by Roger Herst
"I have your word on Claire Davenport, Gideon?"
"B'hechlet, absolutely," he said before pausing. "The irony is that I wouldn't have had to take the Cobalt to Cincinnati in the first place if she hadn't needed so much. It will cost a king's ransom to keep her silent."
"I'm told good businessmen are smart above the belt and fools below it."
"Don't remind me."
While making conversation, doubts coursed through Gabby's mind about the advisability of breaking the law by transporting hazardous material without a license. Each doubt had to be dealt with and none were fully resolved. In the end, she found herself committed to the deal struck with Gideon. Whether it was right or wrong, her commitment to her word was inviolate. Besides, while nibbling at the diced chicken and cucumber, there was no avoiding the fact that arrangements were being made at P&G.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon when Gabby drove an Avis Jeep Cherokee to Gate 34W, on the extreme western perimeter of the vast P&G compound in western Cincinnati. A guard phoned ahead to Paul Waxgough, a New Frontier employee assigned to oversee its operation Cincinnati, who promptly drove a company vehicle to the gate and led Gabby's Jeep around several high-bay warehouses to an enclosure marked with the familiar skull and crossbones logo for radioactive materials. A small fork-lift was waiting just inside the drive-in door, loaded with a depleted uranium box, sealed with a straps and combination lock.
As the forklift operator maneuvered the load into the rear of the Jeep, Paul Waxgough handed Gabby an envelope. "In here is the combination for the lock, to be used only by people with experience handling radioactive materials and only in a dire emergency, say if you have an accident on the road and roll over into a ditch. Of course, we don't anticipate that to happen."
"Thanks for the encouragement," she smarted, feeling even more queasy that before.
"And you must wear a radiation badge. I'm sure Dr. Ganeden has told you that all our employees are required to wear one in the vicinity of gamma radiation. It's just a safety precaution to monitor your exposure, which should be next to nil."
"What do you mean, next to?" she shot back, riveting her eyes upon Paul Waxgough.
"Nil, but that's a relative term, you understand. There's always a minute amount of radiation escaping Cobalt 60, but it's much weaker than the radiation received by standing in direct sunlight. Hell, our bodies are being bombarded by multiple sources of radiation every minute. Don't worry about gamma exposure from this. We're around it all the time and the effect is negligible."
Gabby squinted at the afternoon sun dipping toward the Ohio River in the west. "I wore one of these when he toured me through New Frontiers."
"Good. And the most important thing, Rabbi Lewyn, is to drive slow and safe, especially in West Virginia where they’re known to set up speed traps. Never drive above the posted limit. I've taken the liberty to mark this map so you won't lose your way. Dr. Ganeden said you'd be phoning him hourly with a progress report. And here's some hot coffee to keep you awake and a few sandwiches from our cafeteria. Nothing special, you understand, but it's better than stopping along the roadside and leaving the car unattended, even locked."
The lift operator jumped off his seat to close the Jeep's hatch door. Gabby noticed the tires a bit flatter than before – or was this just her imagination?
"I recommend you get started immediately," Paul Waxgough said, "to miss the rush hour traffic around the city. Once you're on I-71 toward Columbus, you shouldn't have any traffic worries. At night, I-270 and I-70 through West Virginia and Pennsylvania should be a breeze. There are state operated rest stations along the route if you need a bathroom or want to take a quick nap. I wouldn't recommend napping on the roadside because the highway patrols often stop to investigate."
After leaving Gate 34W and heading for the Interstate north, Gabby's brain was flooded with scenes from adventure movies in which vehicles loaded with contraband traveled on the nation's highways, pursued by armies of well-equipped villains. "I'm about to enter the Interstate toward Columbus," she made her first report to Gideon by cell phone.
"Great work, Gabby," he sounded more relaxed to have the Cobalt moving toward Maryland. "I'll be waiting for you. Drive safely and call whenever you want, but no longer than a hour."
