The Rules in Rome (21 page)

Bastien met Giovanni on the
street south of his hotel. “I have a plan. In one hour, be as close to the Via Tasso as you dare. If nothing happens within two hours, it will be time for you to leave. I’m not sure how our friends will look or if they’ll even be able to walk, so if you can find some transportation, do it.” Bastien shoved a fistful of cash at Giovanni and pointed toward his
hotel. “The guard at the back of this hotel is susceptible to bribery, and he has the keys to most of the motor pool.”

“Don’t you think he’d be more likely to accept a bribe from you than from me?”

“I have something else I have to do.” Bastien looked at his watch. Gracie
had gone into the Via Tasso a few minutes ago, and he needed to get back there to make sure Ostheim was taking her to a restaurant, not to his bedroom. “I’m sorry. I’d fix a truck for you if I had time.”

Giovanni didn’t argue. That was something Bastien had always liked about him. Giovanni might be pessimistic, but once he pointed out his concerns, he didn’t dwell on them or try to avoid what needed to be done.

Bastien rode his motorcycle to within a block of the Via Tasso prison, praying he wasn’t too late. He strode toward the entrance, and from half a block away, he saw a couple leaving together. He’d arrived just in time. Ostheim was recognizable only as an SS officer at that distance, but Bastien
knew the woman was Gracie from her dress and the way she walked.

They were coming toward him, so he crossed the street and waited at the side of a building, where they’d only be able to see him if they turned to look back after they’d walked by. He saw them pass and started having second thoughts about Gracie’s involvement.
It’s too dangerous.
She’d suggested it, but she looked as beautiful as he’d ever seen her, and he knew what that could mean if everything backfired.

Bastien followed them from a distance. Ostheim held the door for Gracie and motioned her into the first-floor restaurant of a hotel.
Good. He’s minding his manners. Maybe he’ll stay on good behavior for the evening.
Yet when Bastien saw Gracie smile convincingly at Ostheim, he felt a twinge of jealousy.
Don’t be stupid
, he told himself.
She’s just pretending.

Bastien and Gracie had assumed that if Ostheim took Gracie out to eat, Bastien would have an hour, maybe more. One hour to free his friends. He hoped it would be enough. And he hoped Ostheim wouldn’t try anything in the meantime.

When Bastien got back to the Via Tasso, he took a few deep breaths, trying to banish his nervousness about Gracie and what he still needed to do. At the entrance, he returned the guard’s salute and turned toward the prison.

“Hauptmann Dietrich—just the man I wanted to see.”

Bastien turned to find Sturmbannführer Scholz. “What can I help you with, sir?”

“Come into my office. I need a second opinion on something.”

Bastien sneaked a glance at his watch and hoped whatever Scholz wanted wouldn’t take too long.

* * *

“How long have you been seeing Dietrich?” Ostheim asked.

“A month,” Gracie said as the waiter brought their drinks and prepared to take their order.

Ostheim selected something with beef and potatoes for both of them. “What happened?”

“Adalard’s starting to scare me. He’s possessive.”

“Yes, I noticed that at the party.”

Gracie nodded. “And he’s mean when he gets drunk. He pushed me a few days ago.” Gracie ran her hand along the cut she’d gotten in the motorcycle crash.

Ostheim’s drink was halfway to his mouth, but he stopped and set it down. Gracie was impressed—was he setting it aside for her? She thought she was safer with Ostheim if he stayed sober, but that also meant he’d remember their conversation more clearly.
I might have to leave Rome after all.
What would happen to Ley if he had to encode and transmit his own reports? Would he put his security check in the wrong place again or, worse, be captured? She shivered as she realized the man sitting across from her would probably conduct Ley’s interrogation should he be caught.

Ostheim stood and walked around the table until he was standing next to her. He circled the scab with his finger. “He did this to you?”

“Yes,” Gracie lied.

He returned to his seat. “It must have been a horrible month for you.”

“It has been.”

“You know, it’s a new month now on the astrological calendar. Aries might just be my lucky sign.”

“I hope it’s mine too. I could use a bit of luck. I’m terrified that Adalard will lose his temper again.”

