Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River

by Gary Hansen

  In the west elevator of the Glen Canyon Dam, another cell phone, this one with wires hanging out of it, rang twice and stopped. Electricity from the phone's ringer traveled onto a small circuit board, through a voltage relay, then down two wires into the elevator control panel. The elevator reacted immediately by starting down. Simultaneously a digital timer started a very quick countdown. Since the elevator was near capacity, stuffed with twelve barrels of ammonium nitrate soaked in diesel fuel, the downward motion began with a jerk. The elevator continued to descend into the dam. Exactly 18 seconds after the cell phone started its motion, the elevator had traveled approximately two hundred feet from the top of the dam. At that moment, the timer expired. A very small electrical current traveled from the timer to a voltage relay. This relay sent a much larger current from the car battery to the homemade detonation devices tucked into each barrel of ammonium nitrate. The result was immediate and forceful. Because of the way the explosives were packed in the elevator, the energy of the explosion was channeled horizontally upstream toward the lake side of the dam.

  The skinny man timed the 18 seconds on his watch. It seemed like an eternity. For an instant, he thought something had gone wrong. Then directly below where the vertical elevator disappeared into the dam, a ball of fire and concrete exploded out of the face of the dam. Chunks of concrete fell to the river four hundred feet below. An instant later the top of the elevator shaft on the top of the dam exploded upwards, scattering debris in all directions. A crushing sound wave followed both explosions. The skinny man ducked instinctively.

  Although the fireworks were impressive, they were less than he had expected and he felt certain the entire effort had been in vain. He strained to assess the damage, specifically if any water was leaking from the dam. Unfortunately, his view of the face of the dam was totally obstructed by a huge cloud of smoke. He stepped closer and craned his neck for a better look. The smoke swirled and for a moment he thought he saw something, then his view was blocked again. He needed to leave now, but he also needed to know.

  Then he saw it: a single stream of water spraying from the small hole. It looked to be no more than two feet in diameter. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. The pressure, 200 feet down in the reservoir, created a solid spray way out into the river, although because of his angle, it was impossible to tell the distance for sure. It was definitely far enough to clear the generation plants at the base of the dam.

  As he watched, the water seemed to jerk, and change its trajectory. There was much more water now. He now estimated the column at least five feet in diameter. The jerking continued every couple of seconds, each time resulting in higher water flow. It reminded him of holding a frozen garden hose in the winter and feeling the water force the pieces of ice out the end of the hose.

  He couldn't have hoped for a better result. The water tearing through the hole two hundred feet down in the dam was enough to continually carve at the dam. It would disintegrate rapidly. Not nearly as fast as an earth dam, but plenty fast enough. He had heard that if you could drill a small dime-sized hole through the face of a dam, the water rushing through the hole would eventually tear the dam apart. He would have loved to test that exact hypothesis, dangling from a rope from the top of the dam, but was fairly sure that the security people at GlenCanyon wouldn't have sponsored the experiment.

  He watched for a moment longer. The water was now blasting. If only he could stay and watch it tear itself apart. He knew he could not. He needed to make St. George, Utah and I-15 before the cops figured out what happened and blocked the road, or the remainder of the week would be jeopardized. He turned and headed back toward the motorcycle. As he pulled back onto the highway, he glanced back at the rising sun. It was almost completely above the horizon. The LCD display of his digital watch showed 6:08 a.m. What a great day this was going to be.

  CHAPTER 7

  6:08 a.m. - Page, Arizona

  Jim Nance heard the explosion while completing his security walk above the turbines in the base of the dam. Jim had worked graveyard security at the dam for three years without ever hearing anything that loud. He figured the sound came from the base of the dam and started running in that direction. When he arrived at the west end of the plant, he met Peter Hansen, a technician, running down the stairs from the control room.

  The technician pointed toward the dam. "What was that? Something blow up?"

  Jim nodded. "Sounded like it. From down there someplace." He pointed down the west elevator access hallway. "Is that where you were headed?"

  Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I was just checking it out."

  Jim continued jogging down the hall and Peter fell in behind.

  They ran out the plant door, and across the walkway toward the dam. On their right a large expanse of grass had been planted on the roof of the structure to mitigate the dust. Jim reached for the glass door into the dam, and both men shot through. Jim led them down the long corridor. Up ahead, around the corner to their right, would be the west elevator. When the two men rounded the corner, they both stopped.

  Water poured out of the west elevator shaft and smashed against the wall across the hallway. After hitting the wall, the water curled upwards ripping off ceiling tiles, and then headed down the hallway toward them. To Jim, it seemed like a dump truck had dumped a load of water at him, a dump truck with no end. Until now he had never understood why a deer would freeze in the headlights of an oncoming car. However, at that moment he understood the principle perfectly. He wanted to turn and run from this wall of water advancing toward him, but in spite of his desire, both he and Peter stood like statues while a large wave carrying a metal trashcan hit them head on. In the instant before the water hit, Jim heard his radio squawk, "The dam blew! Everybody get-"

  Jim missed the rest when the wall of water hit him, but he could have guessed how the message ended anyway. The water knocked both men off their feet. In the fall, Jim dropped his radio and his head went under. He tried to secure footing to stand, but couldn't find traction on the wet tile. For a moment it felt like he was at the water park with his kids. The feeling of being carried, arms flailing and body thrashing, was similar. At a certain point, he realized the water had washed them around the corner and back down the long corridor, but he had no memory of going around the corner. He bumped into Peter several times, but not enough to hurt.

  At that moment, Jim remembered the glass door at the end of the corridor, and he panicked at getting caught inside as the area filled with water. How would he open it? Then it hit him that the door opened out, and the water wouldn't have any trouble opening it. While he was thinking of just that, his head came up for long enough to see that they were almost at the door. He felt the water slow slightly, then suddenly accelerate again as he was sucked out the door.

  Once outside, the water cascaded off both sides of the walkway to the plant, and Jim and Peter found their footing and stood up. Jim grasped the handrail.

  Peter yelled to him. "You okay?"

  Jim nodded. "I guess so, how 'bout you?"

  "Yeah."

  Jim motioned back in the plant. "Anybody else up there with you?"

  "Yeah, two others."

  Jim looked nervous. "We gotta tell them to get out of here."

  "You want me to go back up?"

  Jim felt for his radio, but it was gone. "Yeah. Why don't ya. I'll go back and clear the rest of the plant."

  Both men took a second to look at the water coming out of the dam and running off the walkway. Because their view up was blocked by the canopy over their heads, neither could see the water spraying out of the face of the dam four hundred feet above them.

  As they ran into the plant, Jim pointed east. "Take 'em down the east stairs."

  * * *

  6:15 a.m. - Page, Arizona

  Overlooking the top of the dam in the security office, which was part of the HadenVisitorCenter complex, Brian Thacker, graveyard supervisor, waited for a response from his radio alert. "Hello, is an
ybody there? Jim? Jessie? Mark?"

  The radio squawked. "Jessie here." "Mark here." Jessie and Mark were stationed at the two access road gates, but Jim was down in the dam someplace.

  Brian waited several seconds then pressed the button. "Jim? Do you read me?"

  Nothing.

  He tried again. "Office calling Jim Nance, please respond."

  His radio squawked again. The voice was much higher than Mark's usual tone. "I haven't heard him yet, Brian. You want me to go down and check on him?"

  Brian knew something was wrong. Jim should have responded by now. He looked out the window again. The water was blasting out the hole. Every time he looked, there was more water. He felt sure that hole was close to twenty feet in diameter now. There was no way he could send anyone down there. It was too dangerous.

  Mark's voice came from the radio again. "Brian, you want me to go down the east elevator?"

  Brian looked at the water one more time. Jim was in trouble, but the dam was breaking apart. "Negative, Mark. Stay put. I'll try the control room and see if they know where he is."

