Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (66 page)

Since they had entered
Mexico
so far east of
Yuma
, they had not yet encountered the
Colorado River
. But as Lloyd headed west, they saw the destruction ahead. The whole area below was covered with brown water. Debris, that Grant could only assume were the remains of living shelters, covered the surface of the water. A woman and six or seven children had sought refuge in a tree. A few old cars were half submerged. In one place, a dozen people were standing on a rooftop of one house.

He knew things would get worse and his fears were realized when Lloyd motioned toward a couple of bodies floating face down near some trees. He felt a knot in his stomach and heard some sniffling in his headphones, but nothing was said. The destruction was everywhere. Grant tried to focus ahead instead of below. Fifteen minutes later, they passed ahead of the flooding.

An unmistakable snaking line of green trees in front of them marked the original channel of the
Colorado River
.

Grant pointed toward it. "Follow it south."

He knew river levels ahead of the flood would be low, but was still shocked at the actual sight of such a meager stream of water in the
Colorado River
. It became so small that the trees completely closed the gap as if they lined a creek.

They followed the river southwest until it converged with a small mountain range running north and south. At that point, the river ran almost straight south, paralleling the mountain range. Highway 5 paralleled the river, running along the base of the mountain. During those miles where the river skirted the highway, it ceased to flow, but instead widened into standing water surrounded by reeds and willows. The area seemed more like a marsh than a river. Grant saw a few rundown huts between the river and the highway. One of the huts had a sign that said "Resort." But the grounds looked nothing like any resort he had ever seen.

They followed this marsh for almost five miles until it slowly turned southeast away from the highway and the mountain range. During the five-mile stint, Grant saw run-down dories tied up to trees along the sides. At one point he saw a man in a small boat with an outboard motor winding through the maze. A few miles from where the river cut away from the road, a gravel access road aimed toward the river. Two rundown police cars were parked just off the highway.

"That must be the Mexican FBI," said Lloyd.

Grant pointed at them. "With them parked out in the open like that, he'll drive right by. They'll never catch him."

As the marsh turned away from the highway, the landscape between the mountains and the river was flat and gray with no vegetation for as far as the eye could see.

They traveled a few miles over this flat barren land, keeping the river on their left, before Grant pointed at a spot. "Put her down over there for a second, would ya?"

Sand sprayed in all directions when Lloyd brought the helicopter close to the ground, making it hard to see. Grant waited until the rotors slowed and the dust settled before he opened the door. He stepped out onto the surface. It felt like walking on the beach in
California
. White flat objects about the size of a quarter littered the sand. He picked one up and rolled it through his fingers. It was a shape that even a small child would recognize. He picked up a half dozen more as they were everywhere. He looked south and the landscape didn't change for as far as he could see. According to the map, this flat surface continued for another forty miles.

Grant climbed back into the helicopter.

"What were you looking at?" asked Shauna.

Grant turned in his seat and handed one of the white objects to Shauna, then to Agent Williams. When he swiveled back, he handed one to Lloyd.

"Seashells?" said Agent Williams.

The pilot swiveled in his seat, holding the shell up. "This whole area used to be underwater, didn't it?"

Shauna's hand came to her mouth.
"The delta?"

Grant swept his hand over the landscape. "This is it, the Colorado River Delta. A century ago it used to be a thousand square miles of marshes. Now look at it."

Grant nodded at Lloyd and they lifted off. When they were back in the air, they followed the dwindling stream southeast into the center of the dry delta. Only a mile or two later they came upon a series of square lots bordering the water. They were dirty and separated by wire fencing or rickety wood. Most of these lots looked abandoned, but a few housed small trailer houses or wood shacks. Two Mexican police cars were parked in the last lot.

"And you thought they weren't taking this seriously?" Lloyd said.

"If they saw the destruction and flooding we just saw, they wouldn't be parked there," said Grant. "Not without a boat."

"Hopefully somebody'll warn them on the radio," Special Agent Williams said from behind.

"What is this place?" asked Shauna.

"I saw a sign back there that said Campo," said Agent Williams. "I don't know if it means anything or not."

"Whatever this place is or was, it looks like everybody's either gone or going," said the pilot.

"The water's too salty," said Grant.
"Probably very few fish and bad water."

After they passed over the small lots called Campo, the pilot struggled to follow the river. It wound back and forth through the reeds and willows, disappearing for a while, only to reappear later. At this stretch, the once mighty
Colorado River
had dwindled down to a stream the size of a small ditch, a ditch you could step over.

"Where'd it go?" asked Agent Williams.

"I lost it," Lloyd said.

Lloyd flew the helicopter back and forth across the dense willows for almost ten minutes while the four scanned for the
Colorado River
. At one point they backtracked to where they lost it, but again they could not locate the river past that point.

"It's gone," Shauna said.

Lloyd
hovered
the chopper and looked over at Grant, waiting for instructions.

Grant wasn't sure. It had seemed clear to him back when they were in
Yuma
, that all he needed to do was fly south to find the environmentalist, but now the thought seemed absurd. He looked south over endless miles of barren desert. They could fly around all night and never see anyone. The sun was sinking in the western sky. It would soon fall behind the mountain range bordering the delta's western shore. Grant looked southeast and saw that the dense willows continued for another mile or so. After that, the dry delta stretched in all directions. Vaguely he remembered from a map a small channel where the
Gulf of California
encroached into the dry delta during high tide. He wondered if it was really there, or if it too was a lie, like the millions of western maps showing the Colorado River draining into the
Gulf of California
.

