by Gary Hansen
12:50 p.m. - Grand Canyon, Arizona
David watched as a large red helicopter lowered a cable with an orange padded loop. The helicopter was at least a hundred feet above them.
The white helicopter that found them hovered just off the cliff as before, relaying instructions. "Be careful. Don't let the harness pull you off the ledge."
Afram grabbed the harness. The noise was loud with both helicopters so close, and turbulence buffeted the rock ledge. David sat down to ensure he didn't fall.
"YOU FIRST." Afram motioned to Judy with the harness.
Judy put the harness over her head and looped her arms over the padded material. She gave a quick thumbs-up sign to the white helicopter. Immediately she was lifted. Seeing her dangling out over the canyon made David sick and he had to shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them Judy was almost up to the helicopter.
Before long, the empty harness was sent back down to them. Afram pushed the harness toward David, but he wasn't ready.
"NO. YOU GO."
Afram looked unsure, then pulled it on and allowed himself to be lifted. Again David winced when Afram's body lifted out over the edge of the cliff. He was not looking forward to this.
When the harness was lowered back down, David held it in his hands and looked at it. Suddenly the fear of heights was back and he was afraid to stand and try to put it on. What if he fell while putting it over his head?
"Go ahead, son," the metallic voice coaxed. "You'll be fine."
Still sitting, David pulled the harness over his head and looped his arms over the pad. He intended to take a minute to catch his breath before motioning he was ready, but they didn't wait for him. As the harness lifted David, his body went rigid and he screamed. He tried to hook his feet on the jagged rocks, but he was pulled up and out. Once in the air, the tension in the cable made him feel more secure and the panic subsided. But he didn't dare look. He kept his eyes firmly shut. The chopper's buffeting air grew stronger as he was hoisted. Before he knew it, he was in the chopper and a man was removing the harness. When he was free, he collapsed in a seat next to Judy and Afram.
* * *
1:00 p.m. - El Centro, California
The skinny man took a long swig from his Big Gulp. Too much driving. From San Onofre beach, he had driven another hour south into San Diego, then east, parallel to Mexico on I-8 for an hour and a half, and according to the last sign, El Centro should be the next exit, the heart of California's Imperial Valley. That would be just in time. He needed to get out and walk around. He needed to find a restroom. And he was hungry.
The AllAmericanCanal ran parallel to the Mexican border on his right almost five miles south of the freeway. He'd already passed over the WestsideMainCanal, the last and westernmost of the six major diversions off the All American.
Below Imperial Dam, for all practical purposes, the Colorado River became the AllAmericanCanal. Most American's didn't know that, but he did. Imperial Dam diverted more than twice as much water west into the canal than it allowed to flow into Mexico. No one cared if the river dried up before it reached Mexico. Certainly not the farmers of the Imperial Valley, that's for sure. If the United States had not agreed in a treaty to guarantee a fixed amount to Mexico, the Mexicans wouldn't get anything, and they knew it.
Only a few miles back, when he first drove into the valley, he passed a dirt field too dry to grow sagebrush. No bushes, weeds, or anything, just dirt. An empty irrigation ditch ran right next to the freeway, which explained why nothing grew. Without water from the Colorado, Imperial Valley would be a dust bowl, just like it once was.
Up ahead was the main exit for El Centro. Good. There were some fast food joints where he could eat, visit the restroom, and stretch his legs. He needed it, because he had a big day ahead of him. After all, he was going to blow up the AllAmericanCanal.
CHAPTER 34
1:10 p.m. - Palo Verde Dam, California
Don Simpson from the Palo Verde Irrigation District was nervous. He'd been venting on Grant since the helicopter landed. Don looked to be about fifty, a little under six feet, and bulky, maybe 220. He wore shiny brown cowboy boots and a western shirt with snaps instead of buttons. He would have looked complete with a felt cowboy hat, but instead, he wore a green baseball cap with a Palo Verde Irrigation District logo on the front.
"You're sure there's nothing we can do to save this dam?" he asked.
