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Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Color


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30

"Okay, now pull yourself up and down a couple times. Get a feeling for the handholds you got," Ryan ordered.

Sid did just that, and was surprised to feel that his arms still had a little strength left in them. Not as much as he wished, but more than he expected. He pulled up again, and took inventory on the knee. It had stiffened even more. He wondered how much more it could take.

"All right, you ready?"

Sid looked up this time. Ryan peered down at him from the rocks above, smiling. The sight made Sid relax even more. "Yeah, I guess so. Let's do it."

Ryan pointed at a ledge just out of Sid's reach. "Okay, that's your next handhold. You're going to need to push up with your left foot to get that high."

Sid put the rogue Colorado River out of his mind. He did the same for the memory of the cliff next to him breaking off and falling. He concentrated only on the ledge above. He stuck his butt out farther then pushed up, pulling at the same time with his hands. It worked. He slid his left hand up to the ridge and grabbed. The handhold was solid.

"Yeah! Good job." Ryan was clapping above him.

Once Sid climbed past the tricky part, the rest of the climb was uneventful. A few minutes later Sid was standing on the ledge next to Ryan. A part of him wanted to reach out and hug his friend, like a brother. After all, he would not have made it without the encouragement. But hugging his friend was unthinkable.

Sid looked out over the Colorado River. In his whole life, he'd never seen anything like it. He estimated it to be almost a half a mile across. And the level had probably risen four or five hundred feet. It was moving faster than a man could run, more like a bicyclist, maybe even faster than that. The water wasn't just flowing straight either, it churned and swirled like Sid had never seen before. The thought of falling in made him shiver. Even if he had a life jacket, which he did not, the river could easily pull him under and drag him along the bottom, propelling him up or down at its leisure. The thought reminded Sid of a guy, a SCUBA diver named Nelson, who he met in college. Nelson claimed that he and some other guys used to drift dive, wearing full SCUBA gear, down some river around Jackson Hole, Wyoming. And this river wasn't just a scenic tour either; it had rapids and white water. Anyway, Nelson used to say that only divers who could equalize their ears real fast could do it, because in one spot, the river pulled the divers down from the surface to eighty feet in a couple seconds, which would rupture ear drums if they weren't equalized. After that, he said it was like the center of a tornado, perfectly calm. However, seconds later, the river yanked the divers back up to the surface and back down the river. Sid wasn't sure if that story was true or not. But when he saw the swirling whirlpools and eddies, he remembered it. He thought it gave him a better perspective, as if from the victims point-of-view of what it would be like to be pulled under.

"Let's go." Sid said, but when he turned Ryan was already headed along the ridge.

A few minutes later they reached Tanner. An incredible feeling of relief washed over Sid. Back when he was hanging on the cliff, he would not have bet a dollar on making it. But here he was, and if the knee let go now, no big deal. Worst case they could send a mule down for him. Standing on the trail, they rested, looking down at where it disappeared in the swollen river. For a moment Sid thought he heard voices, but the Colorado River had become noisy as it grew. There were the constant sounds of water moving past the cliffs, and sporadic sounds of rocks rolling underwater, rock slides on the banks, and boulders breaking loose. The new noises came as the river carved into hillside it hadn't been able to reach for millions of years.

For the last hour, back when his life was in jeopardy, Sid saw the new river as something to be afraid of, but looking down on it from Tanner, it was different. It was spectacular, unbelievable, and breathtaking. Watching it on TV would not do it justice. Standing on the banks, he could feel it.

Sid heard the voices again and this time distinctively heard the words 'over there'. Ryan must have heard them too, because he cocked his head at the same time. Sid saw their heads first, but as the group crested the knoll, they became totally visible. Obviously, they were rafters not hikers. The men wore swim trunks, and the women bathing suits. One of the women still wore a life jacket. Another woman wore a green and white striped bikini.

A man pointed at Sid and Ryan. "Hang on!" He jogged toward them.

"Do you know where the trail out of here is?" The man asked, pointing up out of the canyon.

Ryan pointed at his feet. "We're standing on it."

The man looked down at the worn trail where Sid and Ryan stood. He turned toward the rest of his group, who had just reached the trail. "Thank God, we made it."

Another loud explosion rocked the canyon, making the group instinctively duck. Sid looked back where they had just come and saw another huge section of the cliff fall into the water and send waves across the river. Then just as quickly, while the sound still echoed through the canyon, the river swallowed the rock.

The rafters must have already seen boulders breaking off and fall in the river, because the man picked right up where he left off. "So how far up is it?" He pointed up the trail. "How long will it take?"

Sid looked down. The man wore aqua socks. They were coated with dust, except for wet spots where moisture squished up through them. One of the women wore platform flip-flops. Sid saw no hiking shoes, no tennis shoes, and absolutely no socks, none of them. He had a feeling if his knee went out and he had to stop, he wouldn't be alone.

"Three or four hours," Ryan answered. "If we keep moving."

Sid saw surprise and unbelief in the man's eyes. Many in the group cocked their heads back and forth, looking at each other.

"Three or four hours?" Mr. Aqua Socks asked in disbelief. "How far is it?"

"Eight miles." Sid answered. He reached down and rubbed his knee. "And they're not easy miles either."

"What happened to your boat?" Ryan asked.

Another man, wearing a yellow baseball hat stenciled with Los Angeles Lakers, stepped up by Mr. Aqua Socks. "We had already noticed the water rising before the helicopter warned us. We were looking for a spot to stop, but the water was moving too fast. Then after the helicopter, we found a sandy place where we could get out. As soon as we got out, the river took the raft. It's gone."

"Where's your guide?" Ryan asked.

Mr. Aqua Socks raised his hand. "I'm the guide, but I only know the river, not the trails. And this is my first year running the Grand Canyon. What about you two guys?"

Sid looked over at his friend, an unspoken message for Ryan to answer.

Ryan motioned up the trail. "We hiked down Tanner Trail from the rim two days ago. Then we spent a couple days hiking and camping along the Escalante trail." He pointed down at the river. "It's underwater now. Anyway, the rising water rimmed us on the way back to Tanner. We almost didn't make it."

No one spoke after Ryan's answer. They nodded politely, but Sid saw most of their eyes focused up Tanner Trail.

"Ready to head out?" Sid asked, already knowing the answer.

Mr. Aqua Socks nodded. "Sure." His comment was followed by nods from others in the group.

The group passed by Sid and Ryan and headed up the trail. However, neither Sid nor Ryan moved immediately. They stood for another few moments looking out over the swollen Colorado River. Something told Sid he would never see anything like this again in his life. He needed to try to burn it into his head, to remember it. Across the river, Sid saw a rock wall the size of a two-story building break off and fall in the water. The loud sound followed seconds later.

"Wow," Sid said. "This is amazing. Isn't it?"

"I wish I had a camera." Ryan added.

"Wouldn't do it justice."

Ryan nodded. "You're probably right."

They watched a moment longer in silence.

"Hey, you guys coming?" The question came from Mr. Aqua Socks.

"Your knee gonna make it?" Ryan asked.

Sid smiled. "As long as I'm following the one in the green bikini."

CHAPTER 15

12:15 p.m. - Boulder City, Nevada

Grant looked around as he walked down the steps from the Gulfstream. A small sign by the terminal announced Boulder City Airport. This airport looked even smaller than the one at Page. Aside from the Gulfstream, most of the other planes were small Cessnas, or Pipers and looked to be privately owned. Grant couldn't see any other jets. The Gulfstream stood out like a Ferrari in the ghetto. He knew that most visitors to Lake Mead didn't use this airport; they flew into Las Vegas, which was full of Lears, Gulfstreams, and other small jets.

As Grant walked down the stairs, a black & white police car drove up to the plane. The officer rolled down his window without getting out. "You the guy from the Bureau?"

Grant nodded and walked over to the passenger door. Before he jumped in, he waved back at the flight attendant. While they were en route from Page, the call had come in from Julia to send the jet to meet the Commissioner in Chicago where he would be connecting. The Gulfstream would be leaving immediately. Grant wondered if he would ever ride in it again.

He climbed into the police car and it took off immediately. After exiting the small airport, the policeman turned north, and headed into Boulder City. They sped down a small road, encountering little traffic. The south side of town, by the airport, was old and dirty. It gave a glimpse of the town's beginnings, when Boulder City was created in the late 1920s to house the five thousand workers needed to build Hoover Dam. Grant could see ahead on the bluffs a new and different Boulder City. Growing out of the hillsides were vacation homes and condos with views of the water.

3

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