by Gary Hansen
Shauna shook her head. "Basically nowhere. There isn't much left. By then the riverbed is almost dry."
The special agent looked confused. "All the water? Dry riverbed? You mean the Colorado River is gone after Morales?"
Grant winced. It was like he had just been gut punched. His mind began racing and the voices of the others started to fade. The puzzle fit. He had all the pieces. And now that he did, he felt like an idiot for not seeing it before. It was the damn Mexican border; he hadn't been thinking beyond it. He had been hypnotized by the old "that's not my job" theory, the same theory he hated when others adopted it. In order to understand the intentions and motives of the Colorado River bomber, he needed to look at the Colorado River as a whole.
Shauna continued, "Yeah. Like I said before, we ended up signing a treaty with Mexico to guarantee what they get today. Without the treaty, the river wouldn't even make it there. The Americans would use it all."
Agent Williams thought about that for a minute. "What about where the river hits the ocean?"
Shauna laughed. "The delta? There isn't one. The water doesn't make it there any more. The whole thing is dried up."
Grant jumped back in, but his voice was dreamy. "People who visited the delta in the early 1900's described endless marshes, filled with millions of waterfowl. Huge fish hunted in the brackish water. The delta stretched across almost fifty miles. Explorers considered the Colorado River Delta one of the most incredible places on earth. Jaguars were even seen hunting there."
Agent Williams looked between Shauna and Grant. "And it's all gone now?"
Grant nodded. "All of it. The river bed dries up almost sixty miles from the ocean; it just kind of disappears into the sand."
Lloyd, who had been silent, argued, "But every map I've ever seen, shows the Colorado River emptying into the Gulf of California."
Grant looked him in the eyes and shook his head. "Not any more. Not for decades."
Lloyd rubbed his eyes, then responded with vigor. "Hey, I'm no tree hugger, but that stinks. So we need water. Fine. Divert a little here and there, okay. But, all of it? Every drop? We dry up a delta that big so we can have water fountains and palm trees in Los Angeles and Las Vegas? That seems a little over the top."
Agent Williams spoke again, almost pleading. "I don't understand how this could happen."
Grant hung his head. "Well, it did. It was a different time." He knew how it happened. Everyone had been looking out for number one. When the U.S. government allocated the water in the Colorado River between the western states and Mexico in 1930, the squeaky wheel got the oil. California squeaked the loudest, and the delta didn't squeak at all. Early in life Grant learned that water flowed downhill. But, after joining the Bureau, Grant learned that water flowed uphill, toward money, and in the West, nobody had more money than California.
Grant continued. "Well, I think we finally have a plausible motive for our bomber."
"Do we ever," Lloyd said.
Grant felt funny. They had just cracked the case wide open. The Colorado River bomber was an environmentalist. He was sure of it. Now the FBI would know where to look. They could track him down. But Grant didn't feel as good as he should, and he sensed that the others didn't either. It had been easier when they thought the bomber wanted to destroy, maim, or kill. Now the motive turned out to be restoring a wildlife habitat. Now what? Grant knew what they had to do, but his feelings had changed.
"So what's next?" asked Agent Williams.
Grant considered. "First, we need to tell Phil."
Agent Williams nodded.
Grant pointed south. "Then somebody needs to contact Mexico again, and let them know what's happening."
Grant knew what else they needed to do. Subconsciously, he'd known it all along. "And finally, we need to start making arrangements to go into Mexico. With all the water that's headed downstream, the Colorado River Delta is going to be wet again, after over fifty years. And I have a feeling our environmentalist is going to be there to celebrate it."
* * *
3:00 p.m. - Palo Verde Dam, California
The helicopter blew dust in all directions as it lifted off from the Palo Verde Diversion Dam. Grant caught a final glimpse of Don Simpson from above. The head of the Palo Verde Irrigation District still looked nervous. He had been extremely anxious when he found out they were leaving. But, all things considered, things were fine at Palo Verde. The water levels had been slowly dropping since peak, and the rate at which the dike was washing away had slowed. The farmers were lucky, especially compared to what might have been if they had not intentionally broken their dam. Grant had tried to reassure Don of that fact before leaving. Not that Grant could blame him. Many of the farmers would hold Don personally responsible for the dike's failure. Blame waited on both sides of tough decisions.
