Grant stood at the windows overlooking the dam, or what was left of it. The water had torn almost all the way to the east side. Again, a section over a hundred feet long jutted out, ready to snap at any moment. This time the whole group stood watching, even the FBI agents.

"Why isn't it breaking off?" Phil asked.

"It will," said Grant. "Keep watching."

"Look at all the water down the canyon." Brian pointed downstream.

Grant looked and noticed that most of the mist was gone. He hadn't realized it until just now. The clear visibility allowed a good view into the canyon. The huge waterfall into the canyon had transformed, over the last hour, into a more gradual drop, gradual being a relative word describing a drop of over a hundred feet. With the water downstream four hundred feet above normal, the water didn't have to drop very far. Looking downstream at the new river, Grant saw an outcropping of rock break off and fall into the river.

"It's going," yelled one of the FBI agents in coveralls, pointing to the dam.

Grant turned in time to see the huge section of concrete falling into the river. The piece made a big splash and then it was gone. The loud sound followed a moment later. The only evidence of the break was the impact waves that dispersed quickly as they radiated downstream.

Grant looked around at the group. "The Glen Canyon Dam is no more." He checked his watch, 9:58 a.m. He thought to himself that he had only missed estimating the time by 28 minutes - not bad. No one said anything for a few moments.

"Guess I need to start looking for a new job," said Brian, the security guard.

His boss, Dan, looked at him. "Nobody said you were fired."

Brian looked back at his boss. "You better start looking too, boss. There ain't nothing left to guard here."

Dan's eyebrows came up as the realization sunk in.

Phil patted Brian on the back. "There's going to be a lot of Looky-Lou's for months. Somebody's got to guard this place. You guys'll be fine for a while."

The comment didn't seem to make them look any happier.

* * *

Julie wanted to stop, but there were only a few steps more to go. She kept climbing and used her hand on the sheer rock wall on her left. Her husband and Paul watched her from above, and the breathing grunts and sounds of shoes on rock told her Erika was just behind. Her calves and thighs burned, but she tried to bury that thought or she knew she wouldn't make it. She had taken her t-shirt off as well, and she could feel her hair swishing through the slimy perspiration on her back.

"A few more steps, baby," Greg encouraged.

"Come on, Erika," Paul coaxed.

And then Julie reached the summit. She turned and held her hand out to Erika and pulled her up the last step. Both women stood and looked down the way they had come, breathing heavily. The notch seemed almost vertical back down to the boats and water below, forcing Julie to take a step backwards from the edge. The water looked inviting though, and made Julie wish she were already back at the bottom.

Her husband moved beside her. "Incredible view, isn't it?"

Julie agreed, but shook her head. "It wasn't worth it, though."

Her husband looked shocked, then put his arm around her. "Come on! You did great. We did it in less than an hour."

Erika spoke for the first time since reaching the top. "That was nuts. No wonder we never did this before."

Paul held out his hands. "It wasn't that bad."

Erika turned on her husband. "How would you know?" she shot back. "You're an animal."

Julie started to laugh. Erika's expression finally softened, then she and the men laughed as well.

Julie felt dizzy. "I need to sit down."

Greg led her over to a small rock ledge, which made a perfect bench. Julie sat, even though the rock was hot. Her legs trembled. Erika came over and sat next to her. The plateau was nothing but barren red rock hills for miles in every direction. A couple of hundred yards away was a small gravel parking lot for jeeps and other four-wheel drive vehicles that had driven to the spot. The lot was empty. The rock was burning Julie's legs so she stood and put her t-shirt under her and sat back down. She unscrewed the lid on her canteen and drank. She poured a small amount in her hair, and it felt wonderful. If only she had more, she would douse her whole body.

"How long do you want to stay up here?" Greg asked.

Julie wished again she were already back down in the water. "I don't want to stay here at all. But I'm not hiking back down until I rest for a while."

Paul pointed to something over by the parking lot. "There's a plaque over there that talks about how the Mormons got their oxen and stagecoaches down. We could go read it." He sounded hopeful.

"The Mormons were nuts, if they took wagons down there," Erika stated flatly.

Greg patted his wife on the back. "Well, I can see that we've got two pissed off women here. What's it gonna take to get you two in a good mood?"

Julie looked up at her husband. "Carry me back down."

He turned and crouched. "Okay, get on."

She cocked her head. "You're serious?"

He motioned onto his back with his thumb. "Get on!"

She decided to play along. She stood and climbed on her husband's back. Greg stood. Paul had done the same for Erika, and she climbed on his back.

"We're going down now?" Erika asked.

Greg brayed like a donkey. "Piggy back to the plaque. Piggy back to the plaque." He brayed again and started galloping roughly toward the parking lot. Paul followed. The girls spurred their husbands and giggled.

