Jackie eased the power. "Nice work, neat and clean."
"I have an idea," Scott said, as he raised his seat and placed the submachine gun on the floor. "I'll take the airplane."
"You have it."
"Now stay with me," Scott said, as he stabilized in position behind the bomber. "I think we can stop him right now."
"You think we can shoot up his other engine?"
"No, not with what we have."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not liking this idea."
"Jackie, these floats--"
"No, we're not going to stick a float into the prop arc, not even going to think about it: absolutely stupid."
"You have to trust me on this," he said, moving forward over the bomber. "This will work. We have to force him down."
She caught his eye. "This is over-the-edge stupidity."
"Thats why I thought of it. Keep the faith."
Still leery she stared at him for a moment. "Have you noticed the twin tails, the two obstacles sticking up at the back of the fuselage?"
Scott concentrated on positioning the Caravan directly over the bomber. "Our plane is about twelve to fourteen feet shorter. The Blues fly with three feet of wing overlap."
"We re not the Blue Angels," she protested.
"Relax."
Jackie cinched her seat restraints. "If we live through this, I'm going to find some professional help--for you."
"Hey, we've flown tighter formation than this."
"Not with someone who has a fervent desire to kill us."
Scott had to move fast before Farkas figured out what was happening. When the forward third of the huge left float was even with the B-25's propeller arc, he eased the Caravan down a few feet. Steady, keep it coming. Another foot down, and only inches separated the float and the spinning propeller. Scott deftly eased the yoke forward I'm close, hang on, be smooth.
The violent collision produced an anguishing combination of screeching and thudding. Metal flew in every direction, puncturing the fuselage of the bomber and the belly of the Caravan.
At the moment of contact, Scott snatched the yoke back. The moderately damaged Caravan shot straight up, rolling away from the bomber. After clearing the B-25, Scott rolled the airplane wings level and moved toward the mortally wounded warbird.
"Farkas has a B-25 g^der," Scott exclaimed, as the bomber's smoking left engine came to an abrupt stop. Three twenty-inch stubs protruded from the propeller hub. "He's finished. We got him!" Then Scott looked at Jackie. "Are you okay?" he asked, noting her ashen complexion and wide eyes. "You can start breathing now."
"I need a double martini. It's an emergency."
Scott turned to watch the bomber gradually nose over and begin a steep, spiraling descent. After several revolutions, the doomed B-25 Mitchell crashed two miles from the isolated dry lake. Having taken off with a light load of fuel, when the bomber slammed into terra firma, there was a bright flash from the explosion but little fire.
"Farkas is finished--history!" Jackie was jubilant. She looked at the twisted wreckage. "We finally nailed him!"
"That we did," Scott said, as he banked the Caravan. "His luck finally ran out--maybe ours too."
"The loose nukes?" she asked.
"Yes. But Shayhidi knows where the other four bombs are located."
Flying in a wide circle around the wreckage, Scott was surveying the crash site when two ANG F-16s from the Tacos pulled alongside. The pilots, Major JoEllen Janssen and Captain Ernie Underwood, had seen the bomber crash.
When they were abreast of the Caravan, both were amazed at the damage it had suffered. Along with a multitude of holes in the fuselage, the forward third of the left float was gone. What was left of the big float was open to the wind and had jagged edges all around the opening.
Adjusting the trim due to the yaw caused by the open float, Scott was startled when he glanced out and saw the F-16s. "We have company, and I dont think they're too happy."
"Where were they five minutes ago?" Jackie asked, switching the aircraft radio to 121.5 VHF, the civilian emergency frequency monitored by military aircraft. Jackie recognized the F-16's tail logo. "Tacos, Caravan November Three-Twenty-Three Fox Lima on guard."
The other female voice was surprised. "Three Fox Lima, how do you know the Tacos?"
"I'm a former F-16 pilot, and the guy next to me is a former marine aviator--Harriers."
There was an uneasy pause.
"Did you have a midair with the bomber?" Janssen asked.
"Uh . . . I'm going to toss that question to the attack pilot."
