The Rules in Rome (3 page)

Babysitting?
Gracie was twenty-three years
old—she was hardly a child anymore. She’d managed to graduate near the top of her class from both Brigham Young University and a tough OSS training program. Her eyes narrowed as Ley looked at her and automatically dismissed her as a liability. She was about to say something in her defense, but Vaughn-Harris spoke instead.

“You will follow orders, Captain Ley, or I’ll have to start questioning your loyalty.”

“The Nazis murdered my father, remember? I’d be the last person on earth to assist them.”

Vaughn-Harris’s face pulled into a sneer. “You might not intentionally aid them, but your incompetence when it comes to coding your reports has helped them whether you meant it to or not.”

“Incompetence? I suppose that’s an easy accusation to make from behind a desk. It’s a bit of a different story in the field—”

“That’s enough,” Colonel Ambrose said.

Ley looked toward the window, his face drawn into a scowl. “Why did you bring him, sir? We always butt heads. You know that.”

“That’s just as much your fault as it is his. I have good reasons for selecting all the men I have working for me.” Ambrose paused and turned toward Gracie. “And the women too.”

Ley studied Gracie again, his face calm instead of angry. Then he turned to Ambrose. “Sir, I’d prefer to send in my own reports as I’ve done in the past. I’ll double-check my work and triple-check the calendar. I’ve sent in dozens of reports without errors, haven’t I? I’ll just be a little more cautious.”

“Caution from you will mean reduced speed, and that would make it easier for the Gestapo to find you. You’re much too valuable to put behind a radio. From now on, you’ll give your reports to Agent Begni. She’ll
encode them for you and send us the information.”

Ley sighed. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think that will work.”

“Why not?” Ambrose asked. “I think it will work splendidly.”

Ley glanced at Gracie. “You’re just shifting part of the risk from me to her. That’s not improving the situation. Throwing another agent into the mix will just complicate things.”

“Actually, since her radio skills are vastly better than yours, I’m not just shifting the risk; I’m reducing it.”

“I don’t like working with strangers.”

Ambrose looked from Ley to Gracie. “You have the evening to become better acquainted. And I can fill you in on the important things. As I already mentioned, she’s the best radio operator I’ve ever seen.”

“But does she have any experience?”

Gracie did her best to meet Ley’s eyes as he evaluated her. “This is my first assignment, Captain Ley, but I can promise you I’m ready.”

“Oh? And what makes you think you’re ready, Miss Begni?”

“I’ve had the normal training, of course.”

Ley’s eyes seemed to laugh at her. “Field work is different from training.”

“Her OSS instructors gave her high marks, Captain. And don’t underestimate her intelligence. She was second in her class at Brigham Young University,” Ambrose said.

“And what did you study there, Miss Begni? Home economics? Fashion?”

“Mathematics.” Gracie noted a bit of surprise in Ley’s eyes as she responded and maybe a touch of respect.
Good.
She was tired of his hints that he didn’t want or need her. She’d worked hard for her degree and even harder to follow her father’s suggestion that she score higher than any class
mate who doubted a woman could succeed in a male-dominated field.

“At least she has a college degree,” Vaughn-Harris said.

The muscles in Ley’s jaw hardened. “I’d have a college degree too if the National Guard hadn’t asked me to return to duty. Or do you think I should have asked my father to use his influence so I could sit out the war while I completed my education?”

Vaughn-Harris glared at Ley, but then his eyes relaxed and his lips
turned into a smirk. “At least I have a father. What happened to yours again?
Captured by the Gestapo and slaughtered like an animal?”

Ley flinched.

Gracie held back a gasp, surprised that Vaughn-Harris would say something so cruel. She understood a little of Ley’s pain. “What were you studying, Captain Ley?” she blurted out, hoping to distract him. His left hand was balled into a fist, and Vaughn-Harris’s arrogant grin was practically begging for a few jabs.