CHAPTER 13

10:05 a.m. - GlenCanyon Dam, Arizona

With the dam completely collapsed, Grant knew he needed to move on, downstream. They weren't doing all the things necessary downstream, he was sure of it. He looked down river and saw another outcropping of rock break off the canyon wall and fall into the river. The river was a raging menace. The canyon would look different after twenty-four hours of this river. It would tear it apart. He focused on the metal GlenCanyonBridge, only a few hundred feet from the dam. Although the roadway of the seven-hundred-foot-high bridge was well out of the water, the latticework of steel girders under the arch reached hundreds of feet down and attached to the sandstone canyon walls. Grant could not see where they attached. They were underwater. He couldn't help but notice that many cars were stopped on the bridge. He could see people standing. The bridge was obviously a good viewpoint to watch the dam collapse.

Grant waved Earl over. He pointed down where the support structure disappeared underwater. "Check that out. The mounts and girders are in the water. That could bring it down."

Earl didn't need any more information. He pulled a radio off his belt. "Close the GlenCanyonBridge. I need roadblocks on both sides. Get everybody off now. We might lose it."

Earl looked at the group, especially Phil from the FBI. "I need to leave for a while and make sure they get it cleared off. You know where to find me." He started walking toward the door.

One of the FBI guys in coveralls intercepted him. They both took out their radios and exchanged a couple of comments. The guy from the FBI wrote something down while Earl started back out the door. The agent punched something into his radio and then held it up to his face. "Earl, you copy?"

Grant heard the response. "Yup." Earl sounded even raspier on the radio.

The guy in coveralls went over to his briefcase and retrieved an earphone assembly. He plugged one end in a jack on his radio and the other in his ear. He then walked back over by the group as if nothing had happened.

Grant noticed one of the other guys in coveralls talking to Phil. Phil nodded and said to the group, "According to Brian's description of the sun rising, the explosion occurred somewhere between 6:05 and 6:30 a.m. this morning."

Grant remembered thinking the time of explosion seemed so important a couple of hours ago. Now with the dam gone and LakePowell draining into the canyon, he wondered why it made any difference.

Phil came over to Grant. "Mr. Stevens, can we sit down and talk about a few things?" He motioned to Brian and the other security guys. "Can you guys join us?"

Grant looked at his watch. He needed to leave. "I guess I can talk for a few minutes." He sat down at the table.

"Our first suspicion on this kind of situation would be international terrorists, after all the problems with the World Trade Centers in New York and all, and we are proceeding with that investigation. However, a couple of things don't add up. The first being that Brian here described the elevator repairman as a white guy. We checked him out. The paperwork was fake, and the maintenance company has no employees that fit his description. We expected as much. It's still probable that he was a foreigner, but he could be an American or European working with them. There's a lot of sympathy for the Middle East and bad blood for Americans and what they are doing over there."

One of the agents in coveralls spoke to Brian. "Do you remember if he had any kind of noticeable accent?"

"I'm trying to remember what he sounded like." He shook his head. "I don't remember any accent. I just remember he was calm and confident. When I said we didn't have him scheduled, he showed me the paperwork and rattled off Dan's name and how it was already set up and all. No, I wouldn't say he had any accent. His speech was very professional, if nothing else."

Phil looked over at Grant. "Besides wanting to wreak havoc in America, why would anyone want to blow up this dam?"

Grant raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding?"

The FBI man said nothing, obviously serious about his question.

Grant looked at the security guards for support, but everyone waited for him. He blurted the words at the FBI. "There are tons of people who wanted this dam blown up."

Phil seemed surprised. "Who?"

"There are whole organizations dedicated to having it decommissioned - the Sierra Club and Greenpeace, to name a few. There are web sites that talk about it. There is even one group, the Glen Canyon Institute, whose entire purpose is to decommission the dam. They hold debates and lectures at universities trying to get support. One time a group of whackos rolled a black piece of plastic down the face of the dam to make everyone think the dam was cracked. Gee, if you think about it, half of the Democratic Party probably wants it removed."

Phil shook his head. "You're talking about environmentalists?"

Grant looked around the room for support. "Absolutely. I'm not saying they did it. But they sure as hell wanted to." He pointed at one of the news helicopters. "They're definitely celebrating right now, while they watch it on TV."

Phil had not considered this perspective. "Why this dam, more than any of the other dams across the country?"

"There are lots of reasons they focus on this one. The biggest is the canyon itself." Grant pointed upstream to LakePowell. "The area under the lake is called GlenCanyon. Less than a thousand people saw it before the dam was built. It was supposedly an incredible place, vertical carved rock walls on the sides, endless narrow side-canyons like ZionNational Park, and some of the canyons had waterfalls and vegetation like rain forests."

Phil was amazed. "Why did the environmentalists let them build it in the first place? What about the environmental impact studies, the hearings . . .?"