She navigated the ramp leading to I-71 and felt a bit more comfortable herself. The trick, she knew, was not to get into an accident, or have a policeman haul her to the roadside, or to fall asleep. And there was no danger of the latter for many hours. How she would feel after midnight would be another story.
The last two and a half hours of driving through the dusk were easy, but after sundown, a light rain turned to ice and the road became slippery. Weight of the Jeep, increased by the heavy load in the rear, provided decent traction for the tires, but Gabby was forced to slow below forty miles per hour. Glare from the headlights of approaching vehicles began to irritate her eyes. When traffic slowed to a stop, she used the opportunity to sip coffee from the thermos. Later, a roadside rest station in West Virginia provided a place to relieve herself and stretch her legs by walking up and down the parking lot without letting the Jeep out of her sight. Gideon was waiting nervously for her progress call. Back on the road again, she munched unenthusiastically on a dry tuna sandwich from the cafeteria in Cincinnati.
Kye had just arrived at their Carmel dream house when her call arrived. His transcontinental flight met strong head winds and was forced to land in Las Vegas for additional fuel. She told him about the favorable reception at the lecture in Cincinnati and the luncheon in her honor, but refrained from saying anything about her current mission for Gideon Ganeden, fibbing about the reason she had decided to drive rather than fly back to Washington.
By early morning, there was little traffic on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Temperatures warmed and the ice turned to cold rain. An hour later, she saw through the windshield a light smattering of stars poking between scattered clouds. Had she known about this excursion in advance, she would have brought along a book on tape, but instead listened to endless babble of radio talk shows, none of it memorable. At the 3 a.m. progress report, Gideon sounded more exhausted than she felt. Both were optimistic as she had entered western Maryland and was making good time along Interstate 70. While dark, the landscape appeared a little more familiar. The end, she knew, was not far away. Surprisingly, the danger of falling asleep perplexed her only for a brief stretch in West Virginia.
It was 4:21 a.m. when the Jeep pulled into the rear entrance of New Frontiers, Inc. Gideon and three young men were waiting with a motor operated flat bed to move the Cobalt to a secured part of the building. As soon as the loading door was shut, Gideon took Gabby in his arms with a hug of affection. "B'emet, Todah rabah, God, thanks," he exclaimed with apparent relief. "You're an angel sent from heaven."
After a quick debriefing, Gabby asked to use a Ladies Room. Gideon offered to have one of the young boys drive her home and return the Jeep to an Avis office first thing in the morning. He would call her as soon as the auditors from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission had left.
They walked in tandem toward the rear parking lot where Gideon continued with expressions of gratitude. She was about to drop into the passenger seat of the young man's sports car when he stopped her for a moment. Stepping forward he reached through the passenger window to remove from her lapel the radiation badge Paul Waxgough had given her in Cincinnati. "We'll send this to the lab for testing, just to be on the safe side."
In all her professional career, Gabby had never slept into mid-morning, but after dropping into her bed at nearly 6 a.m, she slept until Chuck's phone call woke her a few minutes past ten. She was in a sleepy daze while he spoke. "Cantor Blass has been asking about you with reference to this evening's service. I told him you were scheduled to return last night, but I hadn't heard from you."
"Tell him I'll be at Ohav by noon and we can talk about Shabbat services."
"I presume everything went well in Cincinnati," he said.
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Her mind was beginning to clear. "Yes, friend. Things went much better than expected. I was pleasantly surprised by the reaction of the students and faculty. They got the picture about Rabbi Olam v'Ed and Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"And I guess the old windbag senator from Ohio got a hold of you. What was he so bothered about?"
"I'll tell you in the shul. It was quite a night."
Gideon Ganeden called in the afternoon to say that the NRC audit went without a hitch. A dozen flabby investigators searched the premises from top to bottom, focusing upon safety regulations. They were surprised to learn that New Frontiers had instigated safety precautions above and beyond NRC codes. Most importantly, the amount of Cobalt 60 inventoried at New Frontiers corresponded roughly with official records, close enough to satisfy even the most unforgiving investigators.
