Chapter 115
IN MAY, brUNO’S TEAM RECEIVED word that they were getting a real research vessel. We assumed, although it was never explicitly stated, that the Chartridge grounding and resulting media coverage had something to do with it.
The Nereide arrived in La Maddalena in early June. It was a converted thirty-five-foot buoy tender—double the size of the Alessandra—and could accommodate fourteen seamen and another fourteen scientists, although it was operating with a skeleton crew when it chugged into the harbor.
Bruno was chief scientist, but he had other duties back in Rome, so he brought on Luca as a full-time research scientist and hired Nina to work on a contract basis, since she was still finishing her dissertation.
Luca gave me a tour of the boat soon after its arrival, and as soon as I stepped aboard, I could tell what a step up it was from the Alessandra.
It had two depth-sounding systems, a variety of special winches and cranes, and on the starboard side of the deck sat a sixteen-foot Boston Whaler that could be dispatched to smaller embayments as needed.
He took me down to the lab, where he showed off the equipment the team could use right on the boat to test for phosphorus, silica, chloride, alkalinity, ammonia, chlorophyll, and a host of other chemical components. I let out an admiring whistle.
“It’s great, right?”
“Yeah, really great,” I said. “Can you test for radionuclides?”
He shook his head. “The equipment you need, it’s too sensitive—and too expensive—to put on a research vessel.”
“So you’ll still be shipping out your samples?”
He rolled his eyes. “For the time being.”
Now that he had his boat, Bruno had begun advocating for the region of Sardinia to build a lab in La Maddalena because, as he liked to remind anyone who would listen to him, CNEN had not agreed to monitor the archipelago indefinitely.
In fact, the original agreement had been for the agency to take the lead on all monitoring activities through the summer of 1976, when it was thought that the local and regional governments would have had enough time to reallocate their budgets and establish their own monitoring procedures.
So far, there was no indication that this was happening, and Luca—who had begun dating a local girl named Matilde—was not so secretly hoping that CNEN would be forced to stick around forever.
As we toured the rest of the boat, Luca explained that the team would soon start a more comprehensive environmental study commissioned by the Ministry of Health.
I wanted to offer to help, but Bruno had already warned me that when the Nereide arrived, only authorized personnel would be allowed to go out on the boat.
Everything was more official now, which was as it should be, but which also made me feel left out.
“It’s so incredible that this is all coming together,” I said, trying to be positive.
“But you know what’s fucked up?” said Luca.
“What?”
“My paper, the one I presented at the conference back in February?”
“Yeah?”
“They finally published the conference proceedings, and guess what’s not in it?”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“You think they left it out on purpose?”
“I’m sure someone yanked it,” he said.
“Bornemann?”
“Or maybe Manzoni.”
I had tried to make things right between Luca and Paul, even going so far as to arrange drinks one night with Paul and me, Luca and Matilde.
Everyone was polite, but it was so clear that Paul saw Luca as the enemy and vice versa that I gave up on the idea of blending my two worlds.
Now I wondered what my husband knew about Luca’s missing paper, and I resolved to ask him about it when I got home.
I waited until Paul had changed out of his uniform and wandered into the kitchen, where I was sautéing some scallops I planned to serve over risotto.
While he grabbed a beer from the fridge and poured it into a glass, I filled him in on the Nereide’s arrival, eventually working my way around to the subject of Luca’s paper.
In hindsight, I could have been smoother with my delivery, but it was a hard question to ask without insinuating that someone in the command had called in a favor.
“Do you think it’s possible that Daniel Bornemann got the paper pulled?
” I asked as I used a pair of tongs to flip each scallop.
“No way,” he said with some force, then was quick to remind me that this was outside of his purview.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But you and Daniel talk.”
“Bornemann’s not going to waste his time on some stupid conference proceeding no one’s ever going to read.”
It was such a derisive comment that I had to say something. “You don’t have to call the proceedings stupid or say no one’s going to read them. Just tell me you think Bornemann’s focused on other stuff.”
“Fine,” said Paul, taking a sip of beer. “He’s focused on other stuff.”
This did not make me feel better, and he knew it.
“Maybe the organizers left it out by accident?” he suggested, trying to appease me.
I wanted to ask him how big an idiot he thought I was, but in the spirit of trying harder, I swallowed my feelings and said, “Yeah, maybe.”