Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (15 page)

Officer Leonard Smith waved the two old ladies through without making them stop. Although he had orders to stop every car, he felt safe in his assumption that the two gray haired grandmothers in a rusty Buick hadn't blown up the Glen Canyon Dam. However as they motored off, he wondered if maybe the man was hiding in the trunk or something. Leonard turned and watched the car go. What if somebody had a gun to their backs? He should have checked it. He decided not to make that mistake again.

The roadblock was set up about five miles past the city of
Hurricane
. Dispatch told him they would send another car to back him up as soon as they could find one. Supposedly, the Utah Highway Patrol was already en-route. Leonard had been alone for a half hour. So far, he was pretty sure that the bomber had not gotten past him. Not many cars had passed, and most of them had either been
Utah
or
Arizona
plates, and no white pickups.

He shielded his eyes and looked east under the morning sun. It looked like a motorcycle approaching. He could barely see the single illuminated headlight. He waited until the rider got closer, then walked to the middle of the road and held out his hand. As the motorcycle slowed, he saw that the single rider leaned back against a sleeping bag tied to a sissy bar. The bedroll was visible on both sides of the man's notably skinny body. The motorcycle pulled up next to Leonard and stopped, engine still running. Leonard walked behind and read the numbers of the
Nevada
license plate and wrote them down on his pad.

When Leonard returned to the side of the bike, the man spoke first. "Was I going too fast?"

Leonard ignored the question.
"Where you coming from?"

"The
Grand Canyon
."

Leonard could have guessed as much. "You got your park pass?"

The rider probed the gearshift lever, finding neutral, and then released his hand from the clutch. Searching his pockets with both hands, he finally held up a National Parks ticket. Leonard grabbed it and saw that it was stamped the day before.

"You only stayed one night?" he asked.

The skinny rider nodded.
"Got to be back to work tonight."

In Leonard's opinion, most of these bikers that rode in and out of the parks were hippies, and this guy didn't seem any different. He was going to ask to see the guy's driver's license when he spotted another car coming, a white one. He shielded his eyes again and saw that it was a pickup.

He waved abruptly at the motorcycle. "Okay. Go ahead."

"What's going on?" the motorcyclist asked.

Leonard yelled at him. "Get out of here!"

As the motorcycle sped off, Leonard touched the butt of his gun. He stood in the middle of the road with his hand out. This next one could be their man.

* * *

Earl gave instructions to two police officers. The noise of the water made it impossible for Grant to hear what was said. They all stood outside on the west edge of the dam. Both of the officers had been rigged with a rappelling harness. Three hundred feet of rope was then snapped onto each officer. The rope was Earl's idea. Luckily, a couple of the police cars were equipped with repelling gear for rescues in the canyons. The rope would provide a safety margin, although the thought of trying to pull the two men back to safety as the dam collapsed made Grant uneasy.

Grant was surrounded by police officers. A group of them were dedicated to each of the two ropes. Each rope end was tied to a cement rail at the edge of the dam. A third rope, also tied off, was to be tied to the trailer, allowing the officers to pull it back across the dam. They wanted the trailer if they could get it. Earl finished his instructions to the two volunteers.

"OKAY. HURRY UP!" Earl shouted at his two harnessed investigators.

The two immediately set out across the top of the dam. Grant checked his watch, 8:35 a.m. The preparations had taken way too long.

The white trailer sat next to the west elevator shaft, about a football field away from the edge of the dam where the group was standing. Grant could see that some of the staff's cars were still parked over on the east side of the dam.

As the two officers hustled out to the trailer, they encountered pieces of concrete, metal, and other debris from the explosion of the elevator. Grant noticed the large metal door leading into the elevator was warped outwards. The door had held, a testament that the bulk of the explosion had been channeled vertically up the elevator shaft and out the top, taking all the concrete and framing with it.

Earl pointed at Grant, pulling him out of his thoughts. "YOU WATCH THE DAM! I'LL WATCH MY COPS," Earl shouted through the roar of rushing water.

Grant nodded and hurried over to the rail on his right so he could get a better view of the water shooting out of the face of the dam. As he arrived, he saw a chunk of concrete the size of a car break off and get carried down into the mist below. The air vibrated around him, buffeting his ears and rumbling into his chest.
Watching that much water moving below him gave him the sense that he would be sucked in.
The thought made him back up a half step. He glanced upstream of the dam and, for the first time, noticed a large whirlpool on the lakeside of the dam. He glanced back at the police officers and saw one was tying the third rope to the hitch on the trailer. The other had already gone behind it. When Grant looked back at the water, he saw another piece of concrete break off and
get
carried away. The dam was breaking faster than he had anticipated.

