The Rules in Rome (4 page)

Ley leaned forward. “Miss Begni, I am reluctant to bring you with me because despite your talk of assets, you still seem more of a liability. You may be able to operate a radio, but I’ve yet to see evidence that you can act. If you’re arrested as a spy and I’m associated with you, I’ll have a very
difficult time not joining you in front of the firing squad.”

“I can act. And I’ll stop playing with my dress since that has you so worried.”

Ley huffed. “Fiddling with that dress is the least of your problems. Everything about you screams wholesome religious American. Have you even been kissed before?”

Gracie ran her left thumb along the inside of her ring finger. There wasn’t a ring there, not anymore. “Yes, I’ve been kissed before, Captain Ley. But I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Ley stood and walked over to her, holding a hand out. She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Let me guess. Something like this?”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers for a few brief moments.

When he pulled away, she could still feel the imprint of his mouth. Surprised but remembering his question, she nodded. Ley’s kiss had been a lot like Michael’s: soft, sweet, and affectionate.

“In Italy, if you’re pretending to be my girlfriend, I’ll be kissing you often but not like that. Like this.”

He slipped one hand to the back of her neck, the other to her waist, and pulled her close for another kiss. She was startled at first but soon realized she didn’t want to resist. His lips were insistent and inviting, making her heart race. She was glad when Ley’s hand moved from her waist to the center of her back, because her legs were starting to feel unstable. She wanted to fall into him, into his kiss. The way he maneuvered his mouth over hers was making her lose all sense of place and time, and she found herself wishing he’d never stop. When he began to pull away, she wanted to lean her head on his chest and catch her breath, but then she remembered she’d just met Ley and wasn’t even sure she liked him.

She took a step back, staring at him, wondering what had just happened.

“You see, that won’t do at all,” Ley said. “The Gestapo will be all over you. You’re acting like you’ve never been kissed before.”

Gracie sat on the sofa, her eyes still fixed on Ley. She hadn’t ever been kissed like that.

“I thought it was convincing,” Ambrose said. “You have your orders, Captain Ley. As long as Agent Begni is willing to go, you are required to take her.”

Bastien paced the floor of
his room in the cabin. It was over Captain Vaughn-Harris’s, so he didn’t bother avoiding the squeaky board in the center as he analyzed the day’s events.

He wished he had thought up an excuse to postpone the meeting and stay in Italy.
I could refuse to go back.
There had been that SD man tailing him—sufficient reason to assume his cover was shaky. Two and a half months was a good enough run, wasn’t it?

Bastien thought of his little brother. Lukas would finish high school in a few months, and after graduation, he wanted to join the Air Corps and become a pilot. More than anything, Bastien wanted the war to end before Lukas finished his training, and there were few ways Bastien could contribute more usefully to the war effort than by going back to his life as Hauptmann Dietrich. Bastien was just one man, and he had no illusions that his work would dramatically turn the course of the war, but the military intelligence he gathered and the tips he passed to the partisans were significant. He was more effective and influential as Hauptmann Dietrich than he could ever be as Captain Ley. Bastien had said countless prayers pleading for a way to help his brother. He couldn’t very well walk away now that God had given him this chance.

He didn’t want to take Miss Begni with him. He trusted Ambrose’s assessment of her intellect and radio skills. He’d tested her Italian that evening,
and she sounded like a native, but even if she managed to play a convincing
Italian civilian—in love with him, of all people—he still didn’t want her.

In his high-stakes world, Bastien had to be ruthless. If Marcello or Roberto or Giovanni were ever arrested and there was no realistic chance of helping them, Bastien wouldn’t hesitate to act the part of a Nazi soldier in their execution. And he knew Marcello would do the same—both would maintain their cover or their freedom at any cost, even if it meant turning on a friend who could no longer be saved.

Bastien didn’t want to take a woman into that world. There were female partisans, of course, but that was different. Their country had been taken over by Fascists—first by Mussolini, then by Hitler. Bastien suspected Miss Begni didn’t have a clue what she was volunteering for or what sacrifices she’d be forced to make as she lived a lie.
Why is she so insistent on coming?
He tried to shrug off the other thing that was bothering him: the way Miss Begni reminded him of Julie.

Your first chance in four months to sleep without worrying about the Gestapo, and you’re worrying about women instead?
Bastien sighed and walked to the bed. When he pulled back the covers, he realized there was only one thin blanket. Logs were piled in the fireplace and matches lay on the mantel, but a roaring fire wouldn’t help him sleep.

He quietly opened his bedroom door. The other men had been sitting in the main room when Bastien excused himself a few hours ago, but the room was empty now. Ambrose and Vaughn-Harris had the two larger bedrooms on the main level, and Bastien had been assigned the middle of the three rooms in the loft. He assumed Miss Begni was in the far room, with the guards sharing the room at the top of the stairs. Perhaps the guards had spare blankets.

