by Gary Hansen
Grant thought they were getting close to the issue. "But you support what was done?" asked Grant. "Blowing up the dams? Isn't that why the Sierra Club sent you?"
Black Beard hesitated.
"Yes!" yelled the blond. "It had to be done."
Grant saw heads nod, but none as enthusiastic as the blonde. Black Beard's face showed concern. Others turned and looked at the blonde as if he were crazy. Grant scanned back and forth quickly to assess how many true supporters of bombing the dams there really were. He guessed that most of this group, like in similar groups, were followers. Although passionate about the environment, they would never consciously kill people to achieve their goals. Even Black Beard seemed reluctant to kill. Only the blonde and one of the women had enough hate in their eyes.
Black Beard spoke. "We're members of The Sierra Club, but they didn't send us out here or make the sign. We did that on our own. I don't know whether the Sierra Club supports the bombing, but a spokesman on the news this morning said the attack was inevitable. It was only a matter of time. We would have preferred the river be restored peacefully, but we all know that's impossible."
"Look!" someone shouted. "Another helicopter."
The conversation was forgotten as both groups turned and looked into the sky.
"Get the sign turned around," said Black Beard, motioning with his arm. "It might be the news."
Grant looked ahead and saw the approaching helicopter. As it approached, he noticed it was in fact a media chopper. A tethered cameraman hung from an open door. The words Channel 4 News, San Diego, were printed on the side.
The chant, "Restore the Colorado. Restore the Colorado," started again.
Grant, Shauna, Agent Williams, and Lloyd were suddenly standing alone, having been abandoned by the protestors.
"What now?" asked Lloyd.
Grant scratched his head. "I don't know." He looked over at the group holding the banner. "I don't think anybody in that group is our man."
"What about that tall blonde guy?" Shauna asked. "He scared me."
Grant shook his head. "I don't know. He's got the passion for it, but --"
"He's not smart enough," said Lloyd. "These guys are just a bunch of hippies that decided to drive out here and get on TV." He pointed toward the group who were shuffling their feet to keep the banner aligned. "Look at 'em."
"Restore the Colorado. Restore the Colorado," they chanted enthusiastically.
"I hate to say it, but Lloyd's right," said Agent Williams. "I don't think he's in that group. He'd look different. He'd be different."
"There was one guy who did look different," said Shauna. "He was dressed better, cleaner."
"The guy in the polo shirt," Grant said.
"Yeah." Shauna nodded.
Lloyd shook his head. "Did ya see what Polo shirt he was wearin'?"
They all looked at the pilot. Grant shook his head.
"Dirty Devils," said Lloyd. "It's an off-road accessory store. He's the guy they recruited to bring the dune buggies." He pointed at the vehicles, then back at the group. "You think those bozos could get out here by themselves?"
While they were talking, the news helicopter had made a full circle around the banner. Grant saw that the cameraman then pointed his camera at the Vegas Tours chopper, not the protestors.
The pilot nudged Grant. "I think your secret mission into Mexico is now being viewed nationwide by 20 million cable subscribers."
Before Grant could respond, the helicopter broadcasted a message from its PA system. "Attention below! Floodwater is approaching. We recommend everyone leave this area immediately. Repeat. Floodwater is approaching quickly from the north. Please vacate this area while it is still possible."
Grant shielded his eyes from the setting sun and scanned in a northwest direction. How far out was it? He wondered if the news helicopter could actually see the water, or whether it was still a few miles out. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to tell until they got back up in the air.
The warning message had confused the protestors. A few released the banner and were running back toward the dune buggies. At least six or seven still held the banner as if nothing had changed. Eventually, they released it, but stood next to it arguing about what to do. The chant stopped. One of the runners was the guy in the polo shirt whom they guessed owned the buggies. He now waved frantically for the others to follow. Grant guessed that he had no intentions of donating his vehicles as martyrs to the Colorado River.
