Page 82 of Being Bold
World War III? Nuclear Armageddon?
Those were only a fraction of the potential horrors weaponized AI could produce.
Years of training meant she managed to keep the scowl from her face as she traversed the east wing of the Chinese Embassy in D.C. She nodded and smiled as she passed through the sea of people.
The embassy was hosting a cultural event that included traditional Chinese musicians, performers, and artwork. All were on display throughout the main visitors’ spaces in the building. Their colors drew the eye in what was a naturally neutral design scheme. The muted French limestone on the walls seemed to bounce the lights and sounds of the celebration.
But she wasn’t here for that. What Yumi sought lived in the basement.
Weaving past an ancient jade vessel, she kept her face down, away from the cameras in the ceiling. Like many in attendance, she wore red. Her dress was a bright, floor-length number with a slit up the left side. She would’ve stood out in any other environment, but tonight she blended in. Red flashed everywhere you looked. On the servers’ vests, the performers’ costumes, many of the women’s dresses, and even the carpet under her feet.
She made a point of moving slowly, as if she were merely another visitor admiring the delights the embassy offered. When she reached the staircase to the lower level, her pulse kicked up, but no one stopped her descent. She gripped the metal railingsoftly, eyes flickering to the Chinese pine beyond the window wall that framed the stairs. Its evergreen boughs embraced an outdoor garden while moonbeams glanced off the needles. It was after eight p.m. and the sun had long set.
She took another step, then stopped, her skin prickling with awareness. Scanning the glass, she searched for who was watching her. In its reflection, her eyes caught on a tall, dark-haired man in the room above, whose shaven face sent a shock of desire burning through her. When he smiled, she dragged her gaze away from his tailor-cut dark suit and red tie, shaking off the strange pull she felt. She didn’t have time for whoever that handsome stranger was.
Another step, and she took note of the camera in the corner. Averting her gaze from its lens, she pretended to brush lint off her gown. Putting the intriguing man from her mind, she continued. The stairs wrapped around to reveal a candle fountain at the bottom of the last flight. It gurgled quietly, a backdrop to the Chinese mandolin playing upstairs.
She swept her gaze across the room when she reached the lower floor. Fewer people had ventured down here yet, but the area was still open to visitors.
What Yumi was after hid another level lower.
She wandered past the Confucius Room, where a small crowd had gathered around a young Chinese diplomat as he explained the story behind the artwork decorating the walls. Her head shifted toward the sound of laughter. It bubbled out of the grand ballroom. Stepping inside the large open space, she smiled at the sheer volume of people. The number could easily create chaos, should she need it to escape.
She hoped her plan went smoothly, though, and she wouldn’t need to set off the fire alarms—her backup. On the stage at the back of the room, Chinese performers acted out a play she had no time to indulge in. Hugging the blonde-wood wall, shekept her eyes on the geometric patterns in the floor, counting carefully until she reached the right spot.
Pausing, she took a moment to steady her breathing and sense if she was being watched. The door she planned to open remained out of view of the cameras in the room. She was more worried about being followed. When she verified she was in the clear, Yumi trailed her fingers along the paneled wall until she felt a groove. Pressing the lever she’d located, the door that had been hidden behind a hanging tapestry slid aside. Before anyone noticed, she slipped through, quickly shutting it behind her.
The hallway she entered was narrow and dark. She turned on her phone’s flashlight to illuminate her path. The passage was a failsafe, a safety measure for the ambassador should he ever need it. From the schematics she’d studied, it branched into multiple tunnels leading to the building’s lower levels, a safe room in case of a nuclear attack, or a little-known exit onto Van Ness Street. Judging by the stale air, no one had been in it in a long time.
Yumi trudged forward, trying not to sneeze as her nose twitched in revolt against the trapped particles of dust or who knew what. The easy part of the job was done. Where she ventured now, no guests were allowed to go. The server room was bound to be guarded when she reached it. She had to be on her game. The hallway came to a fork, and she branched off into the tunnel on the right. It would lead her directly to the servers.
When her light gleamed off a red door, she knew she’d found it.
Where are the guards?
Her eyes searched the blackness beyond the reach of her phone while her ears strained for any movement. But there was nothing. Wary, her heart tripped into overtime.
She lifted her phone toward the digital lock when she reached the door. Using the bypass app she’d created, she hadit unlocked in two-point-five seconds. Grinning at how easily they’d made it to access the room, she slipped her folding tanto blade from the holster on her right thigh. Gripping it in her free hand, she stowed her phone into the bust of her dress.
Yumi expected a guard inside since there’d been none at the door. Preparing for that, she turned the handle slowly so as not to draw attention. After she pried the door open just enough to squeeze through, she slipped inside. The room had been dark, but as soon as she took a step, a series of lights on the ceiling lit in succession, triggered by her movement. She cursed and jumped behind a rack of servers, ears straining. She’d already noted the camera in the ceiling and prayed it hadn’t caught her entrance.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her pulse raced with each pump of her heart. The room was one big open space, but row after row of server racks gave her cover to hide behind. She heard no footsteps. There was no sign that anyone had noticed her.
That’s strange.
Frowning, she kept to the shadows cast by the eight-foot-tall racks. Green lights flickered on the drives in each one while cables in various colors snaked out of them like some kind of computer monster. Each row stretched twenty feet, but the individual racks were only three feet wide. She needed the third one on the seventh row.
As she crept toward it, she counted to ensure she ended up at the right one. When she reached number seven, she turned down the row and froze.
She was not alone.
Damn, this job just got harder.
A svelte blond man stood in front of the rack she needed. If she had to guess, she’d bet the agency had sent him. A guard slumped at his feet, either dead or unconscious. He must havetaken care of the cameras, too, or else they’d have company by now.
She stepped forward, and the blond’s head jerked in her direction when he sensed her movement. A slow smile spread across his face. He didn’t shift his position as she kept advancing, but she detected the coiled tension in his body.
Holding her blade by her side, she asked, “What are you doing?”
