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She grabbed James’s arm as they paused in front of the Grand Hotel. “Can we go in the club?” she asked. She had read about it in the papers, and could only imagine how glamorous it was inside.
    James shook his head. “They only let active duty officers, press, and VIPs in. We don’t have a pass.”
    Tomorrow she’d have a press pass. Maybe she could convince James to take her next weekend.
    They walked another half hour until they reached the Palais du Justice. The articles said that the prison cells were deep in the basement, and the Nazis had their own elevator to get to and from the courtroom.
    “Are you ready to go in there tomorrow?” James asked.
    Playing with the camera and exploring around town with James the past month had been fun, but tomorrow she had to pay for it by confronting the man she considered responsible for her father’s death. Worse, she would help him prolong his memory and bury his loot. She stopped and wrapped her arms around her chest to keep from shivering. “I can’t believe I have to help that monster win.”
    James looked at her. “It’s the price of freedom, darling,” he said. “We may work on the train, but somebody else decides where it stops.”
    Flora just shook her head.
     
    They were quiet on their walk back to the laboratory, where the technician handed them six mounted 2x2 color transparencies. They remained quiet as James drove back to the Soul Identity house.
    In the dining room, Flora pulled the drapes shut and James readied the Kodaslide projector.
    While the projector warmed up, she looked over at Baba and the overseer. “It should work this time, Mr. Morgan,” she said.
    “It had better work—we are out of time,” he replied.
    James dropped in the first slide and projected the first image of his eyes onto the wall. They looked no better than the ones she had taken through the diffusion filter.
    “Can you focus it any clearer?” Flora asked.
    James turned the projector lens. “That’s as good as it gets.”
    “Try another one,” she said.
    James had blinked in the next three slides.
    “How many pictures did you take?” Mr. Morgan asked.
    “There’s two more.” Flora held her breath.
    This time James’s eyes were clear. Baba stepped over to the wall and peered at his projected irises. “Can you make them any bigger?” she asked.
    James slid the projector back to the far wall and refocused.
    Baba stood looking at James’s projected eyes. She ran her fingers around the irises. “Flora, get me a proof sheet,” she said.
    Flora tacked a blank proof sheet against the wall, aligning the projected eyes with the two top circles. She handed Baba a pencil and stepped out of the way.
    While Baba spent the next half hour tracing the lines from James’s irises onto the proof sheet, Flora squeezed small amounts of blue, brown, black, white, and yellow oil paint from their collapsible tubes onto a palette. She mixed in some turpentine, and when Baba was done, she handed her the palette and a tiny paint brush.
    Flora moved the proof sheet to an easel. Baba stood next to the projected image and mixed the paint on the palette into shades matching James’s blue irises. She walked to the easel and filled in the colors on the proof sheet. After an hour, she had completed painting the first eye.
    “What the—” James said as he pointed at the wall.
    His projected face was crumpling. A growing white circle engulfed first his nose, then his whole head. The room went dark.
    Flora opened the drapes.
    Mr. Morgan stood holding the end of the projector’s electrical cord. “The bulb melted the film,” he said. “This is not going to work.”
    “We have one more slide left,” Flora said. “Let’s let the bulb cool off, and then keep going.”
    The overseer nodded. “Let me know how it turns out.” He left the room.
     
    Another two hours crept by. Baba finished the second painting, then used her gold reader to calculate the soul identity. Mr. Morgan was