Выбери любимый жанр

Оценить:

Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Color

Оглавление

Phil looked over at Grant. "Besides wanting to wreak havoc in America, why would anyone want to blow up this dam?"

Grant raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding?"

The FBI man said nothing, obviously serious about his question.

Grant looked at the security guards for support, but everyone waited for him. He blurted the words at the FBI. "There are tons of people who wanted this dam blown up."

Phil seemed surprised. "Who?"

"There are whole organizations dedicated to having it decommissioned — the Sierra Club and Greenpeace, to name a few. There are web sites that talk about it. There is even one group, the Glen Canyon Institute, whose entire purpose is to decommission the dam. They hold debates and lectures at universities trying to get support. One time a group of whackos rolled a black piece of plastic down the face of the dam to make everyone think the dam was cracked. Gee, if you think about it, half of the Democratic Party probably wants it removed."

Phil shook his head. "You're talking about environmentalists?"

Grant looked around the room for support. "Absolutely. I'm not saying they did it. But they sure as hell wanted to." He pointed at one of the news helicopters. "They're definitely celebrating right now, while they watch it on TV."

Phil had not considered this perspective. "Why this dam, more than any of the other dams across the country?"

"There are lots of reasons they focus on this one. The biggest is the canyon itself." Grant pointed upstream to Lake Powell. "The area under the lake is called Glen Canyon. Less than a thousand people saw it before the dam was built. It was supposedly an incredible place, vertical carved rock walls on the sides, endless narrow side-canyons like Zion National Park, and some of the canyons had waterfalls and vegetation like rain forests."

Phil was amazed. "Why did the environmentalists let them build it in the first place? What about the environmental impact studies, the hearings…?"

Grant held out his arms. "When Glen Canyon Dam was approved in the late fifties, there weren't any environmentalists, at least not many, and they certainly weren't very powerful. There was only one salaried member of the Sierra Club. Environmental impact studies hadn't been invented yet. The Glen Canyon Dam is largely responsible for the changes. It pissed off the environmentalists and got them organized. They vowed never again. A couple of years later, they stopped the construction of two more dams downstream in the Grand Canyon."

Phil looked shocked. "They were going to dam up the Grand Canyon?"

"Yeah, in fact if you float down the Colorado River, you can still see the exploratory holes drilled in the canyon walls, where one of the dams was to be built."

"I still don't understand why the Democrats allowed it to happen."

Grant smiled. "The Democrats are the ones who built it. They ran the House and the Senate in those days. They wrote the bill and sent it to a moderate Republican president, Dwight Eisenhower, who signed it. In the late fifties, the Democrats were no more environmentally-minded than the Republicans. They were, however, adamant proponents of water projects — big projects that distributed water to cities and farmers, created electricity for homes and industry, and created jobs in the process. The water projects were big welfare, and the Democrats loved them."

While Phil was shaking his head, Grant's cell phone rang. "Hello, this is Grant."

"Grant, this is Julia. I got ahold of Roland in Paris. The flight to Africa had not taken off yet. I'll conference you in."

Crap. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the commissioner. Grant looked out at where the dam used to be and wondered if they could blame him for it. He stood and walked away from the group. After he heard a series of clicks, he recognized the voice of the director of the Bureau of Reclamation.

"Stevens, this is Commissioner Blackwell, can you hear me?"

Grant thought it was arrogant of Roland to constantly refer to himself as commissioner. "Yeah, Roland, I can hear you fine."

"What the hell happened out there?"

Grant tried to organize his thoughts. "Looks like a guy posing as an elevator repairman planted a bomb in the west elevator. It blew a five-foot hole in the dam."

"Is that it? Only five feet?"

"That was four hours ago, Roland. The dam tore itself apart. It's gone."

There was silence on the line.

Roland voice was shaky. "You're saying the Glen Canyon Dam has completely collapsed? Lake Powell is gone?"

"Yes. The dam is gone. But no, Lake Powell is still there. It's draining now. It'll be gone by tomorrow, though."

