The Rules in Rome (8 page)

“Do your tags have Adalard’s blood type on them?”

Bastien nodded.

Gracie looked horrified. “But if they think you’re a different blood type, you could die if you need a transfusion.”

“I’ll try to stay healthy. But better death in a hospital than death in a Gestapo prison.”

“Do you think anyone will notice that you’re left-handed when you’re supposed to be right-handed?”

Bastien held both his hands up, palms facing her. The right one had more than double the scar tissue. “My injury caused a change in hand preference. That’s true for both Adalard and the real me.”

“What happened?”

“Adalard was injured outside Leningrad. I don’t know the details of his injury, but if anyone asks, it included burns.”

Gracie nodded. “And in real life?”

Bastien stared at his fingers for a few seconds before hiding them under the table. “It’s probably best you don’t know the real story. I wouldn’t want you to get confused as to which version Adalard’s girlfriend is supposed to know.”

“I think I can keep two stories straight.”

“Yes, because you’ll only know one of them—the one you’re supposed to know.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Bastien glanced around the restaurant and handed Gracie his wine glass. “Will you pour half of that out for me? No one is watching us at the moment.”

The distraction seemed to work. Her face showed less frustration as she returned his glass to him. They spent the rest of the meal talking about the weather and Roman architecture.

It was after curfew when they finished, so he walked her home. Normally, he wouldn’t try to find out where she lived—it was better that he didn’t know in case he was captured. But they were supposed to be dating—or soon would be. People would expect him to know her address, and her neighborhood wasn’t completely crime-free. He’d hate for her to get robbed or otherwise attacked on her way home.

They crossed a busy intersection and walked past a man missing his left leg. Bastien watched him for a few moments. He didn’t mean to stare; he just wondered what the man’s story was. He looked like he could have been in the military: good posture even while using crutches, appropriate age. Bastien pulled his eyes away and held back a shiver.

He thought of a man his father had known from their army days. Bastien had met him a few times when he was younger. The man had lost a hand and an eye in the war and had been largely dependent on others the rest of his life. Bastien remembered accompanying his father to the man’s funeral and the way no one would talk about how he’d died. Only after the service had Bastien’s father explained the heavy toll his friend had faced every day of his life since the injury and that the fatal knife wound was self-inflicted.
We shouldn’t judge him, Bastien
, his father had said.
None of us knows what he was dealing with.
At age twelve, Bastien had tried not to judge, but he’d sensed then that a life-changing injury was the end of a happy life, and what he’d seen since had done little to change his opinion.

Gracie walked into an apartment building, and Bastien followed her up the rickety steps. He could hear someone coming down the stairs when they reached her door, so he kissed her on the cheek. Her skin was soft and warm, and he was tempted to give her a more thorough kiss, but that wasn’t necessary this early in their fictitious relationship. “Good night, Concetta. See you tomorrow.” He slipped her his report, as well as one he’d made from Marcello’s information.

As he returned to the hotel for his motorcycle, he thought it strange that one little kiss could instantly change his mood from brooding and gloomy to almost lighthearted. Had he met Gracie in different circumstances, he might have asked her to supper of his own volition, and he might have been
more open when she’d asked about his past. He glanced at his scarred hands, then shoved them into his pockets.

His good mood was short-lived. The closer he got to German headquarters, the more he wished he wasn’t pretending to be Dietrich.
Think of Lukas
, he told himself. It was enough motivation to see him through his report on the morning’s inspections, and to his relief, there was no sign of the SD officer.

When Gracie awoke Friday morning
, she remembered instantly that she was in Rome, but for the first time since her arrival, that knowledge didn’t fill her with panic. When she sat up in bed, she wasn’t dizzy. Another first.
Amazing what getting enough to eat two days in a row can do.
On Wednesday she’d eaten with Captain Ley at the hotel, and Thursday evening, he’d given her some cheese. A gift of cheese wasn’t the most romantic of gestures, but she didn’t think he was trying to be romantic, just practical, and she
appreciated his gift far more than she would have appreciated flowers. Roses or daisies wouldn’t appease her empty stomach.

She washed and dressed, then waited in line for breakfast—pane nero again. She ate it as she returned to her apartment to pack the pieces of her radio. She’d encoded Ley’s Thursday report the night before, so all she needed to do was find someplace private to contact headquarters. The biggest trick with her job was finding a new location every day, or at least enough of them that the Gestapo couldn’t home in on her signal and begin stalking a frequently used neighborhood. As a further precaution, she tried to keep her batteries charged so she wasn’t dependent on local electricity. More than one radio operator had been caught when the Gestapo had systematically turned off the power, block by block, house by house, until the transmission signal went dead and the Gestapo could guess exactly where it had been sent from.

Another catch was moving the radio to the call-in site without looking suspicious. During training, some of the men had smuggled pieces of their radios under heavy overcoats, but she’d tried imitating them, and it had been obvious she was hiding something. Hauling the set around in the suitcase was possible, but the Gestapo knew about suitcase radios, so she preferred alternate disguises. For today, she hid the transmitter in an oversized purse and the receiver and power pack in a paper sack. She topped the bag with a dress and a few blouses, said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t be intercepted, and was on her way.

