cape on Thursday morning. We’re scoping the trajectory paths and weather radar and expect to launch Sunday at 5:45 a.m. That way you can dock with the ISS in less than eight hours. When Janine sees Micah, she’ll make the decision to perform the surgery under zero gravity on the station or turn Endeavour around and bring him straight home.”
Six days. They would launch in six days, eliminating the last month of inspections. Deke hoped like hell Skip Bowker and company had solved their problems. Otherwise, there would be eight dead astronauts and one really sick cosmonaut. But they had no choice. They had to go get him and Endeavour was all they had to fly.
* * *
On Thursday morning, Jessica and the Public Affairs staff huddled around a conference table, adding the finishing touches to the press release that would surprise the world. They debated the language, the timing, the quotes, leaving her no opportunity to dwell on the fact that the T-38s would be landing and Deke would be near her again within the hour.
He had so little time between now and Sunday morning. She doubted if they’d be able to see each other. He had made her promise to stay near her cell phone so he could at least talk to her before the launch.
“Jessica, you have a call on line two. Paul Zimmerman with Newsweek.”
She looked up to meet Stuart’s worried gaze.
“Could there be a leak?” he asked her. “Is it possible he already knows we’re launching Sunday?”
She stood to go to her office. “We’re about to find out.”
Paul didn’t mention the accelerated launch schedule when she greeted him, but jumped right into why he called.
“I’ve got another memo, Jessica. This one looks authentic and current. I’ve got to have a comment.”
She dropped into her chair. “What does it say?”
“Do the phrases ‘imminent disaster due to shoddy inspections’ and ‘drastic budget cuts’ mean anything to y
ou?”
The snide tone wasn’t lost on her as she tried to absorb the words. “Who wrote it? Where did it come from?”
“It’s anonymous. It’s on NASA letterhead with the sender and recipient’s name blanked out. But it looks official as hell.”
“Who’s your source?” she demanded.
“Get real, Jessica. I’m not going to reveal my source. I want a comment. I was on to this story two months ago and you put me off with hot air from that astronaut. If this bomb can’t be defused, it becomes a feature to run next week, before Endeavour launches.”
She bit her lip. “Then you’ll be too late, Paul. Endeavour’s going up on Sunday morning. There’s a change in the situation on the International Space Station and the shuttle is taking medical supplies and a heart surgeon up to Micah Petrenko.”
He muttered a curse. “You’ve got to get me Colonel Price on this. I need an official comment for the online story I’m going to do.”
There had to be some give and take. “Send me a fax of the memo and I’ll get him for you.”
In less than fifteen minutes, Jessica stood in the Colonel’s waiting room in anticipation of an interview with Newsweek. She looked at the copy of the memo again, the words swimming in front of her. Would they really risk the lives of eight astronauts for one cosmonaut? Everything she knew about NASA said no.
She stared at the oil painting of the shuttle, the achingly beautiful juxtaposition of a mountain of technology silhouetted against the peaceful sky. Below it, the words she’d read on her first day here. Failure is not an option.
Not with the man she loved in the cockpit of that shuttle.
But then, someone probably loved Micah, too.
When she handed Colonel Price the fax she’d just received from Newsweek, his gaze moved immediately to the upper left-hand corner and then scanned the contents. “Get him on the phone.”
Jessica hit the speaker button and dialed Paul Zimmerman’s number, now etched into her memory. He picked up on the first ring.
Colonel Price leaned forward on his chair, eyes blazing like a stallion ready to charge. “I’m looking at your memo. Whoever is sending you mail is using stationery that hasn’t been in use at any NASA facility for over two years.”
Space in His Heart Page 20
