Con wondered whether this qualified as cooperation. She didn’t remember taking that photo, but at least her hair had been long until Peter cut it. To be safe, though, she would need to buy sunglasses and a hat if she hoped to go unrecognized.
Some men were playing horseshoes in the park. It reminded her of her father. He’d died when she was so young that she sometimes wondered if she remembered him at all. Or if she only knew him secondhand, a collage assembled from photographs and stories she’d heard told about him after his death. But this memory she recognized immediately as hers and hers alone—Antoine D’Arcy had loved horseshoes. At family cookouts, he would set up shop at the pit with a ready horseshoe in one hand and a cigar in the other. He’d shoo her away if she made a fuss—this was grown-up time, he’d say—so she knew to sit real quiet if she wanted to watch. Whenever he threw a ringer, which in her memory he did every time, he’d catch her eye and wink. As if she were his secret good luck charm. It was the most relaxed she ever saw him. Her father never laughed at home, rarely even smiled. Things with Con’s mother were always one wrong word away from a fight. But after a few beers in the Texas sunshine, the armor he’d accumulated over repeated deployments would fall away. He would laugh and tell stories like the other fathers, and she saw the outline of the young, charismatic man who had joined the army at eighteen.
It was a good memory, and she felt reassured by it. She might not be the Con D’Arcy who’d been there that day, but she was the Con D’Arcy who was here now remembering it. The overalls she’d worn. The plate of barbecue sitting in the grass beside her. The sweet smell of her dad’s cigar, and how the fathers would curse and then glance around to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. It was all a part of her. That was undeniable and had to count for something. She sipped her coffee and thought about her dad some more. Her dad. There was power in that.
Laleh showed up a few minutes early. She got out of a rideshare and crossed the park to the fountain. Con watched for any sign that she’d brought company but didn’t get that vibe. Maybe it was the way Laleh kept glancing back over her shoulder as though she was the one who should be worried about being followed. Still, Con waited fifteen minutes before leaving the coffee shop and crossing the street. She circled around to the back of the park, coming up behind Laleh, who had found an empty park bench. Gone was her confidence; Laleh’s head was tilted down like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Despite sitting in a park surrounded by families in the middle of a sunny afternoon, when Con sat down, Laleh flinched like Con had jumped out at her from a dark alley at two in the morning.
“What’s new, Laleh?” Con asked.
“Con,” Laleh said. “How are you? Are you alright?”
“Don’t,” Con warned. She had less than no interest in Laleh’s concern for her well-being. “Are we alone?”
“I think so. Don’t think I was followed.”
That wasn’t what Con had meant, but it was interesting that was what Laleh thought. Maybe this wasn’t a trap after all. Laleh sure didn’t act like someone who felt in control of the situation.
“Why did you call me?” Con asked.
“I saw the news about your original. I’m so sorry.”
“Did you see what was done to her? How she died?” Con demanded.
Laleh looked ill. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. I swear. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t know.”
“Bullshit. Who was it? Who put you up to it? Fenton or Gaddis?”
“I don’t know which one. It was all anonymous and encrypted.”
“But you think it was one of them?” Con said.
“Yes. Whoever it was, they knew Palingenesis inside and out. They knew the layout. Our procedures. They knew things that only someone on the inside would know.”
“And they just wanted you to tamper with the lockout?”
“Yes, I’m so sorry,” Laleh said.
“Stop. I don’t care,” Con said, growing impatient with Laleh’s self-pitying tone. “You understand me? I don’t care if you’re sorry. So just tell me what happened. When were you approached?”
Laleh nodded, eyes rimmed with tears. Wonderful.
“March of last year,” Laleh said. “You were nearing the ninety-day lockout. I’d tried reaching out to your original several times to schedule a refresh, but she never responded. Then I got the offer. Override your lockout. I’d worked there seven years and didn’t even know it could be done. But they showed me how.”