The Rules in Rome (33 page)

Only two?
It sounded like a crisis to her, but she kept riding because every yard meant they were that much closer to freedom, that much farther from the Via Tasso and the Gestapo.

They were nearing a straight stretch of road, so she pushed the DWK to its maximum speed. The other motorcycles were getting louder, but she couldn’t make hers go any faster. She felt Ley turn behind her and heard his pistol.

“Got one,” he said. “But a personnel vehicle is coming up behind us. Armed men in the passenger and rear seats. Slow down and cut into the field so they’ll have a hard time following us.”

Gracie nodded and shifted down a gear. She felt and heard Ley fire again,
then the road ahead of her seemed to come alive with tiny bursts of dust. Someone was shooting an automatic weapon at them. She forced herself to ignore the bullets as she turned into the field.

The other motorcycle and the personnel carrier were catching up. Ley shot again. Gracie started picking up speed, turned to avoid an olive tree, then skirted around a boulder.

The other motorcycle chased them into the field, and Ley fired until his first pistol was empty, then switched weapons. In her periphery, she saw the other motorcycle draw parallel to them. She opened the throttle completely. As the weeds whipped past her legs, the rider on the other motorcycle raised
his pistol and fired. Ley jerked again, and she heard him groan, but he lifted his arm and shot back. The other driver jerked abruptly and crashed.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Just keep going.” She could barely make out his voice.

Gracie glanced around. The personnel vehicle still followed them in the distance. She kept to the field until their pursuers no longer seemed likely to catch them. “Should we stop and bandage you?”

“No. Head for Mount Artemisio. The Caesar Line seemed thin there last time I saw the map.”

The moon sank toward the
horizon on Gracie’s right. In the distance, the countryside moved past slowly, but when she looked down, she was reminded of how fast she was going and how badly it would hurt to fall. They weren’t even wearing helmets.
Falling would be the easiest thing we’ve done today.
Gracie would never again take for granted the ability to breathe without her throat hurting, and she wasn’t sure how many bullets were in Ley’s body.

She drove back onto the road and headed for the Alban Hills. They passed a few farms, then came over a gentle rise, and Gracie felt her heart stop. At least three dozen German infantrymen were below, and there was no way they hadn’t heard the DKW.

“It’s all right,” Ley said. “I’m still in German uniform. Follow the road to the right. That will take us away from the main group. I’ll say I’m a courier and we ran into some Gappisti.”

“A hauptmann for a courier?” Gracie didn’t know if it would work, but it sounded better than riding through the middle of a German platoon. Maybe they wouldn’t notice Ley’s rank or the blood in the dark.

A soldier at the checkpoint held up his hand.

“Do I stop?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The soldier approached Ley and saluted. Gracie couldn’t understand most
of their conversation, but the man seemed adamant that they weren’t to go past him.

“He said if we keep going, we’ll end up in a combat zone,” Ley explained in quiet Italian.

The soldier insisted they turn around.

“What should I do?” Gracie studied the nearby men, all foot soldiers with light arms and no mechanized support. The men looked as if they’d been in hard battle—they were dirty and unshaven and weren’t paying much attention to the checkpoint.

“We need your fastest start yet,” Ley whispered.

Gracie put the motorcycle in first gear, then jammed the throttle open as she let out the clutch. Ley’s arms tightened around her waist as the motorcycle jerked forward, and he kept holding her as she moved quickly into second, then third gear. The soldier shouted at them, and she heard rifles firing, but she knew they’d be hard to hit, especially as she switched to fourth gear.

Ley kissed the back of her neck. “You’re wonderful, Gracie.”

She smiled and sent a prayer of gratitude heavenward. Maybe they were going to make it after all.

She had to slow her speed as the road became less defined, then slow it further as the terrain steepened into hills. Ley wasn’t guiding her through the shifts and turns anymore, but she could handle it now. He moved behind her, and she almost lost her balance. “You’re tilting to the left,” she said.

