Devil Wind (Sammy Greene Mysteries) by Deborah Shlian, Linda Reid Page B

a more distant perspective of the dilapidated hotel. Construction equipment surrounded the building’s concrete and steel frame, and bulldozers ringed the ground floor. A large crane hovered menacingly to one side. “Greene Progress has almost completed the seismic retrofit and is ready to begin renovating the inside of the old rattletrap,” Miller narrated. “Their engineers were putting in an active seismic control system in the mechanical rooms under the roof.”
    Fahim stifled a yawn.
    “In a minute, the construction team will start blasting a hollow for a new underground parking garage.” Miller pointed to the edge of the screen just as several booms shattered the silence. “Keep your eyes on the hotel.”
    As both men watched the monitor, the hotel began to weave slightly back and forth in reaction to the explosion’s ground shock wave. Instead of stabilizing quickly, the weaving became increasingly exaggerated and irregular, until the building’s concrete started to crack and crumble. Within seconds, the vibrations had become so strong that the men could see the structure’s steel beams bend and fissure. The entire building seemed to lose its balance, collapsing in on itself, disappearing in a mammoth cloud of dust.
    “Oops,” Miller said to an awed Fahim. “Everyone thought it was an unfortunate accident, including Jeffrey Greene.” Miller’s voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “Except that obsessive prosecutor Taylor. Didn’t shed any tears at his untimely death.” He swept his hand toward the hotel, “With this wonderful coastal landmark destroyed, the county commissioner practically begged Greene to build the Montagne Olympus on the site.”
    Fahim was impressed. “You will tell me how this accident happened?”
    “Remote active seismic control.”
    “Sorry. I studied economics at university, not engineering.”
    “Here, let me show you. Active seismic-control systems are found in many of the newest tall buildings and skyscrapers.” Miller reached over and grabbed the crystal saltshaker from the center of their table. “Normally, in an earthquake, buildings sway in rhythmic sync with the ground forces generated—what’s known as resonance. In severe quakes, the swaying gets so strong, that—” He tilted the saltshaker roughly from side to side, until it fell over.
    “Yes. That is clear. We lost many buildings in Tabuk,” Fahim said, referring to the 1997 quake in northwest Saudi Arabia.
    “To prevent this, many structures like L.A. City Hall are now installing base isolation systems just under their foundations. It’s like putting a pillow between the building and the ground to dampen the earthquake waves.”
    Miller folded his napkin into a small square and inserted it under the saltshaker. He slipped one hand palm up under the napkin and wagged it to simulate an earthquake. Cushioned by the napkin, the saltshaker wiggled on his palm, but didn’t tip over. “For extra protection you can combine base isolation with an active seismic-control system—computer sensors that dynamically monitor a building’s sway and instruct rooftop weights to counter the motion. You not only cushion the forces of a quake, but you can actually resist them.” Miller wagged his hand again, and, as the saltshaker started to tilt, he thrust out his other hand to push its tip in the opposite direction. “The building stays up.”
    “The hand of Allah, to keep us, safe, eh?” Fahim said. “That’s what they needed there.” He pointed to the frozen image of the destroyed hotel’s dust cloud displayed on Miller’s monitor.
    “Actually, Greene Progress was installing a seismic-control system in the old hotel.”
    Fahim frowned. “But it was not yet ready—”
    “That’s what’s on the public record. Normally, this hand of God can keep a building up. But, let’s say a remote wireless signal worms into the control system’s computer and changes the programming. Instead of instructing the weights