Central Business District
King Abdullah Economic City, Saudi Arabia
24 March 2010
Webster stood in the early morning darkness of the hotel high-rise and looked out across the city to the sea. Dawn was less than an hour away, but he knew the violence waiting to sweep over the land would arrive before the sun. He was just where he wanted to be: in the eye of the approaching storm.
The last five days hadn’t been without their frustrations, though. Lourds and the Brotherhood of the Joy Scroll had vanished. Despite Eckart’s best efforts, no trace remained of them. Webster knew the professor and his new allies were within the city proper. If they had their hands on the Joy Scroll, the vice-president remained certain that he would know it. He would feel that threat as surely as he felt the promise of the impending violence about to engulf Saudi Arabia.
He sipped his Scotch and water and glanced at the television in the corner the room. He maintained his own satellite dish that linked him to Western world news and not just the propaganda Prince Khalid allowed to air on local stations. The American Networks and the BBC all covered the mounting military presence along the Middle Eastern borders. In the last few days, the area had become a powder keg. One spark would set them all off, and the world would march towards a fiery conflagration.
He intended to provide the spark.
Exhilarated, he used the television remote control to switch through the news channels. Video footage, some of it old and some of it new, showed armoured ground units, aircraft and soldiers preparing for full-on military engagements. Israel was curiously silent, but no less industrious. India and Pakistan, as well as China, had also upped their border defences and patrols. In Iraq and Turkey, American forces also prepared. In the Gulf, navy ships ran strict grids and maintained constant contact.
Webster was inordinately pleased. All he needed was the Scroll to complete things and ensure his ultimate victory.
‘Are you still awake?’ Vicky DeAngelo stared at Webster from the tangled sheets of his bed.
‘I napped briefly,’ Webster admitted. ‘But I can’t sleep very well. Too many things to do.’
Vicky sat up in bed and pulled the sheets up after her. Only the full, heavy roundness of her left breast was visible, and Webster felt certain she knew exactly what she revealed as well as what she hid. Her slim, tanned legs were crossed but the sheet covered her lap.
She smiled. ‘I thought I had exhausted you.’
‘You did your best.’
Vicky arched a salacious eyebrow. ‘Is that an assessment or a challenge?’
‘Perhaps a little of both.’
‘Are you going to come over here? Or do I have to come after you?’
Webster didn’t reply.
Vicky tossed the sheets away and stood revealed in her full glory. She was beautiful, with alabaster skin and a body moulded by relentless exercise designed by a personal trainer and the narcissistic expertise of a gifted plastic surgeon. Not a blemish remained on her. She crossed the floor like royalty, claiming every inch of space with undeniable carnality. She was a temptress from the Old Testament, a siren who could topple kings and heroes, and Webster couldn’t help but be moved by the sight and promise of her.
When she reached him, she wrapped her left arm round his neck and took his drink in her right hand. She tossed back the rest of the Scotch and water, then moulded her fiery lips against his. He lifted her in his arms, stepped between her thighs, joined them, and turned so that her back was to the wall. Arching his body fiercely, he drove himself into her again and again. She cradled his head and covered his face in kisses. She surged against him and screamed in exultation again and again, till there was almost nothing left of her. With one final thrust, they both fell silent.
Slowly, Vicky regained control of her body. Tears ran down her cheeks, a mixture of pleasure and pain. Despite the adrenaline and lust that filled her eyes, Webster saw fear in there as well.
‘I’ve never felt anything like that before,’ Vicky gasped.
‘I know,’ Webster told her.
‘Awfully confident of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Do I have any reason not to be?’ he taunted.
‘No, not at all.’ Vicky kissed him. ‘I have to admit, I expected you to turn me away after we arrived here.’
‘I don’t have to play the grieving widower any more.’ Webster kissed her again.
‘You were playing?’
‘No. I loved my wife.’ Webster was certain that was why she had been taken from him. Her loss had been one of the few setbacks in his relentlessly successful life. But now his plans were at last nearing fruition. He could afford a bit of amusement. He turned to her again and took her in his arms.
She opened herself willingly.
Nothing could stop him. He wouldn’t allow it.
Oceanview Offices
Eminonu District
Istanbul, Turkey
24 March 2010
‘Would you like tea?’
