Devil Wind (Sammy Greene Mysteries) (18 page)

This time, Miller turned to face him, and replied in Arabic, “Another good fact to remind the prince.”

Fahim pointed to the large machine that filled the back of the van’s cargo space. “This resonator will make the control system’s weights work in sync with the winds, so the tower’s swaying and shaking becomes stronger.” In Arabic, he added, “and falls.”

“You get an A, Fahim,” Miller said. “Okay, now that we’re all set, let’s warm her up.”

As if on cue, the resonator whirred to life. The size of six desktop computers, the machine resembled the old mainframe computers with blinking lights and spinning disks commonly seen in 1960’s Hollywood films. But these lights were LEDs, and the discs were laser-cut DVDs. Within minutes, the remote computer in the van was ready to transmit its binary Trojan Horse into the Canyon City tower’s computers and take over control of the counterweights.

“They’ll start serving food as soon as the bell rings twelve.” Miller nodded at the tower centered on one of the monitors above his keyboard. “That’s when we’ll amp up. Target should be between 12:30 and 12:45.”

Smiling at al-Salid, he spoke in perfect German, “And, as I said back in Munich, that’s when the curtain will rise on Götterdämmerung.”

“Here you go.” Sammy scooped a hefty spoonful of mashed potatoes onto a little girl’s plate. “Gravy?”

The child nodded and giggled as Sammy covered the mound of potatoes with the thick, brown liquid. Sammy watched her skip off behind her siblings, her plate overflowing.

“More turkey!” Jim’s voice was muted by the winds.

“More ballast!” Pappajohn gripped an electric knife in one hand and with the other struggled to prevent his tablecloth from flying off and catapulting a twenty-pound roaster onto the gravel.

Sammy lugged over an untouched tray of raw oysters and dumped it on Pappajohn’s carving table. “Don’t think these are going anywhere.”

“Damn winds practically knocked me over,” grumbled Pappajohn as he filled a plate with slices from the enormous bird. “Amazing that thing doesn’t get blown away.” He pointed his knife at the creaking scaffolding surrounding the bell tower a few yards from their tables. “Look at that bell rock.”

Clutching the tray of turkey, Sammy observed the bell’s swaying and strained to hear it ring over the roar of the winds.

“What’s that?”

Sammy turned back to two middle-aged women dressed in dirty denims staring at one of her father’s epicurean dishes. “Salmon mousse. Would you like some?”

“Hell, no,” one of the women said. “Don’t trust that genetic stuff. Only eat one type of animal at a time. Just give me turkey.”

Sammy forked a couple of slices from Jim’s tray onto each of the ladies’ plates, adding scoops of potatoes. She couldn’t resist a chuckle as she watched the women move on and overheard one say to the other, “Who the hell eats moose anyway?”

Resuming her rhythmic dealing of spuds, Sammy stole a few glances at the bell. Was it her imagination, or had that last gust of wind made the tower visibly tremble for a moment? Sammy looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but they were all too busy doling out food.

Another gust of wind blew Sammy’s almost empty aluminum potato tray off the table. With her back turned to the crowd as she chased the rolling tray in the direction of the KPCF van, Sammy missed seeing the tall stucco bell tower creak and then, begin to sway.

Pressing a series of computer keys, Miller brought up screen after screen of equations and graphs. Fahim couldn’t follow the numbers, but he was able to monitor the tower vibrations displayed as multiple wave signals on the oscilloscope.

“T minus thirty seconds,” Miller reported. “Keep your eyes on the bouncing waves.”

Whirring like a swarm of bumble bees rose from behind the men as the resonator continued beaming its instructions to the tower’s computer sensors, magnifying the wind’s forces by manipulating the movements of the counterweights. Fahim gripped the armrests of his seat. It wasn’t the wind rocking the van that made his heart race. He gasped at the size of the enormous synchronized wave created on the oscilloscope when the multiple waves slowly merged into one green glowing tsunami.

“Lift-off imminent,” whooped Miller, pointing to the TV monitor displaying the swaying tower. Shards of scaffolding began to break off and fall to the ground.       

Fahim’s jaw dropped as he watched a giant crack appear near the top of the structure and heard Miller’s cry: “Thar she blows!”

