Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (8 page)

As he jumped out of the truck, he instinctively scanned in all directions. He fingered through his keys again and found the one for the second padlock, which he inserted in the lock on number seven. What if they were waiting for him inside the compartment? The thought made him tense. But the lock was dusty, making an ambush from inside unlikely. Nevertheless, he carefully scanned inside as he rolled up the door, and let the evening sun shine into the contents of the compartment.

In contrast to the rest of Petersen Self-Storage, the inside of number seven was spotless. A large enclosed utility trailer was the only obvious occupant. The skinny man flipped on a light switch, lighting a single incandescent bulb, then pulled the door down behind him. Now completely secluded, he plugged a new orange extension cord into the outlet under the light switch and the whole compartment was bathed in fluorescent light from three separate fixtures, one above each side of the trailer, and one behind. The lights were his first improvement to the compartment. It was impossible to do precision work with bad light.

He walked behind the trailer and saw the motorcycle was still there, helmet, gloves and leather jacket still sitting on the seat. He wondered if he should start it up and make sure it still ran, but that could wait. He instead found a third key and inserted it in the lock on the back of the utility trailer. The utility trailer was top-of-the-line. The sides and top were white metal panels, connected at the corners by rounded aluminum. The front top corners were beveled, round silver pieces. After removing the padlock on the back, he rotated a cast handle at the bottom of each door, which in turn maneuvered large vertical brackets that went all the way to the top of the doors, just like on the back of every eighteen-wheeler on the road.

The inside of the trailer seemed much smaller than the outside. Like the garage, the inside of the trailer was immaculate. Black metal tool cabinets lined the left side, and on the right were a mixture of implements, including a small ladder, a stack of bright orange highway construction cones, a lab stool, a hard hat, a coiled extension cord, and a separate coiled utility light. Notably, each one of the items on the right had a special bracket or shelf designed to fit it exactly. Even the ladder slid into a long compartment along the bottom.

The man ignored the items on the right, and the black metal drawers on the left. Instead, he stepped immediately past them to a small, knee-high, white utility box. Carefully he bent down and looked closely at where the top left rear corner of the box met the wall. He craned his neck until his eyes were inches away, then slowly a smile broke across what had been a tense face. Nobody had disturbed it. He reached down and retrieved the single hair stuck between the utility box and the wall. They didn't know.

DAY TWO

Tuesday, June 22

CHAPTER 5

4:00 a.m. - Page,
Arizona

The man turned off the alarm on his watch. It had been unnecessary because he was already awake and about. Sleep had been impossible, which was something he should have guessed before such a big day. However, he needed to perform flawlessly, in spite of the lack of sleep. Looking back, he should have considered sleeping pills, to guarantee he would be rested.

The fluorescent lights fully illuminated the storage compartment. He only had a few more things to do, the next of which was to put the stickers on the trailer. They were about the size of a soccer ball. He removed the adhesive backing, and then placed one sticker on each side of the trailer. He stepped back and studied his work. He considered it a perfect rendition. The logo was simple, and had not been difficult to re-create. The designer in
Las Vegas
told him that his picture taken with a telephoto lens was of adequate resolution, and that the company's logo was simple anyway. He had two additional logos for the sides of the truck, although they were bigger, more like the size of a basketball, and made of a magnetic material.

He looked around the compartment and decided everything was ready. He knew he should sit tight, but he felt too jittery to remain in the compartment any longer. Extinguishing the lights, he opened the garage's sliding door and looked out into the dark desert sky. In spite of the outdoor lights at the storage facility, the stars were clearly visible over the silhouettes of the boats and motor homes. The desert air was stifling even so early in the morning - between 85 and 90 degrees, he guessed. He placed the magnetic logos on the truck doors and was surprised at how hard they pulled when he held them close to the metal. He climbed in the truck, started the engine, and the headlights came on automatically. He would have preferred they had not, and hoped that no one else noticed.

He maneuvered the truck into a better position to hook up the trailer, and then turned off the engine to kill the lights. Rolling the trailer forward enough to line up the hitch was no easy matter. In fact, for a moment he panicked and thought he wasn't strong enough to do it. However, after he strained and got it moving, it lined up perfectly over the ball. He hooked up the trailer lights, but passed on the safety chain. It would be a short trip.

He jumped back in the truck and carefully pulled the trailer out of the garage. This time he left the truck running when he climbed out. He shut off the lights inside the storage compartment, which was now empty except for the motorcycle, and pulled down the door. He considered leaving it unlocked for later, but changed his mind and relocked the padlock. Back in the truck, he drove slowly up to the front gate. He left it running while he jumped out and opened the gate.

As he turned off

Navajo Drive

and headed down the hill, he could see the brightly-lit Glen Canyon Dam. Even from miles away, the sight of it stirred strong feelings in him. He hated the dam, how it had screwed up the Colorado River, and buried
Glen
Canyon
. But in spite of his feelings, he had to admit the dam was an amazing structure, one of the most amazing he had ever seen. It made him doubt what he was about to do. How likely was it really, that he could blow it up? The nagging notion that he had little chance caused him to consider giving up, to just keep driving, all the way back to Las Vegas, back to his 8-5 job, and back to a life without such unrealistic goals. Who was he anyway, to think he could pull it off?

