Baltimore Trackdown by Don Pendleton

She looked up and shrugged. “Whatever. What’s your line of work?”
    “I help people to change their minds about things.”
    “I’m ready.”
    “Later. First I need to do some research upstairs.”
    “In Don Carlo’s office?”
    “Right. And I’ll have to come back through here when I’m done.”
    She nodded.
    Bolan smiled and moved silently, swiftly to the hall door. This was the south wing. He had to get to the main wing, third floor. He hesitated at the door.
    “Want me to show you the way?”
    “Yes, and be a cover for me.”
    “Hey, this could be fun. I want to see Carlo’s surprise when you walk in.”
    “He should be in the motor pool by then. Let’s go.”
    They moved down the hall, upstairs to the third floor and to a connecting door that led into the main wing. No one was on duty outside the godfather’s sanctum.
    Bolan knocked, waited, then opened the door and slid inside, leaving Angela in the hall.
    The room looked as it had before. Now there was an unfinished handwritten letter on the desk, and behind it a big chart on a bulletin board.
    Bolan stared at it, then studied the names on lines under it. Three assistant chiefs of police were listed, along with Chief Smith and Lieutenant Paulson. At the bottom of the chart were a number of dates, but one had been circled. Tomorrow! On a note beside it was a phrase. “At the Mayor’s State of the City Speech.”
    Bolan checked some file drawers and the desk, but found nothing that would be helpful. He decided it was time to haul ass, as he used to say in the army.
    He eased open the office door and peered out. A Mafia soldier with his back to the door was talking to Angela.
    The Executioner swung open the door, surged out and brought the side of the Beretta down across the soldier’s skull. The man turned and collapsed, out cold. Bolan caught him and eased him to the floor.
    “Let’s get out of here!” Bolan whispered.
    They ran lightly down the hall, through the access door and into the other hallway. Then they walked past a maid, whose arms were full of rumpled sheets, and a minute later were safely in Angela’s room.
    “They’ll find that goon quickly and you’ll be in trouble,” the Executioner said.
    She smiled. “Then you’ll just have to take me with you or they’ll do all sorts of ugly things to me.”
    Bolan scowled for a moment, then shrugged. “Do you have any pants? It’s easier going out windows and over walls in pants than in a skirt.”
    “I’ll have to change.”
    “I’ve seen ladies change clothes before.”
    “Yes, I’ll just bet you have.” She took a suitcase from a stand and pawed through it, found a pair of tan pants and a tan blouse. She watched him closely as she removed her blouse. When he remained silent, she dropped her skirt, revealing skimpy blue panties. A moment later she shrugged and put on the blouse, then the pants and slipped into a pair of worn running shoes.
    “If you want to wait until it gets dark, we could think of something to do to pass the time.”
    “Sounds interesting, but I have a deadline. Raise the window and look around. Are they still looking at the cars?”
    She raised the window. There was no screen.
    “I see only a pair of guards.”
    “Figures.”
    Bolan stood well back in the room and looked outside. It was going to be harder to leave than it had been to arrive. He had no more diversions. The bombs planted in the house would have to wait for another time. Getting the woman out would make it tougher — unless he used her as a diversion.
    Briefly he outlined an idea to her and she giggled.
    “I love it! I haven’t had so much fun since I went skinny-dipping in the pool of the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
    Watching at the window they timed the rounds of the guards. When the way was clear, they slid out through the opening. Bolan pulled the window shut and led Angela through the shrubs down to the tennis-court trail, where there was a gap in the brush.
    They waited in the