He could wait.

Suddenly a blinding flash lit up the area where the man had fallen. Scoping in on the dying glow, Bolan saw a hole torn in the heavy wire fence. Loose earth darkened the snow on both sides. The guy had used a grenade to tear an escape route through the wire.

In the distance, Bolan heard the dull whumping of the rotor blades of a chopper. It grew steadily louder. Probably a routine patrol, but the Executioner knew he had to move fast.

"Come on, damn it," Bolan whispered, urging the guy to move. If he didn't get the man before the chopper patrol got there, he might not get him at all. The big guy couldn't afford to be captured on restricted property. He couldn't afford to be captured at all. And he couldn't shoot at the patrol. They were just men doing their jobs. Bolan was simply giving them some help they didn't know they needed, but he didn't have time to explain that to them.

The chopper was coming closer. It was flying low, following the fence. Twin searchlights speared out, dancing along the security perimeter. His guy would likely stay put until the chopper passed, unless the patrol spotted the hole in the fence and came down to check it out. And they were getting closer.

Boring into the scope, Bolan counted. If the guy didn't move by the count of ten, he'd have to risk it.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Bolan fired a shot into the muddy hole at the base of the ruptured fence. He was up and running, zigzagging to keep the guy off-balance. The footing was treacherous, and Bolan had played right into the guy's hands. The first burst from his SMG had sprayed wildly, the second narrowly missed. He knew the guy was expecting him to dive. But the hell with that.

Bolan knew his target would be through the fence and gone before he stopped sliding. The Executioner dropped to one knee and sighted on the hole just as the guy began to struggle up the muddy bank toward the safety beyond the fence.