As the helicopter followed the river downstream, Grant marveled at the way the river had changed, transformed from a calm green to a rushing brown. Sometimes, when it left its banks and spread out, it almost reminded him of the upper Mississippi, or maybe the Missouri. That probably made sense as the upper Mississippi averaged a little over 600,000 cubic feet per second, and for the next two months, the Colorado would be very close to that.
Soon after the helicopter left Palo Verde, Grant saw a small town shimmering beyond the countless grids of farm land, about five miles ahead.
"What town is that up there?" Grant asked.
"That would be the thriving metropolis of Blythe, California," Lloyd responded.
There were many words Grant could use to describe Blythe, but neither thriving nor metropolis came to mind. He looked at his watch and noted it was after 3:00 p.m. "Shauna," he said into the headphones, "how long before the water gets to Imperial Dam?"
"5:45," she responded immediately.
"All right, that's almost three hours; we have some time." Grant pointed ahead to Blythe. "Lloyd, head over there. Let's see if we can find a burger or sandwich place with a vacant lot next to it."
Lloyd looked over at Grant, surprised. "You want me to land the helicopter next to a fast food joint?"
"Sure, unless you can fly through the drive-thru. I haven't had anything since breakfast, and I'm starving."
Lloyd grimaced "It'll blow dust all--"
"I'll buy," Grant added.
"Why didn't you say that to start with?" The pilot smiled broadly.
"I'm in," Shauna said, from behind.
"Me, too," said the FBI agent.
Lloyd covered the five miles in a couple of minutes. "How about that one on the other side of the freeway? There's a whole field to land in behind it."
Grant saw it at the same time. "That'll work."
"I was kinda hoping for something cold, like a deli," Agent Williams said.
Lloyd glanced back at her. "They've got ice."
When the helicopter landed, Grant opened the door and hopped out. Turning back toward Lloyd he cupped his hands. "What do you want?"
Lloyd hung his headphones on the hook and opened his own door. "I'm coming too."
Grant saw that both women were already out. He instinctively crouched to avoid the rotors and jogged out from under the helicopter, meeting Lloyd on the other side.
As they walked across the sand toward the parking lot, Grant noticed a family standing next to their car. By the way they were staring, he guessed that helicopters did not often land next to hamburger places in Blythe.
Grant caught up to the pilot. "You could have kept the engine running, then we could have left when I got your food."
Lloyd held out his hands. "Driving with a cheeseburger and fries in my five-speed jeep is tricky, but if I were to try it in the helicopter, well let's just say you guys would be better off watching from a safe distance."
Grant nodded, realizing suddenly that both the pilots' hands were always occupied in a helicopter.
After they ordered and were seated, they ate in silence, all of them stuffing food in their mouths.
"Good idea," said Lloyd, with a mouth full of french fries.
Grant nodded a response. He glanced out the window and saw two men standing near the helicopter, looking it over. He swallowed a mouthful of food, and motioned to Lloyd. "Should I worry about the Lookie Lou's?"
Lloyd glanced up, then responded while still chewing. "Nah, people are always checking out the choppers. They won't hurt anything." He swallowed and rolled his eyes toward Agent Williams. "Besides, if they try something, the FBI here can put a bullet in 'em."
Agent Williams made a thumbs-up sign with her hand.
Grant swallowed, took a swig of his soda, and looked at the agent. "So what did Phil say?" Grant knew she called her boss just before they left the Palo Verde Diversion Dam, but he hadn't heard the result.
She took her time and finished chewing before responding. "It's hard to tell for sure what Phil's thinking, but it seems like he agrees with your delta theory."
"What about Mexico?"