Grant looked at Lloyd. "Why don't you get on the radio in the helicopter and ask them how far --"
The other helicopter interrupted them. "Flood water is estimated to be less than four miles away". The guy broadcasting the message broke out of his formal tone and raised his voice. "This whole area will be underwater shortly. Please hurry to your vehicles and vacate immediately."
"Never mind," Grant said.
Without speaking, he turned and headed for the helicopter and the others followed. While still walking, Grant glanced back at the protestors. Only two remained at the banner: Black Beard, and the blonde. They were stretching it out on the ground. The rest sprinted across the sand toward the waiting dune buggies. A moment later Black Beard and the blonde abandoned the banner and ran off.
Lloyd reached the helicopter first and the turbine was already starting before Grant climbed into his seat. Lloyd flipped switches on the dashboard. When Grant pulled on his headphones he heard Lloyd talking. "Vegas Tours calling Channel 4 News. Do you read?"
"We read you, Vegas Tours," they responded.
"Do you currently have visual on the water?" Lloyd asked.
By now the rotors were turning fast enough to blur. Visibility was obscured by sand being blown in every direction.
"Negative, Vegas Tours; four miles was only an estimate from when we--" Grant heard another voice from the news helicopter, a woman's voice. "I can see it. Over there."
The first voice came back, "Affirmative, Vegas Tours. We now have visual on the floodwater. Looks to be about 2.5 miles northwest of here."
The helicopter lifted off. After they climbed out of the swirling sand, Grant saw that most of the protestors were loaded into the dune buggies. One of the vehicles had already turned around and faced east. Grant searched the northwest horizon as they gained altitude. The glare from the sun setting over the mountains on the west made it difficult to see. Finally, Grant noticed what looked like a gray line across the top of the sand. "It doesn't look like it's two miles away to me," said Shauna from behind. "More like a mile and a half, or less."
Grant pointed at the flood line. "Let's fly over it. I wanna see it." The helicopter accelerated in response.
"Vegas Tours, this is Channel 4 News." It was the woman's voice. "We couldn't help but notice the FBI coveralls. Can we assume that your party is affiliated with the U.S. government?"
Grant covered his mouthpiece with his hand. "Can they hear everything we say?"
Lloyd shook his head. "Not unless we hit the transmit button."
Grant didn't want to tell the reporter they were official government, especially since it wasn't true. Then again, he didn't want to say they weren't either. A "no" answer, coupled with their sighting of Agent Williams, would communicate some sort of secret mission. The last thing he wanted them to think was that the mission was confidential. It was a sure way to guarantee being broadcast nationwide immediately.
"Vegas Tours, this is Channel 4 News, do you copy?"
Grant swiveled and looked behind at the special agent. "What can I say to get her off our back? She knows we're government."
She stared back at him and shrugged. "I don't know. Denying it could be even worse."
Lloyd spoke. "How about you play it down a little? Tell 'em you're just inspecting damage or something."
Grant looked at Agent Williams and she shrugged again and held out her hands. Why hadn't he thought to make her change or something? That was the second time the FBI coveralls had sent the wrong message. It was a littl
e hard to sneak into Mexico anonymously with an agent in uniform. He turned back into his seat and removed his hand from the microphone. Lloyd pointed to a transmit button on the dash.
Grant pressed the button. "Channel 4 News, we read you."
The woman came back immediately. "You are a US government party, correct?"
Grant could imagine her with her notebook and pencil ready. He wished he had a written statement in front of him. Ad-libbing didn't seem like the way to go on this one. He pressed the button. "We are on an inspection mission only. We're here in an unofficial capacity."
Silence, then, "Can I ask you a few questions?"
Lloyd shook his head. Grant agreed. "Negative, Channel 4. We are not at liberty to talk with the media." Grant grinned; that felt good.
"Mind if we tag along for a while?" she asked.
Grant looked and saw the news helicopter was already following them. "How do I get rid of her?"
"You want me to try and lose 'em?" asked Lloyd, grinning.
Grant stared at him. "Is that possible?"
