Jackie immediately answered. "Maybe later, I'm working on breakfast."
"Suit yourself."
"Your eggs are almost ready," she said in a commanding voice.
"Be there in a second."
When Scott pulled himself aboard the float facing the houseboat, Jackie handed him a towel. He calmly dried his legs and made his way into the cabin. Unconcerned about Scott, the men went inside their boat.
"Any trouble?" she asked quietly.
"They arent going anywhere."
The darkness was rapidly disappearing when the men again walked out on the forward deck.
"Jackie," Scott said as he steadied the binoculars. "We have some action here. One of the guys studies the surroundings while the other one talks on the phone. Something strange here."
She accepted the binoculars and took a seat.
"I dont have a good feeling about this," Scott said. "Something is in the works and these guys are part of it."
"I think we should contact Wakefield," Jackie said, as she reached for the satellite phone. "We can keep an eye on the houseboat from high in the sky, out of small-arms range."
"Or a nukes range." He glanced at the houseboat. "Getting out of here, that's a plan I can work with." Scott picked up the other H&K compact submachine gun and placed it on a seat next to the cargo door.
She called Wakefield twice without any result. "No luck, probably busy with organizing the operation to capture these guys."
"Well try again in a little while," Scott said, concerned that the houseboat crew might try to start their engines.
She cast a look around the cabin. "I'll start stowing everything. I don t know how you feel, but the sooner we get out of here the better."
"Same here. I have that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach."
Scott was keeping an eye on the houseboat while the sun rose higher into the clear blue sky. Boaters were gathering on the decks of their various floating dwellings to have breakfast or a cup of coffee. The anglers had been enjoying themselves since the first sign of twilight. Scott glanced around the interior of the Caravan. Everything in the cabin had been stowed and tied down for takeoff.
Jackie again tried to contact Frank Wakefield. "I'm not having any luck--not even ringing."
"Well, we cant stay here forever," Scott said, and then handed her the binoculars. "Something is going on, but I dont know what. Wakefield will have to figure it out."
She watched the two men on the bow deck. They were checking the sky, and one was talking on a phone. "There's definitely something in the wind--something coming down."
"Let's try Wakefield one more time and then pack it out of here."
"The sooner, the better," Jackie said, and picked up the satellite phone. She waited a few seconds and shook her head. "No answer. We need info, and all we have is silence."
"Give it ten minutes," Scott suggested.
"Five," Jackie countered.
"Sounds about right."
The minutes passed slowly.
"Forget Wakefield," Scott said. "We've seen enough to know that we're in a precarious position."
"Fm with you."
"Listen to that," Scott said, aware of the sudden increase in radio traffic on the marine VHF.
"This cant be good," Jackie declared. "There's been some kind of accident. Maybe a tour boat, a paddle-wheeler going down."
"I don't have a clue, but it makes my hair stand up."
Channel 16 was becoming so cluttered and distorted it was impossible to make out what was being said. Scott switched to another channel and found it clobbered too. He kept trying other channels until he heard a clear but excited female voice broadcasting the bad news. There was a lot of background noise, but she talked over it.
It had been over forty minutes since confusion in Page, Arizona, had cleared enough to figure out what had happened. Shock had caused another delay before cooler heads prevailed. Finally, after the local authorities took control, the word had begun to hopscotch down the Colorado River and through the Grand Canyon.
Jackie and Scott stared at each other in disbelief as the gruesome facts emerged over the airwaves. There had been a tremendous disaster at Lake Powell, some type of huge explosion, and then a report that the Glen Canyon Dam had been breached.
Momentarily stunned, Scott looked at Jackie. "Breached--or did the whole dam collapse?"
"I don't know," she snapped. "But it's time to get airborne."
"Past time."
