Now the folly of this trip, against the direct orders of the FBI, became blatantly obvious. His mind raced. They would all four be killed, because of him. He thought quickly of his wife and children. He loved his wife more than he had ever realized before and ached for her. She would be forced to raise his kids as a single mother. It was tough enough to be a kid without having to deal with a parent's death. He didn't have enough life insurance, he realized. They would suffer.
"Look," Shauna said, pointing.
The group had taken the round device from the dune buggy, and laid it on the ground. They proceeded to unroll it. It was white.
"It's some kind of banner," Shauna added.
When the group finished unrolling, they spread themselves along the banner and lifted it up, revealing the message THE SIERRA CLUB supports the Restoration of the Colorado River Delta. The group held the banner high and shuffled their feet to pivot it slightly to align it with the helicopter.
"Want me to land?" asked Lloyd.
Grant didn't know. As they approached the group, he could see some of their faces. A man with a bushy black beard held the banner at one end. A blond girl with a headband and ponytails stood next to him. Both wore worn clothes. Something told him that neither was the bomber. They both looked like demonstrators, or at least like the ones he'd seen on TV. The girl looked like the type to live in a tree. He could easily imagine the man laying down on the tracks in front of a train transporting nuclear waste, or handcuffing himself to the blade of a bulldozer at the site of a new highway.
The helicopter had reached the group now and Lloyd circled around them. They rotated themselves to keep the sign visible. Grant scanned their faces, but the banner obscured some. He could clearly see two blond guys and four women. Grant felt nothing as he scanned for some sign, some indication. What if they got closer? There were too many of them. It would be impossible to get a good look at all of them from the helicopter. He looked back at the man with the black beard and decided he couldn't rule him out as the bomber.
"You want me to land?" asked Lloyd again.
Grant looked up. The pilot was waiting for an answer. "Yeah, okay."
The helicopter sprayed the sand in all directions as it landed. The four passengers waited until the rotors were almost stopped and the sand settled to open the doors. When Grant opened his door he saw that the group holding the sign had approached the helicopter and he could hear them chanting something like: "…orado". When he heard it the second time, he understood.
"Restore the Colorado. Restore the Colorado," they chanted.
As Grant and the others climbed out of the helicopter, the rhythm and energy of the chant seemed to increase. "Restore the Colorado. Restore the Colorado." The group seemed energized by the chopper's arrival and Grant realized that the four of them were likely the first audience for this protest.
A few more steps and both groups stopped, facing each other. The pace and volume of the chant increased. Grant recoiled as they began to thrust the banner at him in rhythm with their voices. He waved his arms in the air for them to stop, but it only increased their energy. He scanned the group and focused on a few faces. A blond man directly in front of him, also sporting a full unkempt beard, reminded him of a picture he'd seem on one of the tabloids of Brad Pitt when he grew a beard for one of his movies. The man's eyes looked mean and uncivilized. Could he be the bomber?
A girl to Grant's left caught his eye. She was a beautiful brunette with big eyes and long straight hair over a white t-shirt. She was young. She was chanting like the others, but without the hostility. He would be shocked if she was older than fifteen. He felt sure she had not masterminded the explosion at the Glen Canyon Dam.
Farther left, Grant spotted a man wearing a white polo shirt. Unlike the others, he was clean-shaven and professional looking. He looked more like the sort who just got off work than a protestor. Lacking was the urgency in his eyes like the rabid blond guy directly in front.
Grant wondered how, or if, the stalemate would end. How long could they go on? But he sensed the energy of the group was dying. When he scanned back to his right, the black bearded guy he'd first seen from the helicopter had stopped chanting and was motioning with his free arm for them to stop. It took a while for Black Beard to quiet them, but after a few half-hearted attempts, they stopped.
"Why is the FBI traveling in a tour helicopter?" yelled the blond guy in front.
The question caught Grant off guard, and he instinctively turned to look at Agent Williams. He saw her blue coveralls with the insignia on the breast pocket and realized how they'd made the connection.
He looked back at Black Beard and waved his hands back and forth. "No. No. We're not FBI, we're―"
The blond cut him off, pointing. "That's a lie, we can see her…" He didn't finish, but emphasized his point at Agent Williams by shaking his finger.
"What I meant to say," said Grant, "was that we are not all FBI. We're…" He stopped and looked back at his group. Lloyd, with his beard and clothing, could easily blend in with the protestors. Shauna, who looked terrified, looked the part of the analyst she was. Special Agent Williams, with the coveralls, well, there was no doubt about what she did. Grant wondered what the protestors thought he looked like. He realized he needed to be careful about what he told them about the group. He didn't want to force the bomber undercover.
"We're here to mitigate some of the damage of the impending flood." He saw that many of the group's eyes remained on Special Agent Williams. Grant pointed to her. "The FBI sent a demolition expert in case we found any other bombs."
"Who do you work for?" asked Black Beard.
Grant hesitated, worried about the effect of his answer. "The Bureau of Reclamation."
The blond in front went nuts and thrust his arm forward, pointing at Grant. "You're the bastards that built the dams. You guys are the ones that killed the river. This delta's dead because of you."
The words stung. He looked straight at the blond guy. "Those dams were built before you or I were even born," he said defensively.
A woman pointed at him. "Well, the river's free again now. The delta's gonna be alive again." She looked behind her to make sure she had their support. "And we're not gonna let the government put it back again. You're not going to re-build Glen Canyon. That dam is history." Grant heard some rumblings of support from the group.
"What are you guys looking for down here, on the delta?" asked one of the protestors.
Grant knew he was on dangerous ground. "We've been following the flood waters. We just came from Imperial and flew over the flooding in northern Mexico." He saw some looks of concern from the crowd.
"How bad's the flooding in Mexico?" asked Black Beard, sounding genuine.
Grant looked around at the now-attentive group. "It's bad, actually terrible. When we flew over, it looked like the river was flooding for miles in every direction." By the positioning of their vehicles, he guessed the protestors had driven down the east side of the river through the farmland. They would have seen the makeshift shacks and huts. "It looked like many of the small homes were decimated."
"We saw some bodies floating in the water," Shauna added, from behind.
Grant saw some heads drop and some shoulders sag.