As he passed over the bridge, however, and looked down on the dam, the hatred resurfaced. After all, this wasn't the first time he had argued with himself over this issue. Yes, there was risk that his plan wouldn't work. In fact, he admitted it was a long shot. But he had to try. The upside was too good. Unleashing the
Colorado River
would be a historic event, something that would be talked about for generations. And when it came down to it, there was no other way. No one else was willing to take the risk. Besides, how could he live with himself if he did not even try?

He turned into the visitor center parking, and reached over on the seat and touched the clipboard, making sure it was still there. He drove past the visitor center, and then almost a hundred yards farther until he reached the west access road to the dam itself. A solitary guard walked out of the guard shack. He stopped the truck and rolled down his window.

The guard shined a flashlight in his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He shoved the clipboard toward the guard. "I'm from Jensen Industrial Elevators in
Denver
. You know, to service the west elevator." He pointed toward the dam.

The guard skimmed through the pages of the work order. "Nobody said anything to me about--"

The skinny man interrupted. "When I talked to Dan last night, he told me to get here early, so I'd be gone before the visitor center opens at 8:00 a.m." He looked at the guard's badge and saw the name Brian. What a lucky break. He knew Brian was the graveyard shift supervisor.

He reached his hand out the window. "You're Brian, aren't you? Dan told me you'd be in charge when I got here."

He had learned all of the security personnel's names from the scanner radio. He lied, of course, about talking to Dan the night before, but if he could convince the guard that it was approved, he might have a chance.

The guard stared at the work order. "Well, Dan didn't say anything to me."

The skinny man was ready for this comment. "Call him," he said, although that was the last thing he wanted him to do.

The guard looked at his watch and grimaced.

The skinny man knew what was going through his head. The guard did not want to call his boss so early in the morning and wake him up, not for something routine like elevator maintenance.

He finally looked up. "When did you talk to Dan?"

"He called us yesterday morning. Said the west elevator wasn't lining up correctly at the top. Said people were tripping over it. He wondered if we could fix it before the tours started this morning. I drove straight through from
Denver
last night."

The guard shook his head and looked back down at the work order. "Yeah, but he usually tells us when to expect somebody."

He could tell the guard was weakening. "It's kinda weird he didn't tell you. Like I said, feel free to call him and verify it if you need to."

The guard looked around as if he hoped someone might walk up and make the decision for him. He glanced down at the work order again,
then
shook his head.
"Naw.
I ain't gonna wake him up over this. Everything looks legit." He took a pen out and noted a time on the work order then handed it back. "How sure are you that you can be done and outta here before eight?"

The skinny man felt goose bumps rise on his arms and he wanted to yell out in exhilaration, but kept his voice monotone. "I won't know for sure until I get down there, but I don't see any reason why not."

He watched the guard walk over and unlock the huge metal gate and swing it open. He then put the truck back into gear and started through.

"Hey, wait a minute," the guard said.

His heart skipped. What had he seen? He stopped the truck.
"Yeah?"

"Didn't your company used to use vans?"

He relaxed. It was a question he had anticipated. "Yeah, we just got these rigs. Now we don't have to take the trailers on the small jobs. Besides, this truck does a lot better on long
hauls
. Those vans were gutless on the highway."

The guard looked skeptical but finally nodded and waved him through. "I'll be down in a minute to open the doors."

He started down the road again. In his mirror he saw the guard swing the gate back and lock it. He drove down the short access road and onto the dam itself. He turned left and headed toward the west elevator shaft. Looking east across the dam, he could see a gate blocking access to the east side of the dam, and about a half dozen cars parked on the dam itself. He knew that they used the east side of the dam and the east elevator shaft for workers and kept the west side accessible for tours from the visitor center. He didn't expect to encounter anyone else on the west side during off hours.

When he reached the west elevator tower, he drove past it,
then
backed the trailer right up to the door, leaving only enough room to open the trailer doors. He waited while the guard walked down to open the gate.
So far, so good.

He was out of the truck and waiting when the guard arrived. The man rummaged through a huge key ring for the proper key, then opened the large metal door. The skinny man stepped forward and used a shim to block it open. Both men walked into a small room, where the elevator doors sat. Instead of a button to call the elevator, it required a key.

The guard looked back at him, at the same time twisting another key off the ring. "I'll leave this one with you. You'll probably need it. If you go down to the bottom, be sure to take it or you won't be able to get back up." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'm sure you know all about that."

When the security man opened the elevator, he looked down at the floor and ran his foot over the seam. "It looks fine to me."

"It might be intermittent. I'll run her up and down a couple of times and see. If not, I'll adjust the switches anyway. That should fix it." His research on elevator maintenance suggested that adjusting the switches was the answer to almost everything.

The guard nodded, then handed him the key. "All right, I gotta get back to my post. I'll come back to check on you occasionally." He started off, then stopped and turned. "By the way, what'd you say your name was?"

The skinny man froze. He forgot the name he was supposed to use. The name "George" floated through his head, and he almost popped it out, which would have been a disaster since it would not have matched what was on the work order. The name was not George, but it sounded similar - Jerry, John . . . He suddenly remembered and blurted it out. "Jim.
Nice to meet you."

The security man didn't seem to notice anything strange. "Good luck, Jim. Let me know if it starts looking like you won't be done by eight."

He nodded, and watched the guard walk away. He clenched his hand around the elevator key. He was in.
Now the hard part.

* * *

5:00 a.m. - Page,
Arizona