"Sure. This thing's got way more horses than theirs. I should be able to out run 'em in a straight line, without even swerving around. Besides, they can't go too fast with that cameraman hanging out the door."
"Okay. Let's do it, then."
Lloyd banked and headed east. Grant noticed that they had dropped and were now only about ten or fifteen feet off the ground, traveling at an alarming rate.
"Vegas Tours, this is Channel 4, where are you headed?"
"We need to look around over on the east side," responded Grant.
Grant lifted his hand off the transmit button and looked over at Lloyd, who was in deep concentration. "Why are we so low?"
Lloyd responded without moving his eyes from below. "Just in case they've got radar."
"Vegas Tours, we are unable to keep pace with you." It was the pilot's voice.
Grant smiled at Lloyd, but remained focused ahead.
"How long will it take?" asked Grant. The speed felt comfortable when he wasn't looking down. But looking down made him sick. He imagined Lloyd sneezing and the landing gear digging into the sand, consequently flipping the helicopter into endless summersaults of wreckage.
"Just a few more minutes," said the pilot, without looking up.
Grant realized his hands hurt from clenching the sides of his seat. He forced them to relax. The helicopter swerved right and he clenched the seat again. Lloyd headed south at the same speed and altitude for a while. After a few minutes he swerved again, turning back west into the sunset. "Vegas Tours, we've lost you. Please give us your location," begged the newswoman, but they could hear the lack of hope in her voice.
Grant wasn't even tempted to respond, nor did he think they expected it. He saw that the sun had now dipped completely below the mountains. It would be dark in less than a half hour. The group sat in silence as the helicopter flew into the sunset.
* * *
8:40 p.m. - The Colorado River Delta, Mexico
The skinny man looked at the mountains to the west. The sun had already set and the sparse clouds contrasted ever so slightly with the dim orange sky behind them. He sat on the sand, propped back against a tire of his four-wheeler. Where was the water? He had over-estimated its speed. It should have reached him already. And he should be on the way back to his truck. The thought of it arriving after dark scared him. He might get caught in it.
He couldn't wait much longer. His four-wheeler had no lights. Not that it would've done any good in this desert, since there wasn't anything for them to illuminate. He scanned the sky for the moon, but saw nothing. He hadn't even brought a flashlight.
Something had been worrying him for the past half hour. When he drove out on the delta, he almost missed the lagoon. When he headed back in the dark, how could he possibly find his truck? Just a few degrees off and he would miss it by miles. And he would have no way of knowing whether he'd aimed too far north or south.
He craved another drink, but there was precious little water remaining. It had to be saved. He had spent enough time in the desert to know that things could get worse before they got better.
He pulled himself up and clomped in the boots over to the edge of the lagoon. The water was gone; only dry mud remained. This observation startled him until he remembered the lagoon was connected to the ocean. The explanation was simple enough; the tide had gone out in the last forty-five minutes. But it had gone so quietly he hadn't even heard it. He looked north and wondered if he would hear the floodwater approaching. Maybe not, he realized. All the more important to keep his eyes focused. With the sun already down, it would get dark fast, making it harder to see.
He walked back to the four-wheeler, vowing to wait only a few more minutes. The thought of having to leave before seeing the water arrive made him angry. After all he had done in the last two days, and after so many months of preparation, he deserved to see it. He deserved to take his time and frolic in the water, to feel it running between his fingers, and taste it. He licked his dry fingers as the fantasy passed through him. In hindsight, he should have detonated the bomb at GlenCanyon a couple hours earlier; it would have given him the time he needed.
