by Gary Hansen
Grant heard Lloyd's voice in the headphones. "What's the plan?"
"Still working on it." Grant felt butterflies in his stomach. He hesitated before finishing. "We'll have to let it play out, see what happens."
Grant saw Shauna lean forward from the rear seat. "What are you guys talking about?"
He felt guilty for keeping Shauna in the dark. "We're deciding what to do next."
"I thought the FBI wanted to talk to you about your theory," she said.
"I mean after that," said Grant. "We're thinking about going into Mexico." He turned and looked into her eyes. He wondered why he was telling her.
Her eyes grew noticeably. "I thought the FBI specifically denied that?"
"They did," Grant stated unemotionally.
The rotors of the helicopter had stopped. The three were enveloped in silence. Grant recognized Phil and a few other special agents from Hoover Dam talking to Special Agent Williams.
Shauna sat back in her seat before talking. "I see." There was a moment of silence before she continued. "Aren't you afraid of getting fired or something?"
Grant rested his head back on the seat again. "I should be." He knew Shauna probably thought he was crazy.
Her response shocked him. "I'm going with you."
He sat up and turned, facing her. "No. There's no reason to."
"I'm going, Grant. They can fire me too if they want. We're in this together, to the finish."
Grant wanted to argue and tell her she couldn't go, but they were interrupted when one of the agents opened Grant's door. "Can you guys come out here for a second? Phil wants to ask a few questions."
Grant nodded and removed his headset. Climbing out of the helicopter took more energy than it should have. He hoped Shauna wouldn't spill the beans. After they exited the helicopter, Grant walked toward the FBI agents.
Phil shook his hand. "I would have been better off if I'd told my agents to follow you around for the last two days. You seem to have a nose for the action."
Grant smiled. "It was logical that the water trouble would keep moving downstream. It's where I needed to be." He caught Shauna looking at him.
Phil looked around before continuing. "So tell me how you came up with this environmentalist theory."
Grant shook his head. "None of the other theories worked - the mad boater, the middle-eastern terrorists, the anti-recreationalists. After GlenCanyon, maybe, but not after the attempt at Davis. They just didn't fit. But I knew there was a common denominator, ever since this morning at Davis Dam."
"I remember that. You were sure of yourself. So, what was the missing piece?" Phil prompted.
"The delta." Grant remembered the feeling when he put it together. "I knew the Colorado River dried up before it reached the ocean. But I never thought about it. I knew it, but I never considered the ramifications." Grant looked around and realized he was rambling.
He continued. "Finally, this afternoon, I realized when they closed the AllAmericanCanal what the common denominator from all the bombings was. All the bombs were intended to send more water downstream. That's why it didn't matter whether the poison was real or not. We had to shut down the canal either way. Mission accomplished." He looked over at Shauna. "It was Shauna who reminded me what was downstream in Mexico. That delta is dried up. Dead. The river hasn't made it that far in years. All of a sudden I knew why the bomber wanted all the water to go downstream. It made perfect sense."
"It made perfect sense to blow up the Glen Canyon Dam to restore a dried-up river delta?" asked Phil sarcastically.
Grant locked eyes with the FBI agent. "It makes perfect sense if you're an environmentalist, if you've spent years demonstrating for Greenpeace, or the Sierra Club, or the Glen Canyon Institute. If you've fought to elect liberals like Clinton and Gore, but were forced to watch when even they gave the environment lip service, establishing a few monuments, but avoiding the real issues, the issues that might offend the farmers who receive subsidized river water, or the populations of Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Phoenix, who plant palm trees in an environment more suited for scorpions or rattlesnakes. If you had dedicated your whole life to restoring the Colorado River and one of the most amazing deltas in the world, but deep down you knew that nothing you'd done, or ever would do, would even matter."
When Grant looked up, he saw that everyone was staring at him, some with wide eyes. He felt his hand trembling.
