up with a way to get more people on cruise ships in the summer? Or the time she’d masterminded the Free Fry-Day campaign for a fast-food chain?
Jessica looked up just in time to see Carla shoot a cocky smile at the presenter. Had she been in on the space secret?
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