Grant held out his arms. "When Glen Canyon Dam was approved in the late fifties, there weren't any environmentalists, at least not many, and they certainly weren't very powerful. There was only one salaried member of the Sierra Club. Environmental impact studies hadn't been invented yet. The Glen Canyon Dam is largely responsible for the changes. It pissed off the environmentalists and got them organized. They vowed never again. A couple of years later, they stopped the construction of two more dams downstream in the Grand Canyon."

Phil looked shocked. "They were going to dam up the Grand Canyon?"

"Yeah, in fact if you float down the Colorado River, you can still see the exploratory holes drilled in the canyon walls, where one of the dams was to be built."

"I still don't understand why the Democrats allowed it to happen."

Grant smiled. "The Democrats are the ones who built it. They ran the House and the Senate in those days. They wrote the bill and sent it to a moderate Republican president, Dwight Eisenhower, who signed it. In the late fifties, the Democrats were no more environmentally-minded than the Republicans. They were, however, adamant proponents of water projects - big projects that distributed water to cities and farmers, created electricity for homes and industry, and created jobs in the process. The water projects were big welfare, and the Democrats loved them."

While Phil was shaking his head, Grant's cell phone rang. "Hello, this is Grant."

"Grant, this is Julia. I got ahold of Roland in Paris. The flight to Africa had not taken off yet. I'll conference you in."

Crap. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the commissioner. Grant looked out at where the dam used to be and wondered if they could blame him for it. He stood and walked away from the group. After he heard a series of clicks, he recognized the voice of the director of the Bureau of Reclamation.

"Stevens, this is Commissioner Blackwell, can you hear me?"

Grant thought it was arrogant of Roland to constantly refer to himself as commissioner. "Yeah, Roland, I can hear you fine."

"What the hell happened out there?"

Grant tried to organize his thoughts. "Looks like a guy posing as an elevator repairman planted a bomb in the west elevator. It blew a five-foot hole in the dam."

"Is that it? Only five feet?"

"That was four hours ago, Roland. The dam tore itself apart. It's gone."

There was silence on the line.

Roland voice was shaky. "You're saying the Glen Canyon Dam has completely collapsed? LakePowell is gone?"

"Yes. The dam is gone. But no, LakePowell is still there. It's draining now. It'll be gone by tomorrow, though."

Roland hesitated again. "Grant, I'm coming back. I'm trying to get a flight as we speak. I'm looking at all possible connection points. Julia, is the Gulfstream ready? I'll need it to meet me at whatever airport I can get to in the United States."

Julie hesitated. "It's in Page, Arizona. Grant used it to get down there."

The commissioner sounded shocked. "What? Stevens took the jet?"

Grant was amazed. The idiot was more worried about his plane than the situation at GlenCanyon.

Julia's voice was weak. "I thought under the circumstances . . ."

Grant jumped in. "Why not, Roland? It was a good idea. If I had tried to fly commercial, I'd still be waiting for connections. Then nobody from the Bureau would be here. Would that be better?" Grant realized he had gone too far.

The commissioner ignored him. "Julia, tell the pilot to stand by, as soon as I find out where my connection is. I'll call you back. Have them meet me."

"Okay. Let me know when you make your plans," Julia said.

Grant had other short-term plans for the Gulfstream, but he thought he should not bring them up right then with Roland.

The commissioner got back to the subject at hand. "Stevens, what are you doing right now?"

"The FBI is asking questions."

"What are you telling them?" He sounded scared. "Be careful what you say; you represent the Bureau."

Grant rolled his eyes. Why all the politics? Why couldn't anybody just communicate? "Don't worry, Roland."

"Oh, and Stevens, don't make any stupid decisions before I get there. In fact, avoid making any decisions at all if you can help it. Just do what's necessary."

Grant wanted to tell Roland to ram it, and then stopped himself. "Okay, Roland."

Roland sounded distracted like he wasn't speaking directly into the phone. "I gotta go. The ticket lady is waving at me."

Grant heard the phone click. "Julia, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Call me before you take the Gulfstream. I need it for one more trip."

"But the commissioner said--"

"I know what he said. But there's plenty of time. It will take him a while to fly back across the ocean. Just call me first."

"Okay." Her voice sounded uncertain.

Grant thanked her and hung up.

* * *

Earl hustled out of the visitor center parking lot and over to where his officers were setting up the roadblock. A line of about ten cars was stopped at the sign. One officer was waving for the cars to turn around and go back the other way. The first car wasn't moving, however.

The driver was yelling out the window at an officer. "What about Navajo bridge downstream?"

"It's closed, too." The officer motioned up toward the lake. "You'll have to go around."

"That's almost three hundred miles around! It'll take five hours!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer. "The bridge isn't safe right now."