Lourds looked up from the notes he had taken the previous night, still groggily struggling to make sense of them. He’d had a plan of attack, more likely a conjecture he realized now, but it had been starting to make sense before he’d lain his head down and gone to sleep.
Olympia stood in front of his borrowed desk and looked as tired as he felt. She and the monks had been busy searching through books they’d borrowed from local libraries, the university and bought along Cagaloglu, the street filled with a collection of booksellers and printers. Their efforts had gleaned a few facts no one else had known, not even the monks, but it hadn’t helped with the translation Lourds was struggling with. Cleena had stayed with him as his bodyguard, but she hadn’t seemed happy about it. Lourds wondered again what kept her with them when she’d seen first hand how dangerous it was to do so.
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ Lourds answered.
‘What about breakfast?’
‘We have breakfast?’
‘I went to market this morning,’ Olympia explained. ‘It’s nothing fancy, but it will help hold body and soul together.’
‘I’d be very interested in breakfast.’
‘Good. Why don’t you go grab a shower and we’ll take breakfast out on the balcony. The sun has only just risen, and the weather’s perfect for early morning dining.’
‘I really don’t have time to-’
‘Thomas,’ Olympia said gently and reached out to hold his face between her hands as if he were a child, ‘for the last four days, you’ve done nothing but sleep, eat and breathe that scroll. If you ask me, you’ve exceeded all expectations of human endurance. All you’re doing at this point is locking yourself into tunnel vision.’ She smiled at him. ‘Take a shower. Eat breakfast with a beautiful woman. Catch your breath. Take a nap. Then look at the scroll with fresh eyes.’
‘You do make sense.’
‘Of course I make sense.’ She leaned in to kiss him. In that tender touch, he realized that he had missed sharing her bed the last four days.
Some vacation, he thought ruefully.
Olympia glanced down at him, and smiled. ‘Maybe you should make that a cold shower.’
‘Or,’ Lourds prompted, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers, ‘you could shower with me.’
‘And who would get your breakfast ready?’
‘When we get back, all scrubbed clean and satiated, I’ll help you get both our breakfasts ready.’
‘You do realize that if we get caught it would mortify my brother.’
‘I suspect it would take rather more than that to mortify your brother.’
Olympia hesitated only a moment, then she nodded and took Lourds by the hand.
Oceanview Offices had at one time been the workspace for an import/export business. Lourds hadn’t heard the whole story from Joachim, but the gist seemed that the business had ended suddenly. A few bullet holes and suspicious-looking stains decorated the walls and floor of two of the rear offices. Lourds had pointedly stayed out of those rooms. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he didn’t want to chance the negative energy that might be left over there.
Whatever business had actually taken place in the offices, the enterprise had been well accoutred. In addition to the conference room where Lourds worked, which had a view of the coastline and of the Hagia Sophia, there were five other smaller offices, two bathrooms – one with a small shower and a kitchen. The monks had brought in simple sleeping bags and kitchen utensils. At the moment, the offices were between leases. Lourds didn’t know if Joachim had made arrangements with the owners or if they were simply squatting there. In the end, it didn’t really matter. They wouldn’t – couldn’t – be there long.
Feeling refreshed from the shower, Lourds helped Olympia make breakfast from the breads, fresh fruit, cheeses and sausages she’d brought back from the market. When they finished filling their plates, they retreated to the balcony with a pot of dark Turkish coffee.
Some time over the last few days, someone – and Lourds suspected it was Olympia – had brought a stray table and five mismatched chairs out onto the small balcony overlooking the waterfront.
‘I’m surprised your watchdog hasn’t made it up yet,’ Olympia said, referring to Cleena.
Lourds looked out over the water and the line of restaurants that stood at its edge. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair to her?’
‘She did force her way into our group.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And that’s only because she bungled the original kidnapping for Qayin and his people.’
‘As I recall, she rescued me from Qayin.’
‘Only after bringing you to him.’
Lourds couldn’t argue the point there.
He buttered a roll and ate it thoughtfully. His mind still churned through all the symbols he had been studying for the last few days. A few times, he had thought they were starting to make sense, then they would just slip away like minnows through his fingers.