The bell tower swayed precariously back and forth over the parking lot and the tent city, widening its cracks with each pendulum-like swing.

“Run!” Sammy screamed, racing toward the crowd, at the same time pointing up at the tottering structure. “It’s coming down!”

Jim ran past her, shouting something, but Sammy couldn’t hear his words above the wind and the cries of the protesters and homeless campers.

Chunks of wood and plaster dropped, shattering by her feet while she and Pappajohn tried to guide people from the path in which the tower appeared to be falling. Up ahead, Sammy spotted the little girl with the adorable giggle sitting with her brother. Just as the tower broke apart, she yelled, hoping to warn Jim to get himself and the children away before the structure came crashing down on the asphalt. But it was too late. Within seconds, the tower had slammed onto the parking lot, a giant dust cloud enveloping Jim and the two tots.

Breathless, Pappajohn ran up to Sammy. “You all right?” He was covered in white powder from head to toe. “We got as many out as we could.”

Sammy coughed and gagged from the swirling dust. “Jim! The children!”

They both stared in horror at the dust ball where the tower had landed.

Like ghostly apparitions, two tiny figures emerged from the cloud. Dirty and frightened, but barely scratched, they raced into their tearful mother’s arms. Jim staggered behind, coated in white powder, rivulets of blood streaming down his face and chest. With a grunt and a gasp, he collapsed, unconscious, into the bushes.

Taking advantage of the chaos and confusion, the Canyon City police van moved slowly away from the scene, wending its way through the hysterical crowds pouring into the street and dodging police cars and ambulances screeching to the City Hall parking lot. By the time the medical helicopter had landed on the grassy knoll beside the building to transport its first critical patients to LAU Med, Miller’s van was long gone.

The phone beside his hospital bed rang just once before Prescott answered.

“The bell has rung,” came a voice on the other end.  

Satisfied with the message, Prescott clicked off without a reply, laid back on his pillows with his eyes closed, and smiled.

Bishop hung up the wall phone in the Cardiovascular Intervention suite and leaned wearily against the polished tiles.

“You all right?” his lead nurse asked.

Bishop stood erect and nodded. “Eccles just called a code one emergency. There’s been a building collapse in Canyon City. Hundreds injured and on their way.”

“Oh, my God.” The nurse paled. “I’ll get things ready here and see if ER needs help with triage.”

“Good, and please page Dr. Wyndham. To come back in STAT.”

Sammy didn’t know where the past few hours had gone. After the tower’s deafening collapse, the screams of the injured and the dying had merged with the blare of ambulance sirens and police bullhorns. And the wind—like a monstrous creature—kept howling at the horrific scene below. Sammy knew she’d never forget those sounds.

Now, as she paced nervously back and forth in the waiting area of LAU Medical’s emergency room, she wondered how the collapse had happened. One minute they were serving Christmas dinner to thousands of hungry tent city denizens and the next the tower had just toppled, leaving a trail of dust, blood, and debris in its wake.

   Sammy glanced over at Pappajohn, seated in the corner of the crowded room, trying to comfort the father of one of the injured protesters who’d just been taken to surgery. It was a tender side of Pappajohn he usually kept well hidden. This bear of a man presented himself to the world as a gruff and feisty loner, someone who tried to make you think he didn’t need or care about anyone—not even his own daughter. Watching him, Sammy’s heart ached, aware how rarely Pappajohn allowed this side of himself to be seen.

She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and turned to see Reed, dressed in green scrubs, his features creased with concern. “Sammy, thank God you’re all right.”

“Reed, what are you doing here? I thought you were off today.”

“Everyone available was called in. Code one disaster. Good thing we’d just been through the drill. We’ve gotten all the criticals and most of the injured. Community hospitals got the rest.”

“How’s Jim?” she asked. “Jim Lodge. My producer.”

Reed wiped his brow. “Guy’s a real hero, saving those kids. Considering what might have happened, he’s a lucky man. Just a concussion and lots of scratches. No intracranial bleed. We’re admitting him for observation, but he should be fine.”

“Thank you.” Sammy’s lip quivered. She turned to indicate the slight man who’d been talking with Pappajohn. “What about his daughter? Carmen Moran?”