He turned and shouted to Earl, churning his hand in a circle. "TELL THEM TO HURRY."

Earl responded through a cupped hand. "YOU LET ME KNOW WHEN TO GET 'EM OFF."

Grant saw one of the officers reach down and scoop up something and put it in a zip lock bag while the other snapped a picture of the trailer with a camera. When Grant looked back down at the water, another block of concrete, this time the size of a tour bus, broke off and disappeared into the canyon. Grant estimated that the water was now within sixty-five feet of the top of the dam. A moment later, another huge piece broke loose and suddenly the water was less than fifty feet from the top.

"GET 'EM OFF!" Grant shouted. He waved his arms for emphasis.

Earl was on the radio immediately. The officers started moving back slowly, one snapping pictures as he moved the other reaching for something on the ground.

"NOW!"
Grant yelled.

Earl talked in the radio, and the officers sped up slightly, but not as much as Grant wanted. He now regretted allowing them to go. He would be blamed if something went wrong. Grant saw another large piece break loose, this time followed by a large cracking sound, loud enough to make him cover his ears. The sound was just the motivation the two cops needed; they both sprinted for their lives back toward the edge of the dam.

As the two officers approached and slowed, Grant felt relieved they had made it. However, at that moment, with a loud sound like thunder, a fifty-foot section of the dam, including the elevator shaft itself, broke off and was dragged into the water, pulling the trailer with it. Before anyone could react, the third rope, tied to the trailer, tightened and swept suddenly to the right, taking the legs out from under both officers. The trailer dangled just above the water level on the downstream side of the dam. Grant heard a scream from behind and turned. The rope had pinned another policeman against the handrail, pinching his legs below the knees. His bulging eyes darted back and forth and his face contorted with the pain. Two other officers rushed over and tried to pull the rope away from the officer's legs. Even with both men pulling, they couldn't budge it. They wedged their legs against the concrete to get more leverage, but to no avail. The man screamed again as the rope cut into his legs. Then suddenly the rope disappeared. The previously trapped man collapsed, revealing Earl standing behind, a huge chrome hunting knife gleaming in his hand. Grant looked down and watched the trailer disappear into the
Colorado River
below.

CHAPTER 10

9:00 a.m. -
Glen
Canyon
Dam,
Arizona

Two news helicopters hovered over the Glen Canyon Dam, cameramen hanging out open doors. The first one had arrived from
Las Vegas
twenty minutes before. The second arrived a few minutes after that from a television station in
Phoenix
.

The opening in the top of the dam stretched over two hundred feet across, and close to three hundred feet down. Grant knew that the amount of water draining out of
Lake
Powell
was now more than the flow of the
Mississippi
. As he watched, a house-sized piece of concrete broke away and fell into the canyon, a sight that was becoming normal at
Glen
Canyon
. The resulting splash could only be imagined, since the canyon bottom had long since disappeared in the clouds of mist.

Grant felt helpless. What could he do? The dam would disintegrate with or without him there. Maybe downstream, where all the floodwater was headed, there was still something to be done. He turned away from the windows. "Brian, who did you talk to at
Hoover
? What were they going to do?"

Brian shook his head. "I can't remember who I talked to. We didn't talk about what they should do. I just told them we had a hole in the dam."

Grant hoped Fred Grainger was at
Hoover
. He nodded to the phone, "I need to talk to them. Can you get me the number?"

Brian rustled through the papers on his desk and handed Grant a sheet while holding his finger under the number for Hoover Dam. Grant dialed the number and someone on the other end picked up.

"Hello, this is Grant Stevens from the Bureau of Reclamation. I'm calling from Glen Canyon Dam. Is Fred Grainger there?"

The man on the other end asked him to hold. While he waited, he wondered how long it would take to get to
Hoover
.

"Hello, this is Fred." He sounded tired.

"Fred, Grant Stevens calling from
Glen
Canyon
."

Fred's voice seemed to cheer up slightly "Grant. How are things up there? Who's in charge?"

Grant shook his head, even though he was on the phone. "Like it or not, I'm in charge. I'm all the Bureau could muster for this one."

