The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  When they arrived at their destination, four police cruisers were parked in front of the building, blue lights flashing. Lisa made a wide turn, pulled up to the sidewalk, and stopped a bowling lane’s distance from where the cruisers stood.

  “Here we go.”

  Hugo stepped out of the back seat and glanced over the scene. Three officers stood guard, and the cruisers’ lights reflected on the windows of surrounding houses. He reached into the car for his pack.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Hugo said. He didn’t wait for an answer. From his pocket, his phone vibrated.

  “Hugo,” he answered.

  “Hey, Hugo, it’s Mikko. Where are you, buddy?”

  Hugo grinned. Mikko was the team’s technical equipment specialist and always seemed to be able to lighten the mood.

  “Glad you called,” Hugo said. “I just got to the apartment. Where are you?”

  Mikko’s voice blared through the phone. “Sussie, Freya, and I are headed across the bridge to meet you. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Anything you want us to get ready?”

  Hugo pondered. The first few hours of an assignment were often the most critical and intense. If they acted quickly, they had a greater chance of succeeding than if days passed. He answered, “Yeah, find out as much as you can about this Magnus von Silverstråle. I know a little, but considering his position, there may be some buried secrets.”

  “You think so?”

  Hugo narrowed his eyes. “The higher they are, the longer they fall, right?”

  “Okay, I’ll get started,” Mikko said.

  “Great. Hey, ask Freya what weapons you have available.”

  A few seconds passed. Then Mikko said, “Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

  The sound crackled, indicating speakerphone was enabled.

  “Freya?” Hugo tried.

  Freya’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hi, Hugo.”

  “Freya, what weapons do you have with you?”

  “The usual,” she replied. “Some SIG Sauers and a couple of Steyr AUGs.”

  “Okay.”

  Freya hesitated. “Do we need more?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Text me when you get here. I’m going to try to get into the apartment.”

  “Will do.”

  Hugo ended the call, and behind him, the car started off. Lisa reached out the driver’s window and gave him a thumbs-up as they disappeared into the night. Hugo walked down the sidewalk toward the nearest cop.

  ***

  All good things come in threes. Hugo approached the barricades and was met by a substantially built policeman with a stern face.

  “Stop,” he said, holding up a hand. “You can’t come in here.”

  Hugo, whose height matched the officer’s, met the policeman’s eyes. “I’m Hugo Xavier, from Novus. I was called here to help. I need to get into the apartment.”

  The officer frowned and folded his arms in front of him. “You do, do you?”

  “Call your boss, and you’ll see that it’s okay.”

  The policeman scowled, then shrugged. “Fine. Stay here, and I’ll check.” He headed over to his colleagues, who were standing some distance away. Hugo wasn’t worried; he’d been through this before. One of the officers pulled a radio to his mouth and talked into it, his eyebrows knitted together. As he listened to the response, his face slowly changed. He nodded and said something to the beefy officer who had spoken to Hugo, who then quickly pivoted and walked back to Hugo. He lifted the barrier.

  “I apologize, sir. You can pass.”

  Hugo nodded amiably to the cop. It was always better to take it easy in situations like this and let the authorities fix the issues among each other.

  “No problem,” Hugo said and looked up at the façade. “Which apartment is it?”

  “Very top—it’s the only suite up there.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hugo entered the building, taking note of the broken front door. The entrance otherwise looked solid, but the grilles that protected the lock were cut.

  Interesting.

  After taking the elevator to the top floor, Hugo met a young policeman outside the apartment door.

  “Hugo Xavier,” Hugo announced, “from Novus.”

  The officer nodded eagerly. He was smooth-faced and had deep-set, anxious eyes. “You can go right through,” he sputtered.

  Hugo stepped into the apartment and continued into the hallway. Two police officers standing to his right watched him as he approached. One of them, a middle-aged woman with graying hair pulled into a tight knot, walked toward him with determined steps. Her heels pounded the floor tiles.

