was going to need it.
Colonel Ambrose and Captain Ley had given her the names of several buildings where she could seek lodging, all of them a long walk from Termini Station. She grabbed her luggage and began her trek. At least the scenery was pleasant. Rome was an open city, so although it had been bombed a few times, most of its structures were still intact, and the buildings, piazzas, and statues she passed were beautiful, even behind piles of sandbags. She’d been to Rome a few times when she was younger, and despite the years, things were mostly the same. Except for the occupying army. German soldiers were everywhere.
The first two places she approached had no spare rooms. The third, by far the dingiest of her options, gave her the choice of two apartments after she’d shown the landlord her forged paperwork.
“Would you like the room on the second floor or the one on the fifth?” he asked.
“The fifth, please.” Gracie hoped she’d have more warning from that floor if she needed to hide the radio. The room was small, furnished only with a bed and a chest of three drawers topped with a porcelain pitcher and bowl. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, to be shared with the residents of the other five apartments on that floor.
According to her papers, Gracie was Concetta Gallo, a student. Her supposed studies would give her an excuse to come and go at irregular intervals, but she thought she should collect a few books so her room looked the part.
She unpacked her clothes and the other items she’d brought, then checked the radio. The lightbulb that indicated signal strength as she transmitted was cracked. She replaced it with a spare and hoped the spare would last. If it broke, she’d have to ask Ley for his, and she didn’t want to ask him for any more help. Her radio’s transmitter, receiver, and power source were each about the size of a skinny shoebox. They’d be easy to carry in the suitcase, or she could wrap them to look like packages or hide them in a bag of groceries. For now, she wrapped them in cloths and hid them in the bottom drawer behind some clothes before she slid her empty secondhand suitcases under the bed.
She picked up her silk handkerchief printed with two hundred sets of transposition keys and slipped it into her bra. No one would feel it in a pat-down, and she wanted to keep the radio and the silk separate. She slipped a second handkerchief and a sheet of instructions for its use into her pocket so she could leave them at a dead drop for one of her contacts. The last things she checked were her pistols, both Italian Berettas so they couldn’t immediately be tied to US forces. She hoped she would never have to use either of them. She wasn’t even sure how often she’d carry one because civilians weren’t allowed to own firearms.
The bed had only a single, threadbare blanket, but at least the sheets looked clean. Gracie sat on the thin mattress and then lay down, telling herself she’d just rest for a few minutes.
She woke to the sound of someone in the stairwell and glanced out the window. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, and she had work to do before the five o’clock curfew. She took a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote what looked like a love note. Amore mio, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you. Please let us return to how things were last summer. Then she grabbed her lightweight coat, slipped the note and a piece of chalk into her pocket, and left, locking the door behind her.
Whomever she’d heard in the stairwell must have found their floor because the building was now quiet. She descended the rickety metal staircase quickly at first, then slowed, trying to make her passage less noisy. She didn’t want half the building’s occupants to hear her every time she came or went in her clunky black loafers.
Maybe a different pair of shoes would be better? Gracie almost laughed at herself. She was posing as a poor Italian student; she was no longer
Colonel Ambrose and Captain Ley had given her the names of several buildings where she could seek lodging, all of them a long walk from Termini Station. She grabbed her luggage and began her trek. At least the scenery was pleasant. Rome was an open city, so although it had been bombed a few times, most of its structures were still intact, and the buildings, piazzas, and statues she passed were beautiful, even behind piles of sandbags. She’d been to Rome a few times when she was younger, and despite the years, things were mostly the same. Except for the occupying army. German soldiers were everywhere.
The first two places she approached had no spare rooms. The third, by far the dingiest of her options, gave her the choice of two apartments after she’d shown the landlord her forged paperwork.
“Would you like the room on the second floor or the one on the fifth?” he asked.
“The fifth, please.” Gracie hoped she’d have more warning from that floor if she needed to hide the radio. The room was small, furnished only with a bed and a chest of three drawers topped with a porcelain pitcher and bowl. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, to be shared with the residents of the other five apartments on that floor.
According to her papers, Gracie was Concetta Gallo, a student. Her supposed studies would give her an excuse to come and go at irregular intervals, but she thought she should collect a few books so her room looked the part.
She unpacked her clothes and the other items she’d brought, then checked the radio. The lightbulb that indicated signal strength as she transmitted was cracked. She replaced it with a spare and hoped the spare would last. If it broke, she’d have to ask Ley for his, and she didn’t want to ask him for any more help. Her radio’s transmitter, receiver, and power source were each about the size of a skinny shoebox. They’d be easy to carry in the suitcase, or she could wrap them to look like packages or hide them in a bag of groceries. For now, she wrapped them in cloths and hid them in the bottom drawer behind some clothes before she slid her empty secondhand suitcases under the bed.
She picked up her silk handkerchief printed with two hundred sets of transposition keys and slipped it into her bra. No one would feel it in a pat-down, and she wanted to keep the radio and the silk separate. She slipped a second handkerchief and a sheet of instructions for its use into her pocket so she could leave them at a dead drop for one of her contacts. The last things she checked were her pistols, both Italian Berettas so they couldn’t immediately be tied to US forces. She hoped she would never have to use either of them. She wasn’t even sure how often she’d carry one because civilians weren’t allowed to own firearms.
The bed had only a single, threadbare blanket, but at least the sheets looked clean. Gracie sat on the thin mattress and then lay down, telling herself she’d just rest for a few minutes.
She woke to the sound of someone in the stairwell and glanced out the window. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, and she had work to do before the five o’clock curfew. She took a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote what looked like a love note. Amore mio, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you. Please let us return to how things were last summer. Then she grabbed her lightweight coat, slipped the note and a piece of chalk into her pocket, and left, locking the door behind her.
Whomever she’d heard in the stairwell must have found their floor because the building was now quiet. She descended the rickety metal staircase quickly at first, then slowed, trying to make her passage less noisy. She didn’t want half the building’s occupants to hear her every time she came or went in her clunky black loafers.
Maybe a different pair of shoes would be better? Gracie almost laughed at herself. She was posing as a poor Italian student; she was no longer
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