Ley turned to her, a confused look on his face, but his hand slowly relaxed. “Architecture.” He paused, his eyes downcast. “Miss Begni, you no doubt have a knack for mathematics and codes, and you’ve just shown yourself capable of diffusing tense situations, but how do you plan on surviving in Fascist Italy?”

“I was born in Italy. I lived there until I was eleven.”

“Where?”

“Nettuno.”

Captain Ley’s foot began to bounce up and down rapidly while he considered her answer. “And after you left Italy, where did you settle?”

“Salt Lake City, Utah.”

One corner of his lips pulled down. “And then you attended BYU?”

“Yes.”

Ley pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were in pain. “What on earth
is a good little Mormon girl like you doing in Switzerland with a trio of
OSS officers? Go back to Utah, Miss Begni.”

Gracie felt her mouth hang open. Had Ley really just ordered her home? And wasn’t it a bit presumptuous of him to assume she was a good little Mormon girl? He was right, but she didn’t like that he’d jumped to that conclusion based on her answers to two questions. She forced her lips together and inhaled deeply before speaking, her words clipped and precise with anger. “There’s a war on, Captain Ley. I’m in Europe because I want to help end it. And I’m in Switzerland because you’re going to take me to Italy so I can make sure your information gets to the right people without any mixed-up security checks.”

His jaw hardened when she mentioned the security check, but she didn’t care. It may have been an easy mistake, but it was one she wouldn’t make, and he obviously needed help, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “What makes you think you can survive in Italy if you can’t even get in by yourself?” Ley asked.

Gracie wasn’t sure how to reply, but Ambrose spoke up again. “This isn’t
just about your information. The Gestapo arrested some of our people in Rome recently, including a radio operator. There are still two members of the cell gathering information. When you arrive in Rome, Agent Begni will find them and turn in their reports as well as yours.”

“Why do I have to smuggle her in? Can’t you drop her off by parachute?” Ley sat back in his chair and folded his arms, still tapping his foot so quickly that it was almost a vibration.

“Are you saying you’re incapable of smuggling her in?” Vaughn-Harris returned to his seat, a smug smile on his face.

“More brave words from an armchair warrior?”

Vaughn-Harris stood and took a few threatening steps toward Ley. Gracie didn’t even try to distract them—she had no idea what to say, and she now thought both of them deserved a good blow to the face.

“Captain Vaughn-Harris,” Colonel Ambrose said. “Perhaps it’s time for a few drinks.”

Vaughn-Harris gave Ley a final glare before walking over to the bar. He poured something for Ambrose and turned to Ley. “Something to drink?”

“No.”

“Take it,” Ambrose ordered.

Vaughn-Harris filled a shot glass with amber liquid and placed it on the small table next to Ley, but Ley didn’t touch it, Gracie assumed out of spite. Vaughn-Harris handed her a bottle of soda, then poured something significantly stronger for himself.

“Even if I manage to get Miss Begni and myself back into Italy without blowing our cover, how am I supposed to explain my sudden, frequent contact with an Italian civilian?”

“She can pose as your mistress,” Vaughn-Harris said.

Ley’s foot stopped moving. “You plan to have a good little Mormon girl play a woman of loose morals? I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”

Ambrose sighed as if weary of arguing. “Mistress, girlfriend—I don’t care how you define it or how serious you make it appear, but a romantic relationship is a simple, believable solution.” The colonel waved toward the stairs. “Go ahead and show him the wardrobe we picked out for you.”

Gracie stood and walked past the two captains and up the stairs to her room in the loft. She tried to shake off the sting Ley’s words had left. He didn’t want her. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised; no one ever wanted her. No one except her father and Michael and a few OSS men—but the OSS recruiter and Colonel Ambrose didn’t really count. They didn’t want her, just her talents.

