Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Color

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"I am serious. Every time those guys in the Midwest get flooded out, it's always the people themselves that are sandbagging to protect their cities. Don't underestimate the people — they care more than you think."

Grant looked at the two of them while they waited for his response. Actually, Shauna's volunteer idea would probably work if they just had more time. He felt bad for snapping at both of them. He wondered how many volunteers they would need to fill a million sand bags. What if each person filled a hundred bags? That would be 10,000 people. But, a hundred bags seemed like too many for one person; maybe 20,000 people would be better. What about loading and carrying? Better double it again. Grant guessed, to be safe, they would need at least 50,000 volunteers.

Grant held out his hands as if to say slow down. "All right, let's think out loud for a second. What if we asked for volunteers and we got 'em? Where do we want them to go? We'd need to have multiple locations; we can't just have them digging on the side of Boulder Highway. And who is gonna supervise them, and distribute the bags? What about light? It's gonna be dark, right? And what about moving the bags when they're full? We're gonna need trucks. We can't have a thousand pickups driving down to the dam to unload their bags. This is a big enough deal that we are going to need somebody to organize it, somebody who can focus specifically on this task."

Shauna and Fred both smiled at Grant. Grant could tell they were both happy he was at least considering it.

"Didn't the governor say the mayor of Las Vegas was here at Hoover?" Fred asked.

"Politicians need to get re-elected," said Shauna. "And politicians are usually great at delegating. The mayor could appoint a bunch of his buddies to head up other groups."

Grant didn't like the way it sounded, but he wondered if there were other types of people who could handle thousands of volunteers better. "What about cops, or firemen? What if we had about 50 cops team up with each group of politicians? Would that be enough supervision for a couple thousand volunteers?"

Fred nodded. "Yeah. That would be good, or even the National Guard. As long as they had uniforms. Then the volunteers would know where to go to ask questions."

"Okay, where do we tell them to go?" Shauna asked.

Grant considered that. He cringed at the thought of 50,000 volunteers scattered along the highway. Their cars would block the road and cause a horrific traffic jam that wouldn't allow the sand bag trucks through to the dam. But where else could they go? The best plan would include numerous locations scattered around the desert. Then they wouldn't conflict with each other; the crowds would be separated and not blocking anything. Unfortunately, Grant didn't know any locations. He wasn't from Las Vegas.

"We'll need some help from the mayor," Grant said. "We'll recommend that he and his staff choose ten or twenty places around Las Vegas with lots of sand and gravel where we can have the volunteers go. We can list the sites on TV. We can have a politician or two head up each spot, with a bunch of police and firemen to support them."

"This could work," Fred said, smiling.

Grant looked at his watch; they were running out of time. "All right, let's go talk to the mayor of Las Vegas. We'll find out what he's made of, see how he handles responsibility."

7:15 p.m. - Grand Canyon, Arizona

David couldn't believe how far the water had risen in the last hour. Could it be a hundred feet? He thought so. It seemed like ages ago when Afram and Sam were trying to lasso the rock outcropping. Thankfully, they succeeded, but the rope hold had only lasted maybe ten or fifteen minutes before the raft had risen up to the same level of the outcropping. Luckily, by then they found other handholds, and were able to hold the boat without anyone in the cold water. Over the past few minutes the water seemed to be rising a foot or two per minute.

Although the sun was still a few hours from going down, it was already getting dark deep in the Grand Canyon, and David had to look up to see where the setting sun still shown on the east rock faces high above them. Meanwhile the dark water of the Colorado River was making more noise as it rose. David thought he could hear a waterfall somewhere downstream, although that seemed unlikely. Either way, just looking out at the main channel scared him. The water was traveling so fast.

"Look how smooth the water is," David said. "It looks like a lake."

"Except it's moving." Judy motioned with her arm.

Afram pointed to the other side. "David's right. It's perfectly flat and spread out. If I didn't know better, I would think there was a dam just downstream."

Keller spoke. "There is, kind of."

