Danger at the Border by Terri Reed Page A

Cleary, Agent Steele, come along.”
    Emil moved aside, but the uneasy expression on his normally stoic face sent Jeff’s senses on high alert. Something about the greenhouse upset the enigmatic Emil enough to speak against his boss.
    Keeping Tessa close, Jeff hurried them after Sherman, who wheeled his chair with swift, strong arms.
    “We built the greenhouse to attempt a new method of growing,” Sherman explained. “Personally, I’m good with the product we’re producing the old-fashioned way. But progress is progress. It’s become a competitive business.”
    The greenhouse wasn’t fitted with a ramp like the rest of the compound. Emil reached past Sherman to open the door, then he grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and maneuvered Sherman into the greenhouse. Jeff let Tessa precede him. When he stepped inside, the enclosed humidity hit him in the face. The low hum of the water pump echoed off the frosted windows. Bright lights bathed tall plants in a warm glow. A dozen men froze and stared at Sherman before slinking into the shadows. One man fled out the back door.
    A short, younger man bustled forward. His nervous glance bounced from Sherman to Emil and back to Sherman. “Sir, can we help you?”
    “Carl, Dr. Cleary needs to see what you are feeding the plants,” Sherman said.
    “Of course,” Carl said. “We use the best nutrient solution there is.”
    He led them to a corner cabinet. Tessa inspected the boxed solution. Her eyebrows pinched together. “I don’t get it. This looks to be in order. But I’d need my test kit to be sure.”
    Two of the workers had moved to stand side by side in front of a large section of plants. Their anxious expressions stirred Jeff’s internal alarm system. What were they trying to hide?
    Jeff shimmied past a row of tall marijuana plants and stepped closer. The two men shifted nervously. Glancing past the taller guy’s shoulder, Jeff noticed that the marijuana plants in this section were raised on trays and underneath were containers filled with different types of foliage.
    The guy blocked his view. Jeff pushed him out of the way.
    “Hey!”
    “Agent Steele, what are you doing?” Sherman called out.
    Emil stalked toward Jeff but Jeff paid him no heed, his attention on the containers. He recognized the spiky leaves of the damiana and the fuller leaves of Althaea officinalis, the plant that marshmallows originally came from.
    Both herbs were used in the production of a synthetic street drug. When dried, the plants were laced with a chemical version of tetrahydrocannabinol, JWH-018, which worked on the same receptors in the brain as marijuana. Only problem was the new drug was more potent. Lethal. And illegal in all fifty states. His chest tightened with dread.
    Spying a spray jug, he grew angry. Every instinct told him it would contain the chemical JWH-018. “Tessa.” He held the jug up for her to see.
    She took the jug and smelled the contents. She drew back, her nose wrinkling. “Phew. That’s it.”
    Sherman wheeled forward. “What is this?”
    Jeff didn’t trust the puzzlement on Sherman’s face. “Your man Aaron is making synthetic marijuana passed off as an inhalable incense, otherwise known as Spice, K2, Mr. Nice Guy and a variety of other names.” Jeff set the spray jug down. “This stuff has caused numerous deaths and a whole host of serious side effects ranging from full psychosis to heart attacks to breathing problems as we saw in the lake swimmers.”
    “I didn’t authorize this,” Sherman said.
    Jeff turned his gaze on the tall man. “Where do you do the drying and packaging of this stuff?”
    The guy clamped his lips together and remained mute.
    “Sean, tell Agent Steele what he wants to know!” Sherman barked. “Don’t concern yourself with Aaron. He’ll answer to me.”
    The guy hesitated as if trying to decide who he was more afraid of: Sherman or Aaron. Finally, he said, “We process it in the cabin marked Spetsii. ”
    Sherman’s