  “You’re Hugo Xavier?”

  He nodded. “That’s right. Thank you for letting me in.”

  The woman studied him for a few seconds. “You have high-ranking friends,” she said.

  Hugo smiled. “Yes, I do.”

  Another second passed as she stared at him, squinting, one eye closed just a bit more than the other. Finally, she held out her hand.

  “Beatrice Holdt. Danish police.”

  He met her gaze. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hugo Xavier. Novus.”

  Beatrice’s eyes, clear and intelligent, bore into his own. Her face was unsmiling and full of thin lines.

  “Pleased to meet you, too.” She didn’t sound terribly pleased to Hugo.

  Breaking the awkwardness, an officer shouted from further inside the apartment, “Found something!”

  Beatrice spun around and headed toward the voice, and Hugo followed, glancing at his surroundings as he went. It was a beautiful turn-of-the-century apartment with high ceilings; their footsteps echoed regally as they walked through the hall. Tasteful paintings hung on the wall. Hugo recognized some of them, although he couldn’t remember their names. He gestured at the artworks as he and Beatrice passed them.

  “If these paintings are genuine, they’re worth a lot.”

  Beatrice glanced at them as she walked, shrugging. “If you’re as rich as Magnus von Silverstråle, money doesn’t matter.”

  “True.”

  They entered the opulent living room. Against the far wall, a policeman stood next to a high window and pointed out into the darkness. Beatrice stared at him.

  “Johan, what are you doing?”

  Officer Johan Pedersen waved them over to him and continued to point out the window. Hugo followed his finger.

  “There,” Johan said. “Do you see?”

  On the roof of a house across the street, a man in pajamas stood holding binoculars. He stared at them as if they’d come from another planet. Beatrice raised her hand in greeting, and the man seemed to realize that they were police officers. He began to wave his arms frantically, like someone stranded on a deserted island. Beatrice pulled up her radio.

  “HQ, this is one-four-two. I need a code two at Strandagervej thirteen. Male adult on the roof. If we’re lucky, he might have seen something at the von Silverstråle place.”

  Hugo turned and gazed across the living room. A thick Arabian rug covered most of the floor, and a posh sofa set was placed to the right. Next to the sofa lay a dead man.

  Hugo walked over to him. Two shots to the head, a professional execution. Beatrice came up behind him.

  “There’s another one in the kitchen. Shot the same way.”

  “Whoever did it, they were professionals.”

  “Looks that way,” she agreed. “In the library, the safe’s open. It’s empty.”

  Hugo took a good, long look at the lifeless body. The man had been tall and thin, with short, cropped hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples. Hugo had a distinct impression that the man had been a mercenary, not a bodyguard.

  “Have you checked him?” he asked.

  Beatrice pulled out her phone and scrolled through it. “Yes,” she said. “Martin Kemp. A German security resource. He was employed by Magnus a little more than a year ago. Background fro
m the German military.” She nodded toward the kitchen and said, “Same for the guy in the kitchen, except he’s Argentinian.”

  A shout from a room further down the hall made Hugo freeze. “Who’s that?”

  Beatrice walked in the direction of the roar, calling over her shoulder, “The guy who called us, the third guard. An American—Brock Jones. For some reason, the intruders left him alive to contact the police.”

  Hugo frowned. “The one they left? He’s still here?”

  “Yep,” she said with a shrug. “The medics are working to stabilize him before he’s moved. He was shot in both legs.”

  “Nice,” muttered Hugo as he followed Beatrice down the hall. They came to a large bedroom, and on the kingly bed lay a large man with bloody legs. To his left and right, paramedics worked on his wounds. The man clenched his fists.

  “Take it easy, I said!”

  One of the medics watched the mountain of a man apprehensively. “We’ll do that,” she said, “but we need to stabilize your legs before we can move you.”

  The man swung his arms. “No, you don’t! You wanna kill me!”