"Absolutely," said Grant. "We just watched Headgate Rock fail from the helicopter. We just came from there. One guy from the Bureau of Indian Affairs didn't believe us, and he's dead right now."
Don's face softened. "Well, we're ready; I just wanna be sure. The farmers in my district rely on this dam for irrigation, and it's not natural to bust a dam intentionally."
Grant laid it on the line. "You're gonna have almost 500,000 cubic feet per second of water coming through here for the next sixty days until Lake Mead settles back below its spillways. Your dam can't even handle close to that much. You tell me how your dam is going to survive."
Don didn't answer.
Grant looked around. The Palo Verde Diversion Dam had three gates for the Colorado River and a separate gate for a diversion canal. The concrete structure sat on the California side of the river, right next to an old house, still occupied. A big willow tree shaded the front yard and a friendly white dog walked from person to person, nudging their hands with his nose. A dirt dike over a thousand feet long connected the head gates to the other side of the river. No other homes were visible. The California bank of the river rose into a small dry mountain range. On the Arizona side, endless farms were visible. Like Parker and Headgate Rock Dams, police cars littered both sides, and many officers could be seen walking around on the dam itself.
Even from the helicopter, Grant could tell they had lowered the reservoir. All three Colorado River gates were completely open and a wet line circled the upstream side of the river showing that the water had dropped at least five feet. Upstream, the reservoir veered east a quarter mile from the dam, making it impossible to see the full size of the reservoir.
"How long before the bulldozers will be done?" Grant asked. "After they open it, the water'll need time to clean it out before the flood gets here."
Two extremely large bulldozers had carved a 70 foot section down to the water level by pushing the dirt and substrate off the downstream side of the dam. This resulted in a huge pile of dirt and gravel below the cut.
Don checked his watch. "Both dozers've been going since 10 a.m. They're both D-11 Caterpillars, the biggest suckers available. They're almost at water level now." Don turned back toward Grant and pointed upstream and motioned at the wet banks. "As you can see, we already lowered the reservoir."
Grant nodded. "Yeah, I noticed, but that may work against us."
Don furrowed his brows. "What do you mean? I thought that would be better."
Grant watched a bulldozer push a blade of dirt into the water. "Well, you're gonna need to dig five feet deeper now, before the water starts helping." Grant pointed upstream. "And I'm a little worried whether there's enough water to really open the dike, you know, wide enough for the flood."
Don turned and looked at the river. "I didn't consider that. I just figured the less of a flood I cause downstream, the better."
Grant held out the palms of his hands. "Any flood you cause will pale compared to the flood that's on its way, Don."
Don's head jerked back toward the dam. "Hey, what if I shut all the head gates while they're digging? We could start filling the reservoir again."
Grant looked at his watch as a bulldozer pushed another blade off the dike. He figured they still had almost an hour, but no sense cutting it too close. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. The more water the better."
Don barked orders to a young guy with a John Deere hat. He lowered the gates, one by one. Grant stood on top of the concrete structure, looking straight down into the three spillways. In spite of the dam's small size, the amount of
water churning and swirling under the three gates was respectable. After a few minutes, all three gates were shut and the water downstream stopped churning.
Agent Williams stood in the shade of the tree by the house, talking on her cell phone. Shauna had walked over next to the reservoir, and was staring down at the wet rocks as if measuring how fast the water had risen since they closed the head gates. Lloyd walked over and joined them, with the white dog from the house nudging at his hand.
"So what's the agenda, boss?" Lloyd asked.
Grant smiled back at the pilot. "I'm making a small flood, just for you." He pointed toward the bulldozers. "They're going to continue lowering the middle of the dike and in a few more minutes they will meet the rising water. Then they'll make a few cuts below the water level, and get the hell out of there before it comes tumbling down. Should be pretty spectacular."
Lloyd smiled wide. "Wow, you guys put on a good show. How much you charge for this kind of entertainment?"
