Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (51 page)

11:00 a.m. - Parker Dam,
California
-
Arizona
Border

As the helicopter approached Parker Dam, Grant could see the place was crawling with police. Agent Williams had called ahead so the helicopter was expected. However, the entire roadway on top of the dam was covered with police cars and they had to hover for a few minutes while some of the cars were moved to make room for the helicopter to land.

Parker Dam, compared to
Hoover
and
Glen
Canyon
, seemed unimpressive. The concrete dam rose only 85 feet from the river below, and the superstructure another 60 feet above the roadway. But Grant knew looks were deceiving. When building a concrete arch dam, it was necessary to dig through all the substrate until bedrock was reached, to anchor it. In the 1930's when Parker was built, the Bureau of Reclamation dug 320 feet down before hitting bedrock, making Parker the deepest below-ground dam in the world, with almost seventy five percent of it underground.

As soon as they landed, Lloyd killed the engine, and the rotors started winding down. Grant turned and looked at Shauna. "What time was the water level supposed to peak here?"

"11:45," she said with no hesitation.

"All right, that gives us 45 minutes.
See if you can find out who's tracking the water levels, and let's get an update on how soon it'll reach the top of the spillways."

"Where are you going to be?" she asked.

"I'll be over by the spillways themselves to see if there's anything we need to worry about. I'm certain that these spillways haven't been used in years, and never at full capacity."

Agent Williams spoke from behind. "I'm going to go talk to the police for a few minutes,
then
I need to check in with Phil. I'll find you later."

Lloyd was looking at Grant. He was hurrying to shut down all the electronics. "You mind if I hang with you for a while?"

Grant laughed. It was obvious the pilot was excited to be in the middle of everything. "No. Come on." Grant jumped out of the helicopter.

No sooner had Grant walked out from under the still spinning rotors than a short, fat man appeared to greet him. The man wore a white polo shirt with the words Parker Dam embroidered above the pocket. The pocket itself sported three pens in a plastic pocket protector. He rested his pudgy arms on his extended stomach and his black slacks barely reached down to the tops of a pair of black tennis shoes. The guy wore thick glasses and attempted to hide his nearly bald head by combing his hair across it. In spite of the sunny location, this man had no tan whatsoever. Grant guessed he was in his early fifties.

The man reached out with one of the pudgy arms. "Mr. Stevens? Hi. I'm Charlie Jorgensen. I've been expecting you. Fred Grainger called from
Hoover
and said you were coming."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie."
Grant noticed as soon as he released the handshake that Charlie returned the arm to its resting place on his stomach. An awkward moment of silence ensued as Charlie just stood looking at Grant with a weird smile on his face.

"Well, how about you show me the spillways?" Grant started to walk around him before the man suddenly snapped out of his trance and hustled alongside.

"Sure, Mr. Stevens.
Right over this way."
He motioned to where Grant was already headed.

Unlike
Hoover
, Parker's spillways did not rely only on the water levels to operate. There were huge gates that opened upwards to allow the water through. Like Davis Dam, the spillways were built at the top of the concrete structure, channeling the water through the top instead of around the dam. At the moment, four of the five gates were partially open, allowing an impressive amount of water to pass.

"Why isn't the west spillway open?" Grant asked.

Charlie adjusted the thick glasses. "That's number five. It jammed. We're working on it."

"How long since it's been used?"

"The only time we ever used the spillways was 1983, the year of the
big spring
runoffs.
Other'n that, we've been able to keep up with
Davis
using only the penstocks."

Grant wasn't surprised. It was the same at
Hoover
and
Davis
. "I understand they haven't been used for a while, but don't you ever test them?" Grant thought he knew the answer.

Charlie adjusted the glasses again. "Yeah, we test the gates a few times a year, but we don't move 'em very far, usually less than a foot. Number five jammed at about a foot and a half. It hasn't been moved that far since '83."

They reached the spillways, and Grant stopped and looked over the edge of the upstream side toward
Lake
Havasu
. Parker Dam's five spillways, each separated by a wall of concrete, were built right in the center of the arch. Each measured twenty-five feet high and twenty feet wide. Looking at the five huge holes made Grant relax a little. They were bigger than he'd expected. His instincts told him that if they were all open, they would be large enough. But then again, what if they weren't? And they definitely weren't all open.

Grant walked along the dam until they were above the unopened spillway. He could hear someone banging on the metal gate below. "What about the others? Why aren't they open all the way?"

Charlie looked down at the ground. "I didn't feel it was necessary yet. We're still within acceptable levels on Havasu."

That didn't surprise Grant either. None of the people at the dams upstream were gutsy enough to do anything until they were ordered - why should Parker be any different? "Well open 'em now -- all the way! The penstocks aren't going to be able to handle 500,000 cubic feet per second."

Charlie's face contorted. "What about number five?"

Grant motioned at the other four. "Opening the others will take some pressure off number five. Tell the guys working on it that they have another half hour before we get some demolition guys in here to blow it open."

This time Charlie took off the glasses and wiped the sweat off his brow. "Blow it open? But then it would never close, not without major repairs. And we'd have to lower the whole lake to get access to it."

"That's tomorrow's problem, Mr. Jorgensen. Today's problem is getting 500,000 cubic feet per second to go downstream without overtopping this dam."

Grant raised his head and looked around.
The area on both sides of the dam seemed flat and at nearly the same elevation as the dam itself.
If the water rose too high, it was not evident where the low point was. As he took in the surroundings, he noticed that Charlie was moving around, trying to see what Grant was looking at.

