Once she had a chance to phone her friends at the LA Times, People and Newsweek, not to mention Entertainment Tonight and some of the syndicated shows, Deke Stockard and NASA would make a high-impact entry into the consciousness of America. Whether he wanted to or not.
* * *
“Son of a bitch,” Deke muttered as he stared at Jeff Clark standing in his office doorway. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
“He thinks he’s the person who single-handedly landed a man on the moon.”
Deke blew out a disgusted breath. “Funny how history changes over a few decades. Skip Bowker was one of hundreds of Apollo engineers.”
“Yeah, but he’s about the only one left in NASA today, so he gets to change history. Anyway, you need to worry about the present.”
Deke stood up and moved around his desk in two easy strides, glowering at his friend. “Skip is not having that meeting without us.”
Jeff followed as Deke strode out the door into the hallway of the OPF. “Us? What us? I’m going to Skip’s meeting. You’ll be playing spin the message with the hottie from Boston.”
Deke froze mid-step and slowly turned to Jeff. “That is exactly what I don’t want to hear,” he said, pointing a single finger in Jeff’s face to make a point.
“That she’s a hottie?” Jeff asked, an innocent smile threatening.
Deke decided to ignore it. “You’re coming to this media training session as my backup. You promised, Jeff.”
“Yeah, I will. But we better have somebody be our eyes and ears at Skip’s meeting.”
“I’m going to talk to him,” Deke said. “Is he at the orbiter?”
Jeff shrugged and looked at his watch. “It’s lunchtime. Try the pavilion.”
Deke strode into the warm November sun and used the five minutes it took to get to the Headquarters pavilion to calm his temper and stay focused on what mattered: Skip Bowker was vague to the point of deception about the inspection process.
He saw the familiar gray head buried in a book, remnants of a brown-bag lunch half-eaten in front of him.
“Hey, Skip.” Deke sat down on the bench across from him and waited for the older man to finish chewing and slowly fold a dog-eared corner of his novel.
“Deke,” he said with a nod, turning the book face down. “Thought you were off to the TV studio today.”
“I may have to change that,” Deke said, “if I’m going to miss something important in the meeting this afternoon.”
“Nope. Just routine review of inspection logs.”
Deke clenched his teeth to keep from lashing out a retort. No matter how old and irrelevant Skip seemed, he still deserved respect. And he still called the shots in Safety & Logistics.
Leaning back, Deke picked an imaginary piece of lint from his khakis and spoke softly. “Nothing’s routine these days, Skip. And February thirteenth isn’t too far off.”
Skip snorted a little. “Don’t you hate when they pick those unlucky numbers for launch dates?”
“I’m not superstitious.” Deke knew as well as Skip that the date had everything to do with the earth’s orbit and timed encounters with the space station and nothing to do with serendipity. “But I am cautious. And concerned.”
“You should be a little more like your namesake,” Skip said, his grin baring slightly yellowed teeth. “I knew Deke Slayton personally when he was in the Apollo program and a bigger thrill-seeker you never met.”
Deke angled his head in acknowledgment. Skip loved the fact that Deke’s parents were such space fans that they’d nicknamed their firstborn son after an Apollo astronaut. But he wasn’t here to talk about history.
“I don’t find anything about safety control thrilling, I assure you.”
Skip waved a thick-fingered hand. “We’re in good shape, Deke. Been through that bird fifty times myself. We won’t have any trouble meeting that date.” When he squinted into the sun, Skip’s creases deepened and the bright light emphasized the age spots around his mouth.
He suddenly looked less of a legend who knew the earliest astronauts and more like a weary old man.
A rush of sympathy surprised Deke. “I know if anyone can get that shuttle ready to fly around the world and up to the station, it’s you,” he said softly.
Skip looked like he might roll his eyes. “Cool the flattery, Stockard. You’re the next big thing around here. What do you want? I’m not changing my meeting time.”
Sympathy was wasted here. Deke leaned on the concrete tabletop. “I’ve been living in Endeavour’s fuselage, Skip. There’s got to be more worn insulation than what we found in there.”
“Nope, we got it all. There isn’t any more.” Skip crunched an empty bag of chips and shoved the remainder of a baloney sandwich into a paper bag. “You’re searching for phantom problems.”
“I’ve looked at Columbia, too,” Deke continued. “I saw evidence of electrical arcing between exposed wires and one metal screw head that’d seen about twenty-two missions. What if one of the backups had failed? That second computer was the only thing that saved that ship.”
Skip shook his head. “It wouldn’t have exploded.”
“But they could have had to land manually, dead stick, without a computer,” Deke insisted. “Which could be just as dangerous.”
“We can’t do anymore wire harness inspections. The space station equipment is nearly packed.” Skip winced as he stood up to drop his trash into a nearby container. “You just worry about your own mission on Atlantis in May.”
Deke watched Skip fight his arthritis as he tried to straighten his back. Maybe it’s time to pack it in, Pops, and let the young blood do your job.
