Page 53 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

Savannah listened in, psychically watching Director Chase’s conversation with FWS from Keller’s Intensive Care Room.

She’d had to board Red and Galahad at a nearby kennel, promising her dogs she’d be back as soon as she could.

At the moment Tucker was leaned against his FBI SWAT van alongside the highway between Jacksonville and the National Guard Base in Northeast Florida.

He was trying to play good cop, but he was mad.

Dressed down in black jeans and a black FBI polo, he’d connected with two FWS agents, Senior Agents Collins and his assistant agent, Camilla Brinkman, while on his way to Camp Blanding.

Brinkman was a hard one for Tucker to work with. Always a pain in his ass.

Savannah now knew the Deuces Wild team was an FBI unit in its infancy.

The team totaled four agents, five counting Tucker.

Eden and her husband Ky were out looking for Doctor Rudy John.

An agent she hadn’t yet met, Tate Higgins, was flying in from California to assist them.

Until today, he’d been involved with U.S.

Customs and Border Protection, San Diego Sector.

Eden said Tate was originally a big game hunter from Alaska.

His specialty was tracking wild animals. If he couldn’t find RJ, nobody could.

Isaiah was right. Keller’s condition had deteriorated overnight.

A ventilator kept him breathing while several IVs kept him hydrated and medicated.

But he was seriously sick, and Savannah was worried.

She’d said all her prayers and cast only threads of positivity into the universe, yet he seemed beyond her reach.

Even time seemed to be working against him.

“Then we check the birds,” Tucker growled at Agent Camilla Brinkman. “Every last one of them.”

Since FWS didn’t have sufficient on-site space to accommodate an illegal shipment the size of Fontenette’s, they’d moved Fontenette’s four containers to an empty warehouse at Camp Blanding, some fifty miles southwest of Jacksonville.

Savannah knew now those wooden crates in the containers had only hidden a dozen birds each instead of the thousands Keller had originally estimated. Which was good.

But because these hummingbirds were exotic and those containers comprised several of the rarest species on Earth, the world was now focused on Florida.

That was bad. Yet every available hand at the North Florida Ecological Services Office had been called in to assist. Not to be outdone, the commander at Camp Blanding Joint Training Center had volunteered as many off-duty reservists as needed to help save the birds.

Which meant any military member stationed or training there, whether from the Florida Army National Guard, the Florida Air National Guard, visiting ROTC units, as well as Civil Air Patrol, was now handling, nurturing, and otherwise working to save the birds.

Assorted college students, interested civilians, even Green Peace advocates had also volunteered.

Word was People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals were sending a group of trained volunteers to provide what they called ‘overwatch’ to ensure no hummingbirds were injured in the course of saving them.

Director Chase called it ‘interference’.

PETA had already threatened volunteers en masse should a single hummingbird die while under FWS care.

It seemed simply saving those birds’ lives wasn’t enough.

Yet the problem was those birds . While Keller lay struggling to breathe with some kind of rare toxin in his system, they were very much alive.

Seemingly healthy. Fluttering throughout the industrial-sized warehouse.

Establishing territorial dominance. Mating.

Some had been dehydrated when the crates were unpacked, but each bird had been handled with tender care from the start, and they’d all survived.

Cadets from Civil Air Patrol hung hundreds of wires between ceiling joists in the warehouse, then hung enough plastic feeders on those wires to provide the right mixture of sugar water and nutrients to keep the hummingbirds thriving.

As luck would have it, the packing paper and pots used to smuggle them had also protected them from the full effect of whatever gas RJ and Fontenette used.

At the mere thought of what RJ did, Savannah reached for Keller. His hand was cold. He was so very ill. If something didn’t change his prognosis soon, she could lose him.

“But Director Chase,” Agent Brinkman replied with her usual lofty tone. “Those containers are safely quarantined. We follow strict protocol to protect endangered species. Surely you know that.”