Don glanced over at Lloyd. Grant guessed Don didn't know what to think about the pilot.
* * *
1:25 p.m. - Palo Verde Dam, California
In the ten minutes since they closed the head gates, the bulldozers had lowered the 70 foot-wide notch another couple of feet. At the same time, the reservoir itself rose a few feet, and now some small streams began trickling through the large notch.
"Okay, this is the critical part," Don said to an already tentative audience.
Everyone on both sides of the river, including the cops, stood watching. One of the bulldozers headed up the slope out of the dike away from Grant, a slope that had been intentionally left for their escape. Halfway up he stopped. The operator jumped off the bulldozer, and shortly appeared dragging a chain around the back.
"What's he doing?" asked Lloyd.
Don answered, "He's getting a chain ready; in case the other one gets in trouble, he can hook onto him and pull him out."
While the first operator stretched out the chain, the other D-11 Caterpillar pivoted, placing the right track on the downstream edge of the dike and the blade facing away from them. He stopped. Even from a distance, the group saw the water streams through the notch had increased slightly in the last few minutes, and the tracks of the bulldozer glistened wet. After the two drivers waved to each other, the second D-11 dropped his blade and cut a two-foot deep swath, stopping after only ten feet, as dirt piled up in front of the blade. The D-11 reversed back through the two-feet-deep water. Grant guessed it would take four more passes to open the dike.
"Why is he starting downstream?" asked Grant.
Don glanced over at him and shrugged. "I don't know; maybe he's afraid if he starts on the upstream side, the downstream side will wash out."
That made sense. Either way, after the last cut he figured the bulldozer wouldn't stop but hustle his rig up the slope as fast as he could.
After the bulldozer completed its second pass and again reversed through the water, Grant looked at Don. "How deep of water can they drive through?"
Don smiled. "I asked the same question. They said they could go to the top of the tracks, if the ground under them was firm. That'd be over four feet."
The bulldozer reversed from his third pass and prepared for what they knew would be the final assault on the notch in the Palo Verde Diversion Dam. Grant felt some sweat run down the center of his back.
"Here comes the hard part," said Don.
The D-11 hesitated for an instant, sitting with its right track on the edge of the dike, then black smoke poured out of the exhaust stack and it lurched forward. Almost immediately Grant saw water flowing off the dike from behind the blade and through the crawlers tracks. As the dirt piled up in front of the dozer, he lifted the blade and continued over the top of the dirt he had just pushed and the driver raced for the slope. The other D-11, seeing that he wouldn't be needed, accelerated forward out of his way. Both of them climbed up the slope onto the other side, not stopping until they both sat on top of the dike.
Behind them, the two-foot deep by ten-foot wide channel cut by the second dozer flowed off the downstream side of the dike.
Lloyd turned to face Grant and shrugged. "Doesn't seem like enough to do anything."
"Don't take your eyes off it," Grant said.
Grant suddenly wished he had a video camera. He looked around and saw that somebody else did, likely one of Don's guys from the irrigation district.
For what seemed like a minute or two, the water appeared to only be increasing slightly. Then suddenly Grant realized it had doubled. The rising reservoir itself was making it harder to focus on the ditch, since water now flowed across the entire notch, making a 70 foot wide waterfall, and obscuring the deeper ditch in the center. But the water in the center ditch grew swifter by the second. Unlike the waterfall that simply dropped off the dike, the ditch water shot through, causing the water below to churn into a brown froth. Grant guessed the ditch was much wider than ten feet now.
For the next few seconds, the water volume and trajectory increased almost as fast as a hose while opening the valve. Then Grant saw something spectacular and unexpected which drew an "ooh" from the other bystanders. The volume in the ditch suddenly increased enough to drop the reservoir right next to the dike, which killed the waterfall over the top like curtains being drawn, as the waterfall disappeared from inside to out.
With the waterfall gone, they could see the ditch better, and it looked to be at least 30 feet wide and 25 feet deep. A loud cracking sound startled the group. They all looked downstream in time to see a large tree in the river bottoms get toppled by the raging river.
