the daughter of a fashion-conscious, upper-middle-class mother, and she would have to get by with one or two pairs of shoes rather than one or two dozen. She quieted her footsteps and left the complex, heading north and passing a bakery. Her room had no kitchen, so she’d have to purchase most of her meals in nearby shops. She slowed her pace outside the bakery, inhaling the aroma of fresh-baked bread. The line was long, so she couldn’t stop now, but maybe she’d have time to buy something later.
The fountain she’d been told to find was in an open plaza, and one of her contacts passed it every evening. Gracie hoped she wasn’t too late, that the agent would see her mark tonight. A chalk triangle drawn on the west end of the fountain was a signal to meet the next morning at a nearby waterline. Bombing had damaged the water ducts, so most civilians had to wait in line for their water. If everything went according to plan, Gracie would find the agent in line the next day and recognize her contact by the red patch sewn on his or her left sleeve near the elbow.
She waited until a pair of Italian Fascist policemen left the area, then drew her triangle. The fountain was dry, which was a pity. She thought it would have been lovely otherwise. The marble figures looked almost real but too pale and perhaps too perfect. She circled the fountain once, admiring it, then moved on toward the other agent’s address. She slipped her note under the door to alert her contact that she was in Rome, able to pick up any information left at a specified dead drop. She was tempted to leave the silk transposition keys and instructions under the door too, but her contact had been out of touch with OSS headquarters in Caserta for several weeks. It would be better to follow procedure and use the dead drop.
She was back on the street and had walked nearly a block when she glanced behind her and took in about a dozen faces. A few blocks later, she checked again, recognizing one face from her previous glimpse, a handsome Italian civilian. Gracie turned left at the next intersection and increased her pace. Two blocks and two turns later she glanced back, and the man was still there, roughly the same distance behind her despite her rush.
Stay calm , she told herself. He’s Italian; it’s not like the Gestapo’s on your tail. Her training had covered what to do if she was followed. She could confront him or try to elude him. She turned into a more crowded street in the hopes of losing him and rushed along, trying to put more people between them.
She’d just passed an alley when someone grabbed her arm from behind and yanked her off the road. A hand slapped over her mouth before she could scream, and within seconds, she’d been dragged into the deserted foyer of a dark building.
Chapter Seven
“Easy, signorina,” a voice whispered in Gracie’s ear as she struggled to pull away. “The change in weather could bring rain.”
Gracie relaxed as she recognized the code phrase. “I’ll be sure to carry my umbrella when I go out,” she replied, reciting the memorized counterphrase.
“The dead drop’s been compromised.”
“So you tracked me down?”
He nodded, his dark eyes never leaving hers. His face broke into a grin, causing slight lines to appear around his lips. “You didn’t make it easy though.”
Gracie returned his smile. She was glad she hadn’t been too easy to track but grateful he’d managed to do it before she blundered into a Nazi trap.
Her contact slipped his hand into a well-worn shirt pocket and brought out several sheets of paper folded into quarters. “My reports. The last several of them.”
Gracie slid them into her own pocket and brought out one of the silk handkerchiefs. “I was asked to deliver this. It’s for encrypting your messages, and it’s more secure than your old system.”
He ran the smooth fabric between his fingers. “So I use these numbers for the transposition keys instead of words from
The fountain she’d been told to find was in an open plaza, and one of her contacts passed it every evening. Gracie hoped she wasn’t too late, that the agent would see her mark tonight. A chalk triangle drawn on the west end of the fountain was a signal to meet the next morning at a nearby waterline. Bombing had damaged the water ducts, so most civilians had to wait in line for their water. If everything went according to plan, Gracie would find the agent in line the next day and recognize her contact by the red patch sewn on his or her left sleeve near the elbow.
She waited until a pair of Italian Fascist policemen left the area, then drew her triangle. The fountain was dry, which was a pity. She thought it would have been lovely otherwise. The marble figures looked almost real but too pale and perhaps too perfect. She circled the fountain once, admiring it, then moved on toward the other agent’s address. She slipped her note under the door to alert her contact that she was in Rome, able to pick up any information left at a specified dead drop. She was tempted to leave the silk transposition keys and instructions under the door too, but her contact had been out of touch with OSS headquarters in Caserta for several weeks. It would be better to follow procedure and use the dead drop.
She was back on the street and had walked nearly a block when she glanced behind her and took in about a dozen faces. A few blocks later, she checked again, recognizing one face from her previous glimpse, a handsome Italian civilian. Gracie turned left at the next intersection and increased her pace. Two blocks and two turns later she glanced back, and the man was still there, roughly the same distance behind her despite her rush.
Stay calm , she told herself. He’s Italian; it’s not like the Gestapo’s on your tail. Her training had covered what to do if she was followed. She could confront him or try to elude him. She turned into a more crowded street in the hopes of losing him and rushed along, trying to put more people between them.
She’d just passed an alley when someone grabbed her arm from behind and yanked her off the road. A hand slapped over her mouth before she could scream, and within seconds, she’d been dragged into the deserted foyer of a dark building.
Chapter Seven
“Easy, signorina,” a voice whispered in Gracie’s ear as she struggled to pull away. “The change in weather could bring rain.”
Gracie relaxed as she recognized the code phrase. “I’ll be sure to carry my umbrella when I go out,” she replied, reciting the memorized counterphrase.
“The dead drop’s been compromised.”
“So you tracked me down?”
He nodded, his dark eyes never leaving hers. His face broke into a grin, causing slight lines to appear around his lips. “You didn’t make it easy though.”
Gracie returned his smile. She was glad she hadn’t been too easy to track but grateful he’d managed to do it before she blundered into a Nazi trap.
Her contact slipped his hand into a well-worn shirt pocket and brought out several sheets of paper folded into quarters. “My reports. The last several of them.”
Gracie slid them into her own pocket and brought out one of the silk handkerchiefs. “I was asked to deliver this. It’s for encrypting your messages, and it’s more secure than your old system.”
He ran the smooth fabric between his fingers. “So I use these numbers for the transposition keys instead of words from
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