She shook her head. "That, he was very clear about. We are not to cross the border. He's going to charter a jet from Hoover Dam to either Yuma or El Centro. He said he'd call the Mexicans while he waited for the jet."
"They can't get a jet from Hoover Dam," said Lloyd through a mouthful of french fries, "but a sea plane might work."
Agent Williams glared at Lloyd. "I know that. They're using the BoulderCityAirport."
Grant laughed, which caused the agent to glare at him too.
After a few minutes, when they were done with their hamburgers, both women excused themselves and walked to the restroom. Lloyd helped himself to both women's extra french fries. Grant glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot.
"What kind of paperwork would we need to fly into Mexico?"
Lloyd stopped chewing. "Didn't the FBI just tell us not to cross the border?"
"I'm just asking a hypothetical question."
Lloyd raised his eyebrows. "Well, in that case, if we just wanted to fly over the border and look around, kind of an aerial tour of the delta, then nothing."
Grant glanced around again. "Nothing? No permits?"
Lloyd shook his head. "As long as we don't try to land."
"Good."
Lloyd held up a finger. "There are other issues, besides the Mexicans and pissing off the Feds. I don't think my chopper's insured in Mexico."
Grant hadn't considered insurance. "How much would it cost to replace?"
"More than I'll make the rest of my life," Lloyd said.
"How about we worry about that problem later?"
Lloyd lowered his voice. "We'll need fuel."
"Can you get fuel in Yuma?"
Lloyd nodded. "Sure."
Grant lowered his voice. "All right, when we get to Imperial Dam, you take off and get some fuel."
"Won't it look suspicious, leaving you guys at the dam?"
Grant saw movement in Lloyd's eyes and looked over his shoulder to see both women exiting the restrooms.
Grant rushed his words. "Doesn't it need gas anyway?"
Lloyd winked.
"Hey, what are you guys whispering about?" said Agent Williams.
Grant stammered, embarrassed about getting caught.
Lloyd filled the silence. "We were just talking about how flattering those FBI coveralls look."
Both women looked at Grant, not Lloyd, and he felt his face flush.
Lloyd smiled. "No. That's not what I meant. What we were saying is that they're very practical in this hot weather, especially if you don't wear anything under them."
Grant saw Shauna gasp while Agent Williams looked over at her, then both women looked at Grant again, although this time Grant sensed that they were not sure whether to believe Lloyd.
Agent Williams shifted her look to Lloyd. "Are you messing with me?"
Lloyd shook his head. "No, ma'am. I have a policy to never mess with anybody who's packing." He pointed at her forty caliber Glock.
Grant wondered if Lloyd was making it worse, but the pilot didn't seem nervous. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself. During the standstill, Lloyd reached over and stole a couple more of the uneaten fries from the special agent.
She stared hard at him. It made Grant nervous. Finally her expression broke, and a slight smile appeared. "You touch one more of my fries, and I'll gun you down right here."
The pilot looked nervous for a second, pulling his arm back, then suddenly lurched forward, grabbing her whole carton of fries. She reacted as if she were under fire, broadening her stance and grabbing the handle of her weapon.
Grant saw a man at the next table jump in his seat, his eyes wide, and mouth hanging open.
Agent Williams released her hand from the weapon and pointed at Lloyd, smiling wider. "You're just lucky my gun was snapped in, or my reflexes might have taken over."
The pilot stuffed the fries in his mouth and took a swig of his drink. "That's the story of my life with women, just one snap away from the action."
Grant was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. After he regained control of himself, he stood and gathered the garbage from the table onto his tray. "Enough comedy. Let's head out. We got another 80 miles to Imperial Dam."
The two women pitched in while Lloyd refilled his soda. A moment later Lloyd held the door and they all headed back into the desert heat.
* * *
3:45 p.m. - Border between the United States and Mexico
The thin man passed from Calexico, California into Mexicali, Mexico. The security on the border reminded him of a two-way mirror, where you could see out, but not in. The entrance into Mexico was a straight shot; he hardly had to slow down. Yet cars were lined up for a mile going the other way, and he could see that each driver entering the United States was being stopped and questioned.