Scott keyed the radio. "Tacos, its a long story. That was the B-25 that dropped the nuke on Hoover Dam. We saw him do it and chased him down after his right engine failed; couldn't let him get away."
"I see," Major Janssen said, a trace of suspicion in her voice.
With the tension ebbing, Scott and Jackie glanced at each other before Scott keyed the radio. "We would sure like to buy you and your wingman an adult beverage if you'll escort us to Nellis."
"Why Nellis?"
"I need to put this thing down on grass, and Nellis has a nice golf course."
"Okay," Janssen radioed, "lets go to Nellis."
"Roger that." Scott turned to Jackie. "You might want to call Wakefield, explain the houseboat situation."
She favored Scott with a thin smile. "Fd like to give him a piece of my mind."
NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA
Running low on fuel, the Taco F-16s left the plodding Caravan behind and raced toward Nellis AFB. After explaining the unusual situation to the senior tower controller, Major JoEllen Janssen made arrangements to have the crash crew standing by at the golf course. The links were being cleared while the damaged Cessna limped to the base.
Jackie was flying the Cessna while Scott was on the satellite phone with their secretary. He had been unable to reach Hartwell Prost. After many holds for Mary Beth to use another phone to communicate with Hartwell's office, Scott finally signed off. "Were all set."
"How's that?"
"Mary Beth contacted Tim Covington in Prost's office. Another Two-oh-six LongRanger will be available for us, and a new float-equipped Caravan will be ordered for the FBO at Boise."
"Sounds good," Jackie said. "First, we have to survive this landing."
He stowed the satellite phone in the back of Jackie's seat and reached for the flight controls. "I'll take it."
"You have it."
Los Angeles Center handed the Caravan to Approach Control, who in turn handed it off to Nellis Tower.
Scott called the tower, completed the landing checklist, and lowered the flaps. "Do you want to move to the back?"
Jackie considered the option. "No, I'm fine."
"Nellis Tower," Scott radioed, "Caravan Three-Two-Three Fox Lima would like to circle the golf course, see what we have."
"Two-Three Fox Lima, that's approved. The course has been cleared, winds are calm, and you're cleared to land on any freeway-fairway."
"Three Fox Lima, appreciate the assistance."
"No problem."
Scott circled the course twice and decided on a long fairway with few hazards. "Cinch up tight."
"I can barely breathe."
He extended his approach and turned on final. Coming in low, slow, and flat, Scott was hanging on the prop at 67 knots. When he knew he had the fairway made, he shut down the engine and turned everything off, including both of the fuel tanks. "Brace yourself."
"I am," she said tight-lipped. "Dont catch a sand trap."
Holding the nose up as the airspeed rapidly dwindled, Scott allowed the Caravan to gently touch down on the aft section of the floats. "Come on, we're almost home."
He held the yoke back, trying to nurse the nose down as slowly as possible. "Easy, nice and smooth."
The next few seconds became a blur as the floats settled on the fairway and began sliding over the grass.
"Were down," Scott said, as he let his breath out.
&nb
sp; Without warning, the jagged bottom of the left float dug in like a shovel, violently yawing the Caravan to the left. The right wingtip hit the ground with enough force to bend the outboard section upward two feet. The plane rocked up on its nose, teetered a brief moment, and then smashed down with a resounding thud.
"Lets get out of here," Scott said, as they exited from their respective doors and moved away from the battered plane. They glanced at the idle air force crash trucks.
Jackie gave Scott a stern look. "Well, that was exciting--enough for today."
After gathering their luggage and weapons from the Caravan, Jackie and Scott gladly accepted a ride to Las Vegas. The young first lieutenant, familiar with the Las Vegas strip, recommended a hotel. They thanked him, checked in, dumped their belongings in their suite, and went straight to the cocktail lounge.
The bar was practically empty, as were the streets and casinos. The normally crowded city had become a ghost town. Although the prevailing winds were west to east, a majority of visitors deserted the city in a panic. They were afraid of the fallout from the nuclear bomb dropped at Hoover Dam, thirty-seven miles east-southeast.
