As I laid on top of the bedcovers with my dogs on either side of me, I realized that my mind was too busy to sleep. I needed a distraction. Drinking margaritas in the Mexican sun was out of the question—- no self respecting Bloodhound handler would work their dog under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

That left sight seeing and meeting the locals. I got out of the bed and pulled my shoes back on. My Bloodhounds were exhausted, and while I would have liked to let them continue to sleep on the bed, the risk of damage to the room once I was gone was too high. Sadly, I found out in Madrid that the Government won’t cover damage to the rooms caused by my dogs. I woke up Scout and Bo Diddley and placed them in their loaner crates to finish their naps. Bloodhounds need a lot of sleep you know.

When I was ready, I peered through my door’s peephole and spied my personal agent standing alert in front of my door— seemingly staring right at me. There was no other way to sneak out of my 9th story hotel room so I knew I’d have to take him with me. Might as well make the most of it, I decided. I opened the door with a flourish and asked him in my most seductive voice possible, "So.... wanna hit the town? Pick up some chicks? Play the radio really loud? Drink some Tequila and let me dance on the bar for you?" I queried. "Oh, and I need your name." I hastily added.

Completely without humor he responded, "My name is Special Agent Antonio Luis San Hubert. We cannot drink nor ‘pick up women’ as you put it. We can go to town, however." I looked at ‘Tony’, which I would insist on calling him much to his dismay, and said that would have to do for now. Tony called out on his radio that we were leaving the hotel to go to town by car and we walked to the elevator together. As he checked out the elevator car before I entered it, I thought to myself that he had a nice ass. I wasn’t trying to screw him.... it’s just that I can spot a perfect ass a mile away. I like to think it’s a gift that I have.

Tony and I entered the parking garage to retrieve the Range Rover. As we walked towards the car, I told him that some say that the Bloodhound got it’s start from the St. Hubert hound. I thought I was being particularly clever when I started in on the history of the Bloodhound. Tony abruptly stopped walking to stare me in the eye as he said, "I know all that. Thanks." Then he continued towards the car while I stayed in that same spot.

What in the Hell just happened here? I was trying to find something in common we could talk about and he got pissed off? Small talk—- what is it with Special Agents? They lose their sense of humor when they are hired?

Doing my best New York accent, I hollered at him, "Hey Tony... you sonuvabitch!!! whatcho problem???"

Tony turned and looked at me with disdain... I knew that look. He was hoping that I wouldn’t make him entertain me so I decided not to disappoint him.

"Look, you and I won’t ever fool around on this mission. I don’t screw my co-workers. I just want the person I’m forced to be with to have fun, ok?" I said sarcastically in Spanish.

That did it! Tony smiled at me (almost) and simply said, "Come on..." That’s when I noticed the man behind the car next to ours apparently having trouble with his key in the lock of his truck. He wasn’t looking at us at all which I thought was odd. I was saying things loudly and obscenely enough to get his attention, but then again, we were in a country where no one saw anything when the shit hit the fan. He looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place his face.

We were almost at our car when Tony spotted the same man still having trouble getting into his car’s trunk. Tony stopped walking and sidestepped in front of me suddenly. As I bumped into his back, I felt the hardness of his armored Kevlar vest against my chest. He whipped his head around and hissed, "Get behind the nearest car!"

"No way... I don’t ride ‘Bitch’ to anyone. I’ll take the rear," I hissed back into his ear. The man at the trunk looked up at us casually, as if he was just noticing we were there. Way too casually in my opinion. I stepped off to my left and withdrew the .357 I’d placed in my fanny pack as I skirted around towards a truck parked a few spots away from ours. The man continued his charade, calmly facing the car’s trunk. Tony’s safety on his SIG Sauer made a lightly audible pop as it was switched off.

"You need help there, Senor?" Tony asked in Spanish.

The man behind the car replied, "No, No... Everything is good now," as he moved his hands from the trunk of the car. That was when I lost visual contact with the man as I was at too sharp of an angle to see anything. As the first muffled shots rang out in the concrete structure, I knew I needed to regain sight of him quickly. I dropped to the ground as more gunfire erupted and rolled under the pick-up truck towards the shooter’s position. Tony yelled at the man to drop his weapon, but the responding gunfire made it clear that the man we’d spotted had no intention of following orders. As they continued firing, I proceeded to roll across the concrete floor of the parking garage under vehicles until I was only one car away from the shooter. He didn’t know I was armed to the teeth. He just knew he needed to kill us.

I figured he was using a semi-automatic weapon with a silencer judging by the sound. The maximum fifteen round clip, plus one in the chamber (in a 9 MM), would need changing soon. The silencer should let him go through the second clip before jamming from the retained heat. While I hoped that he was using a .40 cal (11 rounds) or a .45 cal (8 rounds), I had to plan on the worst case scenario.