Before he crossed, he passed many stores that advertised Mexican car insurance. On all of his past trips he had always paid the money. He knew his normal car insurance wouldn't cover him in Mexico, and he'd heard the horror stories of Americans getting thrown into Mexican jails after an accident due to lack of insurance. It just wasn't worth the risk, not for twenty bucks a day.
But this particular trip was different. He had worried about all those things before when he couldn't afford to be locked up in Mexico. He could not afford to jeopardize his goal over a trivial issue such as car insurance. But this time when he pulled up to the insurance store, he sat in the car and wondered what to do. For the last year he had planned meticulously for this. It had consumed him. But today he realized that he had given no thought to his life after. To be honest, he was surprised to have gotten away with it, expecting to either be caught by the police, or more likely, killed. But he was not dead, nor incarcerated.
Sitting in the parking lot he realized that he didn't know what came next. One plan included heading farther south into Baja for a couple of days. He could camp and kill time until he felt safe crossing back into the U.S. But he had never spent any time thinking about the details, and realized now that he had no food, sleeping bag, or even water jugs for such an excursion. And what of the car insurance?
Realistically, the police would eventually track him down. He felt sure of it. Yet now that he had made it this far, he wondered if there were things he should have done just in case he was successful. Fake I.D. would have been a good start. Maybe even airplane tickets out of Tijuana or Cabo San Lucas. But where would he go? And what would he do when he arrived? He had no money for a life of exile. But he couldn't really go back to work on Monday either. Or could he?
In the end, he bought the car insurance, a seven-day policy. If he wound up wandering around in Baja, at least he wouldn't be thrown in jail for an auto accident. He laughed at the thought of the FBI finding him in a Mexican jail, being held for a fender bender. Actually, if he told the Mexicans that he was the one responsible for releasing the Colorado, they just might let him go. It was an interesting thought. But how would he tell them? He didn't speak Spanish.
A hor
n honking behind him brought him out of his daze. He was in the wrong lane. He waved his arm out the window and moved left to where he should have been. The street signs were just different enough to give him an uneasy feeling when driving in Mexico. He rubbed his eyes and focused ahead.
Mexico's Highway 5 headed south through Mexicali. After exiting the city, it would eventually run alongside the last of the Colorado River. Forty miles south of Mexicali, the river dried up completely. From there, the highway continued another fifty miles along the edge of the dried-up river delta, and eventually went through San Felipe on the coast of the Gulf of California. His map showed the road continuing south, finally linking with Highway 1 that stretched all the way to Cabo San Lucas, a thousand miles away at the bottom of the BajaPeninsula. But south of San Felipe, the line on his map was small indicating a dirt or gravel road. Maybe he would head south after tonight. Cabo sounded like a good place to get lost. But the road was unknown to him, and it reminded him how little preparation he had made for success.
He glanced at his watch. There was plenty of time. A news report on the radio estimated the floodwater was traveling about twenty miles per hour. Another station said twenty-five. Either way, the water should reach the delta sometime late that evening. It would be better to have firm time estimates, but that was a luxury he didn't have. He would reach it in time; that was the main thing. He would be there to see the delta restored.
CHAPTER 36
4:10 p.m. - North of Yuma, Arizona
From the helicopter, they could see the concrete structure of the Imperial Dam. Unlike the last two dams, Imperial was entirely concrete and stretched all the way across the small canyon, for a total length of over 3000 feet. In spite of its length, the dam looked unimpressive, only thirty-one feet tall in the middle, with slightly larger concrete head gates on both sides.
As they flew over the structure, Grant could make out three streams flowing from the dam. From west to east, the first and by far the largest was the AllAmericanCanal on the California side. Next to it, and only a third as big, was the remainder of the Colorado River. Then, on the far eastern shore, the GilaMainCanal flowed from gates into Arizona.