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 manβs 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 corporalβs cries.
βCanβt medivac him out til morning,β 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. βShould I
get the chaplain?β
βBishop,β the medic responded. βGet Bishop.β
The trailer door blew open, flapping against the aluminum
siding. A tall, muscled man with grizzled hair strode
in, βIβm here,β his only greeting as he rushed to the young
manβs side. Despite the storm, his uniform was pressed and
immaculate. Dr. Franklin Bishop was an officerβs officer.
He laid a gentle hand on the soldierβs 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 corporalβs thighs was
black, the fever of infection would no doubt kill him by
morning. βTen mg of morphine stat,β Bishop ordered. The
opiate would make his last hours more comfortable.
As the pain medicine gradually dulled the young manβs
agony, his screams became words. Whispered words that only
Bishop, leaning his head close to the soldierβs lips, could
hear.
βMany children. Dead. Innocents. Stop the resonator.
Stop the murder.β The soldierβs next words dissolved into
gibberish as he fell into a deep sleep.
Bishop stood erect, shaking his head. Resonator? Murder?
The soldierβs 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 Bishopβs duty was
to stand by this brave young manβs 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 soldierβs words: resonatorβ¦murderβ¦
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 devilβs
breath, others, murder winds, and not just because they can
whip parched chaparral into explosive fuel feeding deadly
wildfires. No, itβs something about the windsβ effect on
the inhabitants of the cityβs 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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