Phil spoke softly. "Wow, Mr. Stevens. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were the bomber."
Grant glanced around. He saw that Lloyd was smiling broadly. Grant shook his head. "I'm not your bomber, Phil. I don't condone what was done, or the lives and property that were lost in the process. But I understand it. And actually, I'm surprised that nobody ever tried it before."
Phil looked down for an instant. "Relax. I bought it. We forwarded your theory to the Mexican authorities over an hour ago."
"And?" said Grant.
"And there's nothing else we can do. It's their problem now."
"Did they discuss their plans with you?"
Phil shook his head. "They said they would get back to us. We told them we would stay here, at the airport, at their disposal, if they need us."
Grant didn't like it. He knew the Mexicans would be in over their heads. "Can't our president do something? Make some calls--"
Phil shook his head. "We have no jurisdiction down there, Grant. It's their problem now."
Grant pointed toward Mexico. "But they don't know what to do. They have no idea how much water is headed their way."
"We told them," Phil said. "They are getting ready."
Grant wanted to argue further, but stopped himself. The silence felt awkward.
Phil broke the silence. "So we wait. Maybe they'll call. If so, we'll be ready."
"I guess, if that's the only option," Grant mumbled. Grant felt the tugging again. He knew the water was already past the border. He couldn't hang around here much longer. If he was going to go, it needed to be now.
"And what about you, Mr. Stevens?" asked Phil. "Can you stay here with us? I'm convinced that you know how my bomber thinks better than anyone else. If the Mexicans need anyone, it's probably going to be you."
Grant looked at his watch, then over at Shauna and Lloyd. Shauna looked nervous and Lloyd looked perfectly calm, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He locked eyes with Phil. "Sorry, Phil, we need to head back north. All five dams are running beyond capacity. I need to monitor them over the next twenty-four hours." He hesitated to strengthen his lie. "But we can stay available, via cell phone." He held up the phone that the FBI had given him that morning. "We can be back in a flash if they need us."
Phil stared at him, making Grant wonder if he knew. The uncomfortable silence remained for a few moments before Phil finally nodded.
Grant reached out to shake again. "So, unless you guys have any other questions . . ."
"Good luck, Mr. Stevens," Phil said. "Your knowledge and instinct have been indispensable during this investigation."
Grant nodded. Too bad all his knowledge hadn't done any good. Grant turned and started walking toward the helicopter. His heart was racing, expecting any moment he might be tackled from behind. He resisted an urge to break and run. Finally, he reached the chopper and climbed quickly into his seat and put on his headphones. He stopped only then to exhale the air he'd been holding. Shauna and Lloyd climbed in after him. He heard Lloyd start the turbine and felt the rotors begin to turn.
He felt terrible for lying to Phil, not just because Phil represented the FBI and the investigation, but because he liked him. He was a good man. Phil would be furious when he found out Grant had lied to him. It wasn't the way Grant liked to leave things with people. Grant looked south over the trees toward Mexico. The environmentalist was down there. He could feel him. There was no choice. The FBI couldn't go, but he could. There was no other way.
When he looked back, he saw Phil talking to Special Agent Williams. Although Grant coul
dn't hear, he could tell that Phil was yelling to be heard over the helicopter. Then Grant saw something that made him feel sick. Phil yelled something at the special agent and pointed at the helicopter. She nodded and sprinted in a crouch toward them. Grant heard the door open quickly then shut. He felt the chopper move slightly when she climbed in. Lloyd looked over at him.
Grant waited until she had her headphones on. "What's up?"
"Phil thought I should hang with you guys, just in case."
"Just in case what?" Grant asked.
"Just in case you were wrong and something else happens upstream." She buckled her seat belt. She continued, "In case he's not in Mexico. In case he blows up more stuff where you're going."
Grant felt sick. He wanted to argue but did not know what to say. Lloyd looked over at Grant again and Grant nodded to take off. The helicopter lifted and the agents on the ground waved to them. Grant returned the wave. Lloyd headed north, back toward Imperial Dam.