  Beatrice looked at Hugo. “Mr. Jones is confused and aggressive, as you can see. I think they’re going to have to sedate him to be able to help him.”

  Hugo nodded. Jones continued to swing his arms at imaginary opponents. His forehead glistened with sweat, and he was breathing heavily; Hugo could tell that the man was close to exhaustion. Hugo took a deep breath and went into the room. Beatrice reached to stop him, but Hugo moved too fast.

  He stopped near the edge of the bed and roared, “Soldier!”

  Brock Jones immediately stopped flailing his arms. Everyone in the room stared at Hugo in amazement as he took another step forward.

  “Soldier,” he called out, “focus!”

  The man’s eyes sparkled, and he relaxed imperceptibly. Hugo sought his gaze.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  The injured man met Hugo’s gaze. “Jones. Specialist Brock Jones.”

  Hugo lowered his voice slightly. “You’re among friends, Specialist Jones. These paramedics want to patch you up before you’re transported to an ambulance. You understand?”

  Jones relaxed even more, and his arms fell onto the bed as if deflated. The stench of sweat and blood in the room was sickening, and Hugo choked back a shiver.

  Jones nodded and mumbled, “I understand. Thank you, sir.”

  Hugo nodded at the gaping paramedics. One of them grabbed the other by the arm, and they again started bandaging Jones’ bloody legs. Hugo met Beatrice’s gaze.

  “Impressive,” she said with the hint of a grin.

  “No problem,” Hugo said, pursing his lips. “You didn’t get anything from him about the guys who broke into the apartment, did you?”

  Beatrice shook her head. “No, nothing. We haven’t even been able to talk to him because of the state he’s in. But you managed to calm him down, so maybe we’ll be able to get something out of him before they take him to the hospital.”

  Hugo nodded, about to reply when excited chatter echoed from the stairwell.

  3

  He who waits for something good always waits too long. When Hugo heard the upset voices coming from the direction of the stairs, he rushed out into the hall. A cop was walking in the opposite direction, toward Hugo, beside an upset elderly gentleman. The man was wearing pajamas and felt slippers, and his white hair stood straight up on his head. He held a pair of binoculars in his hand, which he waved in front of him as he spoke.

  “That’s what I’m saying!” he cried. “I saw it all! It was like a movie. Like a real movie. See, I’m still shaking.” The man held out his hand to demonstrate the trembling for the officer before starting to wave his arms again. The policeman brought the man into the living room and found Beatrice and Johan waiting there. Beatrice held up her hands, and the old man finally fell silent.

  “Listen, my name is Beatrice, and I’m a police officer. I understand you saw some of what happened here last night.”

  The man shook his head. “No, not at all. I didn’t just see parts of it. I saw everything!”

  Beatrice’s eyes flicked to Hugo, who met the hopeful glance with one of his own.

  “Did you?” she asked. “Tell me about it.” She led him to the sofa and guided him to sit. “Johan, could you get Mr.—”

  “Thomsen,” the man in pajamas filled in.

  “—Mr. Thomsen a cup of tea?”

  Johan left in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Thomsen,” Beatrice urged.

  “Well, I live alone, you see, and sometimes I can’t sleep. Those nights I sometimes entertain myself by looking down the street with this.” He waved the binoculars.

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t usually see too much that’s interesting. Badgers, sometimes, or fitches lookin’ for food. But last night,” he continued, “I saw a group of guys dressed all in black rushing into this apartment. Looked like military! They had guns an’ everything. I mean, there’s always a light on over here, and I know there’s always two or three people here at night. I know who lives here—Magnus von Silverstråle.” He nodded importantly as if he’d told a secret to the police.

  He went on, “These men who rushed in here last night, they just went to attack. It happened so fast! There were lots of them, at least five men that rushed in, all completely in black. But one of them was the leader, clearly. That one moved like a shark.”

  Beatrice listened closely to everything the man said, then asked, “What happened after the men rushed in?”