She felt him straighten. “Sorry.” He was leaning on her, so she felt the vibration in his chest more than she heard his voice.

“Are you all right back there?”

“Mmm.”

“Should I stop?”

“No.”

They passed the outskirts of a village, and Gracie drove into the vineyards. Ley’s uniform was so dirty and bloody she doubted anyone would recognize it, especially in the dark, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She thought it best to avoid both Fascists and Italian Resistance.

Ley shifted again, this time to the right.

“You’re leaning again.”

He didn’t answer, and a few yards later, he fell off completely. Gracie couldn’t counterbalance his weight, and the motorcycle tipped, stalled, and slid out from underneath her. She banged her head and scraped her legs, but it only took her a second to untangle herself from the grapevines and crawl back to Ley.

“Captain Ley?”

He didn’t answer. She found a pulse and checked his tourniquet, but the blood on his legs didn’t seem any worse than it had been in Rome. Then she
turned him over and saw the holes in each shoulder.
One from Möller; one from the other motorcycle.

Ley groaned softly. She ripped the bottom of her already-torn skirt and wrapped the fabric around his injuries, but she knew he needed better care immediately. When she’d bandaged him, she turned him to his back and looked into his face again. “Captain Ley?”

His eyes opened, and he stared at her for a long moment. “Addio, Gracie.”

Gracie’s breathing grew ragged.
Addio
wasn’t the normal Italian good-bye. People usually said
ciao
or
arrivederci
. They only said
addio
when they were saying good-bye for a long time or giving their permanent farewell. “No! Don’t say good-bye yet!” She put a hand on each side of his face. “I want you to fight for your life. I don’t care how much blood you’re losing or how many people are waiting for you in heaven—it’s not your time yet.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “Don’t you dare give up and leave me here without you.”

His lips parted, his words mere whispers. “Gracie, I . . .” Then his eyes squeezed shut, and his face twisted in a grimace of pain.

“Stay with me; please stay with me.”

“I’m trying.” And he was. She could tell by the way he focused on her eyes, but each time he blinked, it took a little longer for him to open his eyes again, until eventually, they wouldn’t open anymore.

“Captain Ley?”

He didn’t respond.

Gracie felt the same overwhelming, paralyzing horror and grief that she’d felt when her father didn’t recognize her, when she’d heard Michael was dead, when she’d found Otavia’s body, and when she’d killed the Italian police officer. It consumed her, and all she wanted to do was throw herself on Ley’s chest and sob until someone from the SS found her and put her out of her misery.

Her mind was waging a war.
He’s not dead. He’s just unconscious.

But he’s dying.

Find someone to help you!

It’s too late. No one can save him now. Those you love are always taken from you, and he’ll be no exception.

No!
Gracie stumbled to her feet. She wasn’t going to give up, not yet, not this time. She couldn’t get him back on the motorcycle by herself, but she could go to the village they’d just passed. Surely someone would be able to help. She couldn’t do anything more for Ley’s wounds on her own, so she slid the motorcycle away from the grapevines, pushed it upright, and climbed on. It started for her despite the crash. She looked back at Ley’s outline and said a quick prayer for him before heading toward the road. When she reached it, she heard several shots, then a voice telling her to halt.

Gracie stopped the motorcycle. Even a German patrol might have a medic or at least a first-aid kit. Ley was still in his uniform. Maybe they could keep the ruse going long enough to get him stabilized.

Someone shone a flashlight in her face. “Who’re you?”

Gracie squinted past the light. It took her a few seconds to realize the man had spoken in English. “You’re Americans?”

“Yeah.”

Gracie sobbed with relief. “One of your officers is injured over in the field. You have to help him.”

“Medic!” someone called. Gracie climbed off the motorcycle, so exhausted she could barely get the kickstand down.

“Where’d ya get that?” one man asked, helping her with the kickstand.

“It’s a long story.”

“You speak pretty good English.” The soldier had a Southern accent and
seemed to be their leader. “I hope that means you ain’t a Fascist about to lead us into an ambush.”

