Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (21 page)

Sid heard the voices again and this time distinctively heard the words 'over there'. Ryan must have heard them too, because he cocked his head at the same time. Sid saw their heads first, but as the group crested the knoll, they became totally visible. Obviously, they were rafters not hikers. The men wore swim trunks, and the women bathing suits. One of the women still wore a life jacket. Another woman wore a green and white striped bikini.

A man pointed at Sid and Ryan. "Hang on!" He jogged toward them.

"Do you know where the trail out of here is?" The man asked, pointing up out of the canyon.

Ryan pointed at his feet. "We're standing on it."

The man looked down at the worn trail where Sid and Ryan stood. He turned toward the rest of his group, who had just reached the trail. "Thank God, we made it."

Another loud explosion rocked the canyon, making the group instinctively duck. Sid looked back where they had just come and saw another huge section of the cliff fall into the water and send waves across the river. Then just as quickly, while the sound still echoed through the canyon, the river swallowed the rock.

The rafters must have already seen boulders breaking off and fall in the river, because the man picked right up where he left off. "So how far up is it?" He pointed up the trail. "How long will it take?"

Sid looked down. The man wore aqua socks. They were coated with dust, except for wet spots where moisture squished up through them. One of the women wore platform flip-flops. Sid saw no hiking shoes, no tennis shoes, and absolutely no socks, none of them. He had a feeling if his knee went out and he had to stop, he wouldn't be alone.

"Three or four hours," Ryan answered.
"If we keep moving."

Sid saw surprise and unbelief in the man's eyes. Many in the group cocked their heads back and forth, looking at each other.

"Three or four hours?"
Mr. Aqua Socks asked in disbelief. "How far is it?"

"Eight miles."
Sid answered. He reached down and rubbed his knee. "And they're not easy miles either."

"What happened to your boat?" Ryan asked.

Another man, wearing a yellow baseball hat stenciled with Los Angeles Lakers, stepped up by Mr. Aqua Socks. "We had already noticed the water rising before the helicopter warned us. We were looking for a spot to stop, but the water was moving too fast. Then after the helicopter, we found a sandy place where we could get out. As soon as we got out, the river took the raft. It's gone."

"Where's your guide?" Ryan asked.

Mr. Aqua Socks raised his hand. "I'm the guide, but I only know the river, not the trails. And this is my first year running the
Grand Canyon
. What about you two guys?"

Sid looked over at his friend, an unspoken message for Ryan to answer.

Ryan motioned up the trail. "We hiked down
Tanner
Trail
from the rim two days ago. Then we spent a couple days hiking and camping along the Escalante trail." He pointed down at the river. "It's underwater now. Anyway, the rising water rimmed us on the way back to Tanner. We almost didn't make it."

No one spoke after Ryan's answer. They nodded politely, but Sid saw most of their eyes focused up
Tanner
Trail
.

"Ready to head out?"
Sid asked, already knowing the answer.

Mr. Aqua Socks nodded. "Sure." His comment was followed by nods from others in the group.

The group passed by Sid and Ryan and headed up the trail. However, neither Sid nor Ryan moved immediately. They stood for another few moments looking out over the swollen
Colorado River
. Something told Sid he would never see anything like this again in his life. He needed to try to burn it into his head, to remember it. Across the river, Sid saw a rock wall the size of a two-story building break off and fall in the water. The loud sound followed seconds later.

"Wow," Sid said. "This is amazing. Isn't it?"

"I wish I had a camera." Ryan added.

"Wouldn't do it justice."

Ryan nodded. "You're probably right."

They watched a moment longer in silence.

"Hey, you guys coming?" The question came from Mr. Aqua Socks.

"Your knee gonna make it?" Ryan asked.

Sid smiled.
"As long as I'm following the one in the green bikini."

CHAPTER 15

12:15 p.m. -
Boulder City
,
Nevada

Grant looked around as he walked down the steps from the Gulfstream. A small sign by the terminal announced
Boulder
City
Airport
. This airport looked even smaller than the one at Page. Aside from the Gulfstream, most of the other planes were small
Cessnas,
or Pipers and looked to be privately owned. Grant couldn't see any other jets. The Gulfstream stood out like a Ferrari in the ghetto. He knew that most visitors to Lake Mead didn't use this airport; they flew into
Las Vegas
, which was full of Lears, Gulfstreams, and other small jets.

As Grant walked down the stairs, a black & white police car drove up to the plane. The officer rolled down his window without getting out.
"You the guy from the Bureau?"

Grant nodded and walked over to the passenger door. Before he jumped in, he waved back at the flight attendant. While they were en route from Page, the call had come in from Julia to send the jet to meet the Commissioner in
Chicago
where he would be connecting. The Gulfstream would be leaving immediately. Grant wondered if he would ever ride in it again.

He climbed into the police car and it took off immediately. After exiting the small airport, the policeman turned north, and headed into
Boulder
City
. They sped down a small road, encountering little traffic. The south side of town, by the airport, was old and dirty. It gave a glimpse of the town's beginnings, when
Boulder
City
was created in the late 1920s to house the five thousand workers needed to build Hoover Dam. Grant could see ahead on the bluffs a new and different
Boulder
City
. Growing out of the hillsides were vacation homes and condos with views of the water.