"Bull. Look at all those people out there." He leaned out of his window and pointed at the bridge where four police cars were trying to move about fifteen parked cars and pedestrians off the bridge. Some cars were turning around. Others were boxed in by other cars or waiting for pedestrians to get out of the way.

Earl walked past the argument and the roadblock, and approached the edge of the bridge. He looked over the edge and down into the river. The water was only four hundred feet or so below him, far less than the normal eight-hundred-foot drop to the river. The water was hitting the steel girders in the arch that supported the bridge. Earl could feel the bridge moving like it was alive. He heard a loud creak from flexing metal. He picked up his radio.

"Get 'em off now. Turn on your sirens. This thing's gonna collapse."

He heard the sirens come on. He saw some of the pedestrians start running. Three cars drove past Earl off the bridge. The bulk of them, however, were going east toward Page. He saw about seven or eight cars get off the bridge on the other side. There were still three cars plus the four police cars. Two of the cars started to move. The third, a motor home, wasn't moving yet. A door opened and some idiot jumped out with a video camera. The PA on the police car roared, "GET BACK IN YOUR CAR." The guy kept filming.

Earl got on the radio. "All units get off the bridge now."

One of the police cars followed the two passenger cars toward the east side. The other two headed west toward Earl. The last one stayed with the motor home. The girders groaned and Earl felt the road move a little. He saw a crack open under his feet. He took five steps backwards off the bridge, keeping his eyes on the road. Two police cars flew passed him, slamming on their brakes once they were off the bridge. The cops jumped out of their cars and ran back to where Earl was standing. Earl took several more steps back from the bridge.

Earl saw that the motor home had started moving slowly toward him. The man with the video camera ran and jumped in the side door of the moving vehicle, but quickly re-emerged, hanging out the door with the camera rolling. The motor home was coming up to speed. The police car was right behind, siren still urging. As the motor home got within seventy-five feet of Earl, he could see the young male driver, shirtless and grinning from ear to ear.

While Earl was watching, the bridge let go with a screeching sound loud enough to hurt Earl's ears. The bottom of the west arch under Earl's feet broke loose and the road dropped and twisted, throwing the motor home and the police car off the bridge. Earl was still looking into the driver's eyes when it happened, and saw the grin replaced by an open-mouthed scream.

The asphalt in front of Earl disappeared just three steps in front of him. The motor home and the police car hit the water a hundred feet below. The police car knifed in and went under, but the motor home plopped in like a beach ball and bobbed on the surface. The west end of the bridge was pulled under immediately. The east end of the bridge, still attached, flexed downstream, then it broke loose and was gone too. The police car bobbed back up for a couple seconds, then back under. Earl watched the motor home floating along on the surface, front end down, the water twisting it around as it went. He saw the rear window, now on top, break open with unidentified debris exploding outwards. Without the window to trap air inside, the motor home sank like a rock.

The two officers, who barely escaped, ran up behind Earl. "How many did we lose?"

Earl responded, "One of our officers, and one motor home full of idiots."

* * *

Grant saw the bridge collapse and two vehicles go into the river. The thought of being inside the car sickened him. He hoped it wasn't Earl in the police car. He turned and barked at the FBI agent with the radio. "Get ahold of Earl. Find out if he's okay. See if he knows how many people went in."

The agent walked away from the group while talking into his radio. He quickly gave a thumbs-up sign. "Earl's okay. There was one police officer in the car. They aren't sure how many civilians were in the motor home."

Phil looked at Grant. "What are you going to do now?"

"My job just moved three hundred miles downriver. After I talk to Earl, I'm flying downstream to the next dam to get ready to receive this water. Is that all right with the FBI?"

Grant spoke to the agent. "Tell Earl I need a police car immediately to take me back into Page to the airport."

There was a brief radio communication. "Earl says without the bridge, it's about five hours to Page," the agent relayed.

Grant forgot he needed the bridge to get to Page. He couldn't wait five hours. Suddenly, he was in a hurry to get back to the Gulfstream before the commissioner stole it from him. "Isn't there another way across? Do they have a helicopter?" He waited while the agent asked Earl the question.

"Earl says they don't have any choppers, but he might be able to talk one of those news teams into taking us across in their helicopter. They're still hovering around with cameras. He's going to try to get ahold of one on his radio. He'll let us know."

Fifteen minutes later, Grant was climbing into the green helicopter for KBXY out of Phoenix, Arizona. The chopper sat in the visitor center parking lot with its rotors idling. The network affiliate was more than happy to take Grant across, as long as they could ask a few questions.

Surprisingly, Earl climbed in the helicopter and sat next to Grant. "I DIDN'T WANT TO GO THE LONG WAY, EITHER," he yelled over the noise.

A cameraman climbed in next to Earl and shut the door. The helicopter became amazingly quiet. Grant felt the rotors accelerate. A head appeared around the seat in front of Grant. The guy shoved a microphone in his face.