When she arrived at one of the empty apartments she’d staked out the day before, it took longer than normal to raise her OSS contact in Caserta. Someone was supposed to be listening for her transmission every morning from ten until noon, but she wasn’t the only agent sending in reports. By the time she established contact and completed her message, she knew she wouldn’t have time to stop for lunch and take the radio back to her apartment before her scheduled meeting with Otavia. She contemplated taking the radio to the meeting, but she didn’t like carrying it around. It was heavy, and getting caught with it would be a death sentence. She sighed as she packed away the pieces. She would have to take it back, skip lunch, and hope her meetings with Otavia and Ley were finished in time for supper.

* * *

The fountains on the Piazza Navona released no water, but Neptune was still surrounded by a shallow pool, liquid that had taken on a green tint as it sat mostly stagnant, disturbed only by rainfall and the occasional insect.

“It’s prettier when the water’s running,” Otavia said. The two of them had the plaza mostly to themselves. No one was close enough to overhear them.

Gracie closed her eyes, remembering. “I’ve seen it before. I always thought a god should be battling a larger octopus. Don’t get me wrong—I wouldn’t want to wrestle with an octopus like that, but if Neptune’s
supposed to be immortal, I think his monster should be larger.”

“And I always thought Zappalà should have used a different model for the Nereids. Someone like you, maybe. But then you’d have to be nearly eighty years old, I suppose.” Otavia giggled. “I’m glad he didn’t use an old
woman as a model for nude statues.”

Gracie joined in with Otavia’s laughter—it was hard not to. Even with the frequent hunger and the unending tension of being a spy behind enemy
lines, Gracie found Otavia’s cheerfulness contagious. “How’s your baby?”

Otavia moved one of her hands to her abdomen. “I felt him—or her—for the first time yesterday. It made it more real. Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m going to be a mother.”

Gracie’s sister had said the same thing before her first son was born, but she’d spoken to their mother, not to Gracie. She tried not to let it bother her, the way her older sisters still treated her like a child. They were, after all, ten and twelve years older than she, in a different stage of life. But Gracie had seen how close Michael’s sisters were despite their age gap, and for a time, they’d included her in their circle. She wished she’d had that friendship with her own sisters.

“You’ll be a good mother; I’m sure of it,” Gracie said. It surprised her how quickly she felt a sisterhood with Otavia, how much she had looked forward to this meeting.

“I hope so. And I hope the Allies get here before my baby’s born. That would be better—to bring the baby into a free world.” Otavia looked around to make sure they were still alone. “If they could just crack through Cassino.”

“Last I heard, that wasn’t going so well.”

Otavia sighed. “That’s what I’ve heard too. But I get depressed talking about it.” Otavia slipped her report to Gracie.

“Did you have any trouble with the new system?” Gracie had given Otavia a silk handkerchief with transposition keys at the end of their last meeting.

“No. It was actually a little faster.” She turned from the fountain. “Have you seen the Fontana del Moro on the other end of the plaza?”

“Not for more than a decade. I’ll have to hurry though. I’m supposed to meet another contact this afternoon.”

“Bored of Otavia the tour guide?”

Gracie laughed. “No. Believe me, I’d rather spend time with you.”

“So this other contact—a man? A woman?”

“A man.”

“Young?” Otavia asked.

“About thirty, I think.”

“Handsome?”

Gracie almost said no, but that wasn’t true. “I suppose he is.” Otavia raised her eyebrows expectantly, and Gracie felt herself blushing. “But he’s also infuriating.”

“How?”

Gracie took her time answering. Vaughn-Harris had called Ley haughty, but she’d yet to see that side of him, if it existed at all. A little prideful, perhaps, especially at the train station, but she thought that was more playacting than pride, and it had been to help her. Gracie almost told Otavia he was rude, but that wasn’t right either. Ley wasn’t impolite, just cold. Yet cold wasn’t a good description either, not when she remembered his lips and their ability to make her knees weak and her head spin. What was it about him that irritated her? He’d been condescending in Switzerland and again the day they’d met in the café, but not since then. “I suppose he’s just a little high-strung.” And she couldn’t really blame him. Who wouldn’t be uptight in Ley’s position—living a lie, knowing he’d be tortured if he was caught? As they reached the fountain, Gracie wondered if maybe she’d been too hard on him.

* * *

When Gracie saw Captain Ley a half hour later, she was determined to show more sympathy. They met at a bridge, and when she approached, he kissed her on the cheek and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. For some reason, it felt natural for his arm to be around her as if they’d been dating for years, and it was easy to smile up at him and pretend she was happy to see him.

He returned her smile, waiting for a few pedestrians to pass. When he finally spoke, his voice was all business. “My report’s in your pocket. When do you plan to send it?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Any chance you could send it tonight? I heard of a few units heading to the front. They’re passing through Rome in a few hours, could be attacking our troops tomorrow. I’d like them to have warning.”

