Roger relinquished his hold on them only when they were back on the street. He did so with a final, flourishing shove.
“I’ll see to it that Henry devises a punishment for both of you,” he said. “And for you,” he looked at Ben, “have fun starting over in a new trade.” He smirked, then turned away, starting back for the doors of the lobby.
Vincent turned to Jessica. “You’re sure it’s him?” he said. Then, for the Lenses’ sake: “He knows enough about identification to help your trade?”
Jessica frowned for a second, then nodded. “I think so.”
Vincent took his first full breath since leaving the headquarters. He looked up at the tower they had just exited. “It would make sense,” he said. “Maybe that’s how he’s been helping. From the inside.”
They were silent for a few seconds, both of their gazes trained upward, in awe, on the white-faced tower in front of them.
“So what now?” said Vincent, turning back to the street. “We just wait until tomorrow?”
“I guess,” said Jessica. “He said he would contact us.”
Vincent nodded. He scanned the air above them. “Should I try and figure out how to call a transport?” he asked.
“We’re going to the residences aren’t we?”
Vincent was taken aback. “Are we really going to take him up on that?”
“I think we have to,” said Jessica. “He might raise the alarm if we don’t.”
Vincent didn’t argue. But even if the man hadn’t seen the real Ben and Lena Carlson for over a decade, he would have to suspect something eventually. The fog over his Lenses, whether from the newsims, his work, or something else entirely, wouldn’t last forever.
“Ok,” said Vincent. “But we need to be in bed before he gets there.”
Jessica nodded in agreement. “All the more reason not to call a transport,” she said. “I haven’t been able to sleep. We haven’t walked in days.”
Vincent looked up at the transports zooming by in between the tops of the skyscrapers above. He didn’t need convincing.