"What caused the dam to break apart?"

"I'll answer a few questions, but no cameras or microphones."

The reporter showed displeasure, but pulled back the microphone. In an instant, a pad and pencil materialized out of nowhere. "Okay, why is the dam breaking apart?"

Grant felt the helicopter take off. "We think a bomb was placed in the west elevator shaft early this morning. The explosion caused a small hole deep in the dam. The force of the water then tore the dam apart in just under four hours."

"Has any group taken responsibility for the bomb?"

Grant didn't want to talk about that. "Law enforcement should answer questions about the perpetrator. The FBI is handling the criminal investigation."

"What kind of flood should be expected downstream?"

The helicopter was now above what used to be the Glen Canyon Dam. Grant paused to take a look. The water in the canyon was now flowing through the dam site as if it were not even there. The remaining dam only created what amounted to a fifty foot rapid in the river. Grant looked at the high water marks just upstream of the dam site and estimated the water had dropped more than fifty feet next to the dam.

Grant looked back at the reporter. "Could you repeat the question?"

"Flood. What kind of flood will this cause?"

"Luckily, downstream from here the Grand Canyon runs for almost three hundred miles, so not a lot of people or structures to worry about. There are efforts underway to evacuate the visitors from the canyon. Those efforts started almost three hours ago, long before the dam failed."

"Will the dam be rebuilt?"

"I don't know. That's a question for your congressman."

The reporter looked at his notes for a second. "Grant, what is your last name, and what do you do for the Bureau?"

"Last name is Stevens and I am a water resources manager."

"Why did the Bureau send you? Where is Roland Blackwell, the commissioner, or any of the vice presidents? Isn't this a big enough problem to warrant their presence?"

"Roland and most of his team are out of the country. They have been contacted and are arranging for return travel as we speak."

The helicopter had descended and was now landing on the road just past the roadblock on the opposite side of the river. The reporter pleaded with Grant.

"Mr. Stevens, can we get one camera shot of you answering a question? How about an easy one about the water downstream or the dam falling apart over a period of hours?"

Grant considered. He had heard that most of these people were not trustworthy, but this guy seemed okay. "No new questions, and no questions about who did it."

"Great! It will only take a minute."

The helicopter settled and the rotors began to slow down. Earl opened the door and the noise level rose considerably. When Grant climbed out of the chopper, the reporter was waiting for him.

In the noise, the reporter yelled through cupped hands. "LET'S GO OVER THERE WHERE WE CAN GET THE DAM SITE IN THE BACKROUND." He pointed to the river. They started walking away from the helicopter's noise.

Minutes later, the reporter was standing next to Grant, holding the microphone. The cameraman had the camera pointed at them. Grant had not expected the camera to be so close. He felt a sudden urge to straighten his hair, but resisted. The camera moved in close enough to see up his nose. The reporter asked Grant if he was ready.

He nodded. "One easy question," he reminded the reporter.

The reporter spoke into his microphone. "This is Kevin Scott with KBXY in Phoenix, Arizona. We are here at the site of what's left of the Glen Canyon Dam in Page, Arizona with Grant Stevens of the Bureau of Reclamation. The Bureau built this dam as well as most of the other dams in the country. Grant, give us a quick synopsis of what happened here this morning."

Grant felt like he had told this story a hundred times, but almost forgot everything with the camera in his face. He hesitated, which he knew would look awkward on TV. "Early this morning, an explosion went off in the west elevator of the dam. The original hole was small, approximately five feet in diameter. The water pressure then tore the dam apart over the next four hours." Grant stopped talking and looked back at the reporter.

The reporter didn't miss a beat. "As we speak, the FBI is on site investigating the cause of the explosion. As you can see behind us," the reporter turned and motioned to the dam site, "the Glen Canyon Dam has collapsed and LakePowell is now draining into the Grand Canyon. That's all for now from Kevin Scott."

The light on the camera went out. The reporter looked at the cameraman. "How'd it look?"

"Great. I'll rewind it and you can check it out."

Grant dismissed himself and started walking to the waiting police car. The reporter called out his thanks, but was more concerned with the footage on the camera.

Earl joined in and walked next to Grant. "You're a natural. You oughta be in Hollywood."

"It'll probably get me fired."

"Why? You didn't say anything."

"Doesn't matter. The bosses will be jealous. It should come from them."

"Well, they ain't here."

"They will be." Grant reached out for the car door. "That's when the politics will start." He slid into the back of the squad car.

Earl climbed in the other side. The police car surged ahead and started up the hill toward Page. Grant felt funny leaving the scene, like he was leaving something undone. Part of him wanted to stay and stare. When they crested the top of the hill and entered the city, the car turned left.

He turned and looked at Earl. "What's going to happen here after I leave?"

