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, but 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?"