Page 21 of The Case of the Missing Dancer
"I don't care what her uncle said," Robert replied grimly. "This is police business."
We made our way through the backstage corridors toward Anya's dressing room. The usual pre-performance bustle continued around us, but I noticed several stagehands who looked distinctly non-theatrical—too well-dressed, too alert, watching everyone who passed with professional interest.
"More of Volkov's men," I whispered to Robert. "He's brought backup."
“So have we," he replied.
We reached Anya's dressing room to find the door closed and a man standing guard outside—not Cooper, but another well-dressed foreign gentleman who watched our approach with cold calculation.
"I'm Inspector Crawford Sinclair, Scotland Yard," Robert announced. "I need to speak with Miss Petrova immediately."
The man didn't move. "Miss Volkov is preparing for performance. No visitors."
"This isn't a request," Robert said, stepping closer. "Stand aside."
The tension was electric as the two men faced each other. Then the dressing room door opened and Volkov himself appeared, dressed in evening clothes as if he were simply a proud relative attending the theatre.
"Inspector Crawford Sinclair," he said with that terrible politeness. "How good to see you again. I understand you've been looking for my niece. As you can see, she's quite safe and preparing for her triumphant performance."
"I need to speak with her alone," Robert said.
"I'm afraid that's not possible. Anya is very nervous about tonight's performance, and I've promised to stay close to provide familial support." His smile was predatory. "Surely you wouldn't want to upset an artist before such an important performance?"
Through the partially open door, I caught a glimpse of Anya at her dressing table. She was in full costume and makeup forThe Firebird, her face painted in the dramatic style of Russian ballet, but even through the theatrical makeup, I could see the terror in her eyes.
She looked directly at me for just a moment, and I saw her lips move almost imperceptibly: "Help."
"Miss Petrova," I called out, pushing past Volkov's guard. "Are you all right?"
"Miss Worthington!" Volkov's voice turned sharp. "I must insist you not disturb my niece. She has a performance to give, and the show, as they say, must go on."
But as he spoke, I noticed his hand move inside his evening jacket. When it emerged, I caught the glint of metal—a small pistol, hidden but ready.
"You see," Volkov continued conversationally, "tonight Anya will danceThe Firebirdfor the first and final time. It will be a performance to remember—her farewell to the stage, you might say."
The threat was unmistakable. This wasn't just about killing Anya—this was about doing it publicly, dramatically, in a way that would terrorize the entire Russian émigré community and demonstrate the reach of his power.
"Inspector," Volkov added, "I do hope you and your men will enjoy the performance. I've arranged for several special effects that should make tonight's show truly . . . unforgettable."
From the orchestra pit came the sound of instruments tuning. In an hour, the curtain would rise onThe Firebird.
And unless we could stop him, it would fall on Anya's corpse.
CHAPTER 11
THE FINAL ACT
The next sixty minutes passed in a blur of desperate planning and careful positioning. After Robert coordinated with his constables, we worked with Monsieur LeClair to understand every detail of the evening's performance, particularly the flying sequences that would put Anya in the most danger.
"The Firebirdhas three major aerial moments," LeClair explained, showing us the rigging diagrams. "The opening entrance where she appears to fly onto the stage, the transformation sequence in Act Two, and the final ascension at the end where she soars away to freedom."
"Any of those could be sabotaged for a fatal fall," Robert observed grimly.
"But the final ascension would be the most dramatic," I said, studying the complex system of pulleys and counterweights. "Anya would be at maximum height. If the rigging failed . . .”
"She'd fall thirty feet onto solid stage boards," LeClair finished, his face pale. "It would certainly be fatal, and with the stage lighting and the distance from the audience, it might appear accidental."
We'd found evidence of Cooper's sabotage—frayed cables that had been carefully weakened, counterweights that had been adjusted to create dangerous imbalances, and safety catches that had been disabled. But which system would Volkov have chosen for his final trap?