Enjoying a refreshingly cold draft beer, Jackie and Scott sat quietly, mesmerized by the live television coverage from Lake Powell and Lake Mead. Scott leaned his elbows on the bar. "Can you believe this is actually happening?"
"After September eleventh, I can believe anything."
They watched as news helicopters showed the devastation at Lake Powell. From the northern tip of the lake at Dirty Devil River to the collapsed Glen Canyon Dam, the scenes were astonishing and surreal. The attack turned a pristine lake into a sea of mud in a matter of hours. The marinas, including Bullfrog, Halls Crossing, Wahweap, and Dangling Rope, were like scenes from a war movie.
Houseboats, fishing boats, sailboats, and expensive cabin cruisers were resting on the bottom of the muddy lake, some hanging from their mooring lines. Dangling Rope Marina, only accessible by boat before the dam was destroyed, was now indistinguishable from the landmass that surrounded it.
The footage and narration continued as the story moved to the shattered dam and then down the Colorado River to the Grand Canyon. The aerial tour above the canyon rim was graphic enough to know that the disaster was far from over.
The live shots of the debris-strewn Grand Canyon revealed the awesome destruction the powerful flood generated. Nothing in the sea of debris and mud was moving. The stories of the scenes of horror and the unselfish acts of heroism were both heartbreaking and heartwarming.
"Let s go to our room and unwind," Jackie suggested. "We need to get organized and find out about our helicopter."
As they entered their suite, the sat phone rang. Scott answered it and mainly listened while Jackie turned on the television. He walked to the window, stared at the lifeless main strip, and then sadly signed off.
Jackie glanced at Scott. The usual twinkle in his eye was gone. 41 We cant catch a break--too much to ask."
"Whats wrong?"
"That was Tim Covington."
"How'd he get our number?" she asked.
"Mary Beth."
Jackie felt a knot in her stomach. "Out with it."
"There was only one body in the B-25."
She shook her head. "No, there were two people," Jackie insisted. "Farkas and the guy in the back."
"Jackie, there was only one body in the wreckage, and it wasn't Farkas."
Unblinking, she stared at him for a few seconds. "He bailed out?" she rationalized.
"Must have. No one survives when a plane goes straight in at that speed--impossible to survive."
"I'll be damned," she said, in disbelief. "How did we miss seeing him?"
"Just one of those days," he said, in a tight voice. "Ready for that martini?"
"Yes, lets call room service. Make mine a double."
Chapter 24.
LAKE HEAD
The sun was low in the afternoon sky when the lake began filling faster than the water pouring through the dam could compensate. Hoover Dam officials, the ones who had been fortunate enough to be off work at the time of the explosion, were afraid to release more water because of the flooding that would occur at the other dams downstream.
They were in a real quandary. No one, including senior officials, was willing to make a decision that would be seen as controversial and possibly deadly. The paralysis of indecision led the officials to a consensus to wait and watch.
To further complicate matters, employees who had the training and experience to open the floodgates did not want to go anywhere near the dam. Authorities could only guess at the amount of radiation in the vicinity.
At 3:57 P. M., the pressure on the dam was beginning to show. A small section in the middle of the structure caved in and fell on top of the power plant. Minutes later, the unthinkable began to happen. Shortly after 4:02 P. M., Hoover Dam began snapping and popping as cracks started appearing in the center and edges of the rim.
Telltale puffs of concrete powder indicated where the greatest amount of damage was occurring. News helicopters reporting from a distance were using their long-range lenses to focus on the fractured dam. It was evident to the flight crews and to their viewers that something unprecedented was about to happen. The biggest dam break in the history of the United States was only moments away.
Eleven minutes later, while Americans watched on television, the dam imploded, crushing the main turbines and the hydroelectric generators. The main structure ripped away from the intake towers and crashed into the Colorado River. One section after another followed. In seconds, the full fury of the overflowing lake was turned loose in a 430-foot wall of water in the narrow canyon.
