Chapter 13 The Trap
Chapter thirteen
The Trap
Sonya
I answer before the second ring. "Tell me you found her."
"Good morning to you too." Mila's voice is calm, professional. "I found her. Exact location confirmed."
I'm out of bed immediately, pulling on clothes, not caring that Maksim is still half-asleep beside me. "Where?"
"Lincoln Center's Starr Theater building. Ground-level rehearsal space, east wing. The windows in the video match perfectly. Thermal imaging shows one heat signature consistent with restrained position, possibly one additional signature moving intermittently."
"A guard?"
"Likely. I'm sending complete building schematics, security camera positions, and thermal patterns to Sergei's secure server now. You'll have everything you need for tactical planning."
By 8:15 AM, Maksim and I are in his study with Sergei, reviewing the data Mila sent. The building schematics spread across three monitors—floor plans, elevation views, underground access points.
"Starr Theater building," Sergei says, highlighting the structure on the campus map.
"Connected to Juilliard via underground tunnel, separate entrance on 65th Street.
The rehearsal space Mila identified is here—" He zooms in.
"Ground level, east wing, approximately 800 square feet.
Two entry points: main corridor door, emergency exit to exterior. "
"What about windows?" I ask.
"Three windows, east-facing, all ground level. Accessible from the exterior and visible from the street." He pulls up street-view images. "Not ideal for breach—too exposed."
"Then we go through the doors," Maksim says. "Fast entry, overwhelming force, three-minute extraction."
Sergei nods. "I'll coordinate with Mariana's team. They'll want to do their own reconnaissance, but this gives us a starting point."
By 1:00 PM, the mansion has transformed.
Mariana arrived an hour ago with her FBI Hostage Rescue Team—eight operators, tactical gear, communications equipment that looks like it belongs in a war zone. They've taken over the dining room, spreading blueprints and satellite imagery across the table.
I work with them, providing details only a dancer would know.
"The mirrors," I say, pointing to the rehearsal space layout. "They'll be on this wall—always the long wall in rehearsal studios. Creates a blind spot here if you enter from the main corridor. But it also means anyone inside can see your approach."
"What about the barre?" one of the operators asks—Martinez, her tactical vest says. "Fixed or movable?"
"Could be either. If it's fixed, it's mounted to the wall here. If movable, could be anywhere in the space. Either way, metal or wood, it could provide cover."
"Floor material?"
"Marley over wood springing. Quiet for movement but shows footprints if there's any dust or debris. And—" I trace the floor plan. "If it's a proper studio, there'll be a rosin box near the door. White powder shows every footprint clearly."
Martinez nods, making notes. "Good intel."
At 2:00 PM, vehicles arrive outside. Chicago forces.
I watch from the study window as six men exit two SUVs—all moving with the same controlled efficiency as Maksim's people. Alexei's men. Family.
Maksim goes out to meet them. I stay inside, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by how many people are converging to save Natasha. To stop Anton. To end this.
Sergei appears beside me. "Chicago team leader is Viktor Sokolov. Former Spetsnaz, worked with Alexei for eight years. The others are all specialists—tactical entry, explosives, communications, medical."
"An army," I murmur.
"That's what it takes to stop a monster."
The video conference with Alexei and Mila starts at 5:00 PM sharp.
Everyone crowds into Maksim's study—Mariana's FBI team, Sergei's men, Chicago forces, Maksim and me. The large monitor shows Alexei and Mila in what looks like their Chicago office.
"Status," Alexei says without preamble.
Maksim runs through the operational framework:
"Team A—Sonya and I arrive at Juilliard Theater main stage at 10:30 PM Sunday. Anton specified eight PM in his video, but we're arriving later to compress his timeline, and keep him off-balance. We engage him, keep his attention focused on the performance he wants.
"Team B—FBI Hostage Rescue plus Sergei's operators breach Starr Theater simultaneously. Three-minute extraction window. Natasha secured and evacuated before Anton realizes his leverage is gone.
"Team C—Chicago and Philadelphia forces seal all underground exits and access points. Anton doesn't escape even if the main operation fails.
"Medical staging—two blocks out on Columbus Avenue. Multiple trauma units, including Life Flight helicopter if needed.
"Communication—encrypted tactical frequencies, real-time coordination between all teams. Sonya wears a concealed earpiece, so she can signal if the situation changes.