  He tried the radio one more time. "Jim, do you copy?"

  He waited a moment, then dropped the radio and grabbed the phone. He dialed the control room first, letting it ring at least ten times. Next he tried the break room, then two different guard stations. Nothing from any of them. They were either dead or on the move. He prayed they were on the move. Walking to the windows, Brian tried to see down to the asphalt strip bordering the generation plant, but there was too much smoke to see down to river level.

  He heard the radio again. "Brian, this is Jessie. You called anybody yet? Reported it?"

  Brian picked up the radio. "When would I? I'm trying to figure out if everybody's okay."

  Jessie's voice came back calm. "I know, Brian, but you need to call. Now. You can't help Jim from where you are. They can use the tunnel. Make the call."

  Jessie was right. An access tunnel led down to the base of the dam from several miles away on the Page side. He needed to get the cops down there.

  First he called 911. The phone rang three times. To Brian, it seemed like fifteen minutes. Finally, a calm voice answered, "What is your name, please?"

  "There has been an explosion at the Glen Canyon Dam. The dam is leaking and might break up. I need you to--"

  "Whoa," the woman interrupted. "One thing at a time. You say that you are at the Glen Canyon Dam? What is your name?"

  Brian could hardly stand it. "Brian Thacker. The dam--"

  "Okay, Brian, what is the problem?"

  "The dam is failing. There is going to be a flood. A big one! Send a couple of police cars down the tunnel. I can't reach any of the crew on the radio. They might be hurt. Can you do that? I need to make some other calls."

  "Hang on, Brian, I need you to stay on the line."

  "I can't. Just tell the police to get over here." He knew he shouldn't, but he hung up the phone.

  He walked over to a red clipboard hanging on the wall. The next calls would not be dialed from memory. The first call was to the Bureau of Reclamation in Denver. They built the dam and were responsible for it. He thought they would want to know it was falling apart. As it turned out, they were, in fact, very interested. The lady on the line took Brian's number and promised to have someone return the call in a few minutes.

  The second call went to Hoover Dam, 300 miles downstream. He placed the third call to the National Parks Service, who would relay a message to the Grand Canyon. Both conversations were similar - short and to the point. Brian told them he was calling because there had been an explosion at Glen Canyon Dam. They asked if the dam had failed. He told them not yet. They asked how much water was flooding. He responded honestly and reported that the hole was about twenty feet in diameter. They both asked him to keep them updated. Brian left both calls with the same impression that they weren't going to do much unless he called back and said the dam failed completely. In fact, Brian wondered if they would even know what to do then.

  CHAPTER 8

  6:25 a.m. - Denver, Colorado

  Grant Stevens burst out of the bathroom into his dark bedroom. The loud piercing beeps from his pager seemed to emanate from all four walls of the bedroom, making it impossible to zero in on it. He headed straight for the dresser, where he always left it. He held a towel around his waist with his left hand, while he swept back and forth with his right. His fingers found the small box and pressed a button to stop the noise. He looked at the luminescent readout and noted the seven-digit number had a '911' after it. He heard a clicking sound from behind, and the bedside lamp came on, illuminating the room.

  "Who is it?" his wife mumbled from the bed. She shielded her eyes from the light.

  "Somebody from work. I don't recognize the number."

  "I thought they were all out of town," she said.

  "Me too."

  He walked over to the nightstand next to the bed and grabbed the cordless phone. His wife got up and went into the bathroom. Who could it be at this hour? Maybe someone headed to Kenya had forgotten something, some document or report. The fact that they would page him this early in the morning, with a 911, bugged him to no end, as if he didn't have anything more important to do. He walked back over by the dresser and considered for a while whether to delay calling back. However, a morbid curiosity of who was nervy enough to do it made him decide to make the call.

  The number on the pager had timed out, so he pressed the button again to re-illuminate it. He keyed in the number and waited. In the process of holding the phone in one hand and the pager in the other, his towel fell to the floor. He had just bent over to pick it up when the person on the other end of the line answered on the first ring.