Ostheim smiled. “I’ll protect you, Concetta.”

Gracie thought back to Ley’s promise out in the countryside when he’d told her he’d do everything he could to prevent her capture. She believed him. Ostheim’s declaration, in contrast, seemed liked a slimy attempt to ingratiate himself into her confidence.

“Here are your meals,” the waiter said. Gracie hadn’t noticed his arrival, but the food smelled amazing when he lifted the metal plate covers.

“Send them to my room, along with a bottle of wine,” Ostheim said. “We’re going to enjoy them in a more private setting.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Gracie tried to hide her shock. Ley’s warning rang in her ears.
Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere alone with him.
But if she refused to go to his
room, Ostheim might head back to the Via Tasso, and she hadn’t given Ley enough time yet. “You’re billeted here?”

“Yes.” Ostheim stood and took her hand, gripping it with a little too much force as he pulled her to her feet. “Convenient location, isn’t it?”

He kept hold of her hand up three flights of steps and down a long hallway, releasing it only to unlock his door. She instantly wiped her hand against her dress, drying the sweat. She was sure it was partially her perspiration because she was terrified, but part of it was his too. He had damp palms.

“You’re quiet. Are you nervous, Concetta?”

“It’s just too soon for me to do this, Otto. I need a friend, but I also need some time.”

He put a finger to her lips. “We’re just eating supper, away from the windows so Dietrich doesn’t walk by and start a fight.”

That was the exact scenario she and Ley had planned. Ley was to follow her so he’d know where Ostheim took her, and after he freed his friends, he’d come by again. If Gracie was still in the restaurant, Ley planned to pick a fight with Ostheim. If Gracie made it away before Ley reappeared, she’d go wait in his hotel room. They’d hidden the key under a rug in the hallway.

Ostheim pulled her into his room, and Gracie felt a hundred warnings flare up. The door clicked shut, and Gracie swallowed back panic. Ley wouldn’t know where she was. He wouldn’t be able to come to her aid,
and she wasn’t sure she could get away from Ostheim without help.

Worry about escape later
, Gracie
told herself.
Right now you’ve got to keep
him busy. Eat slowly and ask lots of questions.
But the food wasn’t there yet.

Ostheim’s room was a studio. A partially opened door half hid a messy bathroom, and the table looked like no one had cleaned it after the last
meal eaten there. Ostheim wandered over and sat on the enormous bed.

Gracie struggled to find something to say. “Where did you learn Italian?” Ostheim spoke with an accent but seemed otherwise fluent.

“School. And this isn’t the first time I’ve been stationed in Italy.”

She was still standing by the door when someone knocked. She opened it and almost hugged the hotel worker bringing their food. She held the door open while the man came into the room and placed the food and wine on the table.

Gracie glanced at the clock. If she played it right, eating supper might take up enough time. She could leave when they finished, knowing she’d given Ley the time he needed.
If Ostheim lets me leave.
As the waiter walked into the hallway, Gracie was tempted to grab his arm and beg him to stay, but she knew that wouldn’t work. She was supposed to encourage Ostheim for a little longer.

Five minutes into the meal, Ostheim put his fork down. “I’m not really hungry anymore. Are you?”

Gracie swallowed her food and dabbed at her lips with her napkin.
Oh dear.
“Actually, this is wonderful, and I’m still ravenous.”

“Hmm.” He ate for a few more minutes. Then he stood and took her hands, pulling her to her feet so she was only inches from him. “You know what I thought when I came out and saw you waiting for me?”

Gracie wanted to back away, but the chair was right behind her, and she could see the clock over Ostheim’s shoulder. She had to give Ley more time. “What did you think, Otto?”

“That I was really going to enjoy doing this.” He covered her mouth with his. It was wet and rough, and he tasted like garlic. His right hand dug into her left arm, and his other hand held her, pressing her body into his and moving down her back lower than she was comfortable with. He was stronger than she, and they were alone, and every time she tried to escape his lips, he pulled her closer.

