The Rules in Rome (9 page)

“So what does Heinie do with the SS?” Gracie looked at her second transposition key and made another grid.

“He’s an engineer. Like Adalard, only Heinie supervises the actual building process. Adalard mostly inspects the finished product. And Heinie works on SS projects, not army projects.”

“I guess I expected him to be a guard at a concentration camp or something.”

“That’s generally the Totenkopfverbände SS, not the Waffen SS, although that line can get a little blurry,” he said.

“Does he usually work nights?”

“Yes. So do I, sometimes. Good thing, otherwise I’d be at an office until curfew most days.”

“Are you qualified as an engineer, or do you just bluff your way through?”

Ley shrugged. “I picked up a few things during my first enlistment, and I was studying to be an architect. So far, it’s been enough.”

Gracie nodded and began filling in her second grid with the letters from the first grid, scrambling them in an orderly, managed method.

“I’ll go see if I can figure out dining arrangements,” Ley said. “If anyone knocks, don’t answer. Take your papers and lock yourself in the bathroom.”

Gracie worked diligently while he was gone but hadn’t finished checking
her message when she heard someone in the hallway. Not sure who it was, she grabbed her papers and shoved them under a blank sheet.

“It’s me.” Gracie recognized Ley’s voice as he opened the door.

She spread her papers back out and started working again.

“Can you eat and work at the same time, or do you prefer not to?”

The scent of fresh bread drifted toward her from the basket he held. “I should concentrate on this first,” she said even though she was ravenous. With effort, she turned her focus from the food to the report. She glanced up long enough to see Ley take a bottle of liquor from the basket and put it on the wet bar, unopened. As she checked her work, he removed all the food from the basket and packed the pieces of his radio into the bottom before replacing whatever smelled so good.

When Ley’s report was encrypted, she cut the bottom line of keys from her handkerchief and held it up with her scratch papers. “Will you burn these for me?”

Ley went into his bedroom and returned with a matchbook, which he handed to her. “You can burn them in the bathroom. I’ll put the suitcase away just in case the Gestapo really does search my rooms.”

“If they did, would they find your radio?”

“If they looked hard enough.”

Gracie took the papers and
strip of silk into the bathroom and lit them on fire, holding them until the flames were within an inch of her fingers before dropping them into the toilet. The bathroom was tidy—cleaner that she’d expect from a bachelor.

He was ready when she returned. “Where to, Concetta?”

That was the constant question. “I’m not sure.” She needed to spend more time scouting locations because she was running out of options. But her days were already filled with waiting in line for food or water, meeting contacts, and transmitting their reports.

“I have a few ideas.” He motioned toward the door, and she led the way, holding the basket for him while he locked the door. Once in the hallway, he was all smiles again.

“These things are heavy,” she said when he took the basket from her, balancing it on one arm so his other arm was free to rest on her shoulders.

“That’s why I plan to borrow a car.”

He led her to a back door rather than through the lobby again. The lot they entered contained several rows of cars and motorcycles. Ley made arrangements with a guard stationed by the vehicles, but the two of them spoke such rapid German that Gracie couldn’t understand the details.

Ley finished with the guard and put his hand on Gracie’s back, gently guiding her to a VW Kübelwagen and opening the passenger door for her. He put the basket behind the seat and walked around the car to climb in next to her. “Feel free to eat on the way.”

Gracie decided to take him up on the offer, even if it was more polite to wait. The bread smelled too good. “How did you get this?”

Ley backed the car up and drove around the hotel’s perimeter before
answering. “I know the lady in charge of the kitchen. Around Christmastime,
I caught her selling food from the mess to civilians. At the very least, she should have lost her job for it, probably worse, but I didn’t report it. I just
told her not to let it happen again.”

“Did she stop?”

“As far as I know. Today I slipped her more than her normal weekly salary and told her I wanted to take a woman on a picnic. And I suppose my regular compliments about her cooking helped a little too.”

“I doubt they hurt.” Gracie reached back and pulled out the loaf of bread. “My dad always loved whatever I fixed, and it made me want to cook for him more often.” She’d made his favorite, spice cake, at least twice a month until wartime rationing hit.

Gracie ripped off pieces of bread and cheese as they drove past the buildings that bordered the Vatican. The bread was light and chewy, the cheese rich and smooth, and the view spectacular.
Maybe I should visit Rome again, when it’s not occupied
.

Ley didn’t speak as he drove, but the silence wasn’t awkward. He pulled to a stop in a shadowy alley, grabbed the basket, then helped her from the car. She followed him through a dusty doorway, up five flights of stairs, and up a ladder into a warm attic. She was grateful she wasn’t the one carrying the basket with all the radio equipment in the bottom. Ley kept the food off the floor’s filth by setting it on a clean cloth packed in the basket, then
got the pieces of the radio out for her and set them on a rickety table. One of the legs was broken at the end, so the surface wobbled.

“The floor would be better if the table’s going to move with every keystroke,” she said.

Ley sorted through piles of rubbish until he found a handful of wood scraps. He tried several combinations under the short leg of the table until the surface was solid.

“Thank you,” Gracie said.

He dusted off his uniform and smiled. “Whatever it takes to get the information to the right people while it’s still useful.”

Gracie had charged the power source with one of the small six-volt batteries she’d brought with her from Switzerland, so she had almost two hours of operating time, longer than she’d need, even with Captain Ley’s detailed report. She took out the antenna, connected it to the set, then strung the flexible wire around the room, looping it over the rafters for a better signal. Next, she plugged the transmitter into the power supply and the receiver into the transmitter. After checking the antennae again, she pushed the metal switch to transmit.

