Zimmerman's Party

Since sunset, the sailboat house has transformed into a glowing pillar of colours. Although you can’t exactly see inside as you pull up the driveway in your Ferrari, the guards waving you in after an excruciating battery of biometric examinations (yours obviously matched the government records created by the tech guys, and Emma had no cause for worry), you can tell the place is lit from wall to wall.

You step out the ride, tossing the keys to the valet, and Emma takes your arm as you approach the main doors. They swing open on their own accord, and the esteemed Ms. Zimmerman is waiting by the entrance, chatting with someone who may or may not be a famous composer.

“Ah, Emma, it iz zo nize to zee you,” she says, turning around to face the two of you. “I muzt tell you about ze next project I am working on, I think you will be great for it.”

“I’m interested,” Emma says dismissively, “if it’s interesting enough.”

It’s easy to forget that this actress seems to have a bit of a soft spot for you. In fact, the way she treats you compared to anyone else is a positive aberration, but you don’t dwell on it for too long, instead clasping Zimmerman into a big hug. She hugs back, and you feel two large mounds pressing against your chest. This could be interesting, you think, realising that her conservative black dress was concealing a potentially sexy figure.

“Bond, Jack Bond,” you say.

“A pleazure, Mr. Bond,” Zimmerman says with a raised eyebrow. “And how did you get to know Mz. Rain? I am zurprized that anyone managed to crack her fazade.”

“We’re starring in the same film and managed to hit it off. I must say, your party is looking magnificent, but I must have something wet my tongue before it dries out here in the foyer.”

Zimmerman chuckles, looking at you curiously, before nodding and letting you pass into the house proper. As you wander through the halls, you see many familiar faces milling about, and Emma is stopped for a chat with a decent number of them, though she is appropriately brusque with each. Eventually, you find your way at one of the bars, where you order a martini - shaken, not stirred, of course. Emma chuckles and has herself some white wine.

Your eyes have been scanning the place the entire time, noting security cameras and guards. They are spaced in such a way that there is complete coverage, and the basement, where the vault is located, has been entirely sealed off to the guests. The main stairway down is guarded by two burly looking men, who are more intent on giving guests the stare than making them feel welcome. They are nowhere close to the hardest part about cracking the vault.

“No way, you’re really doing a sex scene for your latest movie? I’ve considered it myself - the audiences really show up for the movies - but I’m always scared that the critics will hate me forever if I do. You think I should?”

It’s some air-headed actress with a half-decent body, trying to engage Emma in a conversation. Emma’s response is appropriately curt.

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think too, it really doesn’t…”

The words glide by you as you stand next to Emma, smiling and nodding. The approach has already been planned out, and now you’re just waiting for the right time to act. You glance down at your watch, seeing the hand tick over to 9:00. It is time.

What do you do?