While everyone watched, a large section of dirt on the Arizona side broke off and sloughed into the water only to disappear immediately. Not a second later, a similar slab followed from the California side. The combination of the two seemed to double the flow. Grant looked upstream and saw the water in the reservoir had dropped over five feet right next to the dike. And the previously still water could be seen moving quickly toward the cut. More of the dike sloughed off every few seconds until the ditch had widened to almost the entire 70 feet cut down by the two D-11s. This perspective was reinforced when part of the slope the dozers had used to climb out collapsed into the stream. As a result, both D-11s poured black smoke out their exhausts and surged away, heading along the dike toward the Arizona riverbank. The policemen and others standing on the dike ran to distance themselves from the cut.
When Grant thought the flow had decreased, he looked upstream. He saw the wet band around the reservoir all along the river had dropped another five feet. Downstream, the river was a mess. The color ran an ugly brown and had spread wide, filling the old river bed for what Grant guessed was the first time since spring floods before Hoover dam was built, during the 1930s. The river bucked, jigged, and swirled around trees and other obstacles that hadn't been threatened for the last 70 years.
The water blasting out of the cut in the dike was less visible now, as the water level downstream had risen almost as high as the reservoir upstream.
"Wow," said Lloyd.
Grant nodded. "Yeah. That's a good way to describe it."
Don turned and faced Grant, visibly shaken. "What now?"
Grant looked at his watch. "Now we wait. The water should be arriving here some time in the next twenty minutes." Grant patted Don on the shoulder. "Hey, the hard part's over. You did it. That was a lot better than waiting for the reservoir to rise another twenty feet to the top of the dikes and let it break itself. Now, in a couple of months when Hoover's spillways stop and things get back to normal, you can fix your dike and you'll be back in business."
Don forced a smile. "You act like it's no big deal."
Grant looked serious. "It isn't, compared to what happened to the Indians upstream. There's dead people up there, homes washed away, farmland flooded," Grant pointed at the concrete structure, "and their dam is gonna suffer over the next couple months, millions of dollars worth of damage."
Don seemed to think about that. "Speaking of the structure, you think I should open my head gates again?"
Grant looked upstream. "Yeah, why not? The more water that flows through the gates, the less to wash away your dike." Don nodded and walked off to get the gates open.
"So we gonna hang around? Wait for the flood water?" said Lloyd.
"Absolutely." Grant pointed downstream at the raging brown Colorado River. "According to Shauna's numbers, it'll take almost three and a half hours for the water to work its way down to Yuma and the Imperial Dam."
* * *
2:00 p.m. - East of El Centro, California
The skinny man slammed his fist against the steering wheel and cursed loudly.
National guardsmen swarmed along the banks of the AllAmericanCanal, not just the bridges and the overpasses either. They were everywhere, and the canal was over eighty miles long.
His plan had been perfect. The whole area between El Centro and Yuma was an off-roader's dream with sand dunes as far as the eye could see. All he needed to do was stop at one of the many OHV spots, find an isolated parking spot next to the canal, set a ten-minute timer, and be five miles down the road when the canal blew and started watering the desert.
Now what? He had already driven past all the places he had scouted, and the soldiers were crawling all over the thing. They weren't even letting motorcycles approach the canal, let alone his pickup.
He pulled into one of the lots and stopped next to a motor home, letting the engine run. The AllAmericanCanal was still 50 yards away, 50 yards of deep sand. The soldiers carried assault rifles. He wondered if they would shoot him if he drove over there. He knew they'd be reluctant to shoot a civilian. But then again, they were probably hot and bored and he wouldn't put it past them. The idea of planting his bomb was unthinkable.
He wished he had one of those anti-tank weapons, the ones that shoot a little rocket out of a tube. He could stand next to the motor home, take aim, pull the trigger, and bingo. He salivated at the thought. He imagined it blowing sand all over the place, in a bright fiery ball, with soldiers flying head over heels in all directions.