In a matter of seconds, the marine channels became swamped as the horrific news was being relayed down the river to Lake Mead. The warnings continued to race south toward Lake Mohave, Laughlin, Needles, Lake Havasu, Parker, and across the Mexican border. It was clear that a major tragedy had taken place at Lake Powell and the people on Lake Mead were in great jeopardy
More troubling than the delay in getting the warning out, there was great concern about the physical integrity of Hoover Dam. Would it withstand the strain of the additional pressure? Would the intake towers survive the crush of water as billions of gallons flowed over the crest of the dam?
In order to save Hoover Dam, would officials be forced tp release water from Lake Mead and flood the Colorado River all the way through Mexico's delta to the Gulf of California? If so, the Davis Dam, Parker Dam, Imperial Dam, and Laguna Dam would have to begin releasing water to protect their integrity Time was running out for the people downriver from Lake Powell.
Panicked boaters were hauling up their anchors, starting their engines, and heading for the nearest marina. Others, Jet Skiers and kayakers who saw the unexpected stampede of boats, were initially confused. After hearing the frightening messages shouted from the fleeing boaters, they promptly set course for the closest place to beach their watercraft and climb to higher ground.
"Let s get airborne," Scott said as their satellite phone rang.
Jackie snatched the phone from the glare shield. After a few seconds, she frowned. "Why didnt you let us know sooner?" she said angrily and signed off moments later. "Wakefield. His sat phone was turned off because he was too busy un-organizing the houseboat operation."
"He obviously knew about the dam."
"Oh, yes," she said, with a rare look of disgust. "Quite some time ago. Because of all the confusion, he just now remembered us."
"Great, thanks for the heads up."
He hopped on the left float. "Shut the doors."
"Got em."
Scott stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of big radial engines in harmonious sync. He looked up to see two B-25 Mitchell warbirds approaching their position from the northeast. Spellbound, Scott stared at the twin-engine medium bombers as the silver-colored plane broke away and turned west. I'll be damned. The dark one is the same plane I saw in the hangar.
"Jackie, check--"
"I see them."
The darkly camouflaged airplane was trailing thick grayish-black smoke from the right engine nacelle. Flying low over the water, the distinctive-looking airplane took on a new appearance when the bomb bay doors swung open.
Scott experienced a strange dichotomy of sensory overloads. "Jackie, we re in big trouble."
She hurried to the pilot s door and heard the deep roar of the radial engines. This isn't good.
"The B-25S bomb bay doors just opened and it looks like--" Scott fell silent when the airplane entered a gentle bank to the left. "He's headed straight for the inlet, the channel leading to the dam!"
"Farkas?" she asked, shocked by the abrupt turn of events.
"That'd be my bet." Scott stared at the bomber while he hauled in the anchor. "Its the same plane I saw in the hangar."
"Youre sure?"
"Ninety-nine percent, not that many B-25S around with the same camouflage paint scheme."
She glanced at the silver B-25. "The other plane must have bombed the Glen Canyon Dam."
"No doubt."
They noticed their mysterious neighbors on the houseboat had their engines running, bu
t there was a lot of confusion about why they weren't moving. Their job to provide information about airborne threats to Farkas was complete, but they could not escape. Scott watched the larger man working the engine controls while the younger man headed aft to check the engine compartments.
Scott stowed the anchor. The big picture suddenly came into focus for him. "The Dam Busters from World War Two," he said, as he swung into the cockpit and began starting the engine. "They made a movie about them in 1954."
"What are you talking about?"
"Those round steel bands, four of them, that were designed to encompass the suitcase nuke found on the Canadian border."
"Yes, what s your point?"
The Pratt & Whitney turbine came on speed and Scott began adding power to taxi clear of the numerous boats. "The Royal Air Force used round bombs to skip across the water--over torpedo nets--to hit dams, sink to the bottom, and then explode."
"Skip across the water?"
"Yeah, they flew four-engine Lancasters. The pilots came in low at night and skipped the bombs into strategic dams. They blew the hell out of them and sent thousands of tons of water down valleys in the heartland of the German industrial complex."
Jackie's eyes opened wide. "And you think that's what the other plane did at Lake Powell?"
"What else?"
"Using a nuke?"
