"Sleep for at least six hours. We leave for New York at 4:00 PM tomorrow—need to be positioned at our command center by 8:00 PM. Between now and then, rest, eat, prepare mentally. When we deploy, we go sharp. Lives depend on it."
The teams disperse to their assigned sleeping areas.
In our bedroom at midnight, I finally break.
Tears for Natasha, for Elena, for all seven victims whose names I've memorized. For tomorrow's terror. For the possibility that I might fail everyone who's counting on me.
Maksim holds me, lets me cry, doesn't try to fix it with words.
We sleep in each other's arms—or try to. Rest comes in fragments, interrupted by nightmares and the ghost of Natasha's screaming.
Tomorrow is Sunday, Halloween night.
Everything we've prepared for, everything we've survived, everything we've built together—it all converges at Lincoln Center in twenty-four hours.
Tomorrow, we will end him.
Or he ends us.
Chapter fourteen
Dance of Death
Maksim
Sunday, 4:20 PM. We leave Philadelphia in a convoy—three armored SUVs, fourteen people total. Six Chicago forces, eight of my Philadelphia security, Sonya and me in the lead vehicle with Sergei.
The drive to Manhattan takes two hours and twenty minutes with traffic. Nobody talks much. The weight of what's coming presses on everyone.
We arrive at the staging warehouse at 7:00 PM—an industrial building two blocks from Lincoln Center, secured by Mariana's FBI team yesterday. Inside: tactical equipment, communication systems, medical supplies, enough firepower to invade a small country.
Mariana's twelve agents are already positioned throughout the warehouse. The four who conducted reconnaissance since Thursday look exhausted but wired, briefing the fresh operators on every detail they've learned.
Final briefing starts at 8:00 PM.
Mariana runs through the operation one more time. Twelve FBI agents, six Chicago men, eight Philadelphia security. Twenty-six operators total for a dual operation that requires split-second timing.
"Team A," Mariana says, pointing to the Lincoln Center map projected on the warehouse wall. "Maksim and Sonya will enter the Juilliard Theater main entrance at 10:30 PM exactly. You're visible, expected, part of Anton's script. Keep him focused on you."
She shifts the pointer. "Team B—FBI Hostage Rescue breaches Starr Theater immediately upon receiving the go signal from inside the main theater. Maksim, you'll assess when Anton's attention is fully locked on the performance, then signal us to move. We breach, disable the camera, and extract—all before he can react. We need to ensure Anton's attention is fully locked on the performance before we move on Natasha."
I nod. "Understood. I'll have visual on the stage, so I can determine when he's committed."
"Team C—Chicago forces hold the perimeter. Every underground exit, every service tunnel, every maintenance access point. If Anton runs, you contain him."
"Medical staging here—" she indicates Columbus Avenue.
"Communication—encrypted tactical frequencies. Everyone hears everything. Sonya's earpiece connects her to all teams. Maksim signals Team B when to breach. Hostage rescue confirms extraction immediately."
The briefing continues for ninety minutes. Every contingency, every backup plan, every possible scenario reviewed.
At 9:30 PM, gear checks begin. Weapons cleaned and loaded. Communication devices tested. Medical kits inventoried.
I watch Sonya across the warehouse, sitting quietly while one of Mariana's techs fits her earpiece—nearly invisible, flesh-colored, tucked into her ear. She nods as he explains the controls, her face calm and focused.
She's been quiet since we left Philadelphia. Processing, preparing, becoming whatever she needs to be for the next ninety minutes.
At 9:45 PM, Sonya disappears into a curtained area with the costume.