Agent Williams continued talking. "Phil says the action seems to follow you, that we need to cover that base too, just in case."
Grant let the silence linger for a moment. Ahead he could see the mountain range that housed Imperial Dam. He looked down and realized that half the valley below was flooded. Brown water flowed everywhere. Where a country road had been swallowed by the flood, he saw six or seven cars parked, their passengers standing at the edge of the water. Grant knew what they were feeling. Maybe it was their posture, or their mannerisms, but ultimately it added up to lack of hope.
As they approached the mountain range, Grant spoke into the headphones. "Put her down over there." He pointed to a spot around the edge of the hill where they wouldn't be visible to anyone watching from the Yuma airport.
"Why are we landing?" Agent Williams asked, sounding surprised.
Grant hesitated, then, "We need to drop you off, Agent Williams."
"What?"
"You can't go where we're going."
"Why? Where are you going?"
"Don't worry about it," Grant said. This was turning out to be tougher than he expected.
"Wait a minute. You guys aren't thinking about flying into Mexico, to the delta?"
"Wherever we are going," Grant said, "you can't come with us."
He felt her hands on the back of his seat, pulling herself toward him. "You can't go either, Grant. Phil explicitly said that --"
"I'm well aware of what he said, Agent Williams, but we are going. That's why we have to drop you off. Phil left me no choice when he sent you with us."
"I can't let you," she stammered.
Grant turned and saw her punching numbers on her phone. For an instant, he wondered what to do, but then he saw Shauna do something completely out of character. She reached over and snatched the phone from the agent's hands.
The agent yelled into the headphones. "Hey you can't . . . Give me that back!"
Shauna tossed it in Grant's direction and it fell to the floor in the front seat. Grant wondered if both he and Shauna had crossed the line.
Lloyd set the helicopter down on a flat meadow above the riverbed. As soon as the landing gear touched, Grant jumped out, shut his door, then opened the agent's door directly behind his. "Get out," he said, yanking on her arm.
She glared at him. "No! I won't get out, and you can't make me."
He tossed her phone on the ground twenty feet away where she could see where it landed. He hoped she would go after it. She didn't move.
Still holding onto her arm, he felt the muscles. He was a desk jockey and she was a trained spy and assassin. He suddenly realized he couldn't make her do anything. He relaxed his grip on her. "Get out."
"No."
He had no idea what to do next. Maybe if all three of them tried, they could drag her out of her seat. But it didn't feel right. Besides, she had a gun. She could use it if she wanted to. Another idea finally occurred to him. "So, you're going with us?" he asked.
"Nobody's going into Mexico," she said.
He pointed a finger at her face and he felt his emotions burn. "We are definitely going into Mexico." He motioned at the river. "The guy who did all this is down there, waiting."
"It's not our problem," she said, without much conviction.
"It is our problem!" he yelled. "We're the only ones who know where he's going. Think of all the people this guy has killed and how much damage he's caused."
She pursed her lips. "Don't be so arrogant. You're not the only one that can catch him."
Grant took a step back from her. He motioned at the chopper. "We are going to Mexico, right now. If you don't get out, you are choosing to go with us. So Special Agent Williams, are you going or staying?"
She stared at him with anger in her eyes, then floored him. "I'm going."
His jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
Her eyes went down for a second before returning to his. "Phil told me to stay with you."
He looked down at her gun. He suddenly pictured her holding the gun to Lloyd's head to prevent them from leaving the country. "You're not going to use that on any of us, to make us turn around?"
She looked down at the weapon. "No."
"I don't trust you," he said.
She unsnapped it, spun it around, and handed it to him, butt first. "I trust you, Grant."
He felt uncomfortable holding her gun. He held it so the barrel pointed at the ground by his feet. "What about Phil? Your job?" he asked.
"What about yours?" she responded.