Savannah liked Agent Collins. He was young, but he seemed eager to help. Blond and blue-eyed, he’d pulled over as soon as he’d spotted Tucker signaling them. But he’d gone around the FWS truck to take a call, leaving Tucker to deal with Brinkman.

Of Puerto Rican descent and slight of stature, the twenty-something agent seemed to think she was in charge, that the Bureau had merely been called in to “assist” her.

Born of immigrant parents from Puerto Rico, she was a newlywed, having married the son of a prominent DC lobbyist. Which most likely explained her entitled attitude.

Her features were model perfect. She wore her long black hair combed back and pulled into a tight bun. She would’ve been beautiful except for the condescending sneer perpetually painted on her smug face.

With everything Tucker said, she either huffed or rolled her eyes like she had better things to do than waste time on the FBI.

Agent Brinkman exemplified the worst traits of the millennial generation.

Ignorant of rank. Condescending of standard operating procedures.

Self-absorbed. Put an iPhone in her hand, and the picture would’ve been complete.

“Let me explain again,” Tucker said patiently.

He’d already gone over this information.

If only she’d listen. “The night we raided Fontenette’s, one of the Russians said something to me before he died.

I distinctly heard Anatoly Orlov say, ‘ we’re too late,’ meaning us, the FBI and FWS, we were too late.

The bastard thought he’d won. Don’t you get it? ”

“Won what? You ever consider he might’ve been out of his mind by then? You shot him, didn’t you? In my experience, pain like that’ll make a guy say just about any—”

“What experience do you have with pain like that?” Tucker bit out, the veins in his neck as taut as his temper. “Have you shot a lot of people I don’t know about? Orlov was gloating, damn it. So hear me out. What if those birds are contaminated, say with some kind of bug?”

Brinkman grunted, “Yeah, right. Have you seen them? They’re healthy. All of them.”

Tucker Chase’s fingers curled into fists. Would he really hit a woman? Savannah wanted to.

Yet he continued struggling for patience.

And patience was not his strong suit. “Wait. Hear me out, Agent Brinkman. This is just theory at this point, but what if those birds are infected with a bug that’s contagious?

We already know Fontenette only sold those birds to his personal list of highest bidders.

Some of those elitists forked over millions to own their exclusive aviary of endangered hummingbirds.

You understand what I’m saying? He hand-selected every single buyer. What if he somehow planted a virus—?”

Tucker shoved away from the van. “Son of a bitch! That’s it! Blood tests. We need to draw blood samples from each and every bird and—”

‘Mr. Chase?’ Savannah whispered. ‘What about the men and women handling those birds? If the birds are contaminated, those people could take that bug home to their families?’

‘Good thinking, Savannah. Thanks.’ Tucker turned on the FWS agents. “Please tell me you guys are protecting the men and women handling all those birds.”

“What do you think we are, stupid?” Again with the attitude. “They’ve all got gloves. Scrubs if they want them. Boots so they don’t get their shoes dirty.”

“What about full-face masks and protective clothing? What about aspirators? Oxygen so they don’t breathe the same air?

Scrubs only cover part of a body. Those young people should all be in hazmat suits, buttoned up from head to toe.

And who’s disposing of the waste coming out of the warehouse?

Are your people even treating it as hazardous material until we know for certain—”

“My hell, what are you smoking? You FBI types really do think you run the world, don’t you? But until there is actual physical evidence—”

BOOM! Tucker’s fist bashed the rear quarter panel of his van, denting it.

“Goddamn it, Brinkman! Enough of your bullshit! I’ve got a man dying on my watch!

Don’t tell me there’s no evidence. Keller Boniface is all the proof I need.

And don’t brag about your son of a bitchin’ protocol until you know for damned sure those birds aren’t carrying any contagions.

That they haven’t brought something deadly into our country!

Have you guys tested the anesthetic gas in those containers?

That’s the first damned thing you should have done! ”

“Lethal hummingbirds, ha,” she drawled. “What do you think this is, ‘Avatar’ ?”