‘And the little friend she keeps in her ear is another problem,’ Olympia said. ‘How do we know we can trust him?’
‘How do you know it’s a him?’
Olympia gave him a look. ‘Please. It shows in the way she acts. The friend is a man. You can trust me on this one.’
‘Okay, I trust you.’
A look of frustrated disbelief filled Olympia’s face. ‘You’ll trust me that her friend is a man, but you won’t trust me that having her with us is a bad idea?’
Olympia picked up her tray, silverware and cup and departed without another word.
Lourds sighed tiredly. Obviously there were two languages he presently didn’t understand. He sipped his coffee and caught movement from the corner of his eye. At first he thought it might be Olympia returning. Instead, it was Cleena.
The young woman only had a couple of pieces of buttered toast, grapes and melon wedges on her plate. She wore her red hair pulled back.
‘Are you planning on going anywhere for the next hour or so?’ Cleena asked.
‘I hadn’t planned to. Why?’
‘I’ve got an errand I have to run.’
Suspicion darkened Lourds’ thoughts immediately, and he knew it must have shown on his face.
Cleena smiled at him and lifted an eyebrow. ‘You don’t trust me?’
‘I do,’ Lourds assured her. ‘As much as I can.’
‘Do you trust me as much as you trust your girlfriend?’
‘She’s not my-’
‘Maybe no one else noticed you slip off to the shower together a few minutes ago, but I did.’ Cleena bit into a melon wedge. Juice trickled down her chin.
‘I trust you a lot, as it happens. In fact, I think I’m the only one who trusts you.’
‘Probably.’ Cleena glanced at the notes he had at the side of his plate. ‘Still haven’t figured out that scroll?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘I have faith in you,’ Cleena said simply.
‘What’s your errand?’ Lourds took a bite of melon and found it sweet.
‘I’ve got to go somewhere.’
‘Where?’
Cleena gave him a wan smile. ‘Running out of trust, Professor?’
‘It appears to be a scarce commodity these days.’
‘Old Mother Hubbard and her cupboard, eh?’
‘Something like that,’ Lourds replied. ‘You’ve been around our group for four days, and you’ve talked less than anyone.’
‘I’m a private person.’
‘Private people don’t force their friendship on others at gunpoint.’
Cleena smiled. ‘You have to admit, it’s a lot more effective and it gets quicker results.’
‘There’s something to be said for people who take the long way to do things.’
‘There’s not always time for that.’
‘You’re asking for a lot and are giving only a little.’
‘Maybe I’m giving you more than you suspect.’
Lourds took a breath and let it out. ‘We’re coming to a critical juncture in our partnership. Trust is getting to be a hard thing to come by, so maybe it’s time you started trusting me.’
‘Are you forgetting who you’re up against, Professor?’ Cleena pinned him with her gaze. ‘You’ve got a phantom army on your tail, judging from those ghosts who have wandered out of Iraq. You’ve got Qayin and his people on another side. Then there are the monks.’
‘They’re on my side.’
‘For the moment. But you have to remember: they didn’t tell you everything at the beginning. Neither did your girlfriend. In the Church I was brought up in omission was considered a lie. If you’re not going to trust me, do yourself a favour and don’t trust them either.’
Before Lourds could respond, Cleena picked up her plate and coffee cup and departed. He sat in the chill morning shade and watched her walk away. He didn’t know whether to be more afraid of her or for her.
‘Where you like to go, miss?’
Cleena pulled her attention from the ocean and peered along the line of shops and bars on the left side of the street. Cruise ships lined the docks and tourists were out in force. Hawkers called out their wares from doorways and carts. Small bazaars had opened beneath cargo tents in alleyways. The crowds of people would make it difficult to keep an eye on her surroundings, but she hoped they would also provide an easy way to disappear if it came to that.
‘There.’ Cleena pointed to a cyber café that advertised battling robots rendered in neon tubing. Popular game names and posters littered the windows.
‘Of course, miss. At once.’ The driver cut across two lanes of traffic, narrowly avoided locking bumpers with another taxi trailing too close, and skidded against the curb.
Cleena paid the man and tipped him well enough, but not so well that he would remember her, and got out. She stepped into the flow of human traffic and looked around.
‘Sevki,’ she said.
