It is December 1999 and Sammy Greene has only been in Los
Angeles a few months but already she is getting her groove
back. Fired from a Washington TV producer job for pushing
hard on a politician, Sammy is blackballed in the
journalism field. A friend found her a job as a radio host
on a midnight shift at a small L.A. station, and Sammy is
thankful. The Santa Anna winds, locally known as the devil
wind, are blowing, spreading fires across the hills outside
L.A. Sammy is working an angle on all the homeless people
who need help.
Sammy's father lives in L.A. and after divorcing his second
wife, a woman Sammy grew to love, he married a like-minded
woman and his real estate business soared. Connections with
a congressman who has inside knowledge of military land for
sale have Jefferey Greene's business set. Sammy has been
estranged from her dad for years.
Another person from Sammy's past is Dr. Reed Wyndham. Four
years previous, Sammy broke up with Reed due to a fear of
commitment. He just happens to be working in a local
hospital. So when Sammy learns that a young woman is found
burned from the fires and her name is released as Anna
Pappajohn, Sammy realizes the woman is the daughter of her
good friend, retired police officer Gus Pappajohn. She
heads to the hospital and runs into Reed, where she learns
Anna has died.
Sammy calls Gus and picks him up at the airport. Together
they start to investigate what happened to Anna. When the
coroner's report doesn't match what Sammy learned at the
hospital, that Anna may have had a broken jaw and the body
is cremated against Gus' wishes, Sammy thinks there's a
cover-up.
Sammy arranges a breakfast for the homeless on Christmas
morning in the parking area of the Canyon City tower
building. Remodeling has begun on the building and it is
her father who owns the building. Just as Sammy and the
volunteers are feeding hundreds of homeless people, an
explosion occurs and the building crashes, hurting and
killing the fleeing people. An investigation of the
accident doesn't add up for Sammy, so she digs into her
father's businesses and finds connections to other
buildings crashing down. Meanwhile, a sinister plot set to
occur on Y2K has been set in motion. Unknowingly, Sammy
will be right in the middle of its path.
DEVIL WIND is written by Deborah Shlian and Linda
Reid, both experts in the medical and journalistic
fields with professional contacts in the engineering field.
This story is a thrilling tale of corruption, murder and
nature's fury with a most satisfying culmination.
Outspoken, brash New Yorker Sammy Greene needs a second
chance. Fired from her job as a Washington TV producer,
her midnight to 3 am show "Sammy Greene on the LA Scene"
at a small progressive radio station soon has Sammy
ruffling the feathers of a popular Orange County
Congressman. And everyone is listening.
December, 1999. 10 days before the new millennium. Already
on edge with Santa Ana "devil wind" fanning fires
threatening to engulf the city and Y2K looming, Sammy's
callers imagine Armageddon - the perfect setting for a
rogue CIA operative to manipulate fears as cover for his
deadly plot.
A young woman's burned body identified as the wayward
daughter of old friend, Gus Pappajohn spurs the ex- campus
cop to join Sammy in what may be a murder investigation,
along the way exposing the seamy underbelly of Tinseltown.
If Sammy's not careful this time, someone will make sure
she's off the air for good.
Excerpt
Prologue OperationDesert Storm
NortheastSaudi Arabia, 50 kilometers from the Iraqi
border
February16, 1991
The young man’s screams resonated through the mobile army
surgical unit, drowning out the piercing wails of the
brutal winter sandstorm. The desert winds rocked the
trailer in rhythm with the corporal’s cries.
“Can’t medivac him out til morning,” whispered an aide to
the senior medic. Both knew it was too risky for the flight
from Germany to land before the winds died down. “Should I
get the chaplain?”
“Bishop,” the medic responded. “Get Bishop.”
The trailer door blew open, flapping against the aluminum
siding. A tall, muscled man with grizzled hair strode
in, “I’m here,” his only greeting as he rushed to the young
man’s side. Despite the storm, his uniform was pressed and
immaculate. Dr. Franklin Bishop was an officer’s officer.
He laid a gentle hand on the soldier’s writhing abdomen,
noting the absence of legs below both knees. Lifting the
sheet, the doctor saw that the amputations had not been
surgical. The burned skin on the corporal’s thighs was
black, the fever of infection would no doubt kill him by
morning. “Ten mg of morphine stat,” Bishop ordered. The
opiate would make his last hours more comfortable.
As the pain medicine gradually dulled the young man’s
agony, his screams became words. Whispered words that only
Bishop, leaning his head close to the soldier’s lips, could
hear.
“Many children. Dead. Innocents. Stop the resonator.
Stop the murder.” The soldier’s next words dissolved into
gibberish as he fell into a deep sleep.
Bishop stood erect, shaking his head. Resonator? Murder?
The soldier’s body shook and shivered, his breathing grew
more labored. Bishop clasped his hand and gave it a firm
squeeze. In the morning he would call Miller. See what the
Company man could spill. For now, Colonel Bishop’s duty was
to stand by this brave young man’s bedside so that he would
not die alone.
The trailer was eerily quiet except for the howling winds.
Cocking an ear, Bishop was certain he heard the winds echo
the soldier’s words: resonator…murder…
Chapter 1
Thursday, December 23, 1999
Each winter, hot dry winds sweep from the deserts across
the LA basin, and for a few days, blow away the hazy smog,
exposing the glittery beauty of the City of Angels.
Newcomers delight in the unexpected clarity, the ability to
see snow-capped Santa Monica Mountains and azure Pacific
Ocean emerge against a lavender sky. But those who stay a
while soon learn why some call these Santa Anas devil’s
breath, others, murder winds, and not just because they can
whip parched chaparral into explosive fuel feeding deadly
wildfires. No, it’s something about the winds’ effect on
the inhabitants of the city’s hills and canyons, making
senses sharper, on edge. As Raymond Chandler once wrote,
while these winds blast, anything can happen. Anything.
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