I knew Shawn was somewhere on the second floor. I also knew that within seconds, the stairwells would be covered by Juarez's men. For now, I busied myself with our primary mission. I still had to check the computers.

"Shit." I said as the last one yielded nothing. I checked my weapon, a nervous habit. I hadn't fired it yet tonight and the clip was fill. I was going to need it to go after my partner.

I hugged the wall as I eased down the corridor further into the compound. I could hear footsteps above me as Juarez's men searched the place for me. I also heard a cry of surprise as someone found my sleeping cigar man, Gustavo. The eastern door slammed open and I got ready.

"Shit, its Jose." Someone hissed. Now they'd found my sandwich man. I lifted my weapon.

Two men rounded the corner of the corridor and things suddenly seemed to move in slow motion. They spotted me and stopped cold. I'd always wondered what it must be like for the bad guys we deal with to come up on a Rainbow Six operative. I hoped it gave them the scare of a lifetime. Within a split second, three things happened. One of them swore, the other raised his weapon. I took them both out with a burst of gunfire. Neither was wearing protective gear and it only took a few shots.

People say I should feel bad about all the people I've had to take out. Sometimes I do, for about a minute. Then I think about all the innocent civilians they've killed without another thought or all the people their merchandise has killed. After that, it's not so hard.

"Two down." I muttered. If I counted Gustavo and Jose, that made four. Only thirteen more to go. Wonderful. I turned and started back deeper into the building.

Thirteen soon became twelve, then eleven as I took out two men coming from the stairwell. Number ten was harder. They were on to me now. In the stairwell, I was a sitting duck and they knew it. They also knew I was coming for Shawn. One guy stood watch in the doorway to the second floor, rifle aimed down the stairs. If I even set a foot on the landing, I was dead. I did the only thing I could do.

There was indeed a game on the television in the compound's basement. It looked as though while Juarez was away, his men had staged a little football party. Empty beer bottles and half-eaten plates of food were strewn about in front of one of the biggest television's I'd ever seen. I quickly searched the basement rooms and found them all empty, though I did learn that the basement was the place most of Juarez's men called home.

Up the south stairs, I took out two more guys in quick succession. They hadn't expected me to come all the way around through the basement. I had an advantage, but it was one that didn't last long.

"Get the little bastard!" A gruff voice screamed from the second floor landing.

I played football in high school and I work out every day. I kind of resented the guy calling me little. I moved one foot at a time, eyes on the stairs. There was no going back now. I knew either I got them or they got me.

"You're dead!" One guy yelled before he opened fire. He was a piss poor shot. He landed on his back on the floor, dead, a few moments later.

The second floor was silent as eased up the stairs. Whoever had yelled was gone. There was no one in sight.

"Four on the first floor, east." I ticked off to myself. "Two on the east stairs. Two on the first floor, south. One more on the stairs. Nine."

If Joanna had been right, there were still eight men to go. Eight men stood between me and Shawn and our way out. I liked those odds.