Wet Desert: Tracking Down a Terrorist on the Colorado River by Gary Hansen Page A

symposium in
Kenya
. The remoteness of the location in
Africa
, however, would slow their return.
    As the plane climbed out of
Denver
, Grant looked west over the Rocky Mountains separating
Denver
from
Utah
. A few cumulus clouds floated over endless mountains. The view from the valley floor in
Denver
was misleading, and gave the impression that one only needed to drive through a small mountain pass to arrive on the other side to another open valley. But the view from above told a different story. The range visible from the valley was only the beginning. The mountains continued, peak after peak, for what seemed like at least fifty miles. Grant knew that if someone tried to hike through, without a compass to point west, he would end up hopelessly lost in the range with no hope of ever finding
Salt
Lake
and the Mormons.
    The flight attendant tapped his shoulder. She held out a plate with a selection of bagels.
    He nodded yes and selected one with onions on top.
    She handed him a napkin, knife, and small package of cream cheese. "Would you like some orange juice?"
    He nodded. "Sure."
    He guessed she was in her thirties. She looked plain at first glance, but her smile changed everything. The perfect white teeth and sparkling brown eyes, in addition to her trim figure, made him wonder if she had been a model before. If not, it was only because she hadn't smiled enough.
    She returned with a cup of orange juice, then sat on the arm of the chair next to him. "Hi. I'm Wendy."
    "Grant Stevens," he replied.
    When he first arrived, he was surprised to find a flight attendant at all. For some reason, he expected a big cooler on the floor, and executives tossing each other sodas and peanuts. Now the thought seemed absurd. When he cut open the bagel, it felt warm and fresh, making him wonder how Wendy could have had time to shop during the short layover.
    "So how long are we going to be in Page?" she asked.
    The question surprised him. It had never occurred to him that the plane would be waiting with him in Page. "I don't know. I'll have to figure that out when I get there."
    The thought made him wonder what was happening at the dam. He looked out the window and decided the plane was at cruising altitude and he should probably make the call to
Glen
Canyon
. He asked Wendy if the Gulfstream had a phone, and she pointed to a compartment by the window.
    "What are you doing at the dam? Do you have an important meeting or something?" she asked.
    He looked up at her and saw mild interest, but no fear whatsoever. "Julia didn't tell you?"
    She shook her head. "No. She just said to be ready to fly somebody immediately. I just figured . . ." Her voice trailed off, then he saw her brows furrow. "Julia didn't tell me what? Why, what's going on?"
    He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by another phone in the rear of the plane.
    "Excuse me, please," she said, then quickly stood and walked back toward the rear of the plane.
    While she was gone, he figured he better make the call. He leaned forward in his seat and searched in his right rear pants pocket for the card he used to scribble the phone number. He found the crumpled card and straightened it enough to read the number. Grant took a bite out of the bagel, then punched in the nine digits. Someone picked up immediately.
    "Hello, this is Brian."
    "Brian, this is Grant Stevens from the Bureau of Reclamation. How bad is it down there?"
    The man sounded nervous. "Well, there was an explosion about an hour ago. I didn't see it, but I heard it. It blew the top out of the elevator shaft and a hole in the dam."
    Grant wondered what could blow up the elevator shaft. None of the turbines were even near there. "What blew up? Do you have any idea?"
    "Heck, I don't know. It must have been somewhere down the elevator shaft. Something blew. It seemed like a bomb."
    For the first time since the call from Julia, Grant considered that the explosion might have been intentionally set. Until then, he had