Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (18 page)

Julie hesitated. "It's in Page,
Arizona
. Grant used it to get down there."

The commissioner sounded shocked. "What? Stevens took the jet?"

Grant was amazed. The idiot was more worried about his plane than the situation at
Glen
Canyon
.

Julia's voice was weak. "I thought under the circumstances . . ."

Grant jumped in. "Why not, Roland? It was a good idea. If I had tried to fly commercial, I'd still be waiting for connections. Then nobody from the Bureau would be here. Would that be better?" Grant realized he had gone too far.

The commissioner ignored him. "Julia, tell the pilot to stand by, as soon as I find out where my connection is. I'll call you back. Have them meet me."

"Okay. Let me know when you make your plans," Julia said.

Grant had other short-term plans for the Gulfstream, but he thought he should not bring them up right then with Roland.

The commissioner got back to the subject at hand. "Stevens, what are you doing right now?"

"The FBI is asking questions."

"What are you telling them?" He sounded scared. "Be careful what you say; you represent the Bureau."

Grant rolled his eyes. Why all the politics? Why couldn't anybody just communicate? "Don't worry, Roland."

"Oh, and Stevens, don't make any stupid decisions before I get there. In fact, avoid making any decisions at all if you can help it. Just do what's necessary."

Grant wanted to tell Roland to ram it, and then stopped himself. "Okay, Roland."

Roland sounded distracted like he wasn't speaking directly into the phone. "I gotta go. The ticket lady is waving at me."

Grant heard the phone click. "Julia, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Call me before you take the Gulfstream. I need it for one more trip."

"But the commissioner said--"

"I know what he said. But there's plenty of time. It will take him a while to fly back across the ocean. Just call me first."

"Okay." Her voice sounded uncertain.

Grant thanked her and hung up.

* * *

Earl hustled out of the visitor center parking lot and over to where his officers were setting up the roadblock. A line of about ten cars was stopped at the sign. One officer was waving for the cars to turn around and go back the other way. The first car wasn't moving, however.

The driver was yelling out the window at an officer. "What about Navajo bridge downstream?"

"It's closed, too." The officer motioned up toward the lake. "You'll have to go around."

"That's almost three hundred miles around! It'll take five hours!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer. "The bridge isn't safe right now."

"Bull. Look at all those people out there." He leaned out of his window and pointed at the bridge where four police cars were trying to move about fifteen parked cars and pedestrians off the bridge. Some cars were turning around. Others were boxed in by other cars or waiting for pedestrians to get out of the way.

Earl walked past the argument and the roadblock, and approached the edge of the bridge. He looked over the edge and down into the river. The water was only four hundred feet or so below him, far less than the normal eight-hundred-foot drop to the river. The water was hitting the steel girders in the arch that supported the bridge. Earl could feel the bridge moving like it was alive. He heard a loud creak from flexing metal. He picked up his radio.

"Get 'em off now. Turn on your sirens. This thing's gonna collapse."

He heard the sirens come on. He saw some of the pedestrians start running. Three cars drove past Earl off the bridge. The bulk of them, however, were going east toward Page. He saw about seven or eight cars get off the bridge on the other side. There were still three cars plus the four police cars. Two of the cars started to move. The third, a motor home, wasn't moving yet. A door opened and some idiot jumped out with a video camera. The PA on the police car roared, "GET BACK IN YOUR CAR." The guy kept filming.

Earl got on the radio. "All units get off the bridge now."

One of the police cars followed the two passenger cars toward the east side. The other two headed west toward Earl. The last one stayed with the motor home. The girders groaned and Earl felt the road move a little. He saw a crack open under his feet. He took five steps backwards off the bridge, keeping his eyes on the road. Two police cars flew passed him, slamming on their brakes once they were off the bridge. The cops jumped out of their cars and ran back to where Earl was standing. Earl took several more steps back from the bridge.