Standing, he picked up the book Skip had left on the table. “I know you don’t want an astronaut anywhere near your domain, but let me just fill you in on a secret. You’ll get sick of me when Atlantis is in the sling.” Deke smiled to cover the edge in his voice. “I’m a real bastard when I have to fly the damn thing.”
“You’re a real bastard when you don’t.” The strained smile didn’t soften the insult. Maybe Skip’s renowned jealousy of astronauts wasn’t just NASA folklore. Maybe he really did resent the fact that he never got to go up.
But that didn’t explain his vague answers or the holes Deke kept seeing in what logs he could find. Someone was screwing around with the whole inspection process, but he couldn’t believe Skip would do that deliberately. Especially since he had to know a little about the drama unfolding on the space station.
“Since I can’t be there today, Skip, why don’t you forward me the latest logs?”
“Just get what’s in the system. It’s all there.”
Deke remembered the frustration he’d experienced earlier in the day when he’d attempted to do just that. “I tried. Couldn’t get in.”
“Really?” Skip looked surprised. “Somebody must have deleted your password.”
“Imagine that,” Deke said dryly.
Skip nudged Deke with his elbow. “Better get goin’, Deke. They’re waiting for you in hair and makeup.”
Before he could respond, Skip lumbered through the doors of the Headquarters building, leaving Deke stuck with muttered curse in his throat and the tattered paperback still in his hand.
He turned it over and looked at the cover. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Good God. Somebody ought to break the news to Skip that everybody was on the same side now.
Chapter Four
Jessica relished the chill of the studio, rubbing her arms as she watched a skeleton crew set up a camera and lighting just as her subject sauntered in, precisely on time. An entirely new set of goose bumps rose on her skin.
“Hello again, Commander Stockard.” She intentionally locked her arms together in front of her but gave him her brightest smile. He nodded and gestured toward a man who’d come in with him.
“Miss Marlowe, this is Major Jeff Clark.”
“Have you come along to offer moral support, Major?” Jessica asked as they shook h
ands in greeting.
He responded with a quick smile that lit his clear blue eyes. “Please, call me Jeff. I’m happy to provide moral support if needed, but it seems I’m being recruited as the B-Team.”
An uneasy feeling crept through her. The rat was going to try to arrange his own redundant system. She shot a challenging glance to Deke. “We haven’t discussed a backup plan.”
He spared her a look. “We haven’t discussed any plan.”
“Commander Stockard.” She didn’t even try to hide her exasperation. “Please. We really can’t succeed without your cooperation.”
“You have my cooperation, Miss Marlowe.”
“Just Jessica is fine.” How did he know it was Miss, anyway?
“I’m here, at your service.” He indicated the studio with a mocking sweep of his hand. “It seems prudent that we have another astronaut trained to do… this.”
“Are you planning to go somewhere, Commander Stockard?”
“At some point, I’ll be traveling about a million miles. In my business, there’s never any guarantee that I come home from work.”
The solemn tone in his voice caught her off guard. She realized that for all the background information she had gleaned from his profile, she really knew very little about this man.
Only the biographical sketch of his thirty-seven years, which she had just drafted into a short article for the press kit. His impressive education included “distinguished graduate” of the U.S. Naval Academy, a master’s in aeronautical engineering from MIT, and top of his class at the Navy Test Pilot School. She knew he had been based on an aircraft carrier in the Gulf War and was decorated several times and that he’d been on one mission to Mir, the old Russian space station. Other than that, he remained a mystery.
“I’m sure NASA prefers that you do come home from work, Commander,” she finally responded, realizing that she’d been staring a moment longer than necessary. “Of course I’ll train you both together. Why don’t we start with a mock interview? Major Clark, would you like to be victim number one?”
“Hey, I thought I was backup.” He nudged Deke and winked at Jessica. “No, you let Harrison Ford here take center stage.”
When Deke settled in a chair across from her and clipped on a mike, Jessica explained she would be interviewing him as though he were on a morning talk show.
“Let me set up a hypothetical situation for you. You’ve been in the news a lot lately and you’ve been vocal in your support of the International Space Station, Alpha—”
“I know what it’s called.”
“And you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with, oh, Gwyneth Paltrow.”
He raised an eyebrow and shot the other astronaut a look.
Jessica signaled the cameraman to roll tape, then leaned back and took on the voice and pose of a talk-show host. “Commander Stockard. You must know there are rumors and whispers running rampant about NASA’s next big announcement. Are you planning to marry Gwyneth?”
A shadow of disgust crossed his handsome face. “I thought you wanted to talk about the space station.”
Jessica had no idea if he was talking to her or the imaginary interviewer. In either case, she didn’t like the answer.
“Might be a long afternoon if you don’t play the game, Commander.”
“I am playing.”
And fighting every inch of the way. Fine. Two could play his game. No more softballs. “Commander Stockard, is it true NASA has cut safety programs to the very core in an effort to save money? Are lives at risk every time we watch a shuttle launch?”
His eyes flickered for a moment, then cut through her. “Risk is a part of our business.”
She scratched a note on her pad. “What about the media leaks that something very nearly went wrong in the shuttle Columbia during the last launch?”