Fatigue remained with Gabby throughout the day. She led Cantor Reuben Blass into the sanctuary for Erev Shabbat worship, quickly settling herself in a leather chair to the left of the Aron ha-Kodesh, and studied notes she had scribbled out for the evening's message. The cantor began chanting the eleventh psalm, one not easily recognized by the congregation. When Gabby lifted her eyes to the worshippers, they were struck by an unexpected sight. In the center section, only a few rows from the front stood Carey Sylerman, flanked on both sides by her parents. Her face was flushed red and her eyes were streaming with fresh tears. As though she were about to collapse, Norma and Roland supported her on both arms.
Throughout the service, Gabby noticed that Carey never read from the Siddur in her hand. Yes, she held it open, but did not drop her eyes over the text. Her lips moved perfectly to all the communal prayers, both in Hebrew and English. It took a while for Gabby to understand the influence of Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Just like Rabbi Olam v'Ed's students who shunned the written word, Carey had committed the Sabbath liturgy to memory. In a way, those no longer hobbled to the printed word were the freest of all.
In the reception line before a quick Oneg Shabbat, Carey fell into Gabby's arms with an effusive hug of affection. "I'm home for good," she whispered near Gabby's ear. "I'm not going back ever," she said as Gabby broke to recite the blessing over bread.
At the Shabbat table, Gabby asked Carey to come forward and chant the traditional blessings, a task she assumed with enthusiasm. The moment it was done, Gabby seized her hand and led through clusters of congregants, all extending Sabbath greetings. The moment they were free to talk in a corridor, Gabby turned and gazed into Carey's glassy eyes.
"It's over," Carey said, more tears welling up as she sniffled back mucous in her nose. "I couldn't stay there any longer. When you left on Saturday evening, everybody was in a daze for about forty minutes. Then people just took up where they left off. No discussion. No apologies. No contrition. No explanations. The community just fell back into its customary habits for Saturday evenings. The next day, I expected meetings and discussions, but they never occurred. Sunday was like all the other days. Nobody mentioned a word about the stolen Torahs. Rabbi Olam v'Ed and his close associates were seen everywhere, but they conceded nothing. It was as though nothing, absolutely nothing had happened. Baruch refused to speak with me. I knew then that there was no future for us. And the more I thought about it, the more I knew these were not the people I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. They're disciplined beyond belief, but rigid, insular, and nearsighted."
"That's how they've survived from generation to generation," Gabby said, planting a kiss upon Carey's cheek.
"This is my home, Rabbi. And these are my people," Carey said.
"I know," replied Gabby. "I've known that since the day you read from the Holocaust scroll on your Bat Mitzvah. And now that you and the Torah are home, I'd love you to read from it again. If you're willing, we'll select some passages for you to practice. My guess is that the synagogue will be thrilled to hear its daughter read from our treasure once again."
They paraded the Holocaust Torah through the synagogue on Saturday morning and read from the traditional seder, portion for that particular Sabbath. Gabby had expected an unusually large congregation and was not disappointed. Her congregants felt violated and hurt when their Torah was stolen. They felt compensatory healing when it was returned, though most continued to advocate retribution against the leaders of Sh'erit ha-Pletah.
During the Sabbath reception that followed, the only congregants who were not in a celebratory mood were Melanie and Gideon Ganeden. When they could make their way through well-wishers chatting with their rabbi, Melanie said, "Gabby, can we talk with you privately in your study?"
"Of course, but only if you can give me a few minutes to be cordial. How about meeting in fifteen minutes?"
When Gabby arrived for the rendezvous, Gideon and Melanie were standing outside her study on opposite sides of the hallway, glowering at each other. It only took a moment for Gabby to sense how their quiet was but a rest from a strenuous argument. She found seats for them on the sofa, and pulled an armchair into a more central position. "Neu?" she opened.
Two sets of fiery eyes met and separated. "I would have come alone to speak with you, but Melanie insisted on coming," Gideon said. "Everything at New Frontiers is just fine, but there's a bit of troubling news. I sent your radiation badge to our lab for routine testing and it came back slightly positive, which means you've received a small amount of radiation, under normal conditions nothing serious to worry about."