‘I haven’t seen anyone yet.’ Sevki sounded frazzled and she felt badly about asking him for so much.
‘None of the monks?’
‘Not one.’
‘I don’t think they let me go alone because they trusted me.’
‘They probably thought you were going to lead them into a trap.’
Cleena grinned at that. The thought of the monks being afraid of her rocked her world a little. They were smug with their holier-than-thou attitudes. But they weren’t the ones she was intent on trapping.
‘You’ll see someone soon. Just keep a close watch over me.’
‘Always. But you know, I really have to protest this course of action.’
‘Again?’ Cleena pulled open the café door and entered the darkness. She slipped her sunglasses off and surveyed the large room.
Patrons occupied most of the three or four dozen computers scattered around. Nearly all of them were involved in online gaming or surfing porn sites. Sometimes they did both.
‘Yes – again,’ Sevki said. ‘You didn’t listen the first few times.’
‘It wasn’t a few.’ Cleena went to the front desk and negotiated for a computer. She showed one of the fake identifications Sevki had arranged for her and paid cash, English pounds.
‘It wasn’t enough,’ Sevki countered. ‘These guys you’re playing with, they’re out of your league.’
‘I got drafted into this.’ Cleena sat at the table and swiped the card she’d been given through the data reader. The computer powered up and allowed her access. ‘If it had been up to me, I’d still be playing in the minor leagues.’
‘I know.’
‘These aren’t the kind of guys who will simply let you fade away once everything is said and done. You know that.’
Sevki sighed. ‘I know.’
‘All I can do is increase their cost to play. The same way we did when you stepped wrong round the Russian Mafia.’ Cleena felt badly about bringing that up, but she also felt she didn’t have a choice.
‘I know. I still owe you for that.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Cleena took a deep breath. ‘But I could use help now. I can’t do this by myself. If I can’t be safe, I want my sister to be.’
‘She will be. Are you at the computer?’
‘I am.’
‘Then go to this IP address.’
Cleena did, and once there, she downloaded all the programs and applications Sevki had waiting. The computer protested just for a moment, then the warning screen for the firewalls quieted and went away. Within seconds, Sevki had the machine slaved to his own.
‘We’re set up,’ Sevki said a short time later.
Tension knotted Cleena’s stomach. She forced herself to pick up the phone handset on the table and slot it into the USB port. In seconds, the internet phone connection linked up. She dialled the number she’d been given, then settled back to watch the front and back doors. If she was right, and she felt certain she was, things would happen very quickly. She just had to make certain they didn’t happen to her.
The phone rang.
When CIA Special Agent in Charge James Dawson heard the strident ring of the phone on the nightstand beside the bed in his hotel room, he held up a hand to the young woman straddling him. She stopped her wild gyrations but continued a gentle rocking that held him right at the brink.
He checked the number and saw he didn’t recognize it. There was only one person who could possibly be calling him from a phone he wouldn’t have the number for. He flipped the phone open confidently and ran his free hand over the sweat-slick body of the young woman atop him.
‘Ah, Miss MacKenna,’ Dawson greeted Cleena. ‘Just when I had almost given up on you.’
‘Your goons at the Hagia Sophia nearly did their job too well,’ she said.
Genuine puzzlement nagged at Dawson. ‘I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I didn’t think that you would. But their attack created a problem.’
Some of Dawson’s confidence oozed away. ‘Is the professor all right?’
‘He is. But only just. And not for the lack of trying on the part of your hired help.’
‘I must protest, Miss MacKenna. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Dawson didn’t know what she was talking about, but she seemed awfully sure of herself.
‘Did they tell you that the professor found a scroll?’
That caught Dawson’s attention. ‘What scroll?’
‘I don’t think it’s the main one,’ she continued. ‘Everyone here seems a bit disconcerted that it hasn’t turned up yet. But they also seem convinced that the professor will find it soon enough.’
‘Good. When he does, you’ll be out of this situation. So will your sister.’
‘My sister’s already out of it.’
Dawson grinned at that. ‘I’m aware that your sister has dropped from sight, but I have a great many people at my disposal who are really good at finding people who try to lose themselves.’
Her voice hardened. ‘I wouldn’t try to do that if I were you.’
