Free The Rules in Rome by A.L. Sowards Page B

hundred hours. And if by chance I’m late, don’t flirt with SS officers while you’re waiting.” He turned abruptly and strode off.
    She scowled at his departing figure. It wasn’t like she’d had much of a choice. Surely flirting with an SS man and getting an invitation to supper was preferable to snubbing him and inviting close scrutiny of her papers. Gracie passed a clock and quickened her pace. She would have to head for her apartment at once if she wanted to make it before curfew. Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t have time to wait in line for food. Maybe she shouldn’t have turned down Ostheim’s supper invitation. SS or not, he seemed more friendly than Captain Ley.
    * * *
    Bastien was still on edge when he arrived at the hotel on the Via Veneto, where he and a few dozen other officers were billeted. Since his arrival in Rome the previous fall, he’d done his best to maintain a low profile. Thanks to Ambrose and Vaughn-Harris, he’d drawn far too much attention to himself the past few weeks, first by requesting leave, then by the mandate to work with their inexperienced radio operator. Desk officers seemed to think the only qualifications a radio operator needed were language fluency and the ability to tap out Morse code, but the real requirements were more complex.
    Bastien went straight to supper. He wasn’t really hungry—not after spotting the SD man from the train station for the third time in as many days. He assumed skipping meals would only be suspicious, so he spread real butter on his bread and forced himself to eat as if he had an appetite, wondering why the SD was on his tail. Did they suspect he wasn’t really Dietrich? That he wasn’t loyal to Germany? Both?
    He was nearly finished when he realized Obersturmführer Heinrich Vogel, the man sitting next to him, hadn’t said anything the entire meal. He was usually more talkative and had a tendency to whistle “Lili Marlene” while coming to and from the dining hall. Bastien watched him for a few seconds. Heinie was moving food around his plate, but his meal wasn’t making it to his mouth.
    “Something wrong, Heinie?”
    Heinie’s brown eyes flickered to Bastien’s, but he didn’t speak for a while. The blood vessels in his eyes were more prominent than usual, and his lips formed a frown. “Had an interesting conversation with Sturmbannführer Scholz today.”
    Scholz was Heinie’s commanding officer, but Bastien had gotten the impression that Scholz, though an adamant Nazi, was easy to work with. “Interesting as in bad?” Bastien whispered.
    Heinie nodded, glancing around the table at the other officers.
    Bastien didn’t pry further, but he excused himself early, as usual, and Heinie followed him to their third-floor rooms.
    “What happened with Scholz?” Bastien asked when they were alone in the hallway.
    “I asked him for permission to get married.”
    “And?”
    Heinie frowned again. “Maurleen can only prove her German ancestry back to 1787. That would be good enough if I was just an enlisted man, but because I’m an SS officer, she has to prove racial purity back to 1750.”
    Bastien knew the SS controlled its men like a supply officer controlled his best equipment, but he hadn’t realized how strict the requirements for marriage were. “I’m sorry, Heinie. How is Maurleen taking the news?”
    Heinie pulled a letter from his pocket. Bastien caught a hint of perfume and assumed Maurleen was the author. “Do you have any idea what the paperwork is like to apply for marriage? She had to fill all that out, then they did a medical exam—and it’s not as if she’s a lounge singer; she’s a minister’s daughter. It was humiliating for her.” Heinie opened the letter and read from it. “‘I wanted to be your wife so badly, but now I realize I am unworthy of such an honor. I trust our Führer to lead Germany to greatness, but perhaps I can best serve the Reich as a factory worker rather than an officer’s wife.