Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (56 page)

For a moment Daniel didn't notice it. His eyes, after all, were focused only a few feet away at the ditcher. But his subconscious mind noticed something and sent a warning to his brain. Something on the horizon didn't look right. Daniel looked up. He blinked. His eyes must have been deceiving him. But blinking did not correct the problem.

Daniel saw a line of water that covered the whole valley between him and the canyons upstream. The wave was less than a mile from where Daniel stood, but it was hard to tell how high. It did not appear to be moving, but Daniel knew better. What could it mean? It could only mean that his father had been right to worry about Headgate Rock Dam. The dam had failed.

Daniel dropped the chain. He forgot about the ditcher. He ran around the tractor and climbed on it. He fumbled with the gears and selected high. Feathering the clutch, he attempted to go, but the gear was too high. He quickly selected a lower gear, popped the clutch, spun the steering wheel, and the Massey Ferguson leaped forward and headed back down the gravel road. A moment later, when the tractor had reached speed for the lower gear, Daniel crammed it into high gear. The Massey reacted, pouring black smoke from the stack.

Initially, he thought he could outrun it, but the gravel road headed east and crossed in front of the flood. For safety reasons, most tractors did not go much faster than twenty miles per hour due to poor handling characteristics. Daniel suddenly wished the Massey was an exception. He would gladly take the risk. Unfortunately, the Massey topped out at about nineteen. Daniel watched the approaching water on his left and forgot to watch for the bumps he had memorized. The tractor bounced through a large pothole, almost tearing the steering wheel out of his hand.

Daniel had only traveled a half mile before he saw the water breach the gravel road a hundred yards in front of him. The water hit the raised embankment of the road hard, curling upwards briefly before being pushed across by all the water behind. A few seconds later, the water was in front of the Massey Ferguson. Daniel steered into the water with the tractor still at full speed. Water sprayed everywhere and Daniel swerved to regain control. He had no choice but to clutch and shift to a lower gear.

As the tractor plowed through the rising water, Daniel was forced to continually choose lower gears. Creeping along with almost four feet of water flowing across the road, Daniel knew the water would soon be over his feet. The front tires were completely underwater, and he could not see them anymore. When would the engine stall? He looked ahead. The water had buried the road for almost a mile in front of him. The dry road seemed so far away.

Suddenly the rear of the tractor slid a few feet. Daniel spun the steering wheel to stabilize it. He felt the water move the tractor again, just as the water started flowing over the deck where his feet were. He hadn't been able to see the road for a while, looking instead at the disappearing road ahead. The water moved the tractor again, and this time it didn't stop. He felt the tractor slide sideways over the downstream embankment and in one motion the right tire dropped and the water pushed the Massey Ferguson over.

Daniel was pulled underwater in one quick motion. He reached out to push off the steering wheel and realized it wasn't
there,
the current had already pulled him away from the tractor. He lunged for what he thought was the surface of the dirty water, only to plow his fingers into the ground underneath. He was confused by his disorientation and lunged again.
Nothing.
He panicked. He could swim, but he wasn't a strong swimmer. He would never dare swim in a flowing river. His lungs were bursting and his eyes felt like they were going to pop out. He flailed his arms in an inefficient effort to propel himself.

Suddenly his head came out of the water. He gulped for air a second too late and got a breath of water. His body tried to reject the water with coughing and gagging contractions. Daniel knew he only had one more chance. He kicked hard to get back up and made it. He coughed out some of the water and involuntarily inhaled again, sucking more water in.

This time when his head went back underwater, his body had lost the strength to fight. The panic had also subsided. He gulped in another mouth full of water. But his body stopped trying to reject it. He felt calm. With no apprehension, he wondered what his father would say about the Massey Ferguson. Surely his father would not be happy. But at the moment, the thought didn't seem to bother him. Instead his entire body felt calm. He felt himself going to sleep. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Then 15 year old Daniel Tahbo drowned.

* * *

12:45 p.m. - South of Parker,
Arizona

Viewed from the helicopter, the landscape changed dramatically downstream from Headgate Rock Dam. The rock canyons ended, opening up into a wide valley that stretched as far as Grant could see. Huge square grids of green, yellow, and occasionally brown painted the unmistakable picture of farming. The river wound lazily back and forth along the valley's west side. An extremely large canal accompanied the river out of the canyon, having been diverted by Headgate Rock Dam. Countless other irrigation canals stretched east from the river.

Native Americans of the Colorado River Indian Reservation owned the farms just downstream from Headgate Rock, but looking south over the endless farms, it was impossible to tell where the reservation ended and non-Indian farming began.

When the floodwater hit the valley, it spread out, burying the north end of the valley under a shallow brown lake. The helicopter sped past the flood and followed the river south toward the Palo Verde Diversion Dam. In the helicopter, at well over a hundred miles per hour, they expected to arrive at the dam by 1:00 p.m. The floodwater wasn't expected until 2:15 p.m.

With no disasters to stare at through the windows, Grant decided to catch up with the FBI. He was beginning to think they had no idea what was going on. It had occurred to Grant that he had as much chance of solving the crime as the FBI. "So, Agent Williams, what'd you learn from the cops at Parker Dam?"

Grant couldn't see her face behind him, but disappointment resonated in her voice. "They didn't know anything. They didn't even know we were looking for a guy in a white pickup. He could walk right up to them and they wouldn't recognize him."

"Would we?" asked Grant.

She hesitated. "I talked to Phil on the phone. They're working on some leads."

Grant doubted the leads were serious.
"Really.
Like what?"

"I'm not sure if I should say."

