Passage to Dubai Colony on short notice was not cheap. If the Goliath and the girl kept planet-hopping, Marx would have to start paying out of his own funds to keep Accounting from asking questions.
The name of the colony had sparked his memory. A scowling female face, surrounded by black. The same face, smiling benignly. He flipped open his palmtop, stubbing out his cigarette and ordering a list of his recent searches. Maybe he had researched the woman.
Marx ground his teeth, restraining himself from picking up the comm. The girl didn’t trust him. He’d only make her nervous. And in order to get past the block quickly, she had to be at ease.
The notion that she was more comfortable around the clone grated on him. And the idea of a clone talking to a little girl conversationally… it just wasn’t right.
A grid of faces appeared on his screen. There. He tapped the picture in the lower-right corner, and it filled the screen. A middle-aged woman, Arab or Persian descent. Smiling, as in his memory. Information faded in at the bottom of the screen.
Parveen Al-Kouri. She was a nun.