Over the last hour, since 5:00 p.m., the lake's steady rise upward had slowed, but it had not stopped. And the water was now at crest plus 13 feet 3.2 inches, which was almost a foot higher than Shauna had projected. Fred wondered how much higher it could go.
He was not worried that the water would actually breach the dike. The Hoover-Two dike was twenty feet high, and he knew the water wouldn't go that high. But the crest was never designed to hold horizontal pressure. With the additional weight of the thirteen feet of water, the entire wet surface of the 600 foot dam, from the top to the bottom, had an additional 850 pounds per square foot pressing against it. Fred was no longer worried that Hoover-Two would hold. Now he was worried that the concrete in Hoover-One would hold.
"Level?" Fred called out.
"It's still holding at 13 feet 3.25," one of Fred's technicians responded.
Fred considered that. It had been the same for the last twenty minutes. Had it stabilized? He hoped so. He wished it would start dropping. But he wondered if that was unrealistic. If only Shauna were here. She would know what to expect. Why couldn't Grant have left the analyst at Hoover? Wasn't Hoover more important than any of the other dams downstream?
"3.24!"
Fred looked over at the technician. Had he heard correctly? "What did you say?"
"It dropped a little. 13 feet 3.24 inches."
"Watch it for a few minutes," Fred ordered. "I want to make sure it's really stable."
Fred looked at his watch, 6:45 p.m. He felt a wave of energy radiating from somewhere deep inside. Hoover-Two. They had done it. They had saved Hoover Dam. Governor Jenkins and Commissioner Blackwell had told Fred to notify them immediately when it peaked. He wondered where the two politicians were. They were probably eating dinner in the visitor center someplace. He needed to find them and tell them. They would likely call another press conference and stage another photo for history. Fred was so happy that he didn't even mind.
"Level?" he asked.
"Still 3.24," the technician said.
Fred headed for a telephone. The governor could wait. He needed to call Grant.
CHAPTER 38
Grant could see the Yuma airport ahead from the helicopter. It was larger than he expected, with four runways. Many small planes were tied off to the side of the runways. Past that was a row of metal hangars where the best planes were stored.
Grant rested his head back against the seat, feeling tired. The pilot and both women in the back must have felt the same, because no one had spoken since they left Imperial Dam. The all-nighter from the night before was definitely catching up to him. He had that urge again to lay down.
One advantage to being a paper pusher was the lack of abnormal hours. Compared to that, the past two days were from a different lifetime, a lifetime that, in spite of the chaos, had been in some ways satisfying. Whether he could sustain that type of lifestyle seemed doubtful. Besides, what kind of career would provide the same kind of action he had lived through for the last eighteen hours? A policeman? An FBI agent? He didn't think so. Even those jobs were probably 90 % paperwork and 10 % action. No, the reality was that the last two days were an aberration, and he knew it.
His stomach told him the helicopter was descending and he opened his eyes, which he hadn't realized he had shut. He saw a jet parked away from the other planes. Lloyd brought the chopper in next to the isolated jet. This time, Grant resisted the temptation to jump out of the helicopter. He let his head rest against the seat back until the rotors had completely stopped. He heard one door open and shut, which told him Special Agent Williams had climbed out.
Grant heard Lloyd's voice in the headphones. "What's the plan?"
"Still working on it." Grant felt butterflies in his stomach. He hesitated before finishing. "We'll have to let it play out, see what happens."
Grant saw Shauna lean forward from the rear seat. "What are you guys talking about?"
He felt guilty for keeping Shauna in the dark. "We're deciding what to do next."
"I thought the FBI wanted to talk to you about your theory," she said.
"I mean after that," said Grant. "We're thinking about going into Mexico." He turned and looked into her eyes. He wondered why he was telling her.
Her eyes grew noticeably. "I thought the FBI specifically denied that?"
"They did," Grant stated unemotionally.
The rotors of the helicopter had stopped. The three were enveloped in silence. Grant recognized Phil and a few other special agents from Hoover Dam talking to Special Agent Williams.
Shauna sat back in her seat before talking. "I see." There was a moment of silence before she continued. "Aren't you afraid of getting fired or something?"
Grant rested his head back on the seat again. "I should be." He knew Shauna probably thought he was crazy.
Her response shocked him. "I'm going with you."
He sat up and turned, facing her. "No. There's no reason to."
"I'm going, Grant. They can fire me too if they want. We're in this together, to the finish."
Grant wanted to argue and tell her she couldn't go, but they were interrupted when one of the agents opened Grant's door. "Can you guys come out here for a second? Phil wants to ask a few questions."
Grant nodded and removed his headset. Climbing out of the helicopter took more energy than it should have. He hoped Shauna wouldn't spill the beans. After they exited the helicopter, Grant walked toward the FBI agents.
Phil shook his hand. "I would have been better off if I'd told my agents to follow you around for the last two days. You seem to have a nose for the action."
Grant smiled. "It was logical that the water trouble would keep moving downstream. It's where I needed to be." He caught Shauna looking at him.
Phil looked around before continuing. "So tell me how you came up with this environmentalist theory."
Grant shook his head. "None of the other theories worked — the mad boater, the middle-eastern terrorists, the anti-recreationalists. After Glen Canyon, maybe, but not after the attempt at Davis. They just didn't fit. But I knew there was a common denominator, ever since this morning at Davis Dam."
"I remember that. You were sure of yourself. So, what was the missing piece?" Phil prompted.
"The delta." Grant remembered the feeling when he put it together. "I knew the Colorado River dried up before it reached the ocean. But I never thought about it. I knew it, but I never considered the ramifications." Grant looked around and realized he was rambling.
He continued. "Finally, this afternoon, I realized when they closed the All American Canal what the common denominator from all the bombings was. All the bombs were intended to send more water downstream. That's why it didn't matter whether the poison was real or not. We had to shut down the canal either way. Mission accomplished." He looked over at Shauna. "It was Shauna who reminded me what was downstream in Mexico. That delta is dried up. Dead. The river hasn't made it that far in years. All of a sudden I knew why the bomber wanted all the water to go downstream. It made perfect sense."
"It made perfect sense to blow up the Glen Canyon Dam to restore a dried-up river delta?" asked Phil sarcastically.
Grant locked eyes with the FBI agent. "It makes perfect sense if you're an environmentalist, if you've spent years demonstrating for Greenpeace, or the Sierra Club, or the Glen Canyon Institute. If you've fought to elect liberals like Clinton and Gore, but were forced to watch when even they gave the environment lip service, establishing a few monuments, but avoiding the real issues, the issues that might offend the farmers who receive subsidized river water, or the populations of Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Phoenix, who plant palm trees in an environment more suited for scorpions or rattlesnakes. If you had dedicated your whole life to restoring the Colorado River and one of the most amazing deltas in the world, but deep down you knew that nothing you'd done, or ever would do, would even matter."