The marina itself was chaos. All of the docks were sitting on the ground. Although Wahweap's docks were capable of being adjusted for changing water levels, the water had dropped too fast, and they couldn't keep up. There were probably five hundred boats in the bay. Many sat high and dry on the banks below the marina; many more were crowded together on the water, and some motored around in the bay or parked on the shore. Just like in Warm Creek Bay, trails of people hiked around the rocky shore toward the marina.
After an hour of talking to other boaters and deciding what to do, Greg had finally beached the Mastercraft at about 10:30 p.m. He parked it right next to the launch ramp for easier access. The Crawford's boat was one of many boats that had been parked nose-to-tail on both sides of the ramp. Since the water was now dropping almost twelve feet per hour, it was now stranded on the slope over thirty feet out of the water, with many boats parked behind it; hence the lean.
Greg had been right about the Wahweap launch ramp. It continued down with the receding water. He had also been right about the mossy growth. The ramp was covered in a thin film of slimy plant life that made the ramp slippery to walk on. The general consensus of all the boaters was that someone would clean the ramp in the morning, and everyone could begin retrieving their boats. The details of how everyone would get their boats up off the ground and onto their trailers was still being discussed. A crane had been suggested.
After Greg parked the Mastercraft and the water had abandoned it, the three couples discussed what would happen the next morning. It quickly became evident that it was not necessary for everyone to remain at the lake. Max and Darlene elected to head home. Although Greg argued it was not necessary, Paul and Erika decided to stay, primarily because Paul did not want to leave and miss out on the action of retrieving boats the next day. When sleeping arrangements were discussed, Erika had insisted that she and Paul sleep in the back of their van, which was at least oriented horizontally in the parking lot above.
Julie whispered to her husband. "Are you asleep?"
He rolled onto his back and looked at her. "No. It's too noisy."
She laughed. "I keep feeling like the boat is going to slide down the hill."
In the night air, they could hear conversations all around them from other boats. It seemed like no one could sleep. Julie's mind kept returning to the scene at the dam where they had rescued the other couple. In her head, the results were not always the same. Sometimes the boat stalled, or the water just pulled faster than the Mastercraft would go. Julie would be standing in the boat, drifting closer and closer to the edge.
"We could be here for days," Greg said. "There's no guarantee we'll get out tomorrow."
"At least we're here," Julie responded. "We could have been stuck at the houseboat, or at Warm Creek, or dead below the dam. There are a lot of people worse off than us. I'll take our predicament."
Greg spoke carefully. "It wasn't too smart. I can see that now. We could have died. I wasn't thinking."
Julie hugged her husband. "Maybe it wasn't smart. But we made it. And we're way better off, and that other couple is alive because of us. It might not have been smart, but it worked." She kissed her husband on the cheek. "It's behind us now, so try to get some sleep."
"I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight."
"Then let's just snuggle."
Grant stepped out the door of Davis Dam's generation plant into the night air. He felt much better. He had bandages on his arms and he was wearing dry clothes, albeit work coveralls that did not fit. Special Agent Williams and Blaine had bandaged him up from a first-aid kit in the plant. They dressed the deep scrapes on his arm with antibiotic ointment and wrapped them in large gauze pads. Blaine found a pair of running shoes in one of the offices upstairs. They were a size too big, but that actually worked in Grant's favor with the bandage on his big toe. Wearing the coveralls with running shoes looked a little strange, but Grant didn't plan on giving any more interviews, especially before he returned to Hoover and changed into his other clothes.
He looked back up to the crest and saw another truck dumping. Reese's men had already rebuilt most of the dike.
"Grant." A voice came from behind.
Grant turned and saw Phil, the FBI agent he'd met at Glen Canyon. "Special Agent Williams tells me that you saved the dam, but got beat up a little in the process." Phil reached out to shake his hand while Agent Williams and two other agents stood behind him. Grant thought he recognized the two men from Arizona the previous morning, but he wasn't sure.
"I'm a little sorer than yesterday, but I think I'll be okay," Grant responded.
Phil put his hands in his pockets. "Look, I know you said you'd be heading back to Hoover once things settled, but I wondered if we could sit down and talk before you leave."
Grant looked at his watch. He figured the floodwaters from Glen Canyon would have reached Lake Mead by now. The lake was probably rising by the minute behind Hoover Dam. He definitely needed to get back. However, it would be many more hours before the water rose above the concrete dam. And he wanted to talk to the FBI anyway. "Sure, I can give you a few minutes."
Phil pointed back at the metal door. "Special Agent Williams found a room in the building where she thought we could talk. With a conference table," he added.
They moved back into the building with Grant limping to keep up. As soon as they reached the room and sat down, Phil started firing questions. "I'm going to ask you the same question I asked at Glen Canyon this morning. Why would anyone want to blow up this dam?"
Grant scratched his head. "I don't know on this one, Phil.Glen Canyon has always been considered a target. The government even closed it to all tourists for over a year after September 11th. Plus, the environmentalists all hated it. But this dam…" Grant hesitated. "Most people haven't even heard of it."
"Then why Davis?" Phil pleaded.
"I was just thinking on the way down here — Davis Dam itself probably isn't the target. Not if you believe that the same guy blew both dams."
Agent Williams interjected, "Both dams were blown with ammonium nitrate fertilizer. Both dams were blown by a white guy in a white pickup. Both guys posed as if they should be allowed inside."
Grant glanced over at Agent Williams. It sounded pretty convincing when she said it like that. He nodded and looked back at Phil. "So, assuming it's the same group, with similar point men, then I don't believe that the two puzzle pieces fit yet."
"What do you mean 'yet'?" said Phil.
"I mean that the two, Glen Canyon and Davis, don't fit together by themselves, meaning I can't think of any one reason to blow those two dams. I have a sneaking feeling that we haven't seen all the pieces of the puzzle yet. I think there's going to be more bombings." Grant looked up to see their reactions. He didn't think any of them were surprised by his comment, although he'd made Phil hesitate before asking his next question.
Phil held out the palms of his hands. "What if Davis was an afterthought, a reaction because blowing Glen Canyon didn't achieve the goal the bomber intended?"
Grant didn't understand. "Gee, guys, I don't know about you, but if I were the bomber, I'd consider the bombing of Glen Canyon Dam a raging success. It's gone. Lake Powell's draining." He looked at his watch. "Actually, 'mostly drained' is probably a better term for it."
Phil pointed at Grant. "What if you hadn't done anything at Hoover? What if the floodwater from Lake Powell had breached Hoover as anticipated? What if Hoover had failed too? Your dam extension project at Hoover is all over the news. Maybe you stopped him from achieving his goals. What if his ultimate goal was Hoover?"