I heard no more gunfire now and realized I couldn’t see Tony’s feet from my position. I saw the gunman's feet though from my prone position on the floor, and heard him popping out the clip to exchange it for a fresh one. That made it a .40 cal weapon based on the number of rounds he'd fired. The fresh clip slid home with a metallic snap. I held my gun steady as I fired off my first .357 round from about 5 yards away. If you've never seen a hollow point bullet at work, you're missing out on one Hell of a good show of firepower. My shot removed the gunman's entire left ankle as it exploded after impact. The gunman's screams reverberated through the garage as he got off two more shots from squeezing the trigger spasmodically in agony. He crumpled to the ground quickly from the pain and loss of blood.

I heard running footsteps just beyond the car between the gunman and my position and realized Tony was headed in to contain the shooter. I quickly crawled out, then stood up and stepped around the rear of the vehicle after seeing the shooter's weapon lying about six feet from his hand. Tony sidestepped and kicked the gun towards me, then approached the now writhing man. Our shooter was crying and cursing us in Spanish; trying to hold his foot onto his lower leg with little success. He'd lose that foot for sure, which was fine with me.

Tony must've used his radio to page for assistance when the shooting started because eight agents stormed through the entrances to the parking garage at that moment and called to us.

“We're over here!” Tony yelled. “Suspect is contained.”

I was pushed to the side unceremoniously as the agents descended upon us. Tony and I answered some questions, and he was finally allowed to escort me back to my room. There'd be no sight-seeing today after all, I sighed to myself. As we rode the elevator up to my floor, I asked Tony how the man knew I was coming to Mexico since even I didn't know until I was ready to board the plane. I could see from the worried look in Tony's eyes that he was just wondering the same thing.

“He could have been a mugger, you know.” Tony said in an attempt to ease my concern.

“What mugger uses a freaking silencer, Tony? I saw the weapon! He was lying in wait for us and you know it! How'd he know I was coming to Mexico, and how'd he know we were going to be in the parking garage?” I yelled at him. I was tired. I was hungry for a big dinner as the satisfaction from the light Bisque lunch had worn off. I was now also very angry. If I allowed myself to think of my little daughter then I'd be lonely as well, and that was not allowable at this point in the mission.

I believe you should stop when you reach the point of H.A.L.T., which stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, and Tired. Any one factor out of those four criteria can affect your reaction time and perceptions. Two things can impair your judgement and place you in a dangerous situation. Three factors can leave you unpredictable and completely unsafe due to losing your focus. Meeting all four criteria left you a ticking time-bomb waiting for a spark to ignite it. 'Dead Meat' about summed it up.

Tony had heard what I'd said but wasn't answering me. He was staring at the floor number indicator flashing from one floor to the next as we climbed upwards. I realized I was wrong. Tony was thinking, not avoiding me. I could see the muscles in his jaw pulsing. They matched my own, and I could feel the knots in my neck and jaw starting to bind up from the tension in my clenched jaws. He was worried for us both. I realized he suspected someone in our group.

Tony held his arm in front of me, effectively holding me back as he stepped into the hallway after the elevator doors opened. He looked down both directions of the corridor before lowering his arm to allow me to exit the car. We walked briskly to my room and I opened the door with the key. I started into the room, but again Tony stopped me. I looked at Tony, but he didn't say a word which was enough for me. This was real trouble we were facing, and we no longer could trust others to provide us security. I again withdrew my .357 from my fanny pack and we entered together, silently. I went to check the dogs and under the bed as he checked out the bathroom and closet. For once, I was grateful for such a small hotel room as it was cleared quickly. The dogs shifted in their crates sensing our anxiety.

I undid my fanny pack and laid it and my weapon softly on the night stand. While I flopped onto the bed on my back, Tony pulled away the hard backed chair from the writing desk to sit on it and face me. My head turned slightly to the left to watch him as the afternoon sun spread her wings across my body lying on the bed. He reached behind him for a pad of paper and a pen and wrote for a minute. Tony passed the pad to me and I read the note he'd printed in clearly written block letters.

“There is a mole. I think I know who. This room is bugged if it's who I think it is. We need to get upstairs and talk to the group. Get your dogs. We should go,” Tony had written. It sounded like a good plan to me, so I nodded at him and stood up to reload my weapon after expelling the spent round. I un-crated and leashed up my dogs while my heart pounded. While it wasn't the first time that I'd shot a man, and I certainly didn't I think it would be the last, I realized that I was getting too old for this shit. My daughter needed a mommy, and here I was in Mexico shooting men to save my own ass. “What kind of life is this?” I wondered to myself as we geared up to leave.