With her free hand, she felt along the table for the wine bottle. She moved it toward her and gripped it like a lifeline. She returned Ostheim’s kiss for a few seconds, even though she felt like vomiting, hoping to distract him. In her head, she reviewed her OSS training about the best ways to knock someone unconscious. Then she slammed the wine bottle into the back of Ostheim’s head.

He fell to the floor, and Gracie took a few deep breaths before kneeling down to check on him. He was unconscious and moaned as she checked the back of his head and used one of the cloth napkins to tie his wrists behind his back. She wiped the red wine off her hands and dress and glanced at the clock. Ley needed another half hour. She hoped Ostheim would stay unconscious for that long, but she wasn’t sticking around to make sure, and she was confident Ley would approve of her decision.

* * *

Scholz asked Bastien’s opinion of yet another SS fortification. He was systematically going through every project Heinie had built in the last two months.

Bastien looked at his watch again. Gracie was supposed to keep Ostheim busy until 1830, and it was already 1815. He debated whether he should leave Marcello locked up in his cell or be late picking a fight at the hotel dining hall.
Ostheim won’t try anything in a restaurant, will he?

“Dietrich, you keep looking at your watch. Is there somewhere else you’re supposed to be?”

“Actually, yes, sir. If you’d like, I can inspect a few of Obersturmführer Vogel’s projects next week.”

Scholz frowned. “You and Vogel are on friendly terms, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps Tuesday we can inspect a few sites together. Come to my office then, and don’t say anything to Vogel.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Bastien stood and saluted.

Scholz waved him away.

Finally.
Bastien was worried for Heinie’s sake. It seemed Scholz was looking for a reason to question his work. Heinie was a good engineer, but his projects often ended up in Bastien’s reports and, thus, on Allied target lists. Bastien hoped he hadn’t created trouble for his friend, but right then, he had bigger problems to worry about.

The clerk guarding the prison stood when Bastien approached.

“Heil Hitler,” Bastien said, trying to start off on the right foot.

The clerk, who was the equivalent of a sergeant, returned Bastien’s salute.

“Is Untersturmführer
Ostheim here?”

“No, sir, but he said he’d return later tonight.”

Bastien frowned, although inside he was relieved. “And who is in charge until he returns?”

“I am, sir.”

“Hmm.” Bastien feigned careful concentration. “When do you expect Ostheim to return?”

The clerk glanced at his watch. “I’m not sure, sir. He could be back in ten minutes. Or he might return much later.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t wait. I need to see the prisoner captured this morning and the ones captured yesterday. I’ll explain to Untersturmführer
Ostheim when he returns.” Bastien held out his hand. “Keys, please.”

The clerk looked flustered, but after a glance at Dietrich’s Iron Cross, he opened the desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys. “Go down the hallway and turn left. The prisoner we took this morning is in the far cell on the right. The men who told us about him are in the wing on the right.” He
handed Bastien the keys. “I’ll need you to sign in.” He opened a ledger book and slid it toward Bastien.

As he gripped the pen, Bastien tried to decide how to sign. If everything went according to plan, he didn’t want Ostheim to know he’d been here. But if Ostheim returned before he was finished or if the clerk described an army captain with scarred hands and an Iron Cross, it would be hard to explain
why he hadn’t given his real name. He scrawled
Hauptmann A. Dietrich
in an almost illegible hand and hoped no one would be able to read it.

Another guard stood where the hallway split. Bastien returned the man’s salute and went to the left, planning to rescue Marcello first because he knew more than Roberto or Giovanni’s brother did. Bastien tried not to think about how each step he took and each second he lingered made it more and more likely that he would end up in one of the cells he passed. He felt cold. Gracie had asked him once if he was haunted by Dietrich, and he’d told her ghosts didn’t bother him. They didn’t, but sometimes his memories did, so
he tried to block out the sounds from all the prisoners he wouldn’t be able to help. He didn’t want to remember their cries and feel guilty that he’d left them there.

