Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River (11 page)

He knew who Julia was. She was the commissioner's new executive secretary. The consensus at the Bureau was that Roland had selected her because she looked like a model. Grant himself had never talked to her in his life. What could she possibly want? He wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it in before he answered. For some reason he didn't feel right about talking to Julia when he was naked, even on the phone.

"Hi," he said.

"I'm so glad you're there. As you know, Roland and the other executives are on their way to
Kenya
. I can't get a hold of them."

Grant could tell she was nervous; she sounded like she might cry. "That's okay. What do you need?"

"I just got a call from the Glen Canyon Dam. There's been an explosion."

Grant sat down on the bed. "What?" The image returned from the day before of the concrete dam he had seen on TV.

She continued. "The guy who called's name is Brian. He's a night security guard."

The shock of the information waned enough to make Grant ask another question. "Julia, what is the Bureau doing?"

There was silence on the other end before she finally spoke again. "That's just it, Grant. Everybody's gone. That's why I called you."

He knew she wanted a response, but he couldn't speak.

"Grant, Roland told me he was leaving you in charge. You need to handle this." She continued, "I just called the pilots for the Gulfstream. They'll meet you at the airport."

Although the Bureau of Reclamation had an expensive corporate jet, only the commissioner and other executives used it. Grant had never flown in it.

"The Gulfstream?"
Grant repeated.

"They'll get you down to the dam within the hour. I have Brian's number at
Glen
Canyon
. Do you have a pencil?"

Grant realized his mouth was hanging open. They were sending him on the Gulfstream? He stood and moved back toward the dresser, subconsciously realizing the towel had dropped again. This time he made no effort to retrieve it. "Hang on a second." He grabbed a pen and one of his business cards,
then
flipped over the card to write on the back. "What's the guy's name again?"

"Brian," she repeated.

"Okay. Give me the number."

She read it to him and made him repeat it back to her.

"Is there anything you need from the office?" she asked.

Grant couldn't think. Then all of the sudden he wondered what would happen downstream if the Glen Canyon Dam failed.
Lake
Powell
was huge, one of the largest reservoirs in the country. The damage downstream would be catastrophic. He remembered suddenly that the
Grand Canyon
was directly downstream from the dam.

"Julia, wait a minute. The Bureau did a study in the late nineties about what would happen if the dam failed. Can you get me a copy of the report? It's a Failure Inundation Study. I think Bruce's River Hydraulics Group did the analysis."

She responded slowly as if she had written it down. "Okay, but I won't be able to get it to you at the airport. I'll have to fax it to you on the plane."

"The plane has a fax machine?" He couldn't believe it.

"Sure."

Grant suddenly felt urgency. "What time should I-"

"They'll be ready for you as soon as you can get there," she interrupted. "I called them right after I paged you. How long will it take you to get to the airport?"

Grant looked at the alarm clock next to his bed. 6:27 a.m. What should he pack to supervise a dam failure in
Arizona
?
A calculator?
A measuring tape?
Hip boots?

"How about seven?
I'll try to get there a few minutes before. Wait, Julia! I've never been on the jet. Is it on the other side of the airport? How do I get there?"

She informed him that the Gulfstream was not at
Denver
International
Airport
, but at Denver Centennial, a smaller and closer airport. He knew the location, but she gave him specific instructions on how to get to the terminal. He wrote the information on the backs of two more of his business cards.

"What's your cell phone number?" she asked.

"I don't have one, the Bureau never thought . . ." He hesitated. "Wait, I'll take my wife's." He gave her the number and hung up the phone.

"What's going on?" his wife asked, now wide awake.

"There's been an explosion at the Glen Canyon Dam. They're worried it might fail. And everybody is out of town."

She looked puzzled. "So they're sending you?"

He nodded. "There's nobody else. The Bureau's jet is taking me to
Arizona
as soon as I get there. Can you help me pack?"

* * *

6:55 a.m. -
Kanab
,
Utah

He slowed the motorcycle down to forty-five miles per hour as he approached the small city. He could not afford a traffic ticket. That would unravel everything. He scanned ahead for a roadblock. Although possible, he was fairly sure they wouldn't have one set up yet. He expected to hit one sooner or later. He imagined back at the dam they'd still be running around in circles and wondering what happened. He passed a sign that said "Entering the City of
Kanab
. Pop. 4492." Letting off the throttle, he allowed the motorcycle to coast down to thirty-five miles per hour, just five over the limit. You could usually go five over without getting noticed, even in these hick towns.

According to the signs, the run from the dam to
Kanab
,
Utah
, measured just less than seventy-five miles, all open
road
. He'd made it in just under an hour. He knew it was the most critical leg of his escape. At Kanab, he'd be joined by traffic from the north rim of the Grand Canyon and
Zion
National Park
. After that, it would be easier to blend in. Another forty minutes and he'd pass through
Zion
National Park
, and traffic would be even heavier. Forty-five minutes beyond
Zion
and he would hit I-15 and
St. George
,
Utah
. After that he'd have to crash to get caught.

He cursed himself for not bringing a radio on the motorcycle. Would the news be carrying the story yet?
Maybe not.
And when they did, what would they say? There was a small explosion at the dam? The dam is failing? He was dying to know what was going on. When he last saw the water shooting out of the smoke, it had been maybe ten feet in diameter. It would certainly be way more than that by now. That was an hour ago. But how big, he had no idea. What if it had not gotten any bigger? What then?

