"When should I come?"
"I want you on the first plane out of Denver. You determine how much time it'll take to go home and pick up what you need. If travel gives you any guff or takes too long, bypass 'em and book your own ticket." Grant could tell she was writing while he talked.
"What airport do I fly into?"
"Page…" Grant suddenly realized that few commercial airlines flew into Page. She would have difficulty getting a flight. It would take her hours, maybe until late afternoon. He looked out at the dam. It would be history by then. She would never make it. "No. Don't fly here. By the time you get here, I'll be gone. Meet me at Hoover."
"Hoover?" She sounded surprised.
"Yeah. Fly into Las Vegas, then take a taxi to Hoover. That's where I'm headed after this."
He waited while she wrote, then continued. "If you beat me there, our contact is Fred Grainger; at least I hope he's there, not on vacation or something." Grant had worked with Fred before, definitely a good man. He needed to call him, as soon as he got a minute. "Hang on. Here's my cell phone number." Grant read her the number off his wife's phone.
"Anything else?" she asked.
"Yeah, before you leave, go tell Bruce that I have his Failure Inundation Report. You get a copy too. Tell him, if he has any updates, we need them now. I want the flood levels recalculated using this morning's water levels from Lake Powell and Lake Mead."
He waited again while she wrote.
"All right, what else?"
"That should be enough. You've got plenty to do. I'll see you at Hoover."
He hung up while she was still writing.
Officer Leonard Smith waved the two old ladies through without making them stop. Although he had orders to stop every car, he felt safe in his assumption that the two gray haired grandmothers in a rusty Buick hadn't blown up the Glen Canyon Dam. However as they motored off, he wondered if maybe the man was hiding in the trunk or something. Leonard turned and watched the car go. What if somebody had a gun to their backs? He should have checked it. He decided not to make that mistake again.
The roadblock was set up about five miles past the city of Hurricane. Dispatch told him they would send another car to back him up as soon as they could find one. Supposedly, the Utah Highway Patrol was already en-route. Leonard had been alone for a half hour. So far, he was pretty sure that the bomber had not gotten past him. Not many cars had passed, and most of them had either been Utah or Arizona plates, and no white pickups.
He shielded his eyes and looked east under the morning sun. It looked like a motorcycle approaching. He could barely see the single illuminated headlight. He waited until the rider got closer, then walked to the middle of the road and held out his hand. As the motorcycle slowed, he saw that the single rider leaned back against a sleeping bag tied to a sissy bar. The bedroll was visible on both sides of the man's notably skinny body. The motorcycle pulled up next to Leonard and stopped, engine still running. Leonard walked behind and read the numbers of the Nevada license plate and wrote them down on his pad.
When Leonard returned to the side of the bike, the man spoke first. "Was I going too fast?"
Leonard ignored the question. "Where you coming from?"
"The Grand Canyon."
Leonard could have guessed as much. "You got your park pass?"
The rider probed the gearshift lever, finding neutral, and then released his hand from the clutch. Searching his pockets with both hands, he finally held up a National Parks ticket. Leonard grabbed it and saw that it was stamped the day before.
"You only stayed one night?" he asked.
The skinny rider nodded. "Got to be back to work tonight."
In Leonard's opinion, most of these bikers that rode in and out of the parks were hippies, and this guy didn't seem any different. He was going to ask to see the guy's driver's license when he spotted another car coming, a white one. He shielded his eyes again and saw that it was a pickup.
He waved abruptly at the motorcycle. "Okay. Go ahead."
"What's going on?" the motorcyclist asked.
Leonard yelled at him. "Get out of here!"
As the motorcycle sped off, Leonard touched the butt of his gun. He stood in the middle of the road with his hand out. This next one could be their man.
Earl gave instructions to two police officers. The noise of the water made it impossible for Grant to hear what was said. They all stood outside on the west edge of the dam. Both of the officers had been rigged with a rappelling harness. Three hundred feet of rope was then snapped onto each officer. The rope was Earl's idea. Luckily, a couple of the police cars were equipped with repelling gear for rescues in the canyons. The rope would provide a safety margin, although the thought of trying to pull the two men back to safety as the dam collapsed made Grant uneasy.
Grant was surrounded by police officers. A group of them were dedicated to each of the two ropes. Each rope end was tied to a cement rail at the edge of the dam. A third rope, also tied off, was to be tied to the trailer, allowing the officers to pull it back across the dam. They wanted the trailer if they could get it. Earl finished his instructions to the two volunteers.
"OKAY. HURRY UP!" Earl shouted at his two harnessed investigators.
The two immediately set out across the top of the dam. Grant checked his watch, 8:35 a.m. The preparations had taken way too long.
The white trailer sat next to the west elevator shaft, about a football field away from the edge of the dam where the group was standing. Grant could see that some of the staff's cars were still parked over on the east side of the dam.
As the two officers hustled out to the trailer, they encountered pieces of concrete, metal, and other debris from the explosion of the elevator. Grant noticed the large metal door leading into the elevator was warped outwards. The door had held, a testament that the bulk of the explosion had been channeled vertically up the elevator shaft and out the top, taking all the concrete and framing with it.
Earl pointed at Grant, pulling him out of his thoughts. "YOU WATCH THE DAM! I'LL WATCH MY COPS," Earl shouted through the roar of rushing water.
Grant nodded and hurried over to the rail on his right so he could get a better view of the water shooting out of the face of the dam. As he arrived, he saw a chunk of concrete the size of a car break off and get carried down into the mist below. The air vibrated around him, buffeting his ears and rumbling into his chest. Watching that much water moving below him gave him the sense that he would be sucked in. The thought made him back up a half step. He glanced upstream of the dam and, for the first time, noticed a large whirlpool on the lakeside of the dam. He glanced back at the police officers and saw one was tying the third rope to the hitch on the trailer. The other had already gone behind it. When Grant looked back at the water, he saw another piece of concrete break off and get carried away. The dam was breaking faster than he had anticipated.
He turned and shouted to Earl, churning his hand in a circle. "TELL THEM TO HURRY."
Earl responded through a cupped hand. "YOU LET ME KNOW WHEN TO GET 'EM OFF."
Grant saw one of the officers reach down and scoop up something and put it in a zip lock bag while the other snapped a picture of the trailer with a camera. When Grant looked back down at the water, another block of concrete, this time the size of a tour bus, broke off and disappeared into the canyon. Grant estimated that the water was now within sixty-five feet of the top of the dam. A moment later, another huge piece broke loose and suddenly the water was less than fifty feet from the top.
"GET 'EM OFF!" Grant shouted. He waved his arms for emphasis.