"What about upstream?" asked the blond guy, who had calmed and now almost looked civilized.
Grant looked around. "Well, Headgate Rock Dam in Parker, Arizona failed, the Palo Verde and Imperial Dams were intentionally broken to prevent breach, but we don't know about the Morales Dam in Mexico."
The blond man's eyes flared. "We don't care about your dams."
Grant considered the rebuff. "How about the destruction we saw south of Parker Dam, and the bodies we saw floating there? How about the areas below Laughlin where a whole community of houses and buildings were washed away? Or what about the trailer park below Headgate Rock Dam that was totally destroyed when the flood carried them downstream and piled them up against a railroad bridge? How about yesterday in the Grand Canyon, when hikers and float trips were caught in the flood? We don't have the death toll from that yet."
"That's not our fault," the blonde said tentatively.
"Oh? I thought that's what you were here celebrating," said Agent Williams.
Grant stared into their eyes, the ones that were still looking up. Most showed compassion. The young brunette looked like she might cry.
"We're here to celebrate the freedom of the river," Black Beard said. "That doesn't mean we're happy about the people who died."
Grant thought they were getting close to the issue. "But you support what was done?" asked Grant. "Blowing up the dams? Isn't that why the Sierra Club sent you?"
Black Beard hesitated.
"Yes!" yelled the blond. "It had to be done."
Grant saw heads nod, but none as enthusiastic as the blonde. Black Beard's face showed concern. Others turned and looked at the blonde as if he were crazy. Grant scanned back and forth quickly to assess how many true supporters of bombing the dams there really were. He guessed that most of this group, like in similar groups, were followers. Although passionate about the environment, they would never consciously kill people to achieve their goals. Even Black Beard seemed reluctant to kill. Only the blonde and one of the women had enough hate in their eyes.
Black Beard spoke. "We're members of The Sierra Club, but they didn't send us out here or make the sign. We did that on our own. I don't know whether the Sierra Club supports the bombing, but a spokesman on the news this morning said the attack was inevitable. It was only a matter of time. We would have preferred the river be restored peacefully, but we all know that's impossible."
"Look!" someone shouted. "Another helicopter."
The conversation was forgotten as both groups turned and looked into the sky.
"Get the sign turned around," said Black Beard, motioning with his arm. "It might be the news."
Grant looked ahead and saw the approaching helicopter. As it approached, he noticed it was in fact a media chopper. A tethered cameraman hung from an open door. The words Channel 4 News, San Diego, were printed on the side.
The chant, "Restore the Colorado. Restore the Colorado," started again.
Grant, Shauna, Agent Williams, and Lloyd were suddenly standing alone, having been abandoned by the protestors.
"What now?" asked Lloyd.
Grant scratched his head. "I don't know." He looked over at the group holding the banner. "I don't think anybody in that group is our man."
"What about that tall blonde guy?" Shauna asked. "He scared me."
Grant shook his head. "I don't know. He's got the passion for it, but ―"
"He's not smart enough," said Lloyd. "These guys are just a bunch of hippies that decided to drive out here and get on TV." He pointed toward the group who were shuffling their feet to keep the banner aligned. "Look at 'em."
"Restore the Colorado. Restore the Colorado," they chanted enthusiastically.
"I hate to say it, but Lloyd's right," said Agent Williams. "I don't think he's in that group. He'd look different. He'd be different."
"There was one guy who did look different," said Shauna. "He was dressed better, cleaner."
"The guy in the polo shirt," Grant said.
"Yeah." Shauna nodded.
Lloyd shook his head. "Did ya see what Polo shirt he was wearin'?"
They all looked at the pilot. Grant shook his head.
"Dirty Devils," said Lloyd. "It's an off-road accessory store. He's the guy they recruited to bring the dune buggies." He pointed at the vehicles, then back at the group. "You think those bozos could get out here by themselves?"
While they were talking, the news helicopter had made a full circle around the banner. Grant saw that the cameraman then pointed his camera at the Vegas Tours chopper, not the protestors.
The pilot nudged Grant. "I think your secret mission into Mexico is now being viewed nationwide by 20 million cable subscribers."
Before Grant could respond, the helicopter broadcasted a message from its PA system. "Attention below! Floodwater is approaching. We recommend everyone leave this area immediately. Repeat. Floodwater is approaching quickly from the north. Please vacate this area while it is still possible."
Grant shielded his eyes from the setting sun and scanned in a northwest direction. How far out was it? He wondered if the news helicopter could actually see the water, or whether it was still a few miles out. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to tell until they got back up in the air.
The warning message had confused the protestors. A few released the banner and were running back toward the dune buggies. At least six or seven still held the banner as if nothing had changed. Eventually, they released it, but stood next to it arguing about what to do. The chant stopped. One of the runners was the guy in the polo shirt whom they guessed owned the buggies. He now waved frantically for the others to follow. Grant guessed that he had no intentions of donating his vehicles as martyrs to the Colorado River.
Grant looked at Lloyd. "Why don't you get on the radio in the helicopter and ask them how far ―"
The other helicopter interrupted them. "Flood water is estimated to be less than four miles away". The guy broadcasting the message broke out of his formal tone and raised his voice. "This whole area will be underwater shortly. Please hurry to your vehicles and vacate immediately."
"Never mind," Grant said.
Without speaking, he turned and headed for the helicopter and the others followed. While still walking, Grant glanced back at the protestors. Only two remained at the banner: Black Beard, and the blonde. They were stretching it out on the ground. The rest sprinted across the sand toward the waiting dune buggies. A moment later Black Beard and the blonde abandoned the banner and ran off.
Lloyd reached the helicopter first and the turbine was already starting before Grant climbed into his seat. Lloyd flipped switches on the dashboard. When Grant pulled on his headphones he heard Lloyd talking. "Vegas Tours calling Channel 4 News. Do you read?"
"We read you, Vegas Tours," they responded.
"Do you currently have visual on the water?" Lloyd asked.
By now the rotors were turning fast enough to blur. Visibility was obscured by sand being blown in every direction.
"Negative, Vegas Tours; four miles was only an estimate from when we―" Grant heard another voice from the news helicopter, a woman's voice. "I can see it. Over there."
The first voice came back, "Affirmative, Vegas Tours. We now have visual on the floodwater. Looks to be about 2.5 miles northwest of here."
The helicopter lifted off. After they climbed out of the swirling sand, Grant saw that most of the protestors were loaded into the dune buggies. One of the vehicles had already turned around and faced east. Grant searched the northwest horizon as they gained altitude. The glare from the sun setting over the mountains on the west made it difficult to see. Finally, Grant noticed what looked like a gray line across the top of the sand. "It doesn't look like it's two miles away to me," said Shauna from behind. "More like a mile and a half, or less."