Anton
The room is silent.
I'm already calling Mariana. She answers on the second ring.
"We just received Anton's invitation," I tell her. "Friday night, 8:00 PM, Carnegie Hall. He's threatening to detonate explosives in multiple Manhattan subway stations if Sonya doesn't perform with him. He didn't specify which stations."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Fuck. How many subway stations are in Manhattan?"
"151."
Her voice shifts to tactical mode, but I can hear the edge of panic. "Send me photos of everything. We're mobilizing now. This is—this is going to require NYPD, Homeland Security, MTA coordination. Every available resource."
Within an hour, the mansion transforms into a tactical command center again.
Mariana arrives with her team at 6:30 PM, but she's already been coordinating for ninety minutes. Maps of Carnegie Hall spread across the study alongside subway system maps—the entire Manhattan transit network, 151 stations marked, prioritization lists being developed.
"We have 48 hours," Mariana says, but there's no confidence in her voice. "Bomb squads are deploying to the busiest stations first—Times Square, Grand Central, Penn Station, Union Square. K-9 units, sensors, visual sweeps. But 151 stations, Maksim. Miles of tunnels. Hundreds of platforms. We can't sweep it all in 48 hours. We can't even sweep half."
"Can you shut down the system?" Sonya asks.
"The mayor won't authorize it. Not based on a single threat. The economic impact alone—millions of dollars per hour. The social disruption—millions of commuters stranded. The panic. And if Anton is bluffing, if there are no actual devices, we've caused massive chaos for nothing."
"And if he's not bluffing?" I ask.
"Then Friday evening rush hour, 5-7 PM, thousands of people could die and we won't be able to stop it." She meets my eyes. "The only way to prevent detonation is to give him what he wants. Sonya, performing at Carnegie Hall, exactly as he demands. We comply. And we pray he's either bluffing or will keep his word once you perform."
The planning continues into the night. Tactical teams positioning at Carnegie Hall. Subway sweeps coordinated with NYPD and Homeland Security. Emergency medical staging. Evacuation protocols if anything goes wrong.
By midnight, the framework is established, but everyone knows the terrible truth: we're going into Friday evening with no way to secure the real threat.
Anton chose his leverage perfectly.
Thursday, December 16th.
We leave for Manhattan at noon—convoy of three SUVs, full security detail. The drive takes two hours through gray December weather.
Sonya is quiet during the drive, one hand on her stomach, the other gripping my hand tightly.
"Are you scared?" I ask.
"Terrified. For the baby. For the people in those stations. For what happens if Anton actually has devices positioned." She pauses. "But also ready. I’m so tired. Five years of running, hiding, rebuilding. It ends tomorrow night."
We arrive at the secure apartment in Midtown at 2:00 PM—FBI-secured location, twenty-four hour protection, close to Carnegie Hall.
Mariana briefs us immediately, but there's exhaustion in her voice that wasn't there yesterday.
"Update: We've swept forty-two stations. Found nothing. K-9 units deployed to sixty stations, no hits. Plainclothes officers positioned throughout the system monitoring for suspicious activity." She pauses. "We're doing everything we can, but half of the stations we won't reach before tomorrow evening. If devices are positioned in any of those—"
She doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.
"So we proceed as planned," I say. "Sonya performs, we take Anton down at Carnegie Hall, hope he didn't actually plant anything."
"That's the plan. Emergency response teams are staged near the busiest stations anyway. If something happens, we'll respond immediately. But prevention?" She shakes her head. "We're relying on him being theatrical rather than suicidal."
The rest of Thursday passes in final preparations.
Costume fittings—the burgundy dress, altered to accommodate the twelve-week bump while hiding it. Tactical vest fitted underneath, lightweight Kevlar.