Roland hesitated again. "Grant, I'm coming back. I'm trying to get a flight as we speak. I'm looking at all possible connection points. Julia, is the Gulfstream ready? I'll need it to meet me at whatever airport I can get to in the United States."

Julie hesitated. "It's in Page, Arizona. Grant used it to get down there."

The commissioner sounded shocked. "What? Stevens took the jet?"

Grant was amazed. The idiot was more worried about his plane than the situation at Glen Canyon.

Julia's voice was weak. "I thought under the circumstances…"

Grant jumped in. "Why not, Roland? It was a good idea. If I had tried to fly commercial, I'd still be waiting for connections. Then nobody from the Bureau would be here. Would that be better?" Grant realized he had gone too far.

The commissioner ignored him. "Julia, tell the pilot to stand by, as soon as I find out where my connection is. I'll call you back. Have them meet me."

"Okay. Let me know when you make your plans," Julia said.

Grant had other short-term plans for the Gulfstream, but he thought he should not bring them up right then with Roland.

The commissioner got back to the subject at hand. "Stevens, what are you doing right now?"

"The FBI is asking questions."

"What are you telling them?" He sounded scared. "Be careful what you say; you represent the Bureau."

Grant rolled his eyes. Why all the politics? Why couldn't anybody just communicate? "Don't worry, Roland."

"Oh, and Stevens, don't make any stupid decisions before I get there. In fact, avoid making any decisions at all if you can help it. Just do what's necessary."

Grant wanted to tell Roland to ram it, and then stopped himself. "Okay, Roland."

Roland sounded distracted like he wasn't speaking directly into the phone. "I gotta go. The ticket lady is waving at me."

Grant heard the phone click. "Julia, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Call me before you take the Gulfstream. I need it for one more trip."

"But the commissioner said―"

"I know what he said. But there's plenty of time. It will take him a while to fly back across the ocean. Just call me first."

"Okay." Her voice sounded uncertain.

Grant thanked her and hung up.

10:15 a.m. - Glen Canyon Bridge, Arizona

Earl hustled out of the visitor center parking lot and over to where his officers were setting up the roadblock. A line of about ten cars was stopped at the sign. One officer was waving for the cars to turn around and go back the other way. The first car wasn't moving, however.

The driver was yelling out the window at an officer. "What about Navajo bridge downstream?"

"It's closed, too." The officer motioned up toward the lake. "You'll have to go around."

"That's almost three hundred miles around! It'll take five hours!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer. "The bridge isn't safe right now."

"Bull. Look at all those people out there." He leaned out of his window and pointed at the bridge where four police cars were trying to move about fifteen parked cars and pedestrians off the bridge. Some cars were turning around. Others were boxed in by other cars or waiting for pedestrians to get out of the way.

Earl walked past the argument and the roadblock, and approached the edge of the bridge. He looked over the edge and down into the river. The water was only four hundred feet or so below him, far less than the normal eight-hundred-foot drop to the river. The water was hitting the steel girders in the arch that supported the bridge. Earl could feel the bridge moving like it was alive. He heard a loud creak from flexing metal. He picked up his radio.

"Get 'em off now. Turn on your sirens. This thing's gonna collapse."

He heard the sirens come on. He saw some of the pedestrians start running. Three cars drove past Earl off the bridge. The bulk of them, however, were going east toward Page. He saw about seven or eight cars get off the bridge on the other side. There were still three cars plus the four police cars. Two of the cars started to move. The third, a motor home, wasn't moving yet. A door opened and some idiot jumped out with a video camera. The PA on the police car roared, "GET BACK IN YOUR CAR." The guy kept filming.

Earl got on the radio. "All units get off the bridge now."

One of the police cars followed the two passenger cars toward the east side. The other two headed west toward Earl. The last one stayed with the motor home. The girders groaned and Earl felt the road move a little. He saw a crack open under his feet. He took five steps backwards off the bridge, keeping his eyes on the road. Two police cars flew passed him, slamming on their brakes once they were off the bridge. The cops jumped out of their cars and ran back to where Earl was standing. Earl took several more steps back from the bridge.