He didn't know what to say. "You're doing this willingly?"
She smiled. "No, you beat the crap outta me and made me come with you," she shrugged. "I'm supposed to stay with you guys, remember? That is my excuse. Besides, you need me." She pointed at the pilot. "He's the only one of you that's ever tried to sneak up on a bad guy, and that was a million beers ago."
Lloyd smiled, nodding his agreement.
Grant couldn't see another alternative. He couldn't make the agent get out. She'd kick his butt if he tried. "All right then, but no funny stuff. We have a job to do and we need to get going." He took a step backward, and motioned toward Mexico with his thumb. "Lloyd, let's go find our environmentalist."
He glanced at Agent Williams and she nodded. He closed her door. Not that he didn't trust her, but, he didn't trust her. He kept the gun and left the cell phone in the dirt. He climbed back in his seat and Lloyd took off. The helicopter headed east to minimize the chance they would be detected. After a while they turned south. They passed silently over the border from the United States into Mexico about twenty miles east of Yuma.
* * *
7:20 p.m. - Mexico
As Grant looked down over the small shacks and lean-tos that housed most of Mexico's rural population, he felt privileged to live in the United States. He noticed that, just like in the southwest, down below in Mexico, any un-irrigated land had reverted to barren desert.
Like the Americans, the Mexicans diverted as much water from the Colorado as possible. Ditches and canals criss-crossed the entire landscape below. Grant was surprised to see so much irrigated farmland east of the river. It had been his understanding that the bulk of the Colorado River was shipped west from the Morales Dam toward Tijuana. He wondered what had become of the Morales Dam. He felt guilty for not trying to save it, as he had done for the American Dams. He hoped the Mexicans had gotten the message and had taken some sort of action. But if the American managers were any example, then he doubted the Mexicans would have the heart to destroy their own dam, even if that was the only way to save it. In the long run, it probably wasn't that important, since the Americans would end up bankrolling the reconstruction with foreign aid as penitence for allowing an American criminal to cause the damage.
Since they had entered Mexico so far east of Yuma, they had not yet encountered the Colorado River. But as Lloyd headed west, they saw the destruction ahead. The whole area below was covered with brown water. Debris, that Grant could only assume were the remains of living shel
ters, covered the surface of the water. A woman and six or seven children had sought refuge in a tree. A few old cars were half submerged. In one place, a dozen people were standing on a rooftop of one house.
He knew things would get worse and his fears were realized when Lloyd motioned toward a couple of bodies floating face down near some trees. He felt a knot in his stomach and heard some sniffling in his headphones, but nothing was said. The destruction was everywhere. Grant tried to focus ahead instead of below. Fifteen minutes later, they passed ahead of the flooding.
An unmistakable snaking line of green trees in front of them marked the original channel of the Colorado River.
Grant pointed toward it. "Follow it south."
He knew river levels ahead of the flood would be low, but was still shocked at the actual sight of such a meager stream of water in the Colorado River. It became so small that the trees completely closed the gap as if they lined a creek.
They followed the river southwest until it converged with a small mountain range running north and south. At that point, the river ran almost straight south, paralleling the mountain range. Highway 5 paralleled the river, running along the base of the mountain. During those miles where the river skirted the highway, it ceased to flow, but instead widened into standing water surrounded by reeds and willows. The area seemed more like a marsh than a river. Grant saw a few rundown huts between the river and the highway. One of the huts had a sign that said "Resort." But the grounds looked nothing like any resort he had ever seen.
They followed this marsh for almost five miles until it slowly turned southeast away from the highway and the mountain range. During the five-mile stint, Grant saw run-down dories tied up to trees along the sides. At one point he saw a man in a small boat with an outboard motor winding through the maze. A few miles from where the river cut away from the road, a gravel access road aimed toward the river. Two rundown police cars were parked just off the highway.
"That must be the Mexican FBI," said Lloyd.