Bastien knocked softly on the door, expecting one of the off-duty men to answer. He waited for perhaps half a minute, and then the door opened, revealing Miss Begni wrapped in a robe, with her black hair falling loose across her shoulders.

He took a step back. “I’m sorry. I thought you were in another room.”

“If you’re looking for Captain Vaughn-Harris, his room is down there.” She waved her hand toward the stairs.

“Why would I be looking for him?”

She folded her arms and shrugged. “I thought you might want to finish your argument in private. It was fairly obvious the two of you wanted to
take a few swings at each other this afternoon. What happened between you two?”

Bastien ignored her question. “I think it would show poor sportsmanship on my part if I were to slug an inebriated man half a head shorter than me. I was actually planning to ask the guards if they had any spare
blankets. Sorry to disturb you, Miss Begni.”

“I have extra blankets.” She left the door open and walked back into her room. She pulled several blankets from a wooden chest pushed beneath the window and brought them to him.

“Thank you for the blankets, Miss Begni.”

“Most people call me Gracie.”

“Gracie, then.”

She seemed to be waiting for something. “What’s your given name, Captain Ley?” she finally asked.

“In Italy, I’ll be Hauptmann Dietrich. I suppose we’ll soon pretend we’re on good enough terms that you’ll usually call me Adalard.”

“But what’s your real name?”

Bastien tucked the blankets under his arm. “If you don’t know my real name, you won’t accidentally use it in the field.”

She scowled at him and placed a hand on her hip.

Bastien remembered Ambrose’s instructions. As long as Gracie was willing to go, he had to take her. But what if he could convince her to withdraw? “You’ve never been in the field?”

“No,” she said. “But I’ve had all the training.”

“Training is different. How will your conscience react to lying all the time?”

“That’s part of being a spy. I’m prepared for it.”

“Oh? And what if you have to kill someone?”

She hesitated. “I’ve read enough about what the Nazis are doing to consider it justified, if it’s required during the course of our mission.”

Bastien stepped toward her, deliberately trying to intimidate her. “And have you heard what the Gestapo will do if they catch you?”

She looked away, and he thought he saw a hint of fear in her downcast eyes and tensed shoulders. “One of the instructors went over their likely techniques, yes.”

He leaned in even closer. He was so near that if she moved her hands like she normally did while she spoke, she’d bump into him. “The reality is much worse than anything they talk about in the classroom. The stuff of nightmares, Miss Begni. Go back to Utah.”

She stiffened, glaring up at him. “If you’re trying to scare me, it won’t work. I’m coming with you, even if you don’t want my help. Good night, Captain Ley.” She closed the door firmly in his face.

Bastien returned to his own room and spread the blankets on his bed. The night’s attempt to convince Gracie to stay behind may have failed, but he had another day to change her mind. He still wasn’t sure why she wanted to go to Italy, but he’d learned enough. She was nervous about the possibility of killing someone and was worried about the Gestapo’s interrogation techniques. He had until the next evening to play on her fears.

Gracie slammed a new clip
into the P 38 pistol, pinching a bit of skin in the process. She shook her fingers, trying to fling the pain away. Captain
Ley reached for her hand and examined it, then turned it over and studied her fingernails.

“You know, sometimes Gestapo guards like to rip out a prisoner’s
fingernails during interrogation.” Ley released her hand. “It hasn’t happened
to me yet, but I hear it’s quite painful.”

“I’m sure it is.” Gracie took the pistol in her right hand and aimed for the bull’s-eye on the target strapped to a tree. They’d been at their makeshift firing range for an hour. Ley had insisted she dismantle, reassemble, load, and fire half a dozen rifles, machine pistols, and light machine guns. He scrutinized each move she made as if hoping she’d mess up. She hadn’t
hit the center of the target on each shot, but she was close enough that he hadn’t yet criticized her marksmanship.

“The Lord gave you two hands and two eyes, Miss Begni. Use all of them to aim your pistol.”

Gracie gripped the pistol with both hands and fired a few shots at the target.

“Of course,” Ley continued, “the Gestapo has been known to blind its prisoners.” He brushed a finger across her cheek, under her eye. “How would you like to go through the rest of your life blind, Gracie? Or should I start calling you Concetta?”

Gracie smacked his hand away. She didn’t like her new alias, and she didn’t like the confusion his fingers and lips both seemed to stir up whenever they came in contact with her skin. “I know what you’re trying to do, Captain Ley, and it won’t work. I have a healthy fear of the Gestapo—I’d
be a fool not to. But despite that fear, I’m going to Italy. If you’d rather stay behind, so be it. You aren’t the only agent in Rome who needs me.”

“And when the Gestapo beats you until your bones are broken and your blood is staining the floor, what then?”