‘You do pose a challenge,’ Dawson said, ‘but you’ll never be in any position to carry out any of your threats.’ He paused. ‘Why are you calling me now?’
‘To negotiate.’
‘You have nothing to negotiate with.’
‘I know where the professor and the first scroll are.’
‘But you don’t know where the main scroll is.’
‘Once you have the professor and the scroll he has now, you should be able to find it.’
‘What do you want?’
‘A ceasefire. Between you and me. The deal is this: I give you the professor and the first scroll, and you forget about my sister and me.’
Dawson glanced at his watch. Enough time had passed that the electronics teams tracing calls into this phone should have a location.
‘I’m in the middle of something here,’ Dawson said, smiling up at the young woman. ‘Can I call you back?’
‘I’d rather be the one doing the calling.’
‘Fine. Then call me back in an hour.’ Calmly, Dawson closed the phone. It rang immediately. ‘Tell me you got a location.’
‘We did. She’s at a cyber café in the harbour. We’ve got a team en route.’
‘Have them stay back. I don’t want her to see them until it’s too late. No one makes a move until I clear it. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Dawson folded the phone and placed it once more on the nightstand. He reached for the young woman astride him. Rather than proving distracting, the phone call had reinvigorated his sex drive. He looked forward to proving to Cleena MacKenna that he was the most dangerous man she’d ever crossed paths with.
Cleena stared at the computer monitor. ‘Did I keep him on long enough?’
‘You did,’ Sevki said in her ear. ‘I managed to trace the signal back to the United States. It was tricky, because they used a lot of satellite cut outs. Government issue, heavily encrypted.’
‘I get it. I’m supposed to be impressed.’
‘Unfortunately, you’re not informed enough to be duly impressed with what I’ve just done.’ Sevki sighed as if stricken.
‘So who is it?’
‘The Central Intelligence Agency, if I had to guess.’
A wave of fear vibrated through Cleena. Even though she’d suspected CIA, hearing it spoken out loud was frightening. In her arms deals, she had sometimes brushed up against intelligence operatives. Always before, she’d cut her losses and run.
‘Not people we want to be trifling with,’ Sevki pointed out.
‘I know.’
Sevki whispered a curse. ‘But you’re going to anyway.’
‘This guy threatened my sister. If it’s the same guy, he hurt her. I’m not going to allow that.’ Icy calm thrummed inside Cleena.
Sevki cursed again, this time with more passion. ‘Well, you’re going to get your chance. I just finished chasing down all the connections. This guy, whoever he is, is here in the city.’
Paranoia bloomed within Cleena, spicing the fear already coursing through her. ‘In Istanbul?’
‘Yes. His communications people were cute about it, and if I hadn’t been as good as I am and had enough time, I might not have found him. But I did. He’s in the city. My bet is that you’ll have company soon.’
‘Everything here is set?’
‘Of course.’
Cleena pushed up from the chair and headed for the back door. Sevki had already briefed her on how to get out of the building without being seen.
‘We own the perimeter.’
‘Affirmative. If possible, I want the target alive. Damage at this juncture is a moot point. But I want the target able to answer questions.’
‘Then you’ll get it.’
Settled into the passenger seat of the SUV across the street and down two blocks from the cyber café, Dawson held his pistol in his lap and watched the takedown team in action.
Dawson lifted his sat-phone and called another number. When it was answered, he said, ‘Sir, we are at go.’
Vice-President Webster didn’t hesitate. ‘Secure your target. I want to talk to Professor Lourds.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll call you when we have the secondary target.’
‘Do that. And good luck. We’re in very dangerous times at present. All of us.’
The gravity in Webster’s voice was unmistakable, and Dawson had never before heard that tone so strongly. Dawson couldn’t help thinking about the vice-president more or less marooned behind enemy lines in Saudi Arabia. Tensions in that part of the world continued to escalate as skirmishes and civil unrest broke out like grass fires.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Dawson asked. If the vice-president had asked, he would have abandoned the mission in Istanbul at once and charged to his rescue.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Webster replied. ‘I’ll be fine.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘Glory is about to rain down on us. Trust me on that.’