"NYPD on standby but not informed of full operation. They deploy only if we call for backup."
Alexei listens, then asks: "Sonya's role specifically?"
I lean forward. "Visible bait. I'm wearing white ballet costume—Giselle-inspired like he requested. But with tactical gear hidden underneath. Communication device, concealed weapon, GPS tracker woven into the fabric. I'll be armed and dangerous."
"The costume's being custom-made by a theatrical costumer with tactical consultation," Mariana adds. "Delivery tomorrow afternoon. We're building in hidden pockets for a weapon and a communication device, reinforced areas for potential impact."
Mila speaks for the first time. "I'll have satellite positioning on the tracker. If you move anywhere in the Lincoln Center complex, I'll know immediately and can redirect teams."
"What about Anton's backup?" Alexei asks. "The video showed at least one guard with Natasha. He could have more."
"We're planning for up to four additional hostiles," Mariana says. "Underground access points covered, perimeter secured. If he has accomplices, they're contained."
The briefing continues for another hour—contingencies, communication protocols, medical procedures, extraction routes. By 6:00 PM, everyone knows their role, their timing, their backup plans.
When the call ends, Alexei's final words echo: "Bring her home. Both of them."
At 6:00 PM, after the video conference ends, I watch from the study doorway as Mariana gathers her FBI team in the mansion's main foyer.
Eight agents, full tactical gear already packed, equipment cases staged by the door. Four more are already in New York conducting reconnaissance.
"We're heading to New York now," Mariana announces to her team. "Need to establish our command center and rotate the surveillance teams. Four of our people have been on-site since Thursday conducting reconnaissance—they need relief, and we need full operational strength positioned before Sunday."
I move closer, curious. Maksim joins Mariana as she reviews logistics with a stocky agent whose vest says Rodriguez.
"Your advance team—how's the reconnaissance going?" Maksim asks.
"They've been mapping the underground tunnels since Thursday night, positioning surveillance equipment, tracking thermal signatures.
But they've been at it for thirty-six hours straight—need fresh eyes and bodies for the final thirty-six hours.
" Mariana checks her watch. "Two-hour drive.
We'll be positioned by nine PM, complete the rotation, and have full surveillance coverage overnight. "
"Chicago stays here," Maksim says. "Two hours to New York is manageable for Sunday deployment.
Mariana nods. "Makes sense. We'll maintain a continuous presence in Manhattan through Sunday night."
Sergei appears with updated building schematics. "My surveillance teams have been coordinating with your advance people. The thermal imaging updates every ten minutes—Natasha's position hasn't changed since Thursday."
Relief floods through me. She's still there. Still alive.
"Good." Mariana reviews the documents quickly, then hands them to Rodriguez.
"We'll set up a full command post in the warehouse we secured on 66th Street.
Rotate the reconnaissance team, get them fed and rested, then back in position with fresh operators.
I want continuous coverage—thermal imaging, exterior surveillance, any movement in or out of those buildings documented. "
She turns to Maksim. "By tomorrow afternoon, we'll have a complete operational picture. Every access point mapped, every movement pattern tracked, final breach plans confirmed. Sunday morning, I'll video conference with final updates before we deploy."
Then she notices me standing nearby. "Sonya.
We're heading out now—I need to relieve my advance team and establish a full command post. Four of my people have been conducting reconnaissance since Thursday.
They've done excellent work but they're exhausted.
We rotate them out, bring in fresh operators, and maintain continuous surveillance until Sunday night.
" She pauses. "But we'll be in constant communication.
Any changes, any new intelligence, you'll know immediately. "
I step forward, needing to say something but not sure what. "Will she—" My voice catches. "Every ten minutes, you're sure she's still—"
"Every ten minutes, thermal confirmation," Mariana says gently. "And Sergei's teams are coordinating with ours. Between FBI and Bratva surveillance, we have comprehensive coverage. If anything changes, you'll know within minutes."
The words should be comforting. They're not. Natasha has been in that studio for over thirty-six hours now. Bound. Drugged. Terrified.
But at least she's alive. The thermal imaging confirms it every ten minutes.
By 6:30 PM, the FBI team is loaded and departing—two tactical vehicles heading north to Manhattan. I watch from the window as the taillights disappear down the drive.