Gracie swallowed back a shudder. “They’ll have to catch me first, won’t they?”

“I think I heard somewhere that the average radio operator lasts six weeks. Some last only days.”

“Well, if the average is six weeks and some last less, some must last longer.” Surely with her thorough training and natural abilities, she had a better-than-normal chance of surviving until the Allies reached Rome.

Ley chuckled. “Don’t assume you’ll be the one to go beyond the average.”

“Are we finished here?” Gracie gestured toward the weapons. “I passed all my OSS firearms training. Have I passed your tests as well?”

Ley picked up the P 38 and smoothly reloaded the clip. “We’re done shooting, yes. But I want to make sure you’re aware of all the risks involved in this assignment. The Third Reich is heavily dependent on slavery. Some of the slaves are petty criminals; others are political dissidents or members of the wrong race. But the Nazis aren’t picky. When they need workers, I’ve seen them round up ordinary civilians. They ship the men off to dig trenches or work in a factory and force the women to cook or wash laundry—or work in a brothel. I know a little of your background, Gracie, and I want you to be fully aware of the possibilities. Even without anyone suspecting you, the Nazis might pick you up. And they wouldn’t send you to work in
the kitchen or the laundry. Nor is the Gestapo above raping their female prisoners. Do you fully understand what could happen to you in Italy?”

Gracie knew the Gestapo could be positively fiendish, but she chose not to dwell on the worst that could happen. She planned to be careful, and if things took a wrong turn, she was just as likely to be killed as captured. Listening to Ley, she thought being killed might be preferable. “I’ll expect the worst from the Gestapo should things end badly. In the meantime, I
want your word that you won’t take advantage of our cover story.”

“Take advantage of our cover story?”

“I understand the need to pretend we’re in a relationship, but I don’t want it to go beyond the necessary show of affection.” Gracie had been nervous when Ley had knocked on her door the night before, then was relieved that he only wanted blankets.

“Miss Begni, I promise I will never kiss you unless there’s a high probability of someone seeing us. Nor will I expect us to have joint sleeping arrangements.”

Gracie was relieved but surprised that he’d given his consent so easily. She couldn’t get his kiss from the day before out of her head. Hadn’t he enjoyed it? Or was she so inexperienced that he’d found their moment bland?

She turned to go back to the cabin. As she walked away, she heard Ley emptying the P 38’s clip. She glanced at the target on the tree a few yards beyond the one she’d been aiming at. Each of his shots had hit the bull’s-eye.

Show-off.

Captain Vaughn-Harris was watching from the window when she returned. He nodded a greeting. “Did you run out of ammunition?”

“No, but we’re finished.”

Vaughn-Harris smirked. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

Something else? Yeah: arrogant, irritating, and confusing.
Gracie wasn’t going to gossip about her new partner with someone who obviously didn’t like him, but she wasn’t above asking a few leading questions. “Have you known each other long?”

Another burst of small arms fire sounded. Gracie wondered if Ley had hit the bull’s-eye again.

“Since our initial OSS training,” Vaughn-Harris said.

“Why don’t you two get along?”

“He’s not the most likeable person. Rude, haughty, thinks he’s better than everyone else. On a more personal note, we were both engaged to marry the same woman—my wife now. He’s a sore loser.”

Colonel Ambrose stepped into the cabin’s common room. “I seem to remember you two having troubles long before Annie.”

Vaughn-Harris flushed slightly.

“It’s almost time to leave,” Ambrose said.

Vaughn-Harris nodded and went to his room.

The colonel turned to Gracie. “Just remember there are two sides to every story, Graziella. I suppose it’s time for you to gather your things.”

“Yes, sir.” Gracie walked to the stairs but lingered on the second step. “Why is Captain Vaughn-Harris here?” Ambrose was giving the orders, Ley and Gracie were receiving them, and Vaughn-Harris seemed like an unnecessary complication.

Ambrose smiled. “Two reasons. I need someone with luxurious taste to find me the best available liquor. And Captain Ley’s assignment is difficult. No one could blame him for not returning to what, in all likelihood, will end in an unpleasant death. But I want his information, and I didn’t think he’d back down in front of Vaughn-Harris.” The colonel winked at her. He seemed to have a knack for reading people, and Gracie wondered how well he understood her. Did he accept her stated desire to serve her new country? Gracie sincerely wanted to help the war effort, but she was also running away—away from her mother’s expectations, away from the twin tragedies that had shattered her hope and security. Did Ambrose know?

She went upstairs and finished packing, then stared out the window, wondering if she was making a mistake. A knock sounded on her door, and when she opened it, Captain Ley stood in the hallway.

“Are you ready, Miss Begni?”

“Yes,” she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray how nervous she was.

