The Rules in Rome (24 page)

Zimmerman knew it was going
to be a long night. Orders had come down from Hitler himself: the Italians would pay. Generals Von Mackensen and Kesselring had confirmed it and specified that ten Italians would be executed for every German soldier who had died in the Via Rasella. But it
was up to their subordinates to find the needed number of Italians to carry out the sentence.

Calls had been placed to the Italian authorities, giving them specific numbers of prisoners to provide. Twenty-eight German soldiers were dead, so Zimmerman was searching the Via Tasso records for men to add to a list that needed to reach two hundred eighty.

The original plan was to execute those who were sentenced to death anyway, but after a search of both the Via Tasso and the Regina Coeli prison records, that number came to only three. “Two-hundred seventy-seven
to go,” Zimmerman said to Möller as he brought him another stack of files.

“Another one died of his wounds in the hospital,” Möller said. “We’ve got to find ten more.”

Zimmerman frowned. He wouldn’t have final say on the list, and he was glad, but finding the needed prisoners would help make up for the disaster at San Lorenzo. He wished there was more time, but Hitler had demanded
the reprisal be carried out within twenty-four hours. “Let’s see if we have anyone in for a life sentence.”

Twenty minutes later, Möller looked up from his stack of files. “None.”

Zimmerman hadn’t found any either. “Those being held for crimes that could result in capital punishment.”

They found sixteen to add to the list.

“Coffee?” Möller asked.

Zimmerman nodded and yawned at the same time. While Möller was gone, he stared at the darkened window. When he glanced back at his desk, he saw the picture of his wife and son. Their eyes faced the camera, as if questioning his actions. He set the picture face-down in a drawer as Möller returned.

“Sir, the death toll is up to thirty-two, with several men in critical condition. We’ve got to make the list longer.”

“Jews? If they’re being sent to Auschwitz, they’re going to die anyway. Might as well use them to fill our quota.”

“Excellent plan, sir.”

“And check with the Italians. We turned the civilians from the Via Rasella over to them. They might have something.”

While Zimmerman scanned the files for Jews, Möller made a few phone calls.

“The Italians have suggested ten Communists for our list.”

“Good.”

“What about this man, sir?” Möller asked a few minutes later. “He was in the Italian Army but switched his loyalties during the armistice. Followed the king instead of Mussolini.”

Zimmerman glanced briefly at the dossier. “Add him.”

“And this one? Similar politically but Carabinieri instead of army.”

“Add him too.”

Slowly, surely, their list began to grow as they searched the prison files for men who were spies, Communists, Jews, or petty criminals—men to pay Hitler’s bill of revenge.

* * *

Friday evening, Gracie put her hand on Ley’s forehead and frowned. It had felt warm all day, but now she was sure his fever was rising. She hadn’t seen Heinie or the doctor since Thursday morning. It was hours past curfew, but she needed to find help.

“Adalard?” Gracie wished she knew Ley’s first name. It seemed wrong to use an alias when he was so sick.

He opened his eyes a crack.

“I’m going to fetch the doctor. I’ll be back soon.”

His answer was a barely audible grunt, another sign of his deteriorating condition.

As Gracie walked to the door, she heard a knock.
Please let it be the doctor.
When she opened the door, she didn’t see the gray-haired man she’d tried to get drunk the day before, but Heinie was the next-best thing.

Usually, she could hear him whistling from several doors away, but today he was quiet. Dark skin shadowed his eyes, dust covered his uniform,
and there was a soberness about him that made the air seem heavier.

“Are you all right, Heinie?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I wanted to check on Adalard.”

“He’s worse—he has a fever. Yesterday I got him to eat a little and hold a conversation, but today he’s hardly eaten anything, and he’s quiet. The
doctor hasn’t come, even though he said he would.”

“Medical personnel have been a little busy the past few days.”

“They have? Why?” Gracie wondered if the Americans were closing in, but last she’d heard they’d made little progress since January.

Heinie either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her question. “May I see him?”

Gracie nodded, then followed Heinie into the bedroom. Ley had dozed off again. The fever had left the roots of his hair damp, but he’d asked for more blankets several times throughout the day.

Heinie sat in the chair next to the bed and felt Ley’s forehead. Ley opened his eyes and looked at the two of them but didn’t speak.

“When did the fever start?” Heinie asked.

“This morning. At first I wasn’t sure, but by this afternoon . . . I’m worried about him, Heinie. Can you ask the doctor to come again?”

Heinie was quiet, staring at his friend.

Ley closed his eyes. “You’re acting like I’m a corpse at a viewing. Stop it.”

Heinie smiled slightly. “Sorry. How do you feel?”

“Like I caught influenza and got shot at the same time.”

“Can you get the doctor, Heinie?” Gracie was hesitant to see the doctor again because he might remember Ley’s English slip, but she was far more
frightened by Ley’s declining health. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I’ll try,” Heinie said. “I saw him not long ago doling out medicinal alcohol.” He shook his head. “You haven’t heard any of the news, have you? About yesterday?”

“No.” Something in Heinie’s voice made Gracie afraid to ask for details.

“What happened?” Ley asked.

“The Gappisti attacked a column of SS troops. Bozen 11
th
company.”

Gracie inhaled sharply, remembering Angelo’s vow of revenge when he showed her those same troops.

Heinie continued. “Thirty-three of them are dead. Hitler ordered ten Italians executed for each German death. The executions were carried out this afternoon.”

That made three hundred thirty victims. “Who did they execute?” she finally worked up the courage to ask, wondering if Angelo had been caught.

