Bolan held his fire, not wanting to reveal his position unless he had something to shoot at. The guy seemed to have regained his composure. He had stopped firing, perhaps to reload, or maybe just to listen.

Bolan froze where he was.

Suddenly he heard footsteps. Somehow the guy had managed to get far enough down the hill to stand without showing himself. Bolan jumped to his feet and raced after the fleeing gunner. Finishing the job was going to be more trouble than he had anticipated. But that was good.

It confirmed Bolan's suspicions that he was dealing with something insidious and deadly.

As the fleeing man's footsteps receded into the night, Bolan plunged on in pursuit. Running was sluggish in the heavy snow, and he had to stop repeatedly to make sure his prey was still on the move. The last thing the Executioner wanted was to run right up the barrel of the guy's gun. Off in the distance, the nightmare machinery of the reactors loomed against the dark gray sky. There were flashing red lights atop the cooling towers, containment buildings and steam-belching stacks. Security lamps backlighted the towers, filling the horizon with bulky shadows. Scanning the terrain in front of him, Bolan finally spotted a thick white figure struggling toward a wooded strip that ran parallel to the security fence. If the running man managed to reach the fence, Bolan knew he would never catch him. The Executioner fell to one knee and sighted in on the fugitive just as the target tripped and disappeared.

As if sensing the presence of death, and his narrow escape, the man did not rise immediately. Bolan waited, patiently scoping back and forth along the perimeter. He would wait until the target got to his feet before making a move. Bolan knew his own position was tenuous. The damn contrast of white and dark would give him away, just as it had given the fugitive away. But Mack Bolan had time.