Don Pendleton - Baltimore Trackdown

He still did not know when the takeover would be attempted, but realized it would be gradual. The public would not stand for a coup. The Mafia had its fangs so deeply into the department now that the takeover was almost complete. But Bolan figured they were planning a day or an event to wrap it up. He would find that out tomorrow.

He drove back to his small hotel and slept until dawn.

Mack Bolan crouched behind a tree next to the Nazarione estate. He had been up with the morning sun, checked with Nino Tattaglia and found out that the Mafia turncoat still did not know when the final thrust of the Mafia’s takeover of the police department would occur.

Bolan had to know today. So he planned a lightning raid on the godfather’s own fortress by daylight. He knew just enough about the layout to get by. If he was lucky, and no one tried to be a hero, he would succeed.

Then there was his ace in the hole. He watched a guard patrol the cement fence. The sentry made the circuit every twelve minutes. Such punctuality could get him killed. Bolan waited until he had passed, then looked into the parking area behind the mansion, where four crew wagons sat.

Nothing big was scheduled for this morning, or the wagons would be in front ready for loading. A mechanic came out, tinkered with one of the engines for a minute, then slammed the hood and went into the big house.

The Executioner looked at the cars, hoping that at least one of those in which he had planted the radio-detonated bombs was in the group below. There was only one way to find out.

It was time. Bolan took out the small black box, opened it and thumbed a toggle switch to the On position. There was no one around the crew wagons. He put his finger on the red button and pushed.

Immediately the peaceful neighborhood was rocked by a pair of explosions from the parking area. One of the crew wagons lifted off the ground and came down with its rear wheels on top of another Cadillac. The second blast tore another crew wagon in half, throwing the engine and front section ten feet across the yard, leaving the rest of the body and rear wheels where they had been.

While the debris was still falling, men ran out of the house and garage. People were everywhere. The guards charged into the area, their handguns out and ready.

As Bolan hoped, the sentries had left their posts, and he scaled the wall and hid behind the shrubbery that would give him cover and a safe route all the way to the mansion.

He made the run without attracting attention. Then he heard someone shouting at the guards to return to their posts.

Bolan rose and examined the closest window. It was locked from the inside. Breaking it would make too much noise. As he stared, a woman appeared, looked back at him, grinned and raised the window.

“Looking for a way inside?” she asked.

It took Bolan that long to recognize Angela Albergetti, Jo Jo’s widow. Now she wore a blouse, and her blond hair was combed, brushed and set beautifully.

“Come on in before they find you. We wouldn’t want to get blood all over that nice sport shirt.”

Bolan went over the sill and into the room. He was on his feet at once, and she stood in front of him.

“That should be worth at least a thank-you. I know I’ve seen you somewhere before, but I can’t quite place you. Oh, I’m Angela.”

He nodded.

She laughed. “Well, are you going to say hello, or blow up the rest of the house? You made a good start on the motor pool out there.”

“Hello, Angela. The house is safe. That was what we call a strategic diversion.”

“I don’t know who you are, but I like you. And I’m not overly delighted with the management right now. They moved me out of my house because they thought I’d shout everything I knew about these guys to reporters. I just might have. They got my old man killed yesterday or the day before. Sometime.” 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.