Gabby's face went blank. She felt weakness in her arms. "How was that possible? Gideon, you promised me there was absolutely no danger of an exposure."
"There shouldn't have been. Frankly, I don't know what happened. I've had my safety officer working on the problem and he can't come up with a plausible explanation."
"How bad?" Gabby swallowed, sealing her lips after the words were released.
"Just a few rems over the normal. X-ray technicians and people working around accelerators sometimes get more without serious consequences. In a month, your exposure graph will look normal, just like everybody else's."
Gabby's eyes shot over to Melanie for medical confirmation. "Gideon never told me he asked you to bring cobalt from Cincinnati," she said. "I would never have allowed it, no matter what consequences. As your physician, I wouldn't have permitted it."
"I didn't know Gabby was pregnant until the last moment she mentioned it on the phone," Gideon's head shook as though on a spring.
"I don't share professional confidences about my patients with you, Gideon, or anybody else, for that matter," Melanie snapped.
"Why does that make any difference?" Gabby interjected herself in what appeared to be a well-traveled marital feud.
"You're less than a month in pregnancy, Gabby," Melanie said. "The journals are filled with preliminary studies about low dose radiation exposure from X-rays and mammograms in the first trimester. Nobody knows for certain the danger doses for the developing fetuses, but everybody agrees there is a danger for healthy babies. I wish I could give you precise answers, but I can't."
There was sadness in Gabby's eyes as she considered this information. She wanted to consult with Kye immediately, but needed more facts before confronting him. "My options?" she finally asked.
Melanie filled the momentary silence. "Wait and see. Do what we can to monitor your situation, but frankly speaking, there isn't much to do."
"Will that make any difference to my baby?" Gabby asked, already knowing the answer.
"We don't know," answered Melanie. "The raw, brutal truth, Gabby, is that we're in the realm of uncertainty. If you don't want to take the risk, I can end the pregnancy for you. You know, there's still a small possibility that you aren't even pregnant. And at this early stage, the actual procedure is elementary. You would hardly have to think of it as an abortion. Once the exposure is completely out of your system, you will return to a level playing field. You and Kye can get pregnant again. Both of you are healthy. Most studies show that the second pregnancy is easier than the first."
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nbsp; Gabby felt she wanted to scream, but at whom and for what and to what avail? Gloom seized her as she wrapped her hands over her head and pondered the alternatives. Melanie came over to rub the back of her neck tenderly.
Gideon said, "It's possible the radiation badge was defective. I've sent it to another lab in Philadelphia for confirmation. We should have results in a few days. We're reviewing the containment made from depleted uranium. So far, nothing significant has turned up."
"There's no rush," Melanie said. "I know you'll want to talk with Kye. I'm furious with Gideon for asking you in the first place. That was asking more than he was entitled. Unfortunately, now it's just a case of damage control. We'll do everything we can to make a terrible situation better."
Gabby contracted into her thoughts and remained withdrawn. Gideon rose to give her a kiss on her forehead. Melanie followed. "Let us know you're thinking," he said. "I'm terribly sorry. And just for your information, the other matter we talked between us about has been settled. I've done what you asked."
She mounted a faint smile of recognition that out of this tragedy, something good had come.
Kye wasn't good with uncertain science. He returned from California immediately to talk with Gabby and his first impulse was to tweak the scientific world to see if he could find definitive data about the dangers of radiation exposure and the fetus. When that proved unsuccessful, he focused upon Gabby's sensitivities. She would say, "Maybe I should just have an abortion, resign from Ohav Shalom and go out to California to start a new life with you in a dream house overlooking the wild Pacific."
"Maybe you shouldn't," he answered. "When I see you function here, I know it would be cruel to replant you in California. Cruel for you, but crueler for your congregants. Forget California's weather. Gabby, I adore you because you make the sun shine wherever you are."