Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Color

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Up ahead, Grant could see the end of Lake Powell. The water came to an abrupt end in a tight canyon, the abruptness bordered by a white structure, the Glen Canyon Dam. From this angle the dam seemed small, maybe twenty feet tall across the quarter mile canyon. However, Grant had looked over the downstream side of the dam just a few years before. The massive face of the dam dropped seven hundred and eighteen feet to the river below.

The pilot positioned the plane to finish its turn just downstream from the dam. The dam would be visible on Grant's right, directly out his window. Grant repositioned himself in the seat, to get a better view. Before he could see deep enough in the canyon to see the leak, he noticed the mist coming out of the canyon, rolling up over the canyon walls. Definitely not normal.

As the plane glided in at just over two hundred fifty miles an hour, he got the line of sight he needed. He heard Wendy gasp from the seat behind him. About one third of the way down the seven-hundred-foot dam, on the west side, a huge column of water poured out of the dam. Actually, pour wasn't the right word — it was pressurized, and shooting out of the concrete face, just as described by Brian. Grant estimated the column of water at seventy-five feet in diameter. He couldn't see it hit the river. There was too much mist. The canyon below would be radically re-arranged by the impact of that much water.

He considered that before when he had talked to the security guard, the water was only about thirty-five feet in diameter, and now it had grown to seventy-five. The diameter had doubled in a half hour. Additionally, since volume grew as the square of the radius, it meant the volume of water exiting the dam had quadrupled in that same half hour.

The plane completed its pass over the dam and banked left for the airport in Page. Grant lost sight of the jetting water. He leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling of the plane in deep concentration. If the diameter continued to double every half hour, how long would it take? He pictured the dam, with a seventy-five-foot diameter circle on the left side. He then imagined a one hundred-fifty-foot circle, twice as big, on top of the smaller one, then a three-hundred-foot circle, then a six-hundred-foot circle. But the dam was only seven hundred feet high! Grant added up the half hours — four. His watch showed 7:28 a.m. local time. According to his rough estimate, the Glen Canyon Dam would be gone by 9:30 a.m. Grant closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers back and forth across his forehead.

CHAPTER 9

7:50 a.m. - Rainbow Bridge, Lake Powell, Utah

Julie climbed back in the boat. Greg had timed their trip perfectly. The two couples had been the only visitors at Rainbow for almost the entire duration of their visit, not encountering anyone else until they arrived back on the docks. At Erika's insistence, the two couples had in fact eaten in sacred territory under Rainbow Bridge. But, Julie made sure they didn't leave any trash or evidence of their trespass.

"How far is it up to Hole in the Rock?" Paul asked.

"A little over twenty miles," Greg answered off the top of his head.

Julie stored the cameras and the cooler and sat down. Everyone situated themselves and Greg fired up the engine. Paul pushed off.

"So about an hour, then?" Paul asked.

Greg nodded "If we hurry." He backed the boat around and headed back out the way they had come in.

Ten minutes later they exited Forbidding Canyon and headed north in the main channel toward Hole in the Rock.

7:55 a.m. - Glen Canyon Dam, Arizona

Grant arrived at the dam in a police car. The car had been waiting on the tarmac at the Page Airport. As soon as the Gulfstream taxied in, a cop rushed Grant into the police cruiser and sped off. When they drove down the hill and the dam became visible, Grant leaned forward in his seat for a better look. While driving across the Glen Canyon Bridge, clouds of mist floated over them and they actually had to turn on the windshield wipers. At the dam, an officer waved the cruiser through the barricade. They pulled right up to the door of the Hayden Visitor Center, a round building on the edge of the canyon. They parked in the red zone. When Grant opened the car door, he heard the rumble. It reminded him of Niagara Falls.

Before heading toward the building, Grant walked toward the rail, followed by the officer. Mist clouds rolled up over them and the entire canyon ledge. The handrail and sidewalk were sopping wet. Grant had looked over the rail before, but he had never seen anything like this.