Jackie and Scott were relaxing in their suite when the breaking news logo flashed on the screen. Spellbound, they watched as a news helicopter followed the gargantuan wave down Glen Canyon, capturing sights that made even desensitized viewers squirm or avert their eyes.
Electrical power was lost in Las Vegas, Phoenix, Tucson, San Diego, Los Angeles, and many other cities and towns in Nevada, Arizona, and California. Scott and Jackie noticed their room's lights flicker when the hotel's generators came on line.
Like the power problem, domestic water needs would be drastically affected in the same areas. Lack of irrigation for over a million acres of rich croplands would wipe out a wide variety of vegetables, wheat, cotton, fruits, sugar beets, alfalfa, hay, and other crops, costing local economies billions of dollars in lost revenue and thousands of lost jobs.
The unimaginable failure of the Hoover Dam would forever change the character of southern California, from the Los Angeles megalopolis down the coast to San Diego. Combined with the terrible tragedy at the port of Long Beach, southern California was going to see tough times for an extended period. State taxes and utility costs, already some of the highest in the country, were about to go through the roof
Fourteen miles south of the destroyed Hoover Dam was the Willow Beach Harbor Marina, on the Arizona side of the Colorado River. The popular establishment was almost deserted. The nervous manager and a few die-hard fishermen were drinking beer and watching television when the dam collapsed.
Leaving the front door wide open and the cash in the register, they went racing south down Highway 93 as fast as their vehicles could go. The exodus from the entire area was like a huge catde stampede. Raw panic was being shared by thousands of people along the river as they sought to escape with their lives. Many simply could not comprehend what had just happened, but their survival instincts told them to mash the accelerator and not look back.
The normally smooth and glassy Colorado River was about to undergo a colossal change in the next twenty seconds. The news helicopter was abeam the unstoppable wall of water as it roared over Willow Beach, sweeping away the convenience store, the marine fueling facilities, the launch ramp, and all the rental boats. There was nothing left. In a split second the marina ceased to exist.
Transfixed, Scott and Jackie stared a
t the television screen. Scott leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "Can you imagine being down there and not knowing it was coming--this mountain of water?"
"Dont even want to think about it," Jackie said. "Its mind-numbing."
Scott darted a look at her. "At least the people downriver had a couple of hours of advance notice."
"True," she said with a sigh. "What a blessing for them."
Scott turned his attention back to the screen. "Imagine being asleep in your tent or peacefully floating down the river in your canoe and have this come down out of nowhere."
The helicopter was traveling at a fast pace to stay up with the wall of liquid death. Giving a blow-by-blow description of the carnage, the helicopter pilot was becoming emotional.
"The guy is about to lose it," Scott said.
"Cant blame him."
"This is . . ." Scott was speechless. God have mercy.
Absorbed by the magnitude of the man-made disaster, Jackie and Scott remained silent while they thought about the consequences. The ramifications of the terrorist attack were impossible to calculate. One thing was for certain: The terrorist network was going to pay the price.
The fast-moving ultra-powerful wall of water continued to churn straight through hurriedly abandoned campgrounds and recreational facilities, destroying everything in its path. Trees, assorted boats, trailers, camping tents, cars, coolers, fishing gear, picnic tables, deck chairs, sleeping bags, beer and soft drink cans, charcoal stoves, propane tanks, fish, and a host of other items became weapons as they tossed and turned in the maelstrom.
Soon, the water reached Lake Mohave, which was formed by Davis Dam, and then swept through Pyramid Canyon, taking out Davis Dam like a cardboard box. The raging water then pummeled Laughlin, Nevada's third-largest gaming center. Everything bordering the river was tumbled over and over in the tumultuous flood.
Next, the water destroyed bridges near Bullhead City and smashed through the evacuated town as it continued its march toward Needles, California. The community had turned into a virtual ghost town when Hoover Dam collapsed. Once again a bridge was ripped apart and swept downstream with all the other debris. South of Needles, the raging flood weakened the Interstate 40 span until the erosion caused the roadway to collapse in two sections.
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