The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  Hugo frowned. “Seems like this Magnus von Silverstråle guy is a real heavyweight.”

  “Yeah,” Mikko said, “I guess he must be if he can call Madeleine and have us sent out immediately.”

  There was something about this that didn’t feel quite right to Hugo, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He tapped on the iPad and narrowed his eyes in confusion.

  “But why use us?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A man like Magnus must have police contacts. He must be able to have the cops use their power to address this for him. But he didn’t. Why?”

  Mikko shrugged. “Who knows how these super-rich people think? Maybe he didn’t trust that they’d do a good enough job.”

  “Yeah, but they’re the police. They have access to far more resources than we can ever possibly have. There’s got to be something else.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like the police,” Sussie said over her shoulder.

  Hugo nodded thoughtfully. “Could be. But why wouldn’t he like them?”

  “It could be anything,” Sussie said with a shrug. “Maybe something happened to him as a kid.”

  The van rolled over a bump and rocked.

  “They’ve got to do something about these roads,” Freya murmured. She cleared her throat and said to the team, “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Why Magnus doesn’t want to involve the police. It’s because whatever the burglars took, the police aren’t allowed to see it.”

  Hugo looked out the side window as they passed two slow-moving trucks. Freya was right; that was probably it. There must be something in the box that under no circumstances should fall into the hands of the police.

  “Any idea what it might be?”

  Freya chuckled. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Just then, Sussie gasped. “There’s shooting in Copenhagen!” She looked at the crew, wide-eyed. “Cops have been shot!”

  Hugo froze. “Where in Copenhagen?”

  Sussie worked fast. “Hold on just a sec.” She paused, reading, then looked up again. “Out in Nordhavn!”

  “Freya,” Hugo said, and Freya squealed into a sharp right turn and stepped on the accelerator.

  Her eyes were set straight ahead in determination, and her hands gripped the wheel firmly at ten and two. “Let’s go!”

  5

  When Raynard had emptied the magazine into the already-wounded cop, a cloud of smoke drifted slowly past him. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled Raynard’s nose and made it burn. He ignored the feeling. The policeman lay in a pool of blood, motionless.

  “You win nothing,” Raynard whispered. “I win!”

  He spat, turned around, and ran back to the Renault. Strong hands pulled open the side door, and Raynard took a big step up into it. He sank into the back seat as he holstered his gun.

  “Okay, that was it. Unexpected, but we have to be able to adapt, right?”

  Jules’s scarred face turned toward him. “Yeah, we get it.”

  Raynard gave the driver a signal, and he stepped on it. The Master that held Raynard and his crew, followed by the rest of the team in a slightly older van of the same model, drove up the ramp and came out into the morning air. The sun dazzled Raynard for a moment, and he held up his hand to shield his eyes.

  The sunlight reminded him of his upbringing in France. It felt like an eternity ago, but it had only been thirty years since Raynard had spent his days running around the family’s wine castle, collecting grapes from hundred-year-old vines. He’d been there when the hired men had done the heavy labor, driving the grapes into the presses. Raynard had followed them, eager to understand how it all came together. One of the foremen had taken Raynard under his wing and shown him everything involved in wine production. God, it had been forever ago.

  “Okay,” Raynard said, frowning. “Change of plans. We go further up the coast before we head over to the boat. It’s too risky to do it now. The place will be crowded with police in a couple of minutes.”

  Jules nodded and checked his weapon. “Probably a good idea. Want me to contact the boat and ask them to meet us at location B?”

  “Do it.”

  Noah, the driver, sped up, and the van proceeded toward Copenhagen. Nordhavn was an old industrial district in the eastern part of the city, but in recent years, new residential areas had popped up. The entire area had been inundated with young, well-to-do, upper-middle-class families.

  Jules spoke into his radio, “Dolphin. Come in, Dolphin.”

  The radio crackled, and a woman’s voice was heard. “Dolphin here. Come in.”

  “This is Runner. We’ve changed our plans.”

  A moment’s hesitation. Then, “I see. Go ahead.”

  “We need to go north at once. Head that direction and meet us at location B in half an hour. Confirm.”

  “Roger that. We will meet you at location B in half an hour.”

  “Runner out.”

  Jules put down the radio and pointed forward through the windshield. “Noah, drive north, but take it easy, okay?”

  Noah nodded and pulled back his lips in a shark-like smile. His teeth were a crooked, mangled mess. “Obviously,” he replied.

  As they approached the only exit from Nordhavn, Jules looked around to see if any cop cars were in sight. He saw nothing except a mail van a man walking his dog. The area was all but empty for now, but it wouldn’t be long until that changed. An hour from now, people would be up and about; if Raynard and his men were going to leave Copenhagen, now was the time.

  Noah braked at a red light, and the man with the dog crossed the road in front of them. Somewhere far away, sirens howled. Raynard clenched his jaw, knowing those sirens were headed in their direction.

  Noah had the same thought. “That’s for us, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Jules nodded. “No doubt.”

  “Okay, then it’s time to go.”

  The light turned, and Noah took a right at the intersection. But he’d only gone halfway through it when something flashed in the corner of his eye. A shape was careening toward them from the next road. Noah reacted instinctively, stomping on the accelerator. The other men in the van shouted.

  “What the hell?” Jules cried out. But a second later, he saw the threat too. There was another van—a white one—coming toward them at full speed.

  “Move!” he roared.

  Deftly, Noah steered the Renault as he went faster.

  Raynard, who had been jolted off the seat, crawled back up and stared behind them to see what had frightened Noah. A van, the same size as theirs, was gaining on them. Its windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see inside.

  He grabbed his radio from his pocket. “Laszlo!”

  “Laszlo here.”

  “We’ve got a pursuer.”

  “What?”

  “Behind us now, a van. Not the police. Someone else.”

  “Other mercs?”

  “Unknown. What’s your location?”

  “Two hundred meters behind you.”

  “Okay, hurry and get up here. We need help.”

  “Roger.”

  Raynard put down the radio, pulled out his weapon, and readied it. “Come on, you morons.”

  ***

  A good offense is the best defense. Hugo grabbed the seat and pulled himself forward. Outside, a black Renault Master hurtled around the corner and accelerated rapidly.

  “Freya!” Hugo roared.

  Freya gave a quick nod and shouted back, “I see them!” She turned the steering wheel hard and stepped on the gas. The tires screeched as they rounded the corner, and Mikko was thrown into the side door.

  “Jesus! Watch it!”

  “I told you to buckle up!” Freya called back.

  Mikko dragged himself back up to his seat and shook his head. Hugo glanced at him.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right,” he said, grinning as he buckled his seat belt.
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  In front of them, the Renault punched forward, spitting a dark cloud from its exhaust pipe.

  On the side of the road, something shiny caught Hugo’s eye. It was a cyclist, a young guy with AirPods in his ears. The kid wasn’t paying attention. The next few moments happened so fast that Hugo barely had time to shout a warning to Freya. The cyclist drove straight into the street in front of them, and Freya slammed on the brakes. The tires screