Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Color

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Grant looked up. No one spoke. A few persons had their heads down. The governor had a blank look on his face. Grant spoke directly to Fred Grainger. "Fred, do you remember ever using the spillways at Hoover?"

"Yeah, in 1983, the year of the big spring runoff. It was the only year we used the spillways since the dam was built."

"Do you remember how much water went down the spillways and the river?"

Fred nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, peak was just over twenty eight thousand cubic feet per second. That was in addition to another seventy five thousand through the river works."

Grant shook his head. "So the worst flood since the dam was built netted just over a hundred thousand cubic feet per second." He looked directly at the governor. "Governor, were you around in 1983? Do you remember if there was any flooding downstream?" Grant already knew the answer.

The governor hesitated. "That was over twenty years ago, but I heard that there was quite a bit of flooding downstream. A lot of damage. Look, I'm not saying that―"

Grant interrupted him. "Fred, were the spillways running at capacity in 1983?"

Fred shook his head. "No, they'll handle over two hundred thousand cubic feet per second, each."

"Thanks Fred." Grant looked back at the governor. "So if the spillways were full, they'd handle over ten times more than in 1983?" He looked directly at the governor. "Does that sound like a disaster downstream governor?"

The governor stood. "Mr. Stevens, I'm not arguing there's not going to be a problem. I'm just making sure those people are allowed the proper time to evacuate."

Grant waved his hand. "Just a second, I'm not finished" He handed the report to Fred Grainger and pointed to a paragraph. "Fred, will you read this so everyone can hear?" Grant wanted to watch their eyes when they heard the words.

Fred took the report, and leaned forward against the table. "Overtopping of Hoover Dam would begin…"

Someone cut him off. "Water's going to go over the top of the dam?"

Grant glared at the person who spoke. "We already established that Hoover will not hold all the water." He lowered his voice and motioned to Fred. "Keep reading."

"Overtopping would begin approximately 25 hours after the failure at Glen Canyon and continue for 10 days before reaching a peak level of approximately 60 feet over the dam about 75 hours after the failure."

The governor's jaw dropped, as well as many of the others. A couple people who were standing sat down. The resistance in the governor's face drained away.

Fred continued reading. "Maximum discharges would be 75,000 cubic feet per second through the water works, 400,000 through the spillways and another 2,000,000 over the top of the dam, making a total of approximately 2.5 million cubic feet per second."

Grant paused then asked a question. "Fred, what would happen if sixty feet of water went over the top of Hoover Dam for ten days?"

Fred's answer was just above a whisper. "It would fail."

Grant repeated, "Hoover Dam would fail." He looked directly at the governor, then repeated it again. "Hoover Dam would fail and then the contents of both dams, which amounts to 4 years of river flow, would barrel down Black Canyon." He nodded at the governor of Nevada. "What do you think the mayor of Laughlin would think of that, governor?"

The governor spoke without looking up. He massaged his eyes with the thumb and index finger of his left hand. The arrogance was gone. "What does the Bureau suggest we do, Mr. Stevens?"

CHAPTER 16

12:30 p.m. - Lake Powell, Utah

It was exactly as Max would have hoped. They had kayaked for a half hour and then the canyons had narrowed. The kayak skimmed through a vertical rock canyon, narrow enough for Max to touch either side with his paddle. Max paddled slowly as Darlene leaned back, reading her book.

"Look at this honey."

She looked up from her book, then book-marked it and set it down. "Wow. This is cool."

"Now you see why I wanted to come up here?"

The canyon veered left, and when they came around the turn, the walls opened up to reveal a sunlit cavern with a sandy beach, very romantic, and very isolated.

Darlene sat up. "Look at that."

"Guess where we're having our picnic?" Max said.

Darlene smiled.

When Max pulled the boat up on the sandy beach, he noticed the sand was wet, as if it had been recently underwater. The walls were wet also, way above the waterline, maybe twenty-five or thirty feet. Max thought about that and decided it was strange, almost as if there were humidity in the canyons. However, he felt no humidity. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that the water had dropped. But it was impossible for Lake Powell to drop twenty-five feet in such a short amount of time. Wasn't it?

12:45 p.m. - Hoover Dam, Nevada

Fred Grainger led them out of the visitor's center. The dry 110-degree heat hit Grant like a wave, then radiated into his body. He shielded his eyes and wished for a pair of sunglasses. Looking at Fred holding the door, who seemed to be unaffected by either the heat or the glare, he guessed the locals got used to it. Grant waited while the governor, his entourage, a couple of security guards, and a few Hoover Dam technicians came outside. Fred led them toward the crest of the dam. Since Grant's speech to the governor, US-93 had been closed, and the top of the dam was now devoid of vehicles. They followed Fred on the sidewalk that stretched along the edge of the dam. After walking several hundred feet, Fred stopped and they all looked down into Black Canyon. All twelve outlets were now open, six on each side, their spray crossing in the middle as they doused both sides of the canyon walls. With all outlets open, a wall of water covered the view farther down the river. After the governor's approval, Fred had radioed the command to open the gates and gradually the Nevada gates were opened.

"Okay, everything's open as you requested," said Fred, pointing downstream.

The tension in the group had dropped noticeably. Seeing the water spraying across the canyon created a magical feeling that made them forget about the reason for the show. Grant saw the governor point to where water was hitting the cliffs and dispersing in all directions.

While the group watched downstream, Grant glanced sideways toward the visitor center, and saw a petite woman with glasses walking toward them. He recognized her immediately as Shauna Kingsly, the employee he had sent for from the Bureau in Denver. She had made good time. He saw her eyes scan the group nervously. He walked away from the group to meet her and he saw her eyes light up when she recognized him.

The best description for Shauna Kingsly was plain. Her hair was straight and parted in the middle. The lack of makeup and the loose fitting clothes completed the impression of a librarian. However, the two pens in her shirt pocket suggested another image: a woman civil engineer, not that all female engineers look like nerds. They didn't, even at the Bureau. It was just a stereotype. But Shauna Kingsly fit the stereotype perfectly.

He met her on the sidewalk. "Any trouble getting here?"

She turned and pointed up the road. "The cops wouldn't let the taxi through. They ferried me down here themselves."

"Where are your bags?" he asked.

She pointed back to the visitor center. "I left them in there."

"Any trouble checking out a computer?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Not after I told them why I needed it."

That morning when he asked her to try to get a notebook computer, the thought hadn't occurred to him that for the moment he was the most important person at the Bureau of Reclamation. It was amazing how status helped cut through bureaucracy. No wonder the commissioner didn't seem as concerned with the red tape in the Bureau as the employees. He had probably never experienced it.

"Stevens!" Someone yelled from behind.

Grant turned and saw the governor approaching.

"Are you happy now?" the governor asked, pointing to the spray in the canyon. It seemed like the pompous attitude had melted away from Rally Jenkins, and that he held no animosity for the episode in the visitor center.

Grant looked at the spray, then across the dam to the Arizona side. The next recommendation would be a tough sell. "We're not done yet." He said. "Follow me."

Grant started walking back toward the visitor center, motioning for the governor to follow. The entire group followed, looking curious. Although vehicle traffic had been stopped across the dam, Grant looked both directions anyway before crossing US-93 to the upstream side of the dam. The group followed. He walked off the Nevada edge of the dam and right past the statue. They walked past the small tourist store on the left and a snack bar on the right. He continued walking through the employee parking lot until he reached the chain-link fence against the rock mountain. The fence prevented tourists from falling seventy feet into the trough leading to the Nevada spillway tunnel.

"Now we need to open these up." Grant pointed his left hand over the fence and into the Nevada spillway, and with his right across the river to the Arizona spillway.

Grant saw Fred wrinkle his brows and hesitate, then finally answer. It was a response Grant expected. "Grant, we can't open these. They don't have gates." Fred looked embarrassed at needing to explain why. "The water can only get in the spillway tunnels if it gets high enough to get over that spillway itself, over there." He pointed to a cement wall preventing Lake Mead from entering the trough. "We'll have to wait until the water rises another thirty or forty feet."