The officer turned toward Grant. "You just came from
Lake
Powell
?" He sounded curious and concerned.

"Yup.
Things were pretty hairy up there. What have you heard?"

The officer kept his eyes on the road. "The news said the Glen Canyon Dam let go, a bomb or something. My wife says there's stuff on TV that shows water filling up the whole canyon.
Real bad."

The car reached the intersection of US-93 just as the light turned green. Grant looked up and down the street and didn't see many other traffic lights. Without slowing, they merged onto US-93 heading down the hill. The road provided a great view of
Lake Mead
.

Grant was surprised to see some boats out on the water. He pointed. "Why are they still out there?"

The officer leaned forward and tried to look ahead of a car in front of them. "They've been trying to clear the lake all morning, since we got the news. But it's a big lake and
there's
not enough people to warn them." He took his eyes off the road for a second to look at Grant. "Why? How soon should we expect the water?"

Grant was happy the officer's eyes had returned to the road. "It won't get here until after midnight, but you need to get everybody off before it gets dark."

Grant tensed as the officer swerved into the passing lane and accelerated around an SUV pulling a water-ski boat. They passed the turnoff to
Boulder
Beach
State Park
and headed up a hill, losing sight of the lake. A casino sat perched at the top of the hill, the last opportunity to gamble for those leaving
Nevada
. The policeman keyed the mike on his radio.

"I've got your boy from the Bureau. We're just passing the casino."

After the casino, US-93 wound lazily for a mile through jagged rock ridges until dropping via a couple tight winding switchbacks to the dam. Ahead, he saw where the highway continued across the top of the dam into
Arizona
, and surprisingly, traffic was still being allowed across. Looking deep into the canyon, he could see the six outlets from the
Arizona
side of the dam were open, spraying huge columns of water across the canyon in a spectacular water show, a show not seen since the spring floods of 1983. However the six outlets on the
Nevada
side were still closed, a problem. All twelve outlets should've been open. It meant
Hoover
wasn't dumping as much water as they could. They hadn't followed his instructions.

A dozen orange cones blocked entry to the
Visitor
Center
parking garage, which sat wedged into the cliffs. An officer stood next to a sign that read 'Hoover Dam Visitor Center CLOSED'. The visitors center itself, a modern oval building, hanging over the edge of the deep canyon, was similar to the one at
Glen
Canyon
. The officer pulled right up next to the round building and stopped. A man waited outside for the police car. When the car stopped, the man reached for the door. Grant recognized him as Fred Grainger, the one he talked to from
Glen
Canyon
.

Fred wore some slightly worn blue Dockers, a short sleeve button-down shirt, and a pair of walking shoes, and in general looked more comfortable than stylish. Fred was rumored to be in his early fifties. The one thing Grant knew was that Fred Grainger had been at Hoover Dam since before Grant joined the Bureau.

"Grant. We're glad you made it." Fred shook Grant's hand as he exited the car.

Grant couldn't stop the rebuke. "Why aren't the
Nevada
outlets dumping?"

Fred expected the question. "They won't let us yet. We're on hold. Come inside and I'll fill you in."

Grant wanted to argue, but instead followed Fred into the building. Fred led him down a set of stairs. As they descended, Fred started talking. "The mayor of Laughlin called the governor. So the governor came here and --"

"The governor of
Nevada
is here?" Grant asked.

Fred nodded "Yeah. And he's a jerk."

They walked into the main lobby lined with pictures of the dam's construction and facts about how the dam operated. They walked past a chart showing water levels over the past thirty years. The last time Grant had been in the lobby, it was filled with tourists and kids. Fred led them into a small movie theater with the words 'The Story of Hoover Dam' written above the doorway. Inside the theater, a large conference table and chairs had been set up on the floor in front of the screen. Beyond it, the room elevated to auditorium seating. At least fifteen people, mostly men, were talking when Grant and Fred entered. After they entered, the conversations stopped. All eyes met Grant's.

Fred broke the silence. "This is Grant Stevens, from the Bureau in
Denver
."

A large man in a suit sitting at the end of the table stood. "Where's Commissioner Blackwell?"

Grant knew immediately he must be the governor. He carried a visible aura of authority. Everyone else in the room deferred to him. The governor looked as if he'd played in the NFL before going into politics. His shoulders and chest were huge, and the suit, although obviously expensive and custom fit, seemed out of place on his body style. His hair didn't have a strand out of place, making Grant wonder if he was preparing for a press conference. His entourage contrasted with the Hoover Dam personnel. The governor's people were all in expensive suits; the Bureau people were casual. It was as if the party invitations had neglected to mention proper attire. Grant suddenly felt underdressed for the role he was playing in his slacks and polo shirt.

Grant tried to respond confidently, but his voice cracked. "The commissioner was on his way to
Kenya
for a dam building symposium on the
Tana river
. I talked with him this morning. He's made emergency flight plans to return. He's probably on his way here as we speak."

The governor shook his head in disgust.
"How inconvenient."
He pointed at Grant.
"So who's speaking for the Bureau in the meantime, you?"

Grant had never liked guys like this, who tried to intimidate everyone they met. He felt emotion building up inside. He took a step toward the governor.
"Yeah.
I speak for the Bureau. And who are you?" although he already knew the answer.