She slipped out of the sapphire-blue dress cut to emphasize her chest instead of her hips, frowning as she remembered all the effort her elegant, refined mother had spent trying to make Gracie look more like her petite older sisters.
This dress will help camouflage those hips, Graziella. Don’t pull your hair back, Graziella. It makes your birthmark stand out.
She had always been too tall and too curvy, but maybe here, away from the other women in her family, Gracie wouldn’t seem so far from graceful.

She dug through her luggage, glad her mother was on the other side of the world, where she’d never see the bland black rags OSS had provided to help Gracie look like an impoverished Italian civilian desperate enough to become a German officer’s consort.

Her old boyfriend had described her mother and sisters as fragile wraiths. She smiled, remembering his feigned surprise that they hadn’t blown away with the napkins during a picnic with her family. Michael was the only person who’d ever made her feel beautiful, and she missed him. She blinked away a tear as she rearranged her hair. The last thing she needed was to get all weepy and give Ley or the other men the impression that she’d been upstairs crying.

She pulled on her least favorite outfit, deciding she might as well get used to it. If Ley thought she looked too wholesome to date a Nazi, the dress’s neckline would prove him wrong.
It’s not that low,
she told herself as she glanced in the mirror. But she still wished the OSS officer in charge of her wardrobe hadn’t laughed at her when she’d suggested altering it.

Ambrose and Ley were talking about the weather forecast as she came down the stairs. She almost laughed that they were discussing such a trivial subject until she realized how relevant it was.

“If you can’t get us in by air, which looks like the case, we’ll have to take the train,” Ley said. “I’d prefer to travel at night.”

“Why?” Vaughn-Harris asked.

Ley jerked his head toward Gracie, who was descending the final half of the stairs. “She’s not exactly nondescript, is she? Tall, gorgeous, dynamite legs, and a birthmark that looks like a thumbprint on her right check? There can’t be many women who meet that description, and I don’t want
someone reporting her departure from Switzerland and linking it to her arrival in Rome.”

Gracie paused, one foot on the bottom step. She would have been flattered by Ley’s description if his tone hadn’t been so condescending. When he said
dynamite legs
, he probably meant tubular and shaped like a stick of TNT.

“Do you ski, Miss Begni?” Ley asked.

Gracie returned to her spot on the sofa before answering. “Not as well as you do, I imagine. I’ve done some downhill skiing but not much cross-
country.” She straightened the neckline of her dress but pulled the fabric in so it wouldn’t slip off her shoulders and hang lower in the front. She
hated the dress and was beginning to regret wearing it just to prove a point
to Ley.

“That leaves us with the train or a car. Or a combination.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something by tomorrow evening,” Ambrose said.

Ley frowned but didn’t disagree.

The men all seemed more relaxed now—Gracie wondered if the alcohol had done the trick, but Ley’s glass still looked untouched. She adjusted her dress again.

“Miss Begni, may I give you a few tips?” Ley asked.

Gracie nodded.

“More lipstick and more fabric.”

Gracie wasn’t sure what Ley meant, but Vaughn-Harris asked for clarification before she had to. “What’s wrong with her dress? Have conditions in Italy improved so dramatically over the past few months? Do all the women have new clothes now?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dress or its well-worn appearance. The problem is
her
in that dress. She hasn’t stopped fiddling with the neckline since she sat down. It’s obviously cut lower than she’s comfortable with, and if I can tell, a Gestapo agent would notice too. Get her some different clothes. Have her smear on an extra layer of makeup if you want her to look the part.”

Gracie felt a strange mix of gratitude that she might not have to wear such skimpy clothing and embarrassment that her discomfort had been so obvious.

“Or better yet, I can go back alone. She may be smart, but I don’t think she’s up to playing the role.”

The gratitude vanished. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, her hands flying up in her anger. “You need help, and I’m willing to help you, and you’re acting like I’m some ball and chain instead of an asset. Those men on the beach need information, and I can make sure that information is delivered accurately.” She forced her hands back to her lap, even though she really wanted to adjust her neckline again.