“No, I’m American. And Captain Ley needs your help. Please!” Gracie’s plea was cut off by a coughing fit.

Another soldier joined the group of five she’d run into. He had a Red Cross brassard around his bicep and a stretcher under his arm. “Who’s wounded?” He glanced around.

“He’s in the vineyard.” Gracie took a step toward the grapevines, hoping
the medic would follow. “He’s been shot four times. Both shoulders and his leg.”

“Can you spare a man to help?” the medic asked the patrol leader.

“Brown, grab the other end of that stretcher and come with me.”

Gracie led the medic, the patrol leader, and Brown back to Ley’s body. She found him just as she’d left him, unconscious between the grapevines.

The medic bent down and checked his vital signs. “He’s alive.”

Gracie sighed with relief and blinked back a few sudden tears, hoping Ley would stay alive now that the medic was here to help.

Brown shone the flashlight on Ley’s shoulders as the medic examined him. “That looks like a Kraut uniform to me, Sarge,” he said.

“He is wearing a German uniform,” Gracie said. “But he’s American. We’ve been in Rome on assignment for OSS.”

“What’s OSS?” Brown asked.

“I’ve heard of it,” the sergeant drawled. “But how do we know that’s who you’ve really been working with?”

Gracie panicked. They’d come all this way, and now they might get shot by their own side? “I promise. Just don’t let him die,” she sobbed. “If I’m lying, you can shoot us both in the hospital.”

The sergeant chuckled. “We don’t shoot people in hospitals, ma’am. But I’ll have to take those Lugers as a precaution.” He took the pistols and held
them in the light. “Been looking for a Luger since Salerno. Brown, help with the stretcher.”

Gracie followed behind the litter, watching Ley’s head bounce from side
to side as the medic and Brown walked over the uneven ground. When they got to the road, the sergeant led his patrol forward, leaving Brown and the medic to take Ley farther back. Gracie stayed with them, but soon she began stumbling. Even though she wasn’t carrying anything, she had trouble keeping up. Her head ached, her throat burned, and she was terrified that Ley would die.

Put one foot in front of the other
, she told herself. She wasn’t sure how long they walked along the narrow mountain trail before they finally reached a flat road and a waiting American jeep. Brown and the medic loaded the stretcher on the hood, and the medic changed places with the driver. Gracie climbed in, and the medic turned the jeep around and drove to the nearest aid station. Gracie studied the sky until she found the north star. They were headed south.

As the medic drove, he gave Gracie a curious look. “You really a spy?”

“I was.” It still hurt to breathe, and the stench of smoke had followed Gracie all the way from Rome. She worried that Ley could feel each jerk as the jeep drove over the rough road. She fought to stay awake until the medic parked outside a group of tents.

Two orderlies came and unloaded Ley, and Gracie scrambled to keep up with them.

“Surgery room’s empty. Let’s take him straight there,” one of the orderlies said.

“You’ll have to wait outside,” the medic told Gracie.

She nodded, even though she would have preferred to stay by Ley’s side. Then she remembered something. “He’s not wearing his own dog tags. He’s blood type A.”

The medic raised an eyebrow
.
“That’s a funny thing to know about someone.”

“We worked together for a long time.” Maybe fifteen weeks wasn’t so long, but after all they’d been through together, she didn’t know what she’d do without him.
Please let him be okay
, she prayed.

Ley disappeared with the orderlies, her last glimpse of him revealing a motionless face covered in dirt and blood. “Will he be all right?” she whispered.

The medic considered her question. “I’d give him a one-in-three chance.”

Gracie squeezed her eyes shut. A one-in-three chance wasn’t as high as she’d have liked, but it was something.

“Do you want me to clean that cut for you?” the medic asked.

Gracie put her hand to the gash in her cheek. She’d forgotten all about it. Then she felt in her pocket for Ley’s report. “After I find someone to give these papers to.”