Space in His Heart (2 page)

Burying the thought, Jessica searched her
mental files for anything she knew about space travel other than
moon landings in the sixties and Clint Eastwood as an astronaut in
his
sixties.

All she could conjure up was the
heart-stopping image of a space shuttle blown to bits against a
blue Florida sky. She’d watched the
Challenger
disaster in
high school. She’d learned everything she knew about Apollo from a
Tom Hanks movie. That just about exhausted her expertise on the
great beyond.

“Houston,” the presenter said quietly. “We
have a problem.”

The groan that spread around the table
shattered the drama of the moment. The speaker introduced himself
as Bill Dugan, a vice president in Ross & Clayton’s Washington
office and the head of the NASA account.

“Our client needs your help. Only the best
and brightest of Ross & Clayton can solve this problem.” He
issued the challenge with a weak smile.

From the corner of her eye, Jessica saw Carla
whisper something to Tony, who chuckled in response. Jessica
scratched a meaningless note on a pad in front of her.

As though set to music, Bill Dugan began an
eloquent situation analysis, taking twenty minutes to describe a
problem he could have summed up in four words.

Nobody cared about space.

That was why Congress was threatening budget
cuts and NASA had disappeared from the radar screens of most
Americans. Shuttle launches amounted to little more than truckloads
of junk to the space station. No one was walking on the moon or
traveling to Mars. Space exploration had become a yawner.

The challenge: NASA needed to be relevant to
America again.

The moment Bill stopped talking, the room
exploded with ideas.

“We need a nationwide grassroots support
program,” suggested an account supervisor from Chicago.

“Along with a total Internet-based
communication plan,” added the general manager of R&C
Seattle.

“No, no,” one of New York’s spirited media
specialists disagreed. “We have to tie their work into
anti-terrorism programs.”

Carla Drake’s throaty voice cut in. “We need
a press conference, from space. Live with open questions from every
major network.”

The room’s tangible momentum shifted to
Carla. A rush of adrenaline surged through Jessica’s veins, fueling
her bone-deep desire to come up with the Big Idea.

How could they make space travel matter
again? How could they capture the imagination and hearts of
America? What could make America tune into the next shuttle launch
and care about the countdown?
What sells
?

And then she knew.

“Why don’t we make NASA sexy?” Jessica’s
challenge silenced the room. She waited until every eye in the room
was riveted on her, mostly because she wasn’t quite sure what she’d
say next. A trickle of perspiration danced between her shoulder
blades. She was committed now. “We need to appeal to women.”

“Women?” Bill asked.

“Yes, women. Women are proven to communicate
with and influence their Congressmen far more often than men do.
Women.” Jessica leaned back and crossed her arms in a display of
way more confidence than her bare bones of an idea merited. “What
could be more appealing to women than a brave and handsome
adventurer willing to climb on top of a billion tons of explosives
and propel himself into outer space just for the good of all
mankind? What could be more heroic than a death-defying explorer
who risks his life so that we may expand our horizons?”

Blank faces stared back at her.

All but one.

Tony Palermo’s dark eyes twinkled and she saw
the old familiar smile from her mentor. “Go ahead, Jess. I think
you’re on to something.”

She leaned on her elbows and looked directly
at him. “Well, I’m thinking about… astronauts.”

Chapter Two

A man’s life depended on Deke Stockard’s
ability to find a crack no wider than a hair. He traced the smooth
surface with his fingertip, his eyes closed in concentration. He
knew the deadly imperfection could be found. If it was there. He
moved his hands in an almost loving caress, tenderly seeking a
break or weakness under his touch.

He didn’t care that he had found nothing in
the painstaking two-and-a-half-hour search because he’d stay in the
same spot for two and a half
weeks
if he had to. He adjusted
his footing, his body fully immersed in the space shuttle’s main
engine nozzle. Holding his breath, he stroked the same square inch
of metal for the tenth time and barely heard the voice from
below.

“Stockard, come on. That media thing is
starting and we should be there. Give it up for ten minutes.”

