Chapter 134
THE PLAN WAS FOR THE tender’s new captain, a guy named Chuck Wilkinson, to welcome everyone aboard and tell the crowd a little something about the Gilmore.
Then Jenkins would give a brief history of the U.S.
Navy’s presence in the archipelago, and Vice Admiral Vaughan would address the Sixth Fleet’s mission, which was to promote regional security and stability by maintaining a strong naval presence in the Med.
Ambassador Volpe would go last, highlighting the strength of the United States’ diplomatic relationship with Italy postwar, and the risk of allowing the U.S.S.R.
to go unchecked. Only when all this was done and the crowd was utterly exhausted would Paul take the stage and walk everyone through the nuts and bolts of the navy’s environmental testing program.
Afterward, there’d be a brief question-and-answer period, and then a group of machinist’s mates would be waiting to take journalists, in groups of five, down to the repair and maintenance facilities, where RADCON was staging a couple of demonstrations.
“They’ve thought of everything,” whispered Teo as he reviewed the morning’s agenda.
Bruno turned around in his seat. “The only thing missing is the actual test results.”
Teo laughed, which got the attention of Mary Lou, who was sitting a few seats away. She shot me a look.
I trained my eyes on the lectern, but as Jenkins and Vaughan droned on, I allowed myself to be distracted.
Teo was tapping his fingers against his knee, and when he saw me watching, he used his pointer finger to trace out the letters C-I-A-O, one at a time, on his linen pants.
I smiled, then recrossed my legs so I could write H-E-L-L-O on my own knee.
We played this game for a little while, and I tuned back in only when Volpe started talking about the results of the recent local elections and what they might mean for the national elections in June.
Finally, Paul returned to the lectern.
He started with the samples his team collected from Santo Stefano Bay on a quarterly basis. “We collect between ten and a hundred samples per quarter, and what we’re looking for in those samples is cobalt-60 and other gamma-emitting radionuclides.”
Bruno turned around in his chair again. “Would be nice if he’d tell us what those gamma-emitting radionuclides are.”
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I whispered, and he gave me a wink.
Paul referred everyone to a handout in their packet, which included a table of quarterly readings going back to the summer of 1974—the first time he oversaw testing.
“You’ll see low levels of cobalt-60, less than three picocuries per gram, which is well below what we get from natural background radiation, so absolutely nothing to worry about. ”
Bruno raised his hand, and Paul had to remind him that he’d take questions at the end of the presentation.
He continued, “In figure three, you’ll see that we have also detected low levels of cesium-137 in some sediment samples; however, we can say with certainty that this is the result of nuclear fallout and not naval nuclear reactor operations. ”
“Is cesium-137 bad?” I whispered to Teo, who was taking notes.
“Yes, it’s terrible,” he said. “And while it may be in fallout, it’s also a fission product.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s produced when uranium or plutonium atoms are split inside a nuclear reactor.”
Someone in the front raised a hand, but Paul ignored him, then went on to outline the manner in which they took water samples and what they used to analyze them.
Teo tapped Bruno on the shoulder, then leaned forward and whispered something in his ear.
Paul kept talking. He walked the audience through how his team conducted shoreline surveys and measured ambient radiation, and by the time he was finished, it was after eleven thirty, and the sun was high in the sky.
“Any questions?” he asked, and despite the heat, two dozen hands shot into the air.
He went with some of the biggest outlets first. A reporter with Il Messaggero had flown in from Rome, and Il Mattino, in Naples, had sent both a science writer and their chief correspondent for foreign affairs.
It didn’t matter who they were. Everyone had the same basic questions.
How could the navy be sure that the cesium-137 was the result of fallout and not a nuclear leak?
What were the other gamma-emitting radionuclides the U.S.
Navy was testing for? And why were those test results not included in the packet?
These questions could have rattled Paul, but he was calm under pressure and had an answer for everything. Even if the answer, nine times out of ten, was that he was not at liberty to provide more information.
Finally, Paul called on Teo, who stood and introduced himself for everyone else’s benefit, then asked, “What do you say to Italians who argue that quarterly testing is not good enough? If there is a major leak or other malfunction aboard a sub, what reassurances does the public have that it will be detected, communicated, and safely dealt with?”
“That’s a lot of questions rolled up into one,” said Paul with a smarmy sort of smile.
“My apologies. Let me know if you need me to repeat anything.”
I knew Paul was going to interpret that last comment as patronizing.
“I’ve got it,” he said, then explained that the Gilmore followed—to the letter—the guidelines laid out in the 1964 Statement by the U.S.
Government on Operation of Nuclear-Powered Warships in Foreign Ports.
“Were there ever to be a problem with a reactor, RADCON would confirm the leak, then ventilate and/or decontaminate accordingly. If the leak could not be quickly fixed or was deemed a threat to the civilian population, we’ve got protocols to get the sub out to sea within an hour. ”
“And who determines if the leak is a threat to the civilian population?” Teo continued.
Paul paused, apparently weighing his answer. “RADCON would provide the information to the head of the Repair Division, and he would run it up the chain of command.”
Jenkins, who had been sitting in the first row, stood and faced the crowd. “Ultimately, that decision would rest with me.”
“And so,” said Teo, “I’m curious. When you made the decision to tow the U.S.S. Chartridge back to the tender, did you know that the reactor was in no way a threat to the civilian population?”
Jenkins remained not just calm but genial. “The reactor had been shut down, so I was confident that the sub was in no way a threat to the local population.”
I glanced at Mary Lou, who was sitting up extra straight.
“Is it possible for a reactor to leak while it is shut down?” Teo pressed.
Paul waited for Jenkins to say something, but he had returned to his seat, an indication that the tête-a-tête was over. So Paul answered for him. “That was never a concern.”
“But is it possible?”
“Next question,” said Paul, and called on a reporter from L’Unione Sarda.
The man stood and said, “I would like to hear the answer to my colleague’s question.”
This infuriated Paul, and I glanced up at Teo, who wasn’t so easy to read.
Teo rephrased his question. “Is it possible for even a cold reactor to be a danger to this community?”
Paul shook his head like he couldn’t believe he was still dealing with this guy. “The real danger to this community is journalists like you who come in here with an agenda, trying to rile people up for no good reason.”
Teo let slip a little laugh. “I’d have thought protecting the Maddalenini from the threat of nuclear disaster was reason enough.”
Paul wouldn’t even look at Teo now. “Are there any other questions?” he asked the crowd, but if anyone else asked him anything, I didn’t hear it.