Tucker stepped into Brinkman’s face, and Savannah worried he might hit the insolent agent.

“What if I’m right? What if those birds are infected with Ebola or something just as deadly?

Are you good with our young military members dying just because you think you know every Goddamned thing?

You gonna sleep nights once you’ve got a hundred or so deaths on your conscience? And what if, just what the fuck if…”

BOOM! He punched the van again. “…there is a contagion and it sweeps across America killing millions? You okay with that, too? What if this is just ground zero, and this little problem turns into a pandemic?”

Brinkman smoothed a hand over her sleek, empty head. “Tuck, chill why don’tcha?”

Oh. My. Goodness. Savannah’s breath caught. Brinkman had just disrespected Tucker Chase as if he were her equal or worse, an underling, instead of the other way around. She’d talked down to him, stepped on his authority as an FBI director, and dismissed his experience as a Navy SEAL operator.

Tucker Chase was no longer mad, he was nuclear. Glowing. Everything about his rigid stance told Savannah he was primed to smack the shit out of this ill-mannered FWS agent. Until Agent Collins took his life in his hands and stepped inside Tucker’s comfort zone.

The young man stuck out a quick hand and contritely said, “Sorry, Director Chase, but that was my director on the phone. I had to take it. I speak for my director when I say thank you for all you and your people have done to assist the Division of Fish and Wildlife.”

But Tucker was done talking. Down came his aviators. Instead of shaking hands, he folded both thickly muscled arms over his chest.

Dropping his hand, Agent Collins tried again.

“Sir, let me assure you that FWS’s mission is to eagerly work with others to conserve, protect, and enhance fish, wildlife, plants and their habitats for the continuing benefit of the American people.

We do take an oath to do no harm, and some of us live and die by that oath, sir.

” He cast a sideways glance at Brinkman when he said that.

Savannah couldn’t help but smile at what sounded like answers to the FWS entrance exam.

Collins’ cell was still in his hand. “As of two minutes ago, FWS quarantined every worker at the Camp Blanding site, sir, right now. They’ll be housed in a nearby warehouse but kept separate from the birds until we can clear military, civilians, and birds of disease.

I’ve personally requested assistance from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta.

They’re sending their best scientists from their Division of High- Consequence Pathogens and Pathology to handle what we now believe to be a serious threat.

Homeland Security is engaged. The National Terrorism Advisory System just now posted an imminent threat warning to all media channels.

Is there anything else I can do for you? We really are here to help.”

‘How’s my boy?’ Tucker asked Savannah even as he leveled an evil eye at Agent Brinkman. ‘Is Kell really dying like this guy said?’

Savannah shook her head even though she knew Director Chase couldn’t see her. ‘No, sir. He’s breathing steadier now, and the last time his doctor suctioned his lungs, the fluid was clear. No blood.’

‘What about you? How are you feeling? You need to be tested, too.’

‘Yes, sir, Keller’s attending physician did draw my blood. I’m quarantined with Keller, but I’m not sick. The entire hospital’s prepared to react quickly if anyone so much as sneezes.’

‘Good,’ Tucker said before he turned back to Collins. “I want your director’s name and number.”

“Sure thing, Director Chase.” Collins never batted an eye as he handed over a business card. “I answer to Director Carl Simmons, sir. He’s a former SEAL. Like you.”

By then, Savannah couldn’t help but smile. Brinkman had turned gray. She’d stopped rolling her eyes and huffing like a spoiled teenager.

Tucker stabbed the business card into his rear pocket, then snarled at Brinkman. “Get the hell out of my way. ”

She stepped aside, but her deference to a Bureau director had come too late.

Tucker hadn’t risen to where he was because of political aspirations.

He’d earned his title through more blood, sweat, and tears than she’d ever know.

Now he meant to ruin her, and he could do it.

Savannah just wanted to be there when he did.