Jason worried over the photograph of Rachel and Amelie. Every day he wondered if Schlick or one of his cohorts would come across the magazine cover, wondered if he’d return to Oberammergau.He didn’t have long to stew. Jason was recalled to Berlin, where rumors spun out of control. Tension in Wilhelmstrasse was palpable, every correspondent on edge and packed to be sent out at a moment’s notice. Where would Hitler attack next—Holland, Belgium, the Maginot Line, Switzerland?After a long and frustrating day pounding pavement, trying to get quotes from the Gestapo for a story nobody wanted to acknowledge, Jason plunked his reporter’s pad and pencil onto his desk and slumped in his chair, only to be ordered to cover a black-tie embassy dinner in an hour’s time. He groaned.Peterson, the staff photographer, shrugged in sympathy. “Sorry, pal. Chief’s orders.”“Why me? Covering the dandies is Eldridge’s beat now.”“You didn’t hear? Eldridge has vamoosed—gone stateside.”“When?”