She looked up. Ley was watching her every move, and she suddenly felt nervous, even though she was normally confident when it came to codes and radios.

“I’m just watching how an expert does it,” Ley said, seeming to sense her discomfort. “I have no intention of questioning Colonel Ambrose’s assessment of your abilities.”

Gracie went to work again and tried to ignore his gaze. She set the receiver dial to the correct frequency, turned on the power, and put on her headphones. Then she plugged the radio crystal into the transmitter and tested the tuning to make sure the signal was properly set. The indicating bulb was supposed to light up with each keystroke she made, but she had to be wary of setting it too brightly, or it wouldn’t dim enough to show a
weakening signal. Ley’s SSTR-1 wasn’t as sensitive as hers, so it took longer than normal to get it right.

“I’ll go make sure the Gappisti aren’t planting a bomb in our car.” Ley’s voice was quiet through the headphones, but she nodded as he disappeared down the ladder.

She sent her call sign, Gladius, with a request for acknowledgment, and switched to receiving mode, waiting for someone to answer. She’d thought her call sign appropriate when it was assigned to her—named after a Roman sword. It fit with Captain Ley’s code name, Centurion, an ancient Roman officer. When she had information from Angelo, it was from Pugio, a Roman dagger, and if it was from Otavia, Signiferi, a Roman standard-bearer. If she was sending a report from one of Ley’s other contacts, it was
from the Scutum network, named after a Roman shield.

When the reply came, it was weak. She had to strain to make out each dot and dash, but she assumed they’d be able to hear her report. Their receivers were much larger than hers. She switched back to transmit and got to work on the reports, first Ley’s and then Otavia’s. There was something about the rhythmic long and short bursts that she found strangely satisfying.
And though Gracie was often self-conscious about her birthmark and her hips, she knew her fingers worked as well as anyone’s.

Ley returned partway through the transmission. Gracie paused for an instant, but his face was calm, so she continued transmitting, and he disappeared again, coming back as she finished hiding the radio in the bottom of the basket.

“Done already?”

“Yes. Where did you go?” she asked as she lifted her hair off her neck. The air in the attic was stale and humid.

“I was checking doorways, seeing if anyone looked suspicious. It’s unlikely the Gestapo could track you down from one transmission, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful, especially with what I thought was a long report.” Ley put the food on top of the equipment again.

“You don’t want to stay for supper?”

“I think it’s best to leave as soon as possible.”

Gracie nodded. Ley was right, but she was still a little hungry. The food she’d eaten on the drive over had cut the edge off her appetite but hadn’t banished it.

Ley carried the basket again as they made their way down the ladder and staircases and into the alley. As they reached the Kübelwagen, two men left the building across the alley. They looked menacing, with hats pulled low
over their foreheads and solemn expressions on their faces. When she saw the men raise pistols and point them at Ley, she screamed.

“Get down!” Ley dropped the basket and pushed Gracie to the ground, where the car shielded her from the gunmen. He crouched behind the Kübelwagen’s hood with his Luger out, firing at the men across the alley.

Gracie pressed her hands over her mouth to keep from shrieking as gunshot after gunshot sounded. She wasn’t armed, so she couldn’t do anything other than huddle there while Ley fought the men off. Bullets hit the cobblestones and the Kübelwagen, but Ley held his ground despite being outnumbered.

She remembered how accurate his shots had been in Switzerland, so she was surprised when she heard the would-be assassins running away. She risked a glance and verified her suspicion. Ley had missed. The men didn’t even look wounded.

Ley stayed in a low position and edged past her toward the rear of the car. He only stood when the assailants turned left down an intersecting road.

“Concetta, are you all right?”

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper.

“Good.” Ley looked the other direction and frowned.

She followed his gaze and saw two men in Italian Fascist uniforms, then she noticed the basket on its side with the radio partially exposed. She scrambled over to it and hid everything with a cloth just as the men arrived.

“What happened?” one of the patrolman asked as he saluted.

Ley returned the salute. “They came from there.” He pointed toward the
door they’d emerged from. “Tried to shoot me. Ran off. Turned right at the next street.”

Gracie opened her mouth, then shut it again without saying anything. The men had turned left, not right.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“No,” Ley said.

The two men sprinted off, trying to chase down the Gappisti. When they were out of sight, Ley walked her to the passenger-side door and opened it for her. He took the basket and put it behind her seat.

For someone who’d just been shot at, he seemed remarkably calm. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel.

“You missed on purpose?”

Ley nodded and started the car.

“Even though they were trying to kill you?”

“They were trying to kill a German officer. I’m not taking it as a personal insult. Better for them to live and fight another day. Maybe next time they’ll try for someone who’s really an enemy.”

Gracie was quiet as Ley drove to her apartment, trying not to think about how close she’d come to getting shot and how awful it would have been to see
Ley gunned down right in front of her. There were so many ways they could
get killed in Rome. Her hands started to shake, so she pulled them into fists, hoping Ley wouldn’t notice her reaction.

“I need the basket, but feel free to wrap the rest of the food in one of the napkins and take it with you,” he said as they approached her neighborhood. “Chew carefully. A few bullets made it into the basket.”

Gracie turned and reached for the equipment. “Are you going to check the radio?”

“Yes, but I prefer to do that in privacy.”

Gracie pulled her hand back, realizing how foolish it would be for her to examine the radio while they were driving through the streets. She caught another whiff of bread. “Did you eat anything tonight?”

“I’m not hungry.”

She studied him as he drove, but his lack of appetite was the only sign of unease she could detect.