Instinctively, he knew that the dam would tear itself apart. He had read that, but nothing said how long it would take. It could take days, for all he knew. His instincts told him it would take around eight hours. But he was not sure why. It just felt right.

As the motorcycle exited Kanab, he accelerated. It felt good. His hair stood up on the back of his neck. His arms felt stiff. He felt physically tired, although his mind raced. He had done it. He had blown up the Glen Canyon Dam. There was much more to do. But the big one was done. Even if they caught him now, which didn't seem likely, his name would be famous forever. The mightiest dam on the
Colorado
would soon be gone. The river wasn't free yet, but it would be soon.

* * *

7:00 a.m. -
Lake Powell
,
Utah

Greg pointed at a rock wall on the east side of the channel. "That's it." He aimed the boat in that direction.

Julie saw only a rock wall. She saw no opening, or anything that looked like it might be a canyon. She wondered how it was possible for her husband to tell which canyon it was. All the rocks looked the same to her. But Greg seldom made a mistake, and if he did, he recognized it almost immediately.

Sure enough, as they approached the rock wall, an opening appeared. Greg steered in, and they passed through the gap into
Forbidding
Canyon
. Once inside, the red sandstone walls rose vertically on both sides of the boat for hundreds of feet. Greg carved the boat back and forth along the winding channel. Not far in, they approached a fork, and Greg veered right without hesitation. How he remembered the way, she would never know. She had once heard a woman comedian joke that there were only two things where men were definitely better than women: navigating, and writing their name in the snow with urine. Julie agreed with both.

She held on to her seat as the boat carved back and forth around each bend of the rock walls. There was absolutely no traffic, a testament to Greg's decision to arrive early. By ten or eleven, traffic would be heavy around
Rainbow
Bridge
.

She felt Erika touch her shoulder from behind. She turned and Erika's face was right there. Her eyes were sparkling.

"How far back in the canyon is it?" she asked.

"I think we are almost there. We should be able to see it in a few minutes."

At that, Erika came up and slid into the seat next to Julie. Julie made as much room as possible, but the seat was only meant for one person. The girls squished together, with Erika's bikinied rear end hanging off the edge of the seat. Julie laughed. Her friend always surprised her, no inhibitions. She saw Greg glance down at the girls and look back up, smiling.

Just when Julie thought straight ahead was the only way possible, Greg veered left into a narrow opening she had not even seen. She shook her head. No wonder explorers had spent months looking for it. After passing through this narrow cut, they finally saw their destination. Up ahead, a long line of floating docks wrapped around the bend.

Erika stood, holding on to the windshield of the boat. "Where is it?"

Greg pointed upstream. "It's around the corner." He slowed as they reached the first dock then pulled forward to the last available mooring.

There were no other boats. Paul jumped out and attached ropes to the cleat on the dock. Greg shut off the engine. Erika climbed out onto the dock and helped Julie up behind her.

Julie watched as her husband grabbed the cameras and a cooler that contained their breakfast. He climbed out of the boat. "Are we in a hurry?"

Greg looked at his watch. "Not really. If possible I'd like to leave before eight, but that still gives us an hour."

Erika pointed to where the docks disappeared around the bend. "Let's go already." She held out her hand for her husband. "Come on."

Julie took a camera bag from her husband and followed. "Why are you so excited anyway? You were just here last year."

"That was a year ago," Erika called out as she and Paul hurried along. "I love this place."

The two couples walked for a few minutes until Greg spoke. "There it is."

Erika, who was ahead of Greg, stopped and looked
up
.
"Where?
Oh. I see it."

The large rock bridge was barely exposed as it blended in perfectly with the cliffs on the right. The rising sun had not yet reached it in the deep canyon, further disguising it.

Erika stormed ahead. "Let's hurry and we can eat breakfast under the bridge before anyone else shows up."

"We can't," Julie called out. "It's sacred.
The Indian tribes."

"That's bull and you know it. Besides, I don't see any Indians."

A sign mounted close to the rock bridge designated the area under Rainbow as sacred by six different Native American tribes. However, many considered it pretentious for the tribes to lay claim to the site, especially considering that when explorers first tried to find the arch in the early 1900s, most of the Indians had never seen it, and even with hired Indian guides it took months of trial and error to locate it. An early black and white photo showed a picture of an Indian sitting on a horse on top of the arch. Maybe it was only off limits to the white man. Julie generally avoided walking under it more to avert dirty looks from other visitors than any belief that the spot was sacred.

The closer the two couples got to the arch, the larger it became. Julie knew it was three hundred feet tall. She tried to imagine a football field standing on end under it, and agreed that it might fit. They were climbing now, but they stopped about a quarter mile away to rest and take a group picture. Julie glanced at her watch. They had plenty of time.

* * *

7:10 a.m. -
Denver
,
Colorado

Grant gazed out the window of the Bureau of Reclamation's Gulfstream IV-SP. He was the sole passenger on the small jet - just him, two pilots, and a pretty flight attendant. The jet had already been running when he arrived. Supposedly the jet had just arrived from the east coast after dropping off the commissioner from his international connection the night before.