Grant cast his eyes over at Lloyd and they traded smiles. Grant pushed her.
"Why not?
You afraid me and Lloyd here are gonna leak it to the press, and spoil the investigation?"

She hesitated. "It's not that. It's just that Phil probably needs to --"

He interrupted.
"Needs to what?
Run down all the leads before he asks me for more?" He swiveled in his seat to look her in the eyes. She seemed surprised at his line of questioning. He swiveled back forward. "You know, even when I watch TV, when cops communicate, it's only in one direction. I tell the FBI everything I know. And they tell me nothing." He swiveled again. "I've come to the conclusion that passing information one way is not the best way to communicate."

"What are you saying?" she asked.

"I'm saying that if we want to solve this thing, I need to know what's going on. I need some facts."

Agent Williams stammered. "Well, I'm not authorized to say anything. I would need Phil's --"

Grant interrupted. "Look, I understand. If the FBI wants to try to solve this in a vacuum, without interaction with the Bureau of Reclamation, who am I to complain?" Grant pointed ahead toward an open hay field. "Lloyd, you can set it down in that field over there. Agent Williams wants to get out."

Lloyd smiled again. "That one just up ahead?" The helicopter started dropping.

Agent Williams sounded nervous. "Phil said we're going to meet with you again, and trade information. But we need to chase a few things down first. Maybe this evening, or maybe tomor -"

"This thing will be over by tomorrow!" Grant yelled, "
and
Lloyd and I have commitments this evening at Palo Verde and Imperial Dams. Don't we, Lloyd?"

They had almost reached the hayfield and Lloyd looked over at Grant. "You want me to put it down?"

"No," said the agent.

"Yeah.
Go ahead," Grant said.

The chopper dropped quickly toward the ground.

"You can't leave me here," she said. "You agreed to take me along today. You'll be impeding the investigation."

Grant laughed. "No, the way I see it is, we can't keep you with us. We'd risk you accidentally telling us something we shouldn't know, spilling some piece of secret information in a non-secure environment. We couldn't allow that. You know, for national security reasons."

The landing gear touched down.

"I'm not getting out," she said.

"Does your cell phone work out here?" Grant asked. "You can call one of your secret agent buddies to pick you up. You could talk more freely with them."

Agent Williams hesitated. "All right, I can probably share some information, but only with you. We can walk a few feet away from the helicopter."

"No deal," Grant said. "The government trusted Lloyd in one of their multi-million-dollar helicopters in
Vietnam
. You ought to be able to trust him now." Grant turned to Lloyd. "Lloyd, didn't you have a security clearance?"

Lloyd nodded.

Grant laughed. "Besides, Lloyd came with us today to see some explosions, not create them, didn't ya Lloyd?"

Lloyd nodded again, smiling.

"We're not worried about Lloyd," she said, barely loud enough to hear.

This caught Grant off guard. He and Lloyd both turned around and looked first at Shauna, who also looked surprised, then agent Williams, who wouldn't meet their eyes.

"The FBI's worried about Shauna?" Grant asked.

She hesitated. "It's not Shauna per se." Agent Williams glanced nervously between them. "It's the Bureau itself. Both of the attempts at the dams were executed with credentials. Both attempts required detailed information about procedures and the dams themselves. We suspect that our bad guy might be -"

" -
an insider," Grant finished.

Grant turned back around facing forward, nodding for Lloyd to take off. The rotors accelerated immediately and a few moments later they were back in the air.

The agent spoke again, almost pleading. "Look. We don't suspect either of you, but we wanted information to be minimized through your organization."

Grant had to admit when he first heard about the credentials, he wondered if it could have been an inside job. He'd dismissed the idea mostly due to motive, but it was certainly possible for someone in the Bureau to become disillusioned with the organization. When it came right down to it, he felt disillusioned with the Bureau, especially his bosses. Of course, he never considered blowing up any dams. His bosses maybe, but not dams.

"All right, Agent Williams, we accept the FBI's notion of an insider as a potential suspect. But don't you think it would've been better to bring us in earlier? We could have discussed how Shauna and I would handle ourselves when communicating back to
Denver
."

"Absolutely.
But things have been happening so fast. We just haven't had enough time to sit down and talk it through."

Grant tried to remember the last time he had a few minutes to relax. He wondered about the next twenty-four hours - would they be any
different?
He didn't think so. They still had Palo Verde and Imperial Dams to worry about, not to mention Hoover-Two. Then there was the dam in
Mexico
. Although the Bureau of Reclamation had no responsibility or jurisdiction below the border, Grant had a nagging feeling he might end up getting involved, even if only as a consultant.

Without looking back at the agent, Grant talked into the headphones. "Okay, so let's say we suspect somebody in the Bureau. How do we go about figuring out who it is?"

"We're generating a list of any employees that were absent over the last three days, vacation, sick, or even traveling. Our contact in the Bureau is pretty confident about generating the data quickly. She said the Bureau is pretty anal about attendance and time keeping."

That made sense. Grant had personally been written up for time card violations a few times. And he had only been a day behind on the information. He tried to think whether he personally knew anyone who had been out for the last few days. No one came to mind. Wait, Howard, his boss, was in
Yellowstone
. Oh, that would be too good to be true. He snickered silently, imagining his boss being escorted between two FBI agents with his head bowed and his wrists cuffed. But Grant knew it could not be Howard. He wasn't smart enough. His expertise centered more around politics and less on planning and execution, and he didn't like to get his hands dirty.

"So once you get the list?" Grant asked.

"We'll run it past some of the other data we're already looking at - cellular phone usage near the dams, credit card usage, hotel records, and even the list we put together about boating accidents."