Fred was silent on the other end for a moment. "What about the commissioner, and the VP's? Where's Archibald?"

"They're all on their way to
Kenya
for the symposium," Grant explained.

"Holy crap.
So they don't even know?"

"I don't know. They may have been reached by now. Commissioner Blackwell's admin sent me here this morning. I'm sure she's been trying to contact them ever since." The phone went silent for a moment, and then Grant spoke again. "What are you guys doing at
Hoover
?"

Fred spoke tentatively. "Well, we canceled all tours for the day. We're using some of the tour guides to work traffic to turn people back."

Grant couldn't respond. He hoped that they were doing a lot more than just canceling tours. "What about your water? Aren't you dumping any?"

"Not yet," answered Fred. "But we started notifying -"

"Why not?"
Grant yelled into the phone.

Fred stumbled with his answer. "We're trying. But I had to notify the dams downstream first, and Laughlin, so they could, you know, prepare. I can't just flood 'em out."

Grant couldn't believe it. They were worried about flooding downstream. In reality, flooding downstream was a legitimate worry. The problem was
,
it was going to be unavoidable. And the longer they waited, the worse the flooding downstream would be. How could he make them understand? "Fred, we are having a catastrophic failure here! The Glen Canyon Dam is breaking apart. You are about to get
Lake
Powell
in your lap. I suggest you start dumping water as fast as you can."

Fred hesitated on the other end. "I'm not sure I can authorize that. My boss is gone too. Besides, we're limited on how much water we can release downstream. If I let too much out, it'll cause problems."

Grant felt the muscles in his neck tighten. "You have to authorize it, Fred. You're all we've got. If you don't start dumping, you won't be able to handle all the water and
Hoover
'll get topped."

The phone went silent. Hopefully Fred understood that even
Hoover
, the king of the big dams in
America
, could not survive topping. Sustained topping, even of concrete dams, would tear them apart in no time.

After some silence, Fred responded, "I figured the two spillways could handle most of it."

Grant shook his head again. "Think about it, Fred. You think your spillways'll be able to dump two years of river flow in one day?"

Fred didn't respond.

Grant spoke slowly. "Open the gates, Fred.
Now.
Get rid of as much water as possible."

"I'm going to need some kind of authorization," Fred said.

"It's just us Fred. As crappy as it sounds, I'm in charge." He continued. "I hereby authorize you to dump water. Hell, Fred, if it'll help, I'll order you to. Blame me. Just start opening everything you got."

Finally, he responded.
"All right.
I'll open the gates."

"Good Fred. I'll be there as soon as I can. Let me give you my cell phone number." Grant read off the number. "You can't be a hero on this one, Fred, but you can definitely be the goat. Do what you have to do."

Fred seemed anxious to get off the phone. "I'd better go."

"Fred, you guys control the dams downstream too, don't you? You need to open the gates at Davis and Parker too."

The next two dams downstream from
Hoover
were Davis Dam, which created
Lake
Mojave
, and Parker Dam, which held back
Lake
Havasu
. All flow control at
Davis
and Parker was automated and initiated from the Hoover Dam control center.

"You want me to dump all three dams?" Fred asked, sounding more scared than before. "That'll flood everything downstream."

"You will absolutely cause flooding downstream, Fred. But that's nothing compared to the flood that'll occur if one of the dams fails."

"All right.
I gotta go."

Grant felt uncomfortable hanging up, but he knew he had to. "Okay, Fred, keep me posted."

Grant hung up the phone. Brian was waiting.

He pointed to Earl. "Earl's got something to tell you."

Earl spoke in his raspy voice, "I just got a call from the Feds. The
L.A.
office of the FBI just landed in Page. They want a meeting with me and you as soon as they get here."

The FBI wanted to talk to him? What could he tell them? He had enough things to worry about without having to deal with them. On the other hand, maybe they knew something already. Maybe they knew who did it. He saw no way to avoid the meeting. He nodded to Earl. "Fine, I'll be waiting."

He walked to the windows. It was hard to believe how fast the sight changed when he was away for a few moments. During the phone call to
Hoover
, Grant estimated that the cut in the dam had grown by twenty or thirty percent. Now, watermarks were visible on the canyon wall just upstream from the dam. The water level next to the dam had dropped almost ten feet. Farther upstream, there were no marks yet, meaning the water was dropping ten feet in just over a hundred yards.