Grant pointed in a southern direction where he thought the ocean might be. "Head that way."

* * *

7:50 p.m. - The Colorado River
Delta
,
Mexico

The skinny man slowed and stood on the pegs of the quad. He had ridden east for almost an hour from Highway 5 where he left the pickup. He knew the
Gulf of California
extended up into the delta for twenty miles. He had taken a tour a few years before where they boated up the small channel. So riding to it on an ATV seemed simple enough. It would be the perfect place to watch the river flow into the ocean again.

He had traveled east much farther than he expected, and he still couldn't see it. Staring at the heat radiating out of the desert for so long while riding made it seem like a constant mirage. Many times he wondered if he was going the wrong direction, but the setting sun behind him was as good a guide as any. He wished he had brought a compass, and wondered if he had aimed slightly too far north and missed the inlet completely.

He rode on. He was moments from giving up and changing direction when he finally saw it, a smudge of green in the distance. It had to be water. Otherwise, nothing could grow. He accelerated. Five minutes later he arrived at his destination. It was water, but it was not the
Colorado River
. He didn't need to touch it to know the brown water was salty, and came north from the ocean during high tides. It wasn't the
Colorado River
, but it soon would be.

Shutting off the engine, he climbed off. He felt sore from the long ride and his mouth was dry. He stripped off the helmet, then fished around in the rear compartment and brought out his water bottle. The water was warm. He took a long swig and looked at the bottle. He felt like an idiot for not bringing more. He had spent way too much time hiking in the desert to be this short sighted. It was just another reminder that he had not expected to get this far. The first few explosions were meticulously planned to the finest details, but this afternoon had been rushed, and he knew it. He felt damn lucky to be in the right place at the right time.

He left the bottle on the quad and clomped over to the water in the awkward riding boots. If it were cleaner, he would jump in. He definitely needed to rinse off the dust and sweat from the long ride. However, when he reached down and touched the water it almost burned his hand. The water had to be well into the nineties. The thought of jumping in made him cringe. He could imagine the salt on his back after he dried off in the heat.

No matter. He looked north into the dry desert. The
Colorado River
was coming. He expected it within an hour or two. It would change everything. When the river arrived he wouldn't be able to drink it, but he could definitely bathe in it. He stared at the horizon and tried to imagine what the water would look like as it traveled toward him.

He looked across to the opposite shore of the salty stream and realized there would be far too much water to fit in the channel. He looked back at the quad and wondered if he should move it farther away.
If only there were a small hill nearby, where he could watch the water approach.
Unfortunately, this place was as flat as a pancake for miles in every direction. He thought about the
All
American
Canal
, and how much water was in it. It had seemed large, sure, but not much larger than this channel. He admitted to himself that the canal had to have been much deeper. When it came down to it, he had no idea how much water would be coming from the north. But he felt sure that the water would arrive gradually, then build up slowly, giving him time to escape on the quad. Of course, that was all a guess, since he had not been able to witness the floods at any of the dams.

CHAPTER 39

8:05 p.m. - The Colorado River
Delta
,
Mexico

They had been flying across the delta for almost fifteen minutes before they saw anything. Grant saw it first, far on his right, which meant they had aimed too far east.

"Over there." Grant pointed.

"Yeah, I see it," said Special Agent Williams.

The helicopter banked right toward what looked from a distance like a muddy lagoon with weeds growing around the perimeter.

"We almost missed it," mumbled Lloyd. "We could have been flying around all night looking for it."

As they approached, Grant saw a group of people standing around two dune buggies. His first thought was, "why so many?" He expected the bomber to be alone. Could the events of the last thirty-six hours have been a group of environmentalists? Why hadn't he seen the signs? When he decided to fly into
Mexico
, it had been to find a single person. Although he had no details in his head, he had thought they could potentially apprehend the guy, or at least draw attention to him so the local authorities could get him. But if the perpetrator ended up being a group, not an individual, what, if anything could they do by themselves? Grant had always felt he would recognize the man if he saw him. Now he realized that expectation had been absurd.

"Hey, what are they doing?" Shauna yelled from behind.

Grant looked and saw some of the group pointing at the approaching helicopter and a group of men scrambling toward one of the dune buggies. For an instant he thought they would jump into the vehicle and attempt to escape, but he saw them reach into the truck and retrieve something approximately five feet long and round. As they swung the item around out of the truck toward the helicopter, Grant felt sure it must be some kind of missile launcher. They intended to blow the chopper out of the sky.

Now the folly of this trip, against the direct orders of the FBI, became blatantly obvious. His mind raced. They would all four be killed, because of him. He thought quickly of his wife and children. He loved his wife more than he had ever realized before and ached for her. She would be forced to raise his kids as a single mother. It was tough enough to be a kid without having to deal with a parent's death. He didn't have enough life insurance, he realized. They would suffer.

"Look," Shauna said, pointing.

The group had taken the round device from the dune buggy, and laid it on the ground. They proceeded to unroll it. It was white.