Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (55 page)

Grant reached over in front of the pilot and flipped the PA switch himself. "Attention below. Look up at the top of the structure. The dam is breaking apart.Get out of there!
Now!"
He flipped the switch back down.

One of the two guys by the spillways pointed up toward the breach, and the other shielded his eyes and looked up too. The water was now tearing into the dike on the right side of the dam. Both men started running toward the pickup.

"About time," Shauna said, obviously relieved.

However, when the two men reached the three who had arrived in the truck, they argued. Grant could tell by their body language, plus they were all waving their arms and pointing. Grant saw the guy with the hard hat shake his head back and forth.

"That idiot doesn't think it's going to fail," said Grant

"Look at the dam," cried Shauna.

Grant looked up in time to see a large piece of the gravel dam break off and fall into the river that was now tearing into the dike on the right of the spillways. Looking down, he saw water standing where the two men had stood only moments before. Glancing to his left, he saw that the two men had abandoned the argument and were running toward the steep road out of the parking lot. But the three that arrived in the truck stood still, gazing up at the spectacle.

"We're gonna have to watch these idiots die, aren't we?" It was Agent Williams' voice in the headphones.

Grant looked up again in time to see another large chunk of earth slough off. Grant estimated the water to now be ten feet deep into the dike. It looked like the stream was equal to one of the spillways. The entire stream was now dark brown from the debris it was cutting.

"Looks like two of them got religion," Lloyd said.

Grant glanced over and saw two of them running, but the guy with the yellow hard hat stood still, staring up at the dam.

When Grant looked back at the dam, he couldn't believe how fast the flow had increased. He'd only taken his eyes off of it for a few seconds. It seemed twice as big as a moment ago. Yet now it dwarfed the volume of the spillways. Another large section broke off and was swept out immediately. Grant could now see
Lake
Moovalya
through the cut.

"Oh my . . ." It was Shauna's voice.

"
It's
history," said Lloyd.

For the next few moments, Grant could only stare. The volume of surging water grew at an alarming rate. Large chunks of the dike fell every couple of seconds. A part of him wanted to look down to see if the guy in the hard hat ran, and make sure the others had made it, but his eyes wouldn't let him. They stayed glued to the scene unfolding in front of him. Time stood still. In one final motion, a fifty-foot-wide piece of the dike let go, and the
Colorado River
broke loose and barreled down the riverbed in a large wave of frothy brown water. The first two guys had climbed up the road far enough to be safe. The next two had reached the truck and were climbing in the back, even as a wave of water smashed into the side of it. The truck started moving and swapped ends. Within moments Grant guessed the water would pull the truck off the elevated parking lot and into the channel. There was no sign of the guy in the hard hat.

"Those guys in the back of the truck need help!" Agent Williams yelled.

Grant saw the truck swap ends again and teeter dangerously as the water moved it toward the edge. Both men waved their arms back and forth. Lloyd reacted and the helicopter headed toward them.

"What are you gonna do?" Grant asked.

Lloyd concentrated ahead on the men. "Their only chance is to grab onto our landing gear."

As they accelerated toward the truck, the truck jerked sideways and one of the men fell into the water. The other one reached over the side and quickly pulled him back in.

"Hurry," cried Shauna from behind.

When the helicopter arrived, before the two men could reach out, the chopper dropped quickly and the landing gear hit the top of the pickup's cab, putting a large dent in it. The impact scared the two men, making them hesitate. Grant could see the terror in their eyes, since they were only a few feet away.

"Why'd you do that?" asked Grant.

Lloyd brought the landing gear over the men's heads and they both grabbed on. Grant couldn't see them anymore, since they were on the pilot's side.

"I had to ground us first," said Lloyd, not taking his eyes off them. "The rotors build up static electricity. We could have electrocuted 'em."

Grant saw that Lloyd was lifting them toward the cliffs above the dam, although the motion was so smooth that Grant felt no acceleration. He wondered how many times Lloyd had done this trick in
Vietnam
, and how many years it had been since his last attempt.

Grant turned and looked back at Shauna, who sat crouched over looking out at the men hanging on the landing gear. He saw her nodding her head and mouthing words of encouragement to them.

"How're they doing?" Grant asked.

"Hurry," she coaxed, ignoring the question.

When Grant looked forward again, he saw the helicopter had reached the height of the cliffs. Lloyd moved the helicopter sideways until they were over dry land,
then
lowered slightly.

"They let go," said Shauna. "They're okay."

Lloyd set the chopper down and the men approached, still crouching. Grant saw that the first two had hiked to the top of the road and now came running toward them. Lloyd opened his door.

"Thanks, Mister," one of the men yelled. He was a Native American. All of them were.

"What happened to your friend in the hard hat?" asked Lloyd, also yelling.

"He didn't think it would fail," he answered. "The water got him."

"Well, you guys almost waited too long yourselves."

They both smiled, not in happiness, but in relief. Grant could see their faces. They knew they were lucky to be alive.

Lloyd shut the door and the chopper took off.

"Let's make one more pass over the dam," said Grant.

Grant watched as they headed back toward Headgate Rock Dam. The whole area beneath the dam was now flooded and white caps were visible. The cut in the dam now stretched over a hundred feet from the left side of the spillways. The water level in
Lake
Moovalya
had dropped almost fifteen feet and was no longer breaching the concrete.

Grant shook his head.
"Idiots.
We warned 'em."

Lloyd spoke without turning his head. "Some guys can't be told. They have to figure it out for themselves."

"Unfortunately," said Grant, "the guy in the hard hat is dead because of that."