Dawson hesitated, not at all certain what the vice-president was talking about. But he heard the conviction in the man’s words. The stakes, whatever they turned out to be, were huge. Dawson just wished he could see the connection between what was taking place in Saudi Arabia and Istanbul. As far as he knew, no other American intelligence community was interested in Professor Thomas Lourds.
‘I do trust you, sir,’ Dawson replied.
‘Good, because we’re going to have to trust each other a lot over the next few days,’ Webster told him.
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘Soon, Jimmy. Everything will happen in due time. I’ve planned this for a long, long time. Get Lourds and bring him to me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The vice-president hung up the phone, but not before Dawson heard explosions in the background. He knew from the news reports coming out of the area that hostile aggression had increased within Saudi Arabia. The Saudi army had mobilized and begun spreading out across the major cities. But their efforts weren’t enough to keep Shia terrorists, or rebels as some of the local news stations were calling them, from striking back. The Shia targeted American and European businesses as well as Saudi government buildings. Several oil fields were burning, and international investors complained bitterly and threatened to take action.
Dawson’s headset buzzed for attention.
‘The clerk has made a positive ID on our target,’ the agent inside the cyber café said.
Dawson glanced at the cyber café. ‘Do you see her?’
‘No, sir. She’s not at one of the computer terminals.’
‘But she was?’
‘Definitely. The clerk IDd her.’
‘Then where is she?’ Anger and frustration welled up in Dawson.
‘I don’t know, sir. We’re looking.’
Dawson cursed. ‘Don’t just look. Find her.’ He slipped the restraining loop from the hammer of his pistol and pushed the door open. Across the street, the rest of the team flooded into the building. Dawson’s driver got out and stood beside him. He was a young, intense man with black sunglasses that made him look like a spy. He whirled round and lifted his pistol from beneath his jacket. Dawson didn’t know what had caught the man’s attention, but he turned with him.
Cleena MacKenna was on them with the speed of a stalking predator. She fired a taser at the driver. Both darts struck the man in the chest and unleashed their voltage. The driver shook and shivered for a moment, then dropped to the ground.
By that time the woman had already closed on Dawson. A stun baton extended with a meaty chukk! sound. Instinctively, Dawson lifted his pistol to fire. He never had the chance. The woman whipped the baton across his right wrist. Incredible pain exploded through Dawson’s right arm, but his hand went numb immediately. The pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers.
Dawson grabbed at Cleena with his other hand. She smiled at him cruelly and hit that hand with her baton as well. Before he could react to the new pain, she swept the baton up into his crotch. As he dropped to his knees, she hit him again, this time on the side of the neck. Agony swarmed inside Dawson’s head. He almost passed out. Vomit burned up his throat then shot through his lips to splatter against the sidewalk. He was almost too weakened to hold himself up out of the mess on his arms.
Coolly, as if she had all day and there weren’t a dozen specially trained men tearing through the building across the street, Cleena MacKenna popped the car’s passenger door open. She pulled the baton up under Dawson’s throat, into a chokehold, and forced him into the passenger seat. She knelt beside the driver for just a moment, then plucked the car keys from his pocket without hesitation. That she knew which pocket the man had kept the keys in told Dawson that she had been watching them get out of the car.
The whole meeting was a set up.
Dawson thought he’d been outfoxing her and he had only put himself into a box. He tried to flex his hands, tried to move, but it only doubled the pain and nearly made him pass out. He was helpless.
Cleena slid into the driver seat, started the engine, and buckled up. She looked at him and there was no emotion in her eyes.
‘If you try anything, if you lie to me, I’m going to kill you. I already owe you that for hurting my sister.’
Dawson cleared his throat with effort as she pulled out into traffic. ‘But I didn’t-’
She backhanded him in the mouth without looking. His lips split and his mouth filled with the taste of salt.
‘Don’t,’ she snarled. She grabbed his numbed right hand and held it up to him. ‘See this bruising?’
Dawson did, and he remembered his trip to Boston.
‘That tells me you hit someone not long ago. If you try to sell me that the someone you hit wasn’t my sister, you’re going to be wasting breath. And I meant what I said. Killing you isn’t going to get me into any more trouble than I’m already in.’
Believing her, Dawson sat back in his seat and hoped he passed out. She was good. But stealing the car was a mistake. She was going to find that out. Soon.
And then Dawson fully intended to kill her.