Deke released the coolant tube, memorizing
its precise location before responding to Major Jeff Clark. Deke
would have barked at anybody else for breaking his concentration
but didn’t have the heart to give his closest friend a hard
time.

“What media
thing
?”

“You know damn well what media
thing
.
The Public Affairs presentation that Colonel Price invited us to.”
Jeff stepped closer to the orbiter and peered up to where Deke
leaned against the massive tangles of wires and metal. “You find
anything yet?”

“Not a thing. But if something’s here, I’ll
catch it.”

“We have legions of engineers who are paid to
do that,” Jeff reminded him.

“Paid to fill out paperwork,” Deke mumbled,
climbing out of the engine casing. He swung his legs over the metal
scaffolding and easily made the two-foot drop to the ground. “You
think that was an invitation or an order from Price? I’d really
like to skip it.”

“No difference when it comes from the
Colonel, pal.” Jeff’s usual smart-ass grin spread slowly as he
poked Deke’s chest. “He’s expecting a full house.”

Deke sighed and squinted back at
Endeavour
, studying the scarred and nicked orbiter, its
massive cargo bay wide open like a dissected animal. A few other
technicians scurried around, looking more at their clipboards than
the shuttle in front of them. And now he had to go to a media
presentation?

“Sometimes I think the priorities are a
little screwed up around here.” His gaze stopped at the American
flag and NASA insignia emblazoned on its side. “All right, I’ll
meet you over at Headquarters. I want to talk to Skip for a
second.”

“No sweat. I’ll save you a seat,” Jeff
promised and turned to leave.

“Don’t bother,” Deke called back to him.
“I’ll stay in the back for a quick getaway.”

He heard Jeff chuckle, but Deke hadn’t meant
it as a joke. He looked back up at the giant nozzle of
Endeavour’s
main engine. Every instinct told him the
insidious hydrogen leak that had nearly destroyed the shuttle
Columbia
during the last launch could occur again on
Endeavour
. This time, the crew might not be so lucky.

He shook his head and walked away. Damn, it
could be right in front of him. Literally under his fingertips. The
last thing he wanted to do was listen to a bunch of PR blowhards
from some big agency tell them to have another press conference in
space.

Deke scanned the vast shuttle bay of the
Orbiter Processing Facility for the aging figure of Skip Bowker,
the man ultimately responsible for the safety of every mission. He
figured he’d find him leaning against the glass wall of one of the
offices, his signature coffee cup in his hand, looking a little too
damn calm considering the next launch was a mere three and a half
months away.

But Bowker was missing and Deke knew he
didn’t have much time to make the ten-minute walk across Kennedy
Space Center to the NASA Headquarters building. He knew better than
to be late for a Colonel-Price-issued invitation, no matter how
foolish the topic might seem. It was odd for the Colonel to insist
any of the astronauts and flight crew attend the meeting, but it
wasn’t worth questioning the order. He liked to rack up points with
the Colonel for when he really needed a favor.

Using a side door, he entered the auditorium
and bounded up two steps at a time, bypassing the seven or eight
rows of stacked seating to lean against the wall in the back. He
nodded to a few colleagues but avoided being pulled into a
conversation. He wasn’t staying long. He’d catch the essence of the
meeting, be sure Colonel Price’s secretary saw him, and then he
could slip back to the Processing Facility for another few
hours.

Deke was mentally reviewing the wiring when
Stuart Rosen, the head of Public Affairs at Kennedy, started to
address the group. With his mind on some vague dates on the
engineering log he’d seen that morning, Deke had to force himself
to listen to Stuart. Public Affairs was so damn far removed from
the real business of flying space shuttles and operating the space
station.

Still, he knew that image was everything to
Americans and, last time he checked, that’s who covered his
paycheck. Plus, he liked Stu. He just hated the BS that had nothing
to do with what really mattered in the program.