Walking back to the four-wheeler, he stopped. What was that sound? He cocked his head. There, very soft, almost imperceptible. It wasn't a water sound, though. It sounded more like a broom being dragged through sand, a kind of swishing noise. His head shot up and he scanned the northern horizon. At first he saw nothing, only the endless gray sand. Then he noticed the top of the gray was alive - moving toward him. All at once he knew he had made a terrible mistake. This was much more water than he had anticipated. The entire horizon was pulsating. He sprinted to the four-wheeler and jumped on. He swiveled out the kick-starter and started kicking as hard and fast as he could. The engine turned over, but wouldn't fire. His heart raced. Not now. How could this be? He suddenly remembered the ignition switch between the handlebars. He turned the key and started kicking again. This time it almost took, then nothing. Had he flooded it? He gave it full throttle and kicked it twice to clean it out, then released the throttle and kicked again and it finally fired.
Looking back over his shoulder he saw the water less than 50 yards away. He slammed it in gear and gave it some throttle. As the quad took off, he felt the helmet and goggles, which he had left sitting on the rear rack, roll off the back. He considered stopping for them, but decided it wasn't worth it. It would soon be too dark for goggles anyway. He headed west toward his truck, knowing that the water would soon intercept him. But he couldn't resist. He had to see it. So he veered north toward the oncoming flood. He reached it almost immediately and veered southwest to stay just ahead of it.
The leading edge was small, only a few inches deep. It was traveling much slower than the twenty miles per hour he had heard on the radio. Of course, that was due to it spreading out on the delta. It meandered around small humps before rejoining itself. He was easily able to stay just out of its reach even in first gear, although jogging would have been a challenge. Tempting fate, once he allowed the water to catch his back tires, but when he accelerated, they spun and he wondered if he would be able to extract himself. He had to rock back and forth while feathering the throttle to get back ahead of it, and he felt lucky to have done it.
After a few minutes he saw water to the west, ahead of him. He felt stupid for screwing around. His only choice was swerve south, and go fast enough to get around it. He shifted to second, then third and applied full throttle. He rode that way for a few minutes. Eventually he could not see the water anymore. It was still coming, though. That he knew for sure.
He headed back west toward his truck, not straight toward it, because then the water would intersect him again, but at a southwest angle that would put him miles south of his truck. He rode this way for only a few minutes before he again saw the contrast of oncoming water. This panicked him and he veered directly south. The water was coming too fast for him to cross in front of it. H
e accelerated, but the four-wheeler bounced uncontrollably over the small dunes and he almost crashed. He slowed slightly and settled on what he considered top speed for the terrain. He knew it was not fast enough, though, and he had little hope of reaching his truck. After gaining some distance, he veered slightly southwest again, just in case.
CHAPTER 40
8:50 p.m. - The Colorado River Delta, Mexico
Grant looked ahead from the helicopter, but it all looked the same, and it was getting too dark. What if the environmentalist wasn't here? He had led this wild goose chase across the border for nothing. They would fire him for sure, and he would be the laughingstock of the Bureau. What if the Mexican police had already apprehended the man? Grant had never really given them a chance, but now he realized he might have underestimated them. They could have him in custody right now. Either way, Grant would look like an idiot, hijacking a helicopter and crossing the border against direct orders from the FBI. What had he been thinking?
"What's that up ahead?" Lloyd asked through the headphones.
Grant jolted in his seat. "What? Where?" He scanned the horizon for a person or some sort of vehicle. Maybe the environmentalist was driving a dune buggy like the protestors.
Lloyd motioned southwest of the helicopter, then quickly returned his hand to the controls. "Looks like bushes or something, in a line."
Grant saw what Lloyd was talking about. It was a line of bushes stretching north and south. At over a hundred miles per hour, the helicopter approached quickly and Grant saw that it was actually two lines of bushes with an expanse of dark sand in the middle. He recognized it immediately as the lagoon coming up from the ocean just south of the delta. The lagoon was mostly dry with only a few puddles, which told Grant the tide had withdrawn.
Lloyd slowed the helicopter. "Where now?"
Grant looked north. "I wonder how far the water is. It should get here pretty soon." He saw nothing, but it was dark and he knew the water was out there on the horizon, coming very quickly.
The helicopter hovered over the empty lagoon.
Grant pointed to the west shore, at the bushes on the shore. "He would be on that side."