"Don't worry. We'll baby-sit the tourists." Grant thought he saw a hint of a smile under the large mustache. "And the Feds," Earl added.

As before, the police car drove past the gate and out onto the airport tarmac. A moment later it stopped next to the Gulfstream. The high-pitched sound told him the jet engines were already turning. Grant climbed out of the cruiser and walked toward the plane.

Wendy, the flight attendant, met him at the base of the stairs. "Boulder, Nevada?"

Grant nodded. "Yeah." The mention of Boulder made him think about downstream. Would they lose Hoover too? He headed up the stairs.

Before he ducked into the plane, he turned and looked back at the captain of the Page police force, who was now leaning against the car. Grant cupped his hand and yelled at Earl. "Good luck. Don't let things get outta control."

Earl's response wasn't loud enough to hear, but three jabs from a pointed finger, and over-enunciation of the syllables sent the message loud and clear, "You already did."

Grant held up his cell phone and pointed to it, trying to send the message that Earl could call him if he needed.

Earl nodded and waved, then climbed back in the cruiser. Grant ducked into the Gulfstream that would take him to Hoover Dam.

Wendy shut the door behind him and the noise of the engines almost disappeared.

Although he could have picked any of the leather seats, he chose the second window seat on the right, the same one from his previous trip.

She interrupted him while he was fastening his seat belt. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head. "Not now." He touched her arm. "Could you ask the pilot if he could follow the river?"

CHAPTER 14

11:15 a.m. - Hole-in-the-Rock, Lake Powell, Utah

Julie didn't care if her feet were killing her. It had to be over a hundred degrees. She jogged the last few yards to the water, dropped the canteen, sun visor and crumpled t-shirt on the shore, and dove into the refreshing water of LakePowell. She didn't even stop to take off her hiking boots. In the few seconds she glided underwater, Julie felt the water cool her face, arms, back, and legs, saving her from what felt like imminent heat stroke. She let her momentum and buoyancy bring her slowly back to the surface. When she turned, she saw the other three had stopped and were hastily unlacing their shoes. She stroked leisurely back to the shore.

"Aren't you going to take your shoes off?" her husband asked.

When she reached the rocks, she found a small ledge, just under the surface, where she could sit and get to her laces. "I couldn't wait. I was burning up."

Greg laughed. Paul had removed his shoes and had moved to Erika, who sat back and let her husband remove hers. She looked exhausted too, and Julie wanted to help her into the water so Erika could feel the same relief Julie was feeling. Even as Julie reached for her shoelaces, she heard first Greg, then Paul and Erika dive in the water around her.

"Oh, that feels so good." Erika purred.

Paul blew a small stream of lake water out of his mouth like a Roman statue.

Julie's laces released easily. As she struggled with the shoe, Greg swam over next to her and took over, pulling her right one off.

"Let me help you with that." He tossed it up on the bank, and then rolled her sock off, his fingers cleaning between her toes, then massaging her foot.

Greg's hands on her feet made her lean back on the rocks and sigh. She felt light headed. He repeated the service on her other foot, and she decided right then, she would never leave him.

After the foot massage, both couples frolicked in the water for a while. Julie took off her shorts and threw them up on the bank, leaving her only in her bikini. She wished the site were more remote and it were only she and Greg, because for the first time in her life she wanted to skinny dip. Even the small swimsuit felt too restricting.

Greg sat on a rock just out of the water. "How long do you want to stay?"

Erika floated on her back. "I'm never getting out of this water again."

Julie agreed. "What's the hurry?"

"We need to stop at Dangling Rope for gas on the way back."

Erika rolled over on her stomach and glided toward her husband. "Go ahead. My lover and I need some time alone. You can pick us up when you're done."

They all knew that Erika was joking because Dangling Rope Marina was miles downstream, almost to the houseboat. There was no way Greg was going to drive all the way there, then back up to Hole-in-the-Rock to pick them up.

Greg laughed. "No need, Erika. Julie and I will just wait here while you and Paul do what ever you need to do." He gestured to her with an open hand "Go ahead."

Julie laughed while she watched Erika swim after Paul who was staying just out of her reach, and splashing her. While the couple teased each other, Greg stood and stepped gingerly up the rocks to where they had left their possessions. When he reached their stuff, he turned and put his hands on his hips, scanning up and down the shoreline. Julie thought she could see a look of concern on his face.

"He pointed down by the edge of the water. "Doesn't it look like the water has gone down?"

Julie looked at the wet ring above the water. She saw Paul stop and look at it too. Erika took advantage, and grabbed her husband from behind. Paul shucked her like she was nothing and dunked her. Greg pointed at the Mastercraft. "Look at the boat."

Julie looked but did not see anything out of the ordinary. "What's wrong with it?"

Paul interjected. "The rope. We left some slack when we tied it off. Now it's tight."