He reached the cell and unlocked it. When he went inside, he almost didn’t recognize Marcello. Instead of the relaxed, confident Italian he’d known, he saw a broken man. Marcello’s face was swollen, probably from one of the guard’s fists. A smeared trail of blood ran from his nose to his mustache, and his hands looked almost black from dirt or blood or a combination of the two. But the real difference was in his posture—slumped, defeated—and in his eyes—humorless and hopeless.

Marcello cowered in the corner, pulling his arms up to protect his face when Bastien stepped toward him.

“Marcello,” Bastien whispered. “It’s me.”

Marcello slowly lowered his arms and stared.

Bastien glanced over his shoulder, making sure the guard hadn’t followed him down the hall. “I’m alone.”

Marcello’s voice was raspy. “You’d better shoot me before I let something slip. They keep asking me questions. I haven’t told them anything yet, but
I’m not sure how much longer I can last. Please, put me out of my misery before I betray you and everyone else I work with.”

Bastien was relieved Marcello had kept quiet during his interrogations. He hadn’t expected him to break easily, nor had he expected him to look
so tortured. “I have a better idea. How about I get you out of here?”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Most of the guards are in the mess hall. I outrank everyone here. Prison transfer. Somehow, you’re going to escape on the way to Regina Coeli.” As he spoke, Bastien handed Marcello Gracie’s pistol. There hadn’t been any way for her to hide it in her form-fitting dress. And he hadn’t told Gracie yet, but he was going to send her away with Marcello, so she’d get her weapon back soon anyway. Ostheim wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t take much for him to suspect that Concetta was involved in the prison break. Even if he didn’t, his threat to Gracie would increase exponentially by the time the night was over. Bastien planned to stay a little longer, but he didn’t want Gracie to risk Ostheim’s retribution.

“Hauptmann Dietrich will be in a lot of trouble if he lets a prisoner like me escape.”

“Three prisoners, actually. Roberto and Giovanni’s brother are down the hall. But if it looks like a Gappisti attack, I’m hoping I’ll get away with it. A few minutes ago I managed to pocket a form with a Sturmbannführer’s signature on it.” At least something good had come of the delay in Scholz’s office. “Giovanni’s waiting outside. I’ll have him forge up a transfer request.”

“I knew you were something special when you dropped in, Capitano,” Marcello said softly, a hint of his old self showing in his eyes. “The night
you became Dietrich confirmed it. But this, this shows more loyalty and courage than I ever expected.”

Before he could reply, Bastien heard a soft scrape from the hallway and turned around.

“The night you became Dietrich? That should have been the day you were born.” Ostheim stepped into view with his pistol pointed at Bastien. “Who are you, why are you in my prison, and what type of game are you playing?”

Bastien wished he’d kept his pistol in his hand instead of in its holster. He swallowed back the bitter taste of defeat and worry—for himself and for Gracie. If Ostheim was here, where was she? “I’m arranging a prison transfer.” Bastien stuck to his cover story, but he knew it was too late to bluff his way out.

“For a friend?” Ostheim glanced at Marcello.

The second Ostheim looked away, Bastien reached for his Luger, but he wasn’t quick enough. Ostheim aimed and fired. A flash of pain seared through Bastien’s abdomen and knocked him to the ground, and in the same instant, another pistol fired.

Ostheim fell to the floor. “Is he dead?” Bastien gasped.

Marcello was still pointing his weapon at the corpse. “Yes.”

Bastien lifted his head to look at the dark pool of blood on his uniform.

“How bad is it, Capitano?”

Bastien inhaled, and the pain was so bad he could hardly breathe. Only the shouts in the hallway kept him from giving up, lying back, and letting the pain engulf him. “Get out of here, and take my pistol because when they come to see what happened, I’m going to tell them you’re responsible.”

Marcello didn’t move.

“Go!”

Marcello nodded and disappeared. More shots echoed through the prison hallway, but Bastien had no idea who was firing. He hoped Marcello would be able to overcome the guard and the clerk, then make it out one of the exits, but even if he escaped, there was no way he could help Roberto and Giovanni’s brother. Bastien pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into his wound.
I won’t be able to help them either.
Bastien winced as the pain flared. His head pounded, his vision blurred, and the pain in his side screamed at him.
Is this what it feels like to die?