Space in His Heart (14 page)

“Are you ever
afraid that you are going to die in… in your line of work?”

He didn’t
answer immediately. “Not if I’m in control and I know everything’s
been inspected and is functioning properly.” He ran his finger
along the armrest. “But there’s no way to anticipate everything
when you’re moving at hundreds of miles an hour, avoiding incoming
missiles, or landing on a carrier in rough waters. You can only be
about ninety-nine percent sure. Never a hundred.”

“Have you ever
come close?” Jessica didn’t try to hide the concern and curiosity
in her voice.

He nodded. “I
had to bail out of an FA-18 in the Persian Gulf. It was hairy.” He
waited a beat and looked at the window behind her, then back into
her eyes. “I lost a really good buddy that same day.”

“I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t fight the natural response to touch his arm across the
empty seat.

His deep sigh
was from the heart. “He left behind a beautiful wife who was
expecting their first child. Now that little guy is, well, however
old you are in eighth grade. And he’s just as full of it as his dad
was.” His smile broke the mood and she casually removed her hand.
“Anyway, to answer your question, shit happens.”

His tone
effectively closed the topic, leaving her to wonder if she’d opened
a tender wound. When they reached cruising altitude, he paged
through a magazine without reading a single article and she pulled
out her laptop.

“Don’t you ever
stop working?” he asked, his chin resting on his knuckles as he
watched her.

“Only on
special occasions. But I have a very important meeting with the
president of the agency tomorrow and I want to prepare my notes.
Will I bother you?”

“Not at all.
Want to tell me about it so I can offer unsolicited advice?” He
leaned over a little to look at the screen. She lowered it out of
his view.

“
No.
Thank you.” That she’d left on an assignment only to get squeezed
out of her position by the competition
was the last thing
Deke Stockard needed to
know
.

“Suit yourself.
But I’m really good at—”

“Everything. I
know.”

He laughed
softly. “That’s right.” He closed his eyes and left her alone for
the rest of the flight. She tried to think. To input her arguments
to Tony. To prepare for her battle. But she remained acutely aware
of the man next to her. Somehow, Deke Stockard managed to invade
her every thought.

* * *

Jessica
slept fitfully in her room at The Plaza following their late-night
arrival in the city. By five o’clock, she was up and dressing,
sipping coffee from room service and trying to organize her
strategy for the day ahead. By six, she was ready to meet him in
the lobby, walk to Rockefeller Center and then
, after his
interview was over, she’d
plead
her case with Tony Palermo.

As the
elevator door opened, she saw Deke leaning against a white marble
column near the front desk, reading a copy of
The New York
Times
. He wore dark
trousers and a coffee-colored sweater over a shirt and tie.
H
e’d hooked his bomber jacket on one finger and had hung it
over his shoulder,
ready for
the brisk temperatures.

At the
sound of the elevator
opening
, he looked up with a gleam in his eye that jabbed straight
to her heart. The tiniest moan escaped her lips.

Treating her to
a half-grin, he folded the paper as she approached him.

“Morning.” His
voice was soft, confidential, as though they shared a secret
mission.

Jessica reached
deep down for every ounce of professional training in her, but her
true thoughts just came tumbling out. “You know, I sell a lot of
products for a lot of companies, but you certainly have the best
packaging.”

“Is that what I
am? A product?” He groaned.

She turned as
he helped her slip into the sleeves of her coat. “Sorry, but we’re
positioning the brand, Deke. NASA is the brand and you are their
top-selling commodity right now.”

He shook his
head. “I hate being a commodity.”

As they nudged
their way through the heavy glass doors, the icy December air stung
their faces. Jessica took a deep, invigorating breath. “Oh, this is
heavenly. Probably too much for your thin Florida blood. Want to
take a cab?”

“You keep
forgetting I go into space for a living. It’s cold there. I defer
to you on the transportation.”

“Great. Let’s
walk. It’s only eight or nine blocks.”

They started
off down the sidewalk, assaulted by the temperature, the pungent
aroma of exhaust fumes, and Manhattan’s constant din of trucks and
traffic. They kept a brisk pace, their breath coming out in soft
white puffs, their steps synchronized. When they turned the last
corner and were met with the glorious sight of the giant Christmas
tree in Rockefeller Center, Jessica’s gasp broke their silence.

“
Look,
Deke!” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Isn’t it
beautiful
?
I love New
York this time of year.”

“
I used
to come here every year with my family at Christmas,” he told her
as they paused at a steel rail overlooking the
world
-
famous Rockefeller
Center skating rink. “My mother insisted we all see the Christmas
Show at Radio City and eat goose at Luchow’s. It was the official
start of Christmas.”

She closed her
eyes for a moment, imagining what it must have been like to have
such unwavering family traditions. “Where do they live?”

“In the house
where I grew up, in Westchester. My sister is in L.A. In fact, I
saw her after the Leno taping. The senior Stockards will never
leave New York, but they have come down for a few weeks in the
winter since I’ve been at the Cape.”

She longed to
know more about his family, but a noisy and excited crowd gathering
outside the studio diverted her attention. “We better get going,
Deke.”

“Aren’t you
going to brief me before this interview?”

She
buried a pang of guilt for not doing a more thorough job of
prepping him. “Just expect more of the same. Like Leno,
People
and the rest.”

He didn’t
respond, his gaze riveted on the gathering mass of tourists. “What
the hell—?”

She immediately
saw the two homemade, hand-painted signs: “DEKE MAKES ME WEAK!” and
“FLY ME TO THE MOON, DEKE STOCKARD!”

With a gleeful
giggle, she punched him on the arm. “See? It’s working! It’s
working!”

He muttered a
curse and glared at her as they entered the elegant lobby of the
NBC offices. “Will you stop gloating?”

But she
couldn’t keep the smug smile off her face, all the way into the
studio and through the introductions to the crew and producers. Her
sense of victory stayed while she waited as Deke went through
makeup and briefings. Liza Watson, the producer, confirmed that
Deke was on after the 7:30 news update.

“I’m surprised
it’s so early,” Jessica said to Liza as she settled in a visitor’s
chair at the far side of the set. “You guys usually save the fluff
for the 8:30 segment.”

“
This
isn’t fluff
,
” Liza
responded coolly, sending an icy chill up Jessica’s spine. “Some
Russian’s dying up in space. We don’t consider that
fluff.”

Speechless,
Jessica stared at the producer. Liza held up a finger to silence
her and whispered into her headset.

“Quiet on the
set. We’re going live in three… two… one.”

Chapter
Eleven

The interviewer
and Deke suddenly seemed a million miles away. Cameras and grips
and lights blocked her way, but she could see Deke facing the eager
young anchor as the news wrapped and a red light flashed at the
studio door. Jessica had no way to warn him.

Some Russian’s dying up in space
. What i
n
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 research
ed
this story, grill
ed
the producer, or call
ed
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.