Earl saw that the motor home had started moving slowly toward him. The man with the video camera ran and jumped in the side door of the moving vehicle, but quickly re-emerged, hanging out the door with the camera rolling. The motor home was coming up to speed. The police car was right behind, siren still urging. As the motor home got within seventy-five feet of Earl, he could see the young male driver, shirtless and grinning from ear to ear.

While Earl was watching, the bridge let go with a screeching sound loud enough to hurt Earl's ears. The bottom of the west arch under Earl's feet broke loose and the road dropped and twisted, throwing the motor home and the police car off the bridge. Earl was still looking into the driver's eyes when it happened, and saw the grin replaced by an open-mouthed scream.

The asphalt in front of Earl
disappeared
just three steps in front of him. The motor home and the police car hit the water a hundred feet below. The police car knifed in and went under, but the motor home plopped in like a beach ball and bobbed on the surface. The west end of the bridge was pulled under immediately. The east end of the bridge, still attached, flexed downstream,
then
it broke loose and was gone too. The police car bobbed back up for a couple seconds, then back under. Earl watched the motor home floating along on the surface, front end down, the water twisting it around as it went. He saw the rear window, now on top, break open with unidentified debris exploding outwards. Without the window to trap air inside, the motor home sank like a rock.

The two officers, who barely escaped, ran up behind Earl. "How many did we lose?"

Earl responded, "One of our officers, and one motor home full of idiots."

* * *

Grant saw the bridge collapse and two vehicles go into the river. The thought of being inside the car sickened him. He hoped it wasn't Earl in the police car. He turned and barked at the FBI agent with the radio. "Get ahold of Earl. Find out if he's okay. See if he knows how many people went in."

The agent walked away from the group while talking into his radio. He quickly gave a thumbs-up sign. "Earl's okay. There was one police officer in the car. They aren't sure how many civilians were in the motor home."

Phil looked at Grant. "What are you going to do now?"

"My job just moved three hundred miles downriver. After I talk to Earl, I'm flying downstream to the next dam to get ready to receive this water. Is that all right with the FBI?"

Grant spoke to the agent. "Tell Earl I need a police car immediately to take me back into Page to the airport."

There was a brief radio communication. "Earl says without the bridge, it's about five hours to Page," the agent relayed.

Grant forgot he needed the bridge to get to Page. He couldn't wait five hours. Suddenly, he was in a hurry to get back to the Gulfstream before the commissioner stole it from him. "Isn't there another way across? Do they have a helicopter?" He waited while the agent asked Earl the question.

"Earl says they don't have any choppers, but he might be able to talk one of those news teams into taking us across in their helicopter. They're still hovering around with cameras. He's going to try to get ahold of one on his radio. He'll let us know."

Fifteen minutes later, Grant was climbing into the green helicopter for KBXY out of
Phoenix
,
Arizona
. The chopper sat in the visitor center parking lot with its rotors idling. The network affiliate was more than happy to take Grant across, as long as they could ask a few questions.

Surprisingly, Earl climbed in the helicopter and sat next to Grant. "I DIDN'T WANT TO GO THE LONG WAY, EITHER," he yelled over the noise.

A cameraman climbed in next to Earl and shut the door. The helicopter became amazingly quiet. Grant felt the rotors accelerate. A head appeared around the seat in front of Grant. The guy shoved a microphone in his face.

"What caused the dam to break apart?"

"I'll answer a few questions, but no cameras or microphones."

The reporter showed displeasure, but pulled back the microphone. In an instant, a pad and pencil materialized out of nowhere. "Okay, why is the dam breaking apart?"

Grant felt the helicopter take off. "We think a bomb was placed in the west elevator shaft early this morning. The explosion caused a small
hole
deep in the dam. The force of the water then tore the dam apart in just under four hours."

"Has any group taken responsibility for the bomb?"

Grant didn't want to talk about that. "Law enforcement should answer questions about the perpetrator. The FBI is handling the criminal investigation."

"What kind of flood should be expected downstream?"

The helicopter was now above what used to be the Glen Canyon Dam. Grant paused to take a look. The water in the canyon was now flowing through the dam site as if it were not even there. The remaining dam only created what amounted to a fifty foot rapid in the river. Grant looked at the high water marks just upstream of the dam site and estimated the water had dropped more than fifty feet next to the dam.