“Whoever they could find in the prisons,” Heinie said. “The Gestapo carried out the executions. They took the men—” Heinie broke off. When he continued, his voice shook. “Some of them were just boys. They took them in groups to the Ardeatina sand pits by the Christian catacombs. I was told it began very orderly. They were taken five at a time, told to kneel, then shot in the head. It was supposed to have been a painless death. More than three hundred unarmed men killed in under five hours. Efficient and secret and . . . and utterly reprehensible.”

Heinie rubbed a trembling hand over his mouth. “I was called in to blow up the cave entrances with some Wehrmacht engineers. Bury the evidence. I saw the bodies. Huge stacks of the dead. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and they were shot in the head, but it wasn’t always a straight shot. I saw one prisoner who looked like he’d been beaten to death. No bullets.” Heinie paused, taking a few deep breaths. “I guess most of the guards didn’t want to do it, but they had to. Their leaders suggested they get drunk tonight. They told my men and me the same thing when we finished, but it won’t make a difference, not for me. Piles of bodies almost as tall as me. And why? They haven’t caught any of the Gappisti who bombed
the Via Rasella. It’s wrong, and I’m ashamed to have been part of it.”

Gracie tried to fathom the murder of more than three hundred people, all of them unconnected to the crime they were being punished for. She didn’t know what to think of Angelo. He couldn’t have known what would happen as retribution for the attack he’d been part of, but it felt wrong that
he was probably still free while three hundred others had died in reprisal.

“Concetta, will you get me some soup?” Ley whispered.

Gracie looked at him in surprise. She’d been trying to get him to eat all day, and
now
he had an appetite? After hearing about a massacre? She finally glanced at Heinie and understood. Ley wanted to talk to his friend in private. Heinie was a wreck, overcome with guilt for something he hadn’t planned and hadn’t participated in, unless he counted blowing up the cave entrance.

She went to the wet bar and took her time warming some broth on a hotplate. She could hear quiet male voices, and though she couldn’t pick out what they said, Heinie seemed more at peace when he came out of the bedroom, no longer hunched over with guilt.

“I’ll ask the doctor to come by,” he said.

Gracie saw Heinie out, then went back to the bedroom to bring Ley his soup. “Adalard?”

There was no response. He was asleep again.

* * *

Gracie’s nerves stretched thin as she walked to her Saturday-morning appointment with Angelo. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about the attack on the Via Rasella. The Bozen SS troops were a legitimate target, but surely the attack hadn’t been worth it, not when ten Italians had been murdered for each German soldier killed. She understood now why most people under Nazi occupation didn’t resist. The consequence was slaughter.

When she told Angelo about the reprisals, he squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. “How did you find out?” he asked.

“I can’t say. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure it’s true? Not just a rumor to make the Gappisti look bad?”

Gracie felt tears forming in her eyes. “I wish it weren’t true. You have no idea how much I wish it weren’t true. But I heard it from someone who saw the bodies.”

“They’ll pay,” he whispered, his hands balling into fists.

“But if you retaliate, won’t they just kill more innocent people?”

“We can’t let them win by terror, Concetta. We have to fight back, show them we won’t give up until they’ve been driven from Italy. Rolling over every time they hurt us will make them think their reprisals work. We have
to continue, now more than ever.” Angelo handed her his report and left.

Please let it be over soon
, she prayed. She left the piazza the opposite way she’d come, relieved she was a radio operator, not a soldier or a saboteur. Maybe Angelo was right. Maybe it would be wrong for the Gappisti to give up. But she’d seen Angelo’s reaction to the news, seen his shock and grief and desire for vengeance. Were she in his position, she thought she’d feel the same emotions but also guilt—the crushing, overwhelming kind.

She hurried back to Ley’s hotel room. His fever had been worse that morning, and though the doctor had come, he hadn’t given her any reassuring news.

Heinie was sitting by Ley’s bed when she returned. “I think it’s down a little from this morning.”

Gracie felt Ley’s forehead, but his skin still burned against her hand. “Has he woken up at all?”

“No.”

She moved her hand from his forehead to his cheek. He inhaled deeply
and turned his face toward her. She held her breath, hoping he’d open his eyes, but he relaxed again without responding to her.
What will I do if he dies?
Gracie
knew what she felt for Ley was stronger than the normal camaraderie that
came from working on a mission together. She trusted him, she admired him, she depended on him, and most days she thought she was in love with him.
She didn’t want to bury him here in Rome, especially when it was her fault
he’d been shot. She blinked away fresh tears, knowing they were a combination
of worry and inadequate sleep.

“Hey, it’s just a fever. He’ll get over it,” Heinie said.

“Are you sure?”

Heinie looked at Ley for a long moment. “I think so.”

She wanted to believe Heinie because the alternative was too painful.

* * *

On Sunday, Ley’s fever grew worse. Gracie spent all day and all night changing out cool washcloths and trying to spoon water into his mouth. He opened his eyes a few times but never spoke, never seemed to recognize her. Monday was more of the same. His fever dropped a half degree Celsius,
but his condition seemed otherwise unchanged.

Tuesday morning, after a few hours of sleep, Gracie checked Ley’s temperature again, and he felt normal. She stuck the thermometer in his mouth just to be sure, but his fever was gone.

When Heinie came by, she threw her arms around him. “He’s finally getting better.”

“I told you he’d be fine.” But despite Heinie’s prediction from a few days before, he seemed relieved. “I can stay with him a while, if you’d like. I know you haven’t had a chance to leave for a few days.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.” She still had Angelo’s report, and it was past time to send it in. She hadn’t been in contact with headquarters for a week.
They probably thought she’d been captured.