Afram looked perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Granite Narrows is at mile 135, and we are probably a mile or less from there."

"What is Granite Narrows?" Judy asked.

David knew the answer. He had read about it. "It's where the Grand Canyon squeezes to less than a hundred feet wide. It's by far the narrowest place in the whole canyon."

"76 feet to be exact," Keller said.

"How is that a dam?" Becky asked.

"Think about it," Afram explained. He pointed to the other side. "The river is almost a half mile wide, and yet it all needs to fit through the narrows. It's like a dam."

Becky furrowed her brows. "But wouldn't the water just go faster through the notch?"

Keller nodded. "No question. The water has got to be blasting through the gap. But it would still back up, which is what we are seeing here."

Sam spoke for the first time. "The water level would be lower on the other side. It would be like a waterfall."

David cupped his hand to his ear. "That must be the sound I can hear."

"You know what this means?" Afram asked the group.

"What?" Becky said nervously.

"It means that we're lucky that we found this spot when we did. I don't want to even think about what would happen if we had tried to drift toward Granite Narrows."

David imagined the raft getting sucked through the gap and spit over a hundred-foot waterfall.

The group sat silent for a moment. An explosion echoed through the darkening canyon, making them turn their heads.

"There goes another one," Afram said, craning his head around.

Becky whipped her head around. "Was it upstream or down?" Becky had evolved from jittery to frantic over the last hour. Her voice was now a few notches higher than normal.

The explosive sounds of the rock breaking off and falling in the river was starting to occur every few minutes. Although they couldn't see most of them, one had broken off just across the river about a half hour before in an earsplitting bang that had reverberated off the canyon walls.

"I think that one was way upstream someplace," Keller said reassuringly. "It sounded like it was a long ways away."

"Not to me!" Becky argued, near tears.

Sam put his arm around her, a maneuver that seemed unnatural to David under the circumstances. David would have been more apt to slide away from her while she was being so hostile, and give her some space.

David considered their situation: water rising a hundred feet an hour, getting dark, raft being held by people's hands grasping the cliff in precarious holds, with no place to stand or hike in a rimmed canyon. David wondered again if they were going to make it.

"Heads up," Keller yelled. He grasped the rock for a better hold.

David felt the raft pulling away from the rocks and he renewed his grip. He thought about Granite Narrows downstream and gripped harder. Every now and then the current swirled under their raft and tried to pull it out into the channel and downstream. Sometimes these currents lasted a few seconds, and sometimes a few minutes. David's hands ached. He didn't think he could last much longer. After a while, the current let up and David relaxed his hold slightly. He looked up at the sky. Was there a God? He had always believed it, but now he wondered. If there was a God, would he help? David wasn't sure. But there was one thing for sure — it didn't hurt to ask. Without anyone else seeing what he was doing, David nodded his head slightly, then without making a sound he talked to his God. He thanked him that they were still safe, and then he pleaded with him to spare them through the rest of the night.

7:40 p.m. - Lake Powell, Utah

Greg pulled back on the throttle in response to a large houseboat cutting in front of them. He veered to the right and passed it.

"Look up ahead." He pointed off to the right.

Castle Rock could be seen miles in the distance. Julie noticed they were passing Padre Point on the left, which signified they were beyond the remains of Padre Bay, and were entering the narrows. The narrows did not look much different from before except now the walls were much higher. The waves in this stretch of the lake had always radiated back and forth between the cliffs, which sometimes capsized smaller boats. But, Julie had never seen it this rough and she held on as the Mastercraft rocked violently.

The narrows, from Padre Point to Antelope Island, was a four-mile straight shot with Antelope Island dead ahead. There were two choices at Antelope Island: the narrows veered left and wound for another 11 miles to the dam, or Warm Creek Bay, which opened to the right. Logically, the only decision would be to turn right into the safety of Warm Creek. As the water dropped, the boat would be stranded, but that was infinitely safer than continuing down the narrows, which would take them within a mile of the Glen Canyon Dam site.