Gracie knew the information was important, but she wasn’t sure how she could get her radio from her apartment, find a safe location, then code and send the information all before curfew. “It would involve being out past curfew.”

“I can come with you, be your security.”

Ley would be a perfect guard. If anyone tried to arrest her, he could say he’d already done so. But there was one other problem. “I don’t know that anyone will be listening—it’s not my normal transmission time.”

“I had one scheduled before Switzerland. I doubt it’s been canceled.”

Gracie nodded.

“We’re closer to my place than yours,” Ley said. “Do you prefer your own radio, or would you like to borrow mine?”

Gracie studied his face, wondering if he was implying anything with his question. But he didn’t seem to be asking if she was so simple that a different radio might thwart her transmission; he sincerely wondered what her preference was. Or was he just trying to get her into his hotel room? She didn’t think it was that either. She believed his promise that he’d keep their relationship professional when no one was watching. “We can use yours.”

They passed barbwire barriers and machine guns as they entered Ley’s hotel, but the German guard either recognized Ley or trusted his uniform. The sentry came to attention and saluted but didn’t ask for identification. Ley acknowledged the salute without slowing his pace. He led Gracie through the lobby and up the stairs to the third floor. As he was unlocking his door, someone from the room across the hall exited into the hallway.
Gracie noticed the double
S
’s on his uniform and stiffened.
Captain Ley lives next to an SS officer?

“Good afternoon, Adalard.”

Ley turned and smiled at his neighbor. “Heinie, how are you?”

Heinie shrugged. “I’m feeling a little more hopeful today.” He pulled a letter from his pocket. “She’s still writing to me.”

“Good. Oh, um, let me introduce you to Signorina Concetta Gallo. She’s the reason I wasn’t at supper on Wednesday and the reason I’ll be
absent tonight as well. Concetta, this is Obersturmführer Heinrich Vogel.”

Heinie inclined his head and shoulders in a polite half bow. “Good to meet you, Fr
ä
ulein, er, Signorina.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Gracie forced a smile as she wondered what sort of work Heinie Vogel was involved in with the SS. Torturing captured
Gappisti? Sending Jews to concentration camps?

“Well, I’ve got to be off. I’m working the next few nights but have to stop by headquarters for a couple hours first. See you around, Adalard, Signorina.” Heinie walked away, and by the time he’d turned the corner, he was whistling.

Ley pushed his door open and motioned Gracie inside. The room was dark, but Ley flipped the light switch on as the door closed. It was a gorgeous room—one Gracie’s mother would approve of. Each piece of furniture was a work of art. To the left of the doorway was a sitting area with a sofa, a carved
sideboard, and two armchairs. To the right of the door was a table with two chairs, and beyond that, a wet bar.

“No windows?” Gracie asked as she admired the painting hung over the table.

“The bedroom has a balcony.” Ley pointed to one of the two doors opposite the suite’s entrance. Now that they were inside, his demeanor changed to cool and professional.

“So what was all that talk about avoiding contact with SS men?” She kept her voice quiet as she spoke, not knowing how thick the walls were.

“Heinie’s Waffen SS, not Allgemeine SS.”

Gracie tried to remember what the difference was.

He seemed to notice her confusion. “The Allgemeine SS is what most people think of when they hear Schutzstaffel—the political police. The Waffen SS is the military branch. Their primary role is that of a soldier, though most of them are also fanatical Nazis. Heinie’s an exception.”

“But Ostheim and Zimmerman aren’t?”

“Most definitely not.” Ley disappeared into his bedroom. While he was gone, she took out her silk handkerchief. She heard shuffling sounds, and he returned with a suitcase.

“Your radio?” She pointed to the brown leather suitcase with a sturdy-looking lock.

“Yes. Do you prefer encoding everything here or at the call-in site?”

Gracie considered the question before answering. “Here, I think. I doubt the Gestapo searches your apartment all that often.”

Ley frowned in answer.

“What?” she asked. “Do they search your apartment?”

“I’m not sure what the Gestapo thinks about me, but I saw another SD officer on our way to Rome, right after your luggage was stolen. I saw the same man Monday and Tuesday. Haven’t seen him since.”

The room wasn’t cold, but Gracie felt a sudden chill, just like she had in Switzerland the first time Ley had mentioned someone from the SD investigating him. “Do you know why?”

“No.” Ley leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “And I’m not sure if he’s really gone or if he’s using someone else to watch me.” He shook his head slightly. “Still want my help at the call-in?”

Gracie hesitated but not for long. “If someone is watching you, he’s probably already seen me.” She tried to shake off the gloom she suddenly felt. “Can I have some paper?”

Ley grabbed a few sheets from the sideboard for her. She skimmed through Ley’s report, written in a mix of English, Italian, and German to make it harder for the enemy to break. She looked at her key, drew a grid, added her security check, and put the letters of the report into their squares.