“It was a hydrogen leak, not a media leak. Ma’am. Miss. Jessica.”
“Would you consider an acting career when you’ve finished being an astronaut?”
“I’m acting like I enjoy this.”
“Why aren’t you married?”
His lips curled slightly. “Gwyneth’s busy schedule.”
“Can you give me just one example of how America benefits from the millions of dollars we send into—well, into thin air?”
“Haven’t you heard of Velcro?”
She shook her head a little, not wanting to let him see his volleys had scored a point of frustration.
“Okay, Commander. Let’s try something else. Medical achievements. I think it’s an excellent way for you to highlight the impact NASA has on the world. I read that for every dollar spent on space travel, we receive eight dollars in benefits, such as improved tools and insulated clothing. Can you highlight some of the medical breakthroughs that are a result of space exploration?”
He shifted in his seat. “Maybe you ought to get a doctor to do that. I’m a pilot and an engineer.”
“I realize that.” She snapped off the microphone attached to her collar and searched his face for a chink in the armor as she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Listen, I get your drift. You don’t want to do this. I don’t particularly want to be here any more than you do. But I’d really appreciate it if you’d humor me. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we can both get back to our real work.”
“I thought this was your real work.”
She offered a sweet, but fake, smile. “As compelling a project as you are, Commander Stockard, I do have other accounts, other clients, and a whole life that I’d like to get back to. Help me succeed and I’ll take as little of your time as possible.”
He stared at her, and despite the sixty-degree temperature of the studio, a warm rush shot through her.
“Please?” she whispered.
He brought his face closer to hers and she could smell a mix of aftershave and soap. “You’re really very tolerable when you let down your guard,” he said softly.
She swallowed hard and fought a smile. Genuine this time. “Tolerable? Is that a notch just above or below mediocre?”
He shrugged. “I don’t do mediocre.”
“Then we have something in common after all, Commander.”
He said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, studying her with the faintest spark in his navy-rimmed eyes. Finally, he settled back into the seat. “Okay. Let’s just make it fast. Pacemakers, CAT scans, laparoscopic surgery, motorized wheelchairs, hearing aids. We’ve had a piece of ’em all.”
His careless tone teased another hesitant smile out of her and she jotted a random, meaningless note on her pad, trying to still an unwanted thump in her chest.
After a few more minutes of what she feared might be stupid questions, Jessica suggested they rewind the tape and review the interview on the monitor. She tried to explain the technique of answering a different question than the one that’s been asked and advised him on how to deflect safety questions.
In response, he crossed and uncrossed his ankles and looked at his watch no less than six times.
“I’m going as fast as I can, Commander. I’m trying to help you because I promise you will not be this comfortable on the real set of the Today show.”
“No, I won’t, because I don’t intend to do it.”
“You’ll have to,” she insisted. “Don’t you follow orders?”
“Let’s just make it easy on both of us.” He inched closer to her and touched his ear, his voice low and teasing. “If I do show up on the Today show, I’ll just wear an earpiece and you can whisper in my ear.”
Droplets of moisture formed at the nape of her neck as she stared back at him, unable to come up with even a lame response.
“Enough, Deke.” Jeff Clark jumped in. “It’s my turn. Go sit down and watch a pro.”
Deke shot out of the chair and walked off the set.
“So, do you think you can handle that pain in the ass?” Jeff asked in a confidential tone as he dropped into the hot seat for his interview.
“I
understand that he doesn’t want to do this.” She watched Deke leave the studio, oddly disappointed that he wouldn’t stay just a few minutes longer. “But, honestly, he has all the right stuff—no pun intended—to capture the attention and attraction of America. I truly believe it will help this country want to embrace the space program along with him. And that’s our objective. Making him a sex symbol is merely a strategy to reach that goal.”
She heard the poised, professional tone in her voice. But something about that man made her feel anything but poised or professional.
* * *
He left the set, but Deke wasn’t quite ready to leave the studio yet. From the booth behind the darkened glass of the studio wall, he sat in the empty assistant director’s chair to observe Jessica Marlowe on three different monitors.
He wasn’t the least bit surprised that the camera loved her. And she obviously knew her job, asinine as it was. He took a deep breath and listened to her ask far less intrusive questions of Jeff. She had no intention of using a backup astronaut. He could read her determination a mile away.
Son of a bitch, he just couldn’t get his head around this PR business and why Price wanted him to do it. His mission at NASA was clear and if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have come over and left the life of a Naval aviator, a life that he loved.
He didn’t worry about NASA’s image problems. He never cared about image. He cared about flying and exploring and getting the research done right. And he wanted to make sure no lives were lost in the process. He thought of the growing complications up on the space station, something the wide-eyed PR girl knew nothing about. If they didn’t figure out what had caused the hydrogen leak, the launch would have to be delayed. And that could be deadly for one man.
Skip’s favorite war, the Cold one, would heat up again in a big hurry if the Russians thought the Americans deliberately let a cosmonaut die in space because the engineer-astronaut responsible for getting the shuttle up was out on a media tour. Then they’d have an image problem, all right.