He could clearly see the column of water exiting the dam in spite of the mist. The sound was deafening and Grant could feel the rumbling in his chest. He tried to grasp the amount of water exiting the dam and couldn't. The hole had grown to nearly a hundred feet now. It looked like it had dug farther down into the dam too. Hadn't Brian told him the original hole reached about two hundred feet down from the top of the dam? Grant now estimated it to be over two hundred seventy feet down. The width had expanded too. The hole was even wider than tall, almost reaching the center of the dam.

A man grabbed Grant's arm, yelling to be heard over the noise, "COME INSIDE WHERE WE CAN TALK." He pointed at the dam. "YOU CAN SEE EVEN BETTER INSIDE."

Grant waved a thank you to the police officer and followed the man into the visitor center. His clothes felt damp. As soon as the door shut behind them, the noise dissipated. He swallowed and his ears popped. The lobby was round with high ceilings. A curved wall shielded them from a wall of windows. Grant was pulled toward the windows in order to get a better view of what was happening below. As he approached, he noticed someone had set up a table and chairs next to the large windows.

The man who grabbed Grant's arm, obviously the security guard, shook Grant's hand. "Glad to see you."

Grant nodded. "Grant Stevens, Bureau of Reclamation. You must be Brian?"

The man nodded his head.

Brian's baby face made Grant wonder if he was old enough to be guarding anything. He had traces of fine blond peach fuzz on his face, which showed that he hadn't shaved for a while. He was shorter than Grant, maybe five foot six. Although his hands were small, when he shook, he gripped hard like a salesman.

"Yeah, I'm the one who called you. You sure got here quick."

Grant looked at his watch. "The Bureau has a small jet. It made a big difference."

There were four other men in the lobby besides Brian, three of whom wore the same security uniforms; the other wore Levi's and a polo shirt. Brian introduced the one without a uniform. "This is Dan Mumford. He's my boss in charge of security for the dam. He just got here."

Grant nodded at the man, then turned back to Brian. "Did your guys get out of the plant okay?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah, they showed up after I talked to you on the plane. Everybody got out. It was a huge relief. As it turned out, the security guy down in the plant got hit by a wall of water and dropped his radio. That's why I couldn't contact them. They went out the access tunnel."

"Well, I'm glad they're all right."

Brian motioned toward the table by the windows. "I've set up a place over there where we can talk, a make-shift command center for lack of better words. The light is better over there. We lost our power a few minutes before you arrived."

Grant looked at the lights. "You lost power? So the water killed the turbines in the dam already?"

Brian looked back. "Yeah, first the main power grids went down. Then a few minutes later the small turbine that powers all the stuff in the dam itself followed. I can only imagine the destruction happening below right now. Anyway, the digital phone system went down with the power, but we found an old analog phone in the back. It still works off the phone company's power; they must be on backup or something. So at least we have a phone."

Grant heard the noise of the water again briefly as someone came in the door. When the door shut, the noise disappeared. A police officer ambled across the floor, seemingly in no hurry. He wore a khaki uniform, about the same color as a boy scout. His face was covered with an extremely bushy moustache that hung over his lips, completely concealing them, and rolling down on the sides of his face to the sides of his chin. The brown facial hair was streaked with gray, giving him a worn look. His eyes seemed to match — red and droopy. Grant couldn't help wondering how the officer could feed himself without getting food stuck in his mustache.

Brian motioned toward the man. "This is Earl Smith. He's the captain for the Page police department."

"Nice to meet you," carried from somewhere beneath the mustache.

Grant didn't remember ever hearing such a raspy voice. He reached out his hand. "Grant Stevens, Bureau of Reclamation."

Earl's hand was rough and cracked like a farmer or mechanic.

The group found chairs around the table and sat down. Grant chose a seat that allowed a good view of the dam. Everybody looked at Grant, an unspoken message that he was in charge. They all looked relieved to have someone new to give orders, especially Brian.

Grant looked around the table before speaking. "Well, first things first. Has everyone been notified, upstream and down?"

Brian nodded. "I called everyone in the red book. That includes the Grand Canyon downstream and Lake Powell's water patrol." He pointed at Earl. "The police closed all access to Lee's Ferry and other roads into the canyon."