Ley’s blue eyes locked with hers. “Miss Begni, you’re a very intelligent woman. Your Italian is excellent, your marksmanship competent, and your radio skills no doubt outstanding. Will you please reconsider risking your lovely neck?”

Gracie shrugged off his compliments, certain they’d been given in an attempt to manipulate her. “I’m not going to back out, Captain.”

“Why not? Because you’re stubborn? Concern over what others think is a poor reason to sneak behind enemy lines. If you refuse, the only people who might think less of you are Ambrose and Vaughn-Harris, and their opinions aren’t worth dying for.”

Gracie felt her temper flaring. “I’m not doing this to gain their approval.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to help end the war.”

Ley crossed his arms. “You could help end the war in a different capacity. Rome isn’t the only place you can serve.”

“I won’t be withdrawing from this assignment, Captain Ley.”

“I wish you would, Miss Begni,” he whispered.

Gracie put a hand on her hip. “Most of us don’t always get what we want.”

Ley sighed. “No, we most certainly don’t.” He looked beyond her to the suitcases on her bed. “Are your things ready?”

“Yes.”

Ley stepped past her to her luggage. At first she was impressed, thinking
he would carry her things downstairs for her.

“Is this the radio?” He pointed to the smaller of the two suitcases.

She nodded, and he proceeded to open and check everything inside.

Ley ran his fingers over the transmitter, receiver, and power source. “An SSTR-1?”

“Yes.”

“Have you used it before?”

Gracie forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Of course.”

“No modifications?”

“No.” It was a standard Strategic Services Transmitter Receiver Number 1.

“Good. We can share spare parts, if necessary.” Ley closed the suitcase containing the radio and reached for the second piece of luggage. “These are your personal things?”

Gracie nodded again.

Ley opened her suitcase, found the secret compartment, and checked her two handguns and the transposition keys printed on silk handkerchiefs.

“You encode with double transposition?” he asked.

“Yes.” Messages encrypted with double transposition were like word scrambles but with several hundred characters. They were hard to break without the key, especially if the encoder used a different key for each message.

“And I suppose you have some type of security check?”

“Yes, but in training, we were told not to share it.”

Ley replaced her weapons and her handkerchiefs. “I’m not asking you to share it with me. I just want to make sure you remember it.”

Gracie bit her tongue to keep from speaking out loud.
Of course I remember my security check
. Before scrambling the letters of her report, she was to add dummy letters in the third, fourteenth, fifteenth, ninety-second, and, if the message was long enough, six hundred fifty-third slots. The positions were based on the value of π so they’d be easy for her to remember.
If forced to transmit under duress, she could remove the extra letters and anyone reading her transmission would know it couldn’t be trusted.

Ley closed the secret compartment in her suitcase and, to Gracie’s horror,
started going through her clothing. He unfolded most of the items, then refolded them and set them on the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making sure nothing inside will attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Gracie glared at him, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. “OSS carefully selected each of those items.”

Ley grunted but didn’t stop his inspection.

Gracie crossed her arms, her anger rising each time he lifted out another piece of her clothing. “I think that’s enough,” she said when her luggage was nearly emptied. Her underclothing was at the bottom of the suitcase, and she didn’t want him handling it.

He didn’t stop. When he reached her underwear, he examined it just as he’d examined all her blouses, skirts, and dresses. “OSS approved this? It looks awfully new.”

Gracie’s face felt hot, and she thought it was probably red too. “No one will inspect my underwear while we’re in Rome.”

“We can hope such an intimate inspection will never occur, but there’s no guarantee. Miss Begni, you can’t let yourself slip up on even the smallest detail when you’re pretending to be someone you aren’t. I assume OSS gave you more appropriate underclothing. Where is it?”

Gracie stomped over to the chest of drawers and opened the top one. The underwear was inside, old, discolored, and obviously used. The thought of putting it on made her skin crawl.

“Pack it.”

Gracie folded her arms. “No one will check my underwear, and if they do, I’ll tell them my German boyfriend pulled a few strings and got newer items for me.”

“I won’t be your boyfriend for a few days at least. And just because I’m an officer doesn’t mean I can pull off miracles.”

“You’re being ridiculous. And rude. And improper. You shouldn’t be looking through my things in the first place.” Gracie shut the drawer with a firm thud.

Ley grabbed her almost-new underwear, walked over to the fireplace, and threw the panties into the fire.

Gracie’s jaw dropped. “How dare you!”

“If you want to come to Rome, Miss Begni, you will have to deal with every aspect of espionage, even the unpleasant ones.”

Gracie shook her head. She couldn’t believe he’d burned her underwear. Didn’t he know how hard it was to get new clothing? He probably did but didn’t care. If she hadn’t known how badly he wanted her to quit, she would have considered it. Someone as rude as him was the last person she wanted to work with.