  He propped the phone between his shoulder and ear while trying to position the towel. "Hello."

  "Grant? This is Julia, you know, Roland's admin."

  He knew who Julia was. She was the commissioner's new executive secretary. The consensus at the Bureau was that Roland had selected her because she looked like a model. Grant himself had never talked to her in his life. What could she possibly want? He wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it in before he answered. For some reason he didn't feel right about talking to Julia when he was naked, even on the phone.

  "Hi," he said.

  "I'm so glad you're there. As you know, Roland and the other executives are on their way to Kenya. I can't get a hold of them."

  Grant could tell she was nervous; she sounded like she might cry. "That's okay. What do you need?"

  "I just got a call from the Glen Canyon Dam. There's been an explosion."

  Grant sat down on the bed. "What?" The image returned from the day before of the concrete dam he had seen on TV.

  She continued. "The guy who called's name is Brian. He's a night security guard."

  The shock of the information waned enough to make Grant ask another question. "Julia, what is the Bureau doing?"

  There was silence on the other end before she finally spoke again. "That's just it, Grant. Everybody's gone. That's why I called you."

  He knew she wanted a response, but he couldn't speak.

  "Grant, Roland told me he was leaving you in charge. You need to handle this." She continued, "I just called the pilots for the Gulfstream. They'll meet you at the airport."

  Although the Bureau of Reclamation had an expensive corporate jet, only the commissioner and other executives used it. Grant had never flown in it.

  "The Gulfstream?" Grant repeated.

  "They'll get you down to the dam within the hour. I have Brian's number at GlenCanyon. Do you have a pencil?"

  Grant realized his mouth was hanging open. They were sending him on the Gulfstream? He stood and moved back toward the dresser, subconsciously realizing the towel had dropped again. This time he made no effort to retrieve it. "Hang on a second." He grabbed a pen and one of his business cards, then flipped over the card to write on the back. "What's the guy's name again?"

  "Br
ian," she repeated.

  "Okay. Give me the number."

  She read it to him and made him repeat it back to her.

  "Is there anything you need from the office?" she asked.

  Grant couldn't think. Then all of the sudden he wondered what would happen downstream if the Glen Canyon Dam failed. LakePowell was huge, one of the largest reservoirs in the country. The damage downstream would be catastrophic. He remembered suddenly that the Grand Canyon was directly downstream from the dam.

  "Julia, wait a minute. The Bureau did a study in the late nineties about what would happen if the dam failed. Can you get me a copy of the report? It's a Failure Inundation Study. I think Bruce's River Hydraulics Group did the analysis."

  She responded slowly as if she had written it down. "Okay, but I won't be able to get it to you at the airport. I'll have to fax it to you on the plane."

  "The plane has a fax machine?" He couldn't believe it.

  "Sure."

  Grant suddenly felt urgency. "What time should I-"

  "They'll be ready for you as soon as you can get there," she interrupted. "I called them right after I paged you. How long will it take you to get to the airport?"

  Grant looked at the alarm clock next to his bed. 6:27 a.m. What should he pack to supervise a dam failure in Arizona? A calculator? A measuring tape? Hip boots?

  "How about seven? I'll try to get there a few minutes before. Wait, Julia! I've never been on the jet. Is it on the other side of the airport? How do I get there?"

  She informed him that the Gulfstream was not at DenverInternationalAirport, but at Denver Centennial, a smaller and closer airport. He knew the location, but she gave him specific instructions on how to get to the terminal. He wrote the information on the backs of two more of his business cards.

  "What's your cell phone number?" she asked.

  "I don't have one, the Bureau never thought . . ." He hesitated. "Wait, I'll take my wife's." He gave her the number and hung up the phone.

  "What's going on?" his wife asked, now wide awake.

  "There's been an explosion at the Glen Canyon Dam. They're worried it might fail. And everybody is out of town."