Stuart droned on about a woman vice president
from the Boston office of some supersized marketing firm called
Ross & Clayton. She’d come to Cape Canaveral to invigorate
NASA’s image. Deke almost snorted, visualizing the engine he’d just
been examining. If
Endeavour
blew up over the Atlantic
Ocean, they’d need to invigorate a helluva lot more than their
image.

Stuart stepped off the stage and led a light
applause for the Madame Vice President named Jessica Marlowe from
Bahston
. Oh, brother. It was bad enough NASA had to
pay
outsiders to do their PR; did they have to clap for it,
too? Deke braced against the wall and checked the path to the
nearest exit. He’d give her five minutes, seven tops.

From the front row, a young woman rose, set a
laptop on a nearby table and then replaced Stuart at center stage.
As she turned to the crowd, she flashed a mega-watt smile to get
their attention.

She certainly got his. Holy hell, after
staring at frayed wires and the inside of a shuttle exhaust all
day, this girl was a vacation for the eyes. And he took it.

He drank in every inch from her deep brown
hair twisted neatly in something his sister would call an up-do,
all the way down to a pair of high heels that might be hell to wear
but were pure heaven to watch. In between were a whole lot of nice
curves and long legs.

She stood straight and confident, as close to
attention as a civilian could manage, clearing her throat before
she smiled again. This time, it hit him right in the gut. He
couldn’t help it. He smiled back even though he knew she probably
hadn’t noticed him among her rapt audience of nearly thirty
people.

He watched her take a deep breath and smooth
a stray hair. Cute. She was nervous under all that poise. He
crossed his arms and settled back into his spot on the wall. Maybe
he’d give her fifteen minutes.

“Ladies and gentlemen. NASA is in trouble.”
She clicked a button on the laptop and the screen filled with
reprints of negative articles from the
New York Times
and
the
Washington Post
that appeared fifty times their original
size. Brutal headlines, all reinforcing her point that outside of
Cape Canaveral and Houston, most of the world didn’t give a crap
about the space station and thought the whole shuttle program was a
waste of precious tax dollars.

“The fact is, very few Americans know that we
have a space station up and manned and even fewer could tell you
what it does.” She let a laser pointer illuminate a particularly
nasty quote from a congressman who wanted to slash NASA’s budget.
“Space isn’t important to America right now. It doesn’t touch a
chord in our hearts. Not the way it used to.”

She switched off the damning headlines and
the screen backlit her, showing off her feminine silhouette and
giving her an unintentional halo. “The goal of public relations is
to create support for NASA and ultimately protect and increase the
funding it receives. To do that, we need to make space
relevant
to the average American.”

Did Stu Rosen just say that she’d be staying
at the Cape for a while? Now
that
was relevant. Deke took
another lingering glance at the way her skirt hugged her backside.
Relevant
and
nice.

“Ross & Clayton is the largest public
relations firm in the world. We’ve spent a great deal of brainpower
on the problem and we have a simple plan. It’s the oldest and most
effective marketing technique in the world.” She paused and lit the
room with that sexy smile again. “NASA is about to get some sex
appeal.”

The echo of his unprofessional thoughts
jarred Deke out of his musings and he joined in the uncertain,
nervous laughter of the audience.

She clicked to a new slide, her magnificent
eyes balancing her serious demeanor with a touch of humor. He
didn’t know her qualifications and doubted she was thirty years
old, but she’d obviously studied this sex appeal stuff pretty
thoroughly.

“I’m afraid, ladies and gentlemen, that in a
space suit, all astronauts look the same.” She paused for more
laughter. “We propose to give NASA a face. An unforgettable,
grab-at-your-heart kind of face.”

You got one of those, sweetheart
. Her
heels clicked in rhythm as she crossed the stage, a sound as
completely feminine as she was. “Then we’re going to give NASA a
personality. Engaging, attractive, and even a little mysterious. A
personality that is the polar opposite of the staid, conservative,
and stuffy reputation you are…” she said, teasing them with a wink,
“
enjoying
right now.”

She had them and she must have known it; a
glimmer lit her eyes. “We’re going to change your image through one
individual who will embody a new NASA.”