A scrub-clad doctor had approached the two men, shaking his head. “No!” the father shrieked, almost sliding to the floor. Sammy watched as Pappajohn helped the doctor lift the devastated man to his feet and lead him into one of the tiny rooms off the waiting area. Even with the door shut, she could hear the anguished cries.

“They couldn’t save her,” Reed said, his own regret clearly written on his face. “That makes at least four we’ve lost, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t understand it!” Sammy voice rose, her body trembled with rage and grief. “How could that tower fall like that!”

Everyone in the waiting area looked up.

“Not here.” Reed put his arm around Sammy’s shoulder. “Let’s go into the staff room and talk.”

Still shaking, Sammy allowed Reed to guide her into the doctor’s lounge. Closing the door, he turned to face her.

“I know you’re upset and—”

“Upset! I can’t even begin to describe how I feel.” She took a deep breath, desperate to control her emotions. “If I’d even had a clue that that building was dangerous, I would never—” She spoke in rushed spurts, her eyes brimming like a dam about to burst.

“Whoa! You’re blaming yourself for this accident?”

“I’m the one who told all those people to come and serve food today.”

“Sammy, the tent city has been there for weeks. That protest was planned before you even arrived in L.A.” Reed stepped closer and wiped a tear from her cheek “You were just trying to do a good deed. You know you had nothing to do with what happened.”

“I know,” she sniffled, “but still—” Despite her best intentions, the dam finally erupted.

Reed put his arms around her and drew her in.

Surprised by the depth of her sorrow, Sammy laid her head against his chest and cried like she couldn’t remember crying since she was a child. Even after the tears were spent, she remained protected in the warmth of his arms, listening to Reed’s pounding heartbeat. When he pressed his lips to her hair, she lifted her face to him.

“Reed.”

Before she could interpret the look in his violet eyes, she stood on tiptoe so their lips could touch, welcoming the kiss.

The door to the lounge was pushed open, breaking the spell.

“Oh, I—I’m sorry.”

Reed jumped back, turning to face Michelle, who clutched a patient record to her chest. Ignoring Sammy, Michelle held out the chart, her tone professional, her expression neutral. “Dr. Wyndham. Dr. Bishop asked me to find you. He’s just moved Mr. Prescott to the VIP ward to make room for one of the criticals.”

“Thanks, I—”

Michelle didn’t wait to hear what Reed had to say. The minute she’d handed over the record, she turned on her heels and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

“I guess I’m the one who should apologize,” Sammy said when they were alone again. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Reed studied her for a long moment. “No, I suppose not.”

“Can you forget it did?” she asked softly.

“Can you?”

As their eyes met, the buzz of the intercom interrupted the charged silence.

Reed blinked as though unsure where he was. He walked to the desk in the corner and pressed the intercom button.

“Yes?”

Lou’s brisk voice came through the speaker. “Hi, Doc. Is there a Sammy Greene in there?”

“She’s here.”

“Thought I recognized her from the other day,” Lou chuckled. “You’re a lucky dude, Doc. Can you tell her her father’s on the line? She can grab the call out here at my desk.”

“Sure.” Wincing, Reed clicked off. “Lou’s a real smart-ass.”

“Guess I better take that call,” Sammy said with a reluctant smile.

Nodding, Reed held open the door and followed her out of the room. Their moment of intimacy gone, questions still hanging between them, unanswered.

Lou pointed to a multi-line phone on his desk with several blinking lights. “Line three.” He grabbed several charts and ambled off toward the nurses’ station.

Sammy lifted the receiver and, after a moment of hesitation, punched the appropriate button. “Hello?”

“Honey, I’m so relieved you’re okay.”

Sammy was surprised by Jeffrey’s concern. “I was lucky, but a lot of people weren’t,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Radio reported some deaths. It’s awful. My attorney said three people—”

“Four,” interrupted Sammy, unable to remove the mental picture of the devastated father. How many more anguished family members would hear tragic news before the day was done?

“A real shame. If only we’d had time to fix that ancient construction. Back in the fifties, they just didn’t know how to bolster buildings the way we do now.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Sammy frowned, remembering the tall scaffolding. It sure seemed that Greene Progress had already begun their work. Could renovation efforts actually make a building more vulnerable? Something she had to research.