Grant looked back at the reporter. "Could you repeat the question?"

"Flood.
What
kind of flood will
this cause?"

"Luckily, downstream from here the
Grand Canyon
runs for almost three hundred miles, so not a lot of people or structures to worry about. There are efforts underway to evacuate the visitors from the canyon. Those efforts started almost three hours ago, long before the dam failed."

"Will the dam be rebuilt?"

"I don't know. That's a question for your congressman."

The reporter looked at his notes for a second. "Grant, what is your last name, and what do you do for the Bureau?"

"Last name is Stevens and I am a water resources manager."

"Why did the Bureau send you? Where is Roland Blackwell, the commissioner, or any of the vice presidents? Isn't this a big enough problem to warrant their presence?"

"Roland and most of his team are out of the country. They have been contacted and are arranging for return travel as we speak."

The helicopter had descended and was now landing on the road just past the roadblock on the opposite side of the river. The reporter pleaded with Grant.

"Mr. Stevens, can we get one camera shot of you answering a question?
How about an easy one about the water downstream or the dam falling apart over a period of hours?"

Grant considered. He had heard that most of these people were not trustworthy, but this guy seemed okay. "No new
questions,
and no questions about who did it."

"Great! It will only take a minute."

The helicopter settled and the rotors began to slow down. Earl opened the door and the noise level rose considerably. When Grant climbed out of the chopper, the reporter was waiting for him.

In the noise, the reporter yelled through cupped hands. "LET'S GO OVER THERE WHERE WE CAN GET THE DAM SITE IN THE BACKROUND." He pointed to the river. They started walking away from the helicopter's noise.

Minutes later, the reporter was standing next to Grant, holding the microphone. The cameraman had the camera pointed at them. Grant had not expected the camera to be so close. He felt a sudden urge to straighten his hair, but resisted. The camera moved in close enough to see up his nose. The reporter asked Grant if he was ready.

He nodded. "One easy question," he reminded the reporter.

The reporter spoke into his microphone. "This is Kevin Scott with KBXY in
Phoenix
,
Arizona
. We are here at the site of what's left of the Glen Canyon Dam in Page,
Arizona
with Grant Stevens of the Bureau of Reclamation. The Bureau built this dam as well as most of the other dams in the country. Grant, give us a quick synopsis of what happened here this morning."

Grant felt like he had told this story a hundred times, but almost forgot everything with the camera in his face. He hesitated, which he knew would look awkward on TV. "Early this morning, an explosion went off in the west elevator of the dam. The original hole was small, approximately five feet in diameter. The water pressure then tore the dam apart over the next four hours." Grant stopped talking and looked back at the reporter.

The reporter didn't miss a beat. "As we speak, the FBI is on site investigating the cause of the explosion. As you can see behind us," the reporter turned and motioned to the dam site, "the Glen Canyon Dam has collapsed and
Lake
Powell
is now draining into the
Grand Canyon
. That's all for now from Kevin Scott."

The light on the camera went out. The reporter looked at the cameraman. "How'd it look?"

"Great. I'll rewind it and you can check it out."

Grant dismissed himself and started walking to the waiting police car. The reporter called out his thanks, but was more concerned with the footage on the camera.

Earl joined in and walked next to Grant. "You're a natural. You oughta be in
Hollywood
."

"It'll probably get me fired."

"Why? You didn't say anything."

"Doesn't matter.
The bosses will be jealous. It should come from them."

"Well, they ain't here."

"They will be." Grant reached out for the car door. "That's when the politics will start." He slid into the back of the squad car.

Earl climbed in the other side. The police car surged ahead and started up the hill toward Page. Grant felt funny leaving the scene, like he was leaving something undone. Part of him wanted to stay and stare. When they crested the top of the hill and entered the city, the car turned left.

He turned and looked at Earl. "What's going to happen here after I leave?"

