The safe house was a luxury penthouse suite in a downtown skyscraper. All the windows were blacked out with heavy, blast-proof curtains, making the atmosphere secure but suffocating.
Liang Jian was led to a sofa in the living room. A cup of hot tea was placed on the table in front of him.
Emily Carter stood before him, holding a tablet. Another agent stood like a statue by the only door.
“Sir, I need to give you a preliminary briefing,” Emily began, her tone all business, devoid of emotion.
Liang Jian picked up the teacup, blowing on the steam to hide his nerves. He nodded, trying to emulate the persona from the memory fragments, making his voice sound as deep and arrogant as possible. “Go on.”
“At 14:41 hours, during your speech, a sniper fired a single 5.56mm round from the rooftop of the Bellmont Building. Ballistic analysis confirms the shot was aimed at your head. If not for your last-second, unexpected movement, the result would have been fatal.”
Liang Jian’s fingers tightened on the cup. Unexpected movement? It wasn’t unexpected. It was my soul crashing into his body.
“The sniper was neutralized on-site by our counter-sniper team. We are running his identity now. The initial assessment is a professional hit. No traceable evidence was left at the scene.”
Emily swiped the screen. “Based on audio and video analysis of the event, your ‘Fight!’ exclamation has significantly boosted morale among your supporters. Sentiment analysis on all major social media platforms is skyrocketing, with over seventy percent positive engagement. You’ve turned a crisis, sir, into a major political victory.”
Liang Jian remained silent, processing. It was his turn to perform. He had to say something, something Trump would say.
“Losers!” he declared, putting the cup down and forcing a sneer he’d seen a thousand times on TV. “They think they can stop me with their pathetic little tricks? Never! This only makes me and my supporters stronger! Much, much stronger!”
Emily nodded, her face impassive, as if she’d expected this exact response.
But just as Liang Jian thought he’d passed the test, his damned programmer’s brain took over, uncontrollably, and asked a question.
A question Donald Trump would never, ever ask.
“What was the latency between the gunshot’s sound wave and the crowd’s audible reaction?” he blurted out. “And have you cross-referenced the facial recognition data from the front-row cameras with our known threat database? What’s the match percentage?”
The room went dead silent.
Emily Carter looked up from her tablet, and for the first time, her sharp blue eyes showed a flicker of undisguised astonishment.
She froze for two full seconds before her professional training kicked back in. “…The latency was approximately 0.4 seconds, sir. The facial recognition data is being processed. It will take some time.”
She was staring at him. The questions he’d asked were precise, cold, analytical. They were the questions of an intelligence analyst, not a politician.
Liang Jian’s heart hammered against his ribs. Shit! A bug in my emulation! He had just leaked his source code.
He quickly tried to patch it, letting out a loud, forced laugh and waving his hand dismissively. “Of course I knew that! Just testing you! Believe me, nobody knows more about data than I do!”
Emily Carter looked down, not pursuing the matter. “Yes, sir. We will give you a full report as soon as it’s ready. Please get some rest.”
She put away her tablet, gave a slight nod, and turned to leave the room.
The door clicked shut.
Liang Jian sank into the enormous sofa, letting out a long, shaky breath.
He knew he had scraped by on his first performance review.
But he also knew, from that fleeting, astonished look in Emily Carter’s eyes, that he had just encountered something new.
Something more dangerous than a sniper’s bullet.
Suspicion.