Grant explained. "If the spillways don't keep up, where's the water going to go?"

Charlie looked around, panicky. "What d'ya mean, where's it going to go? The spillways were designed to keep up."

"Yeah, but they have never been tested, have they? And besides, right now you can't open all of them anyway. We have to have a contingency. That's why I'm here." Grant looked at his watch. "And we have at most forty minutes to figure it out."

Charlie lowered his head again and prepared to leave. But Grant stopped him. "Oh, Mr. Jorgensen, be sure to call a demolition team. I want them here and ready if your guys can't open the gate on number five." Grant glanced at the top of the metal gates. "Oh, and tell them to bring some of that stuff that burns through metal, the stuff they use underwater to sink ships." Grant considered that it was doubtful they had any of that in Parker,
Arizona
.

The small man adjusted his glasses one more time and scurried off to relay the instructions. Grant noticed Lloyd standing next to him for the first time since they left the helicopter. He looked at Grant and a large smile appeared across his face.

"You're gonna give the poor man a heart attack," Lloyd said. "He's not used to that kind of pressure."

"Maybe he needs a heart attack. If he'd seen how much water was going through the spillways at
Davis
, maybe he'd pull his head out."

Grant looked again at the dam and surrounding hillsides and decided the dam itself was probably the lowest point. He walked past a group of police officers, over to the downstream side of the dam. Looking down at where the spillways exited the top of the dam, he decided there was probably less than ten feet of concrete between where he was standing and the top of the spillways.

He had a thought. "Hey Lloyd, if we had the demolition guys blow the top off the spillways, you think that would make a huge difference in how much water we could get through here?"

Lloyd looked down at the spillways, and then back across the dam. "Mr. Stevens," he said, "I don't think Charlie Jorgensen is going to like having you around."

* * *

11:10 a.m. -
Carlsbad
,
California

The skinny man climbed into the back of the truck and checked the tie downs. He verified that the four-wheel ATV he had just purchased was secure and would not move around. The other items, including buckets, shovels, and gas cans, were stacked around it.

"Good luck with it," the other man said. "It's never given me any problems."

The skinny man nodded. "I think it'll work out just fine."

After arriving at the man's house he had taken the ATV for a short test drive in the cul-de-sac where the man lived. The engine was stronger than he expected and the tires were practically new. The muffler was quiet as claimed, which was one of his most important criteria. The four-wheeler had been stored in the garage and seldom used according to its owner. It looked almost new. Besides, he only needed it to run for the next 24 hours.

Satisfied that it was tied securely in the back of the truck, he hopped down and shut the tailgate. The seller stopped counting the wad of twenties for the third time and reached out to shake hands. The skinny man quickly glanced at his watch and then shook. He climbed into the pickup and started the engine. When he glanced one last time at the seller, he was busy counting the bills again.

As he drove the truck back toward the freeway, he wondered how far south the floodwater had traveled. According to reports on the radio, flooding was bad around Needles, which wasn't far from Parker Dam. That put it an hour or two later than he had estimated, but well within the worst-case calculations he had made. He smiled. He had plenty of time. Forty-five minutes south to
San Diego
, then an hour east and he would be right back in the action.

* * *

11:15 a.m. -
Grand Canyon
,
Arizona

The three rafters were prepared. They couldn't afford to miss any more helicopters. Two had already flown past without seeing them. The problem was how to be noticed.

They were getting desperate. All three of them were thirsty, and the sun was almost directly above them, beating down on them. Additionally, there was no telling how much longer the helicopter searches would continue before they were called off. David wondered how long they could survive on the small outcropping with no food or water. And the space was becoming even more confining as the day went by. David's calves hurt from standing on the jagged slope, and sitting or laying down provided little relief.

The only upside was that over the last four hours of looking over the 300-foot ledge, David was finally becoming more comfortable with heights. It still scared him to look down, but nothing like the first time this morning. Gone were the shakes, sweating, and dizzy spells. Now it was just subdued fear.

The last four hours had oscillated between conversation and silence. They had speculated over and over, all the possible ways for their friends to have survived. But logic told him otherwise. It would be a miracle for any of them to be alive.

The second most popular topic had been how to attract the attention of the helicopters. They had discussed ways to get their attention: noise, fires,
mirrors
, all to no avail. They did not have the resources to communicate in any of those ways. They agreed that something visual had to be
done,
and waving arms hadn't worked the previous times. A smoky fire would be best, but all they had at their disposal was rock. Afram had suggested that if only he could throw a rock and actually hit the helicopter, they would be noticed. But both David and Judy knew that the probability of making contact was extremely small.

They needed something to draw the pilot's eyes upward. All three agreed that seeing something catapulting down the cliffs would do the trick. And that ultimately had given them their final idea.

"I think I hear one." Judy cupped her hand to her ear.

David stood and listened. "I can't hear any--"

"I hear it too!" Afram said. "Get ready!"

David crouched and so did Afram. Judy would be first. They had agreed on the sequence in advance. David held on to Judy's legs to stabilize her. The helicopter flew around the bend and became visible. Judy threw her life jacket and it started to fall down the cliff. The life jacket fell 75 feet, then hung on a rock outcropping. Judy crouched and David stood and threw his life jacket as hard as he could, the motion almost carrying him off the ledge. David's jacket dropped slightly farther before hanging on some sagebrush a hundred feet below. The helicopter showed no sign of recognition, maintaining its speed and trajectory. David crouched.