"Don't worry. We'll
baby-sit
the tourists." Grant thought he saw a hint of a smile under the large mustache. "And the Feds," Earl added.

As before, the police car drove past the gate and out onto the airport tarmac. A moment later it stopped next to the Gulfstream. The high-pitched sound told him the jet engines were already turning. Grant climbed out of the cruiser and walked toward the plane.

Wendy, the flight attendant, met him at the base of the stairs. "
Boulder
,
Nevada
?"

Grant nodded.
"Yeah."
The mention of
Boulder
made him think about downstream. Would they lose
Hoover
too? He headed up the stairs.

Before he ducked into the plane, he turned and looked back at the captain of the Page police force, who was now leaning against the car. Grant cupped his hand and yelled at Earl. "Good luck. Don't let things get outta control."

Earl's response wasn't loud enough to hear, but three jabs from a pointed finger, and over-enunciation of the syllables sent the message loud and clear, "You already did."

Grant held up his cell phone and pointed to it, trying to send the message that Earl could call him if he needed.

Earl nodded and waved, then climbed back in the cruiser. Grant ducked into the Gulfstream that would take him to Hoover Dam.

Wendy shut the door behind him and the noise of the engines almost disappeared.

Although he could have picked any of the leather seats, he chose the second window seat on the right, the same one from his previous trip.

She interrupted him while he was fastening his seat belt. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. "Not now." He touched her arm. "Could you ask the pilot if he could follow the river?"

CHAPTER 14

11:15 a.m. - Hole-in-the-Rock,
Lake Powell
,
Utah

Julie didn't care if her feet were killing her. It had to be over a hundred degrees. She jogged the last few yards to the water, dropped the canteen, sun visor and crumpled t-shirt on the shore, and dove into the refreshing water of
Lake
Powell
. She didn't even stop to take off her hiking boots. In the few seconds she glided underwater, Julie felt the water cool her face, arms, back, and legs, saving her from what felt like imminent heat stroke. She let her momentum and buoyancy bring her slowly back to the surface. When she turned, she saw the other three had stopped and were hastily unlacing their shoes. She stroked leisurely back to the shore.

"Aren't you going to take your shoes off?" her husband asked.

When she reached the rocks, she found a small ledge, just under the surface, where she could sit and get to her laces. "I couldn't wait. I was burning up."

Greg laughed. Paul had removed his shoes and had moved to Erika, who sat back and let her husband remove hers. She looked exhausted too, and Julie wanted to help her into the water so Erika could feel the same relief Julie was feeling. Even as Julie reached for her shoelaces, she heard first Greg, then Paul and Erika dive in the water around her.

"Oh, that feels so good." Erika purred.

Paul blew a small stream of lake water out of his mouth like a Roman statue.

Julie's laces released easily. As she struggled with the shoe, Greg swam over next to her and took over, pulling her right one off.

"Let me help you with that." He tossed it up on the bank, and then rolled her sock off, his fingers cleaning between her toes,
then
massaging her foot.

Greg's hands on her feet made her lean back on the rocks and sigh. She felt light headed. He repeated the service on her other foot, and she decided right then, she would never leave him.

After the foot massage, both couples frolicked in the water for a while. Julie took off her shorts and threw them up on the bank, leaving her only in her bikini. She wished the site were more remote and it were only she and Greg, because for the first time in her life she wanted to skinny dip. Even the small swimsuit felt too restricting.

Greg sat on a rock just out of the water. "How long do you want to stay?"

Erika floated on her back. "I'm never getting out of this water again."

Julie agreed. "What's the hurry?"

"We need to stop at Dangling Rope for gas on the way back."

Erika rolled over on her stomach and glided toward her husband. "Go ahead. My lover and I need some time alone. You can pick us up when you're done."

They all knew that Erika was joking because Dangling Rope Marina was miles downstream, almost to the houseboat. There was no way Greg was going to drive all the way there, then back up to Hole-in-the-Rock to pick them up.

Greg laughed. "No need, Erika. Julie and I will just wait here while you and Paul do what ever you need to do." He gestured to her with an open hand "Go ahead."