"Think about it," he said, taxiing the Caravan into an open space of navigable water. "A single B-25 bomber, even two, can't hold enough conventional tonnage to drop a dam like the Glen Canyon."
He worked the water rudders to avoid a speeding cabin cruiser and a wallowing deck boat. "Using old-fashioned iron bombs, you'd have to drop a lot of tonnage to get the job done."
He donned his sunglasses and glanced at her. "Suitcase nuke, that's a different story."
It was difficult to compute the devastation that a nuclear bomb would cause at Lake Powell's Glen Canyon Dam. It had taken over seventeen years to fill the lake to the planned level or "full pool." Now it would be drained in a matter of hours. Even harder to assess would be the incomparable damage to the dams and towns downstream to San Luis Rio Colorado, Mexico.
Bobbing and rolling in the colliding wakes of several boats, Scott maneuvered around a large pontoon boat and then stowed the water rudders. "Here we go."
He simultaneously pulled the yoke into his lap and eased the engine thrust lever forward.
"You have traffic at ten o'clock--closing fast," Jackie cautioned.
He swore as he pulled the power back to avoid a collision. After the high-powered ski boat flashed past, Scott again shoved the thrust lever forward. As the Caravan climbed onto the step like a boat skimming across the surface of the water, he eased the yoke forward to accelerate before lifting off.
Jackie and Scott saw the problem at the same time.
"Hang on!" he said, as they rapidly approached a large swell. Appearing out of nowhere, it had been caused by the catastrophic force of thousands of tons of water pouring into the lake. Smooth and rounded, the long swell looked like a small tsunami approximately eight to ten feet in height. There was no way to avoid the growing wave.
Using both hands, Scott hauled back on the yoke before the airplane was ready to fly. "Gonna take a hit!"
GLEN CANYON DAM, ARIZONA
Few people who had closely observed the two B-25S were still alive. The mental picture indelibly imprinted in the minds of the survivors was crystal clear. The vintage bombers, one low over Lake Powell and the other flying at about 500 feet, approached the dam from the north-northeast. Traveling at high speed, the lower bomber waited until the last second to drop a round object out of its belly.
Astonished by the dangerous stunt, the early morning anglers stared in disbelief as the object skipped across the water a couple of times and impacted the dam almost dead center. It immediately sank as the bomber sharply pulled up, missing the top of the dam by only a few feet. Both airplanes turned west-southwest and soon disappeared at low level.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, the fishermen began to speculate about the reason for a simulated bomb run. Most concluded that it must have been carried out by some group of eccentric environmentalists. The Glen Canyon Dam was a prime target of national environmental movements. They wanted to empty the 187-mile-long lake and restore the ecosystem.
Three minutes after the B-25 bomber cleared the dam, all the questions were answered. A colossal geyser of water and silt erupted near the middle of the dam. Like a super-powerful depth charge, it exploded outward and upward for thousands of feet. Water, mud, and fish remnants rained on everything within a half mile of the nuclear detonation. A misty mushroom cloud rose into the clear sky, climbing over 11,000 feet in the still morning air.
The nuclear bomb encased in the round steel jacket had indeed survived the severe impact with the concrete. The gigantic explosion had blown the Glen Canyon Dam completely apart, sending millions of tons of water cascading down the narrow Colorado River.
The boats near the dam were ripped to shreds, while those farther away were sucked through the jagged opening. Another minute and twenty seconds passed before the sandstone spillways began to give out. Soon after the spillways failed, two-thirds of the dam collapsed, opening a gaping hole.
Eight-point-five trillion gallons of water from the second largest man-made lake in the United States was headed for Lake Mead, the largest such US. lake. In a relatively short period of time, millions of tons of water would be descending over 2,475 ^eet during its deadly race through the Grand Canyon.
Since the dawn of man, no one on earth had ever seen water do what it was doing: rising to unbelievable heights, smashing into the sides of Glen Canyon, plunging backward and sideways and spinning into huge whirlpools before accelerating again.