Julie saw that the rope was in fact very tight and pulling the Mastercraft up against the rocks. "Maybe it came loose and somebody re-tied it."

"No, Julie. Look at the wet band around the lake." He motioned again with his hand and raised his voice. "The water has dropped, maybe five feet or more."

Julie wondered why the big deal.

"So?" Erika said. "Who cares if the water dropped a few feet?"

Greg crouched and chewed on his fingernail. It made Julie nervous. Generally Greg was very cool headed. She climbed up the rocks out of the water. Erika followed.

Greg started gathering shoes and socks. "Let's go. There must be something wrong. They must be dumping water like crazy or something."

"Who?" Paul asked.

Greg was already headed for the boat. "The people at the dam. I don't know. We can ask what's going on when we get to the Marina."

Julie gathered up her wet shoes and other possessions. Erika and Paul did the same. The three of them headed for the boat with their arms full. Greg was trying to pull the boat up enough to get slack in the rope with no success. Paul tossed his stuff on the ground and tried to help. Both men struggled, but the rope was already so tight that they would need to lift the boat to get enough slack.

"What are we going to do now?" Julie asked.

Greg fished through the glove box in the boat and retrieved his pocketknife. He freed the blade, cut the rope up close to where it was tied on the rock, and the Mastercraft settled into the water. He retrieved the remainder of the rope from the rock and threw it in the back. He climbed in while Paul held the boat away from the rocks. Greg reached for Julie and Erika's things, and then helped them both in. He was hurrying, which made Julie and Erika hurry too. When everyone else was in, Paul pushed off and jumped in himself. Greg started the engine immediately.

Julie sat in the other front seat and looked at her husband. His brow was furrowed as he scanned up and down the shore. He put the boat in gear and quickly accelerated as they headed out of the small bay into the main channel. Greg was very nervous, something that was very rare for Greg Crawford.

* * *

Sid followed his friend Ryan as they hiked east along the Escalante Trail. To their left, a couple hundred feet below flowed the Colorado River, which seemed to be running above normal. To their right the Grand Canyon rose gradually almost four thousand feet to the Navajo reservation, where they had left their car, but that was two days ago. Unlike the lightweights that rode mules up and down the tourist trails, Sid and Ryan considered themselves seasoned hikers. You had to be, to hike Tanner and Escalante, two trails which were not for the faint hearted, especially Tanner. Two days before, while descending the twelve-mile TannerTrail, only two miles from the bottom they encountered the last obstacle, a steep climb nicknamed Asinine Hill. Two days later, Sid considered this whole hike to be asinine.

Over the years, he and Ryan had hiked most of the major trails in the Grand Canyon, some multiple times. Tanner, which was located almost 30 miles upstream from the major South Rim trails, had eluded them. And now Sid knew why. Tanner was a killer. Hiking down the trail had wiped him out. His left knee, which had never bothered him before, now screamed out with every step. And Escalante, comparatively, was the easy part. It only ran along the base of the canyon paralleling the river. The hard part, tomorrow, was yet to come, back up the twelve grueling miles of Tanner to the rim. Besides, this part of the canyon wasn't as narrow, and to be honest, wasn't as spectacular. In fact, when he lost sight of the river, Sid thought the landscape was downright ugly. Of course he grudgingly admitted that it might have something to do with the pain in his knee.

"Let's rest." Ryan said without looking back.

Sid didn't respond. But he immediately stopped and let Ryan help him out of his pack. With a sleeping bag, food, water, and stove, each pack weighed a ton. Sid leaned his pack against a rock then sat down and leaned back against it. He massaged his knee, but couldn't quite get his fingers deep enough to do any good.

"How much farther do you think it is?" he asked. Ryan always knew how far things were.

"Close. Maybe an hour." He looked at his watch. "We can have lunch at the trail head, filter some water, then head up Tanner. The farther we make it tonight, the better."

Sid closed his eyes and tried to wish himself a day into the future, up at the rim looking down, and the hike would be behind him. He opened his eyes to see if it worked, but saw he was still at river level. Maybe he was too greedy. He decided to try again, this time wishing only for a mule to carry him up the hill. Hanging from the mule, the knee would still hurt, but it would definitely felt better than hiking.

"Look at that helicopter!" Ryan said suddenly.

The mule disappeared. Sid opened his eyes. "Where?"

Ryan pointed upstream. "I didn't think they were allowed to fly that low."

The helicopter flew at an altitude of only a couple hundred feet above the water as it followed the river. Since the Escalante trail ran above the river, they were at almost the same level as the helicopter.