  The man hesitated for a few seconds, thinking. “It . . . it all went so fast, so insanely fast. The guards that are usually here were forced down onto the floor, on their knees. And from what I could see, it looked like the intruders’ leader was talkin’ to them. And then—then he just shot them.” Mr. Thomsen looked up at Beatrice and shook his head. “They had big, dark weapons,” he said, then fell silent once more.

  Beatrice’s forehead scrunched up quizzically. “And you didn’t call the police?” she asked.

  The man’s shoulders sank. “I froze,” he admitted. “It felt like an eternity. I was going to call, I promise. But that man looked so awfully cruel that I froze.”

  Hugo, who had been listening off to the side, took a step forward. He met the man’s gaze. “What did he look like?”

  The older gentleman flinched. “Who are you?”

  Hugo clenched his jaw, and old Mr. Thomsen swallowed audibly when he met Hugo’s gaze.

  “Ah . . . he was wearing black, from head to toe, just like all of ‘em. He had dark, thick hair, and there was a long, ragged scar down his cheek.” He traced his finger down his left cheek from the temple down to the chin.

  “Would you be able to recognize him if you saw a picture of him?”

  The man hesitated. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”

  “Ok, thanks.” Hugo winked at Beatrice, turned around, and left the living room.

  There wasn’t much time. Whoever these people were, they’d been professionals. Hugo pulled out his cell phone. It rang twice before a woman answered.

  “This is Sussie.”

  “Sussie, it’s me. I need your help.”

  Sussie was the group’s expert when it came to searching for people. She had access to hundreds of databases via the encrypted link to Novus’ main computer.

  “Sure thing, Hugo. What do you need?”

  “See if you can find out what kinds of cameras are set up around the house. If we’re lucky, the attackers were caught on film, either when they went in or when they left.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Hugo said, “We have an eyewitness who saw them, so if we can get a picture, that could help us recreate what happened here last night.”

  “How does it look in there, anyway?” Sussie asked.

  “There are two dead guards and one that’s seriously injured. And something was stolen fr
om the safe.”

  “What was it?”

  “That’s still unclear.”

  Sussie was silent for a few seconds, then she said, “Okay, I’m going to see if we can get some pictures from surveillance cameras in the area.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.”

  “Great. Wait for me in the van. I’m coming down.”

  As Hugo clicked off the call, his thoughts raced. This was a professional hit, a well-planned attack. But for what? To murder the bodyguards? No. It wasn’t about them. It had to be about whatever was in the safe. There was no other possibility. His thoughts swirled as he heard new voices from the stairwell.

  A male voice thundered, but the echo distorted it, throwing the words in all directions. Hugo went back out to the hallway and turned toward the door to the stairwell. The deep, bass voice was becoming more understandable.

  “But you’re not hearing what I’m telling you! I live here! Let me in now—I’m Magnus von Silverstråle!”

  ***

  A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark, curly hair pushed into the apartment. He was wearing light chinos, a dark sweater, and sparkling-clean sneakers. He stared at Hugo, then at Beatrice.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asked, breathing hard.

  Beatrice took a step forward and stretched out her hand. “Beatrice Holdt, Danish police.”

  He didn’t shake her hand. He turned his heated gaze to Hugo, who nodded in greeting.

  “Hugo Xavier. Novus.”

  The man’s eyes twinkled. “Ah! Novus! And the police. Good to see you’re already here. I’m Magnus von Silverstråle. This is my place.”

  Beatrice nodded. “Yes, we know that. It’s a beautiful apartment you have.” She paused. “I’m sorry we’re meeting in a circumstance like this.”

  Magnus shook his head. Hugo studied him. This was the type of man who was clearly used to getting his way. Dominant. A full-speed-ahead kind of guy.

  Magnus spun around. “I just need to check something. Excuse me.”

  He pushed his way past Beatrice and Hugo, who had to take a step back to keep from being knocked over. A few moments later, a loud moan escaped the library.