The sheer volume and weight of the liquid, combined with the incredible drop in elevation, accelerated the raging water to a velocity that was heretofore unimaginable. The loud roar could be heard for more than a mile down Glen Canyon, sparing a few lives.
Thirty people beginning a rafting adventure at Lees Ferry, the official beginning of the Grand Canyon, were saved when word reached them just as they were shoving off. Panicked, they scrambled to higher ground seconds before the awesome fury viciously consumed their rafts, supplies, personal gear, the dock, the campground, and the ranger station, tearing everything into shredded pieces. It was almost like an explosion. Nothing was left but multitudes of particles, minuscule in size as they rushed down the turbulent river.
Alternate Highway 89 s Navajo Bridge spanning Marble Canyon collapsed in a twisted maze as the canyon walls gave way. A vacationing family in a new minivan was almost across the famous bridge when it dropped out from under them.
After cascading through Marble Canyon into the core of the Grand Canyon, a wall of water reaching 120 feet slammed into ridges of limestone, sandstone, and volcanic rock. The water ripped huge chunks of rock loose and cut furrows in the riverbed at each bend. Boulders were tossed around like Ping-Pong balls as the churning water scoured everything like a giant fire hose. The thunderous noise and complete destruction were incomprehensible.
Others farther south in the Grand Canyon, including scores of uninformed hikers, rafters, canyoneers, backpackers, a film crew completing a documentary about the canyon, and a team of three archaeologists, were not so lucky. Many of them were over 4,500 feet below the rim of the canyon. Even if they had received a warning, it would have been virtually impossible to escape the riverbed in the short period of time between the dam break and the arrival of the towering flood of water, bodies, animals, boats, and other debris.
To a person, they knew death was imminent when they heard the faint sound of distant thunder steadily and rapidly growing into a ferocious pounding and crashing sound, a chilling sound unlike anything they had ever experienced. It was not the sound of a flash flood, especially with clear blue skies overhead. It was the sound of death, sudden, ferocious death. Still, the utter shock was mind-
boggling when the 120-foot wall of water and debris rounded the bend.
LAKE MEAD
"Come on," Scott said through clenched teeth, as the Caravan staggered into the air in a nose-high attitude. Gripping the yoke tightly, he braced himself for the impact while Jackie ducked.
The bottom of the wide floats slammed into the top half of the huge swell, forcing the airplane to go almost straight up. Scott shoved the yoke forward to keep the Caravan from stalling, but he couldn't keep it from impacting the water.
"Made it," he sighed, as the airplane accelerated and rose gently from the lake. He allowed the Caravan to gain speed before raising the nose. "Close--very close."
"But we made it." Jackie slowly let out her breath and craned her head to the right. "Turn back toward the dam, keep it tight."
Scott banked steeply to the right.
Seeing the approaching B-25 bomber flying up the channel leading to Hoover Dam, an army sergeant major used his portable radio to send an urgent warning to his men and then paused. I can't let this happen again. They had been on edge since the news about the Glen Canyon Dam reached them.
"Come on, you goddamn sonsabitches," he said out loud. "Step up to the plate. Come and get it." He again activated his radio. "Stand by."
The low-flying bomber was rapidly approaching the heavily protected dam. The sergeant major knew they were up against terrorist saboteurs when he saw the open bomb bay doors. The grizzled army veteran did not hesitate to give the command to open fire.
Following the machine-gunners, the snipers opened up and the two soldiers with portable surface-to-air missiles aimed and fired at the aircraft. The water in the channel was being pelted as the rounds bracketed the B-25. The sergeant major swore when the missiles, one going low under the right wing, the other corkscrewing high over the left wing, hit the water and disintegrated.
The other shooters were getting hits, but not enough to bring down the airplane. Everyone but the fleeing civilians saw the round object drop from the bomber. It skipped across the smooth water as the B-25 eased UP just enough to clear the dam. Rounds were still hitting the aircraft, but it continued to thunder down the Colorado River.
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