For a moment it looked like the chopper would fly right past the hikers, but it veered straight toward the two hikers. Ryan stood up defensively, something that Sid would have done too, if it weren't for the knee. Sid peered around the legs of his friend at the helicopter, which had stopped in the air and hovered less than a hundred feet away. They were close enough for Sid to see that both the Pilot and the other guy wore dark glasses and had dead serious looks on their faces. For a moment Sid wondered if the chopper had guns, because if it did, he and Ryan would be sitting ducks.

Not the pilot, but the other guy, spoke into a microphone. "The Glen Canyon Dam has collapsed upstream." The sound was so loud it made Sid want to cover his ears. "Hike immediately to higher ground. Try to get at least five hundred feet above the river, maybe more."

No one moved for a moment. The helicopter hovered. Ryan stood staring at it with his mouth open, and Sid sat peering around Ryan's leg. Was this a joke? He looked at the serious expressionless faces of the two men in the helicopter and decided it wasn't.

"Go now!" said the man. "The river is already rising and the water level will increase rapidly from here on out."

With that said, the helicopter veered off and dropped back into the canyon. They watched it go until it disappeared around the bend downstream. Sid had never seen the Glen Canyon Dam. He looked upstream and tried to imagine a wall of water. How tall was the dam? He couldn't remember, but something told him it was taller than two hundred, which meant he would be underwater if he didn't move. He noticed Ryan had turned and was pulling at the straps on his backpack. He untied the sleeping bag and tossed it aside.

"You just gonna leave that here?" Sid asked.

"Yeah. Screw it." Ryan responded. He tossed a frying pan and stove out as well. He stopped digging through his pack for a second and looked down at Sid. "Come On! Get up."

Sid argued. "Won't we need the bags tonight?"

Ryan pointed upstream. "Our first priority is to make Tanner without getting rimmed by the river. Sleeping in a warm bag is second priority."

Sid rolled over and stood, trying to ignore the knee, which didn't seem to understand the emergency. He reached for his pack, but Ryan grabbed it first and started tossing out anything that looked heavy, including his flashlight, pans, a coffee cup, sleeping bag, and ground cloth. The only thing safe was the water. Sid only watched. However, things had gone too far when Ryan readied to toss Sid's camping tool, the one that looked like needle-nose pliers except for all the accessories including straight blades, serrated blades, screw drivers, corkscrews, not to mention the black leather pouch. The tool had been a Christmas gift from his estranged father. Sid reached out and plucked it from Ryan's hands.

"No. I'll carry that." Sid clutched it close to his body with both hands.

Ryan looked at him for a second, then rolled his eyes. "All right, let's go."

Ryan grabbed Sid's pack and held it up for him, then pulled his own on. Ryan led and Sid followed. They were still buckling belts and straps as they walked. The knee hurt, but it felt much stronger carrying the lighter pack. Compared to before, the backpack seemed empty. Sid looked down at his knee and it thanked him. They walked quickly for almost five minutes before either spoke. Ryan actually jogged for a short stretch, but when he turned and looked back, Sid shook his head.

Ryan stopped and pointed ahead. "Look how high the river's getting."

Sid nodded, wondering if it had been that way for a while, and he hadn't noticed, or if it had increased in the last few minutes.

Ryan cocked his head and looked straight up the canyon walls, then back at the river, obviously agitated.

"What's a matter?" Sid asked.

"Before we get back to Tanner, Escalante goes right down by the river. It'll be underwater."

Sid remembered that. It would be impassable. He pointed at a ridge a few hundred feet ahead and above them. "What about that over there?"

Ryan hesitated and gritted his teeth. "Man I hate to go off trail. We could get rimmed, then what?"

Sid nodded. In the Grand Canyon, like any other steep rock canyon, it might look like you could just find your way back up, but in reality you would eventually get stopped by some vertical cliff that you just couldn't find a way around. There was a reason why the popular trails are so well used, and why there were so relatively few of them.

Sid shrugged. "We don't have any choice though, do we?"

Ryan grimaced. "Guess not." He started again, this time veering off trail and climbing upwards toward the ridge.

After a few moments of hiking over rocks, Sid's knee started to cry out again, making him wish he were back on the trail. Without slowing down, he reached down and rubbed it. Probably due to the combination of walking over rocks off trail, and rubbing his knee at the same time, Sid tripped. It wasn't a big fall. In fact he didn't actually go down. He caught himself with his hands. Unfortunately, he still held the pliers when his hand hit the rock. Which meant a nasty gash on two of the knuckles of his right hand.

"You okay?" Ryan asked.

Sid looked at his bloody hand, then at the pliers from his father, the ones that a few minutes before had been so important. He admired the way the leather pouch wrapped perfectly around it, and how the stitching gave it such a professional touch. He unclasped the top, and slid the pliers out, just a little, enough to feel the polished stainless steel handle. He glanced down at the river, then back at the ridge. "Yeah. Let's go."

Ryan turned and started walking.

Sid followed, tossing the pliers over his shoulder into the sagebrush.

* * *