When the helicopter passed back over the broken dam, Lloyd looked over. "You want to see anything else?"

Grant shook his head. "No, let's go.
Head downstream."

When the helicopter pivoted and pointed downstream, Grant could see the community of mobile homes for the first time since the dam had broken. The entire row of homes bordering the river was gone, torn out. A couple of them drifted in the middle of the channel, but the bulk of them were piled up against the railroad bridge downstream. Most of the second row of mobile homes had held, but water pushed against them. Then, as Grant watched, the second row let go like dominoes, and the river pulled them out into the channel.

A large group of people stood up on the Arizona bank, out of the danger. Even at a distance, Grant saw a couple of them cover their eyes with their hands. Another had his hands on top of his head. The group was large and Grant guessed they were the inhabitants of the trailer park. He imagined there would be lawsuits against the Bureau of Indian Affairs for not breaking the dam earlier.

Lloyd had been hovering, allowing them to witness the destruction below. Finally he looked over at Grant. Grant understood the unspoken question.

"Go ahead. I've seen enough. Head downstream toward the next one. Hopefully they listened to us and busted their dam already. I don't think any of us want a repeat performance."

Lloyd's reaction, as usual, was immediate. The helicopter banked and headed downstream.

* * *

12:40 p.m. - Farmland, south of Parker,
Arizona

Daniel Tahbo shifted the Massey Ferguson into high gear and his long black hair blew in the wind as the tractor accelerated. His father didn't like Daniel to use the high gear of the old tractor on gravel roads. The bumps would rattle the tractor to pieces. But Daniel's father worried too much. Everybody knew that. Besides, Daniel was already 15 years old. He would have his license in another year, and he had been driving tractors since he was eight. He could tell when the road was too rough. He knew where all the bumps were on the road, and could easily dodge them.

Daniel's father would not approve of this trip anyway. Daniel needed to hurry, hook onto the ditcher, and take it back to the house. If Daniel's father caught him, he would be furious, but after he made it home safe with the ditcher, and his father discovered it later, he'd be happy. Sure he'd still grumble and swear and tell Daniel he'd acted like an idiot, but he'd be pleased to have the ditcher just the same. Daniel would retrieve the ditcher and be home before the river flooded.

The three hundred acre Tahbo farm was part of the Colorado Indian Reservation, a small farm compared to most of the neighbors. They worked hard on their farm, too hard to lose the ditcher in the flood. Daniel had argued this fact with his father that morning, but his father was a stubborn man. His father believed in the old ways, simple and conservative, no unnecessary risks.

Although the Tahbo farm was small, it was good land, right next to the
Colorado River
, and only two miles south of the bluffs. The family had great water rights too, being so close to Headgate Rock Dam, where the canal was diverted from the river.

Daniel's father was nervous, with the terrorists and all. Ever since the bombing the day before, the farmers had talked of nothing else. Who blew it up? Why? When would the water reach the reservation? How bad would it flood the farms? How fast would the soil recover? Would the government help?
If so, how much?
His father had attended a meeting the night before at the high school with representatives from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. The officials had practically guaranteed that Headgate Rock Dam was safe, but his father did not believe them.

Daniel's father worried too much, especially when there was actually something real to worry about. His mother said that his father didn't sleep a wink last night, and Daniel believed it.

Daniel thought all farmers worried too much. They worried when it wasn't raining, then they worried when it was. They worried when the wind blew, or when it was too calm. They worried when crop prices moved. If the prices were stable, they worried that they would change in the future. Daniel didn't want to be a farmer. He didn't want to worry about anything. He liked driving better. Tractors were okay, but driving something big like bulldozers or excavators would be even better, maybe even an eighteen-wheeler. At least then, Daniel would be able to get off the reservation.

As Daniel approached the end of the gravel road, he slowed the tractor, choosing a slower gear. He could see the
Colorado River
just past the fields at the end of the road. He had never seen it this high or rough before. Usually the river floated lazily past the Tahbo farm, but today it filled the river bottoms, spreading out from its main channel and flooding the willows and grass that grew around the river. There was strength in the river today, a power that Daniel had never seen before.

The ditcher lay in the corner of the field at the end of the road. As he got closer, he noticed water on the road and around the ditcher. A small stream had washed through the bank of the river and now flowed right in front of the ditcher and out into the cornfield. Daniel pulled past the ditcher, stopped, then flipped the steering wheel and backed around toward it, stopping while the rear wheels were still on the gravel. He stared at the small stream and wondered how long it had been flowing past the ditcher. If the water had time to soak into the soft soil in the cornfield, the Massey Ferguson would get stuck in the mud. If the stream had only been
flowing
a couple of minutes, it would not have had time to soak in, and the small tractor would be fine. Daniel cursed his father for not buying a four-wheel drive John Deere tractor like the neighbors. If he had, getting stuck would not be an issue.

Daniel put the transmission in neutral and climbed down off the tractor, leaving the diesel engine idling. Walking around behind, he stopped and stared at the ditcher, so close and yet so far away. He felt reluctant to back the tractor into the mud. He had gotten tractors stuck before and his father always kicked his butt. Besides, this was no time to bury the tractor, especially if the flood materialized as his father expected it would. Better to sacrifice the ditcher than his father's tractor.

Wait. If he could drag the ditcher up onto the road, then hook it up, he wouldn't need to get the tractor in the mud. Daniel ran around the tractor to retrieve a small log chain stored in the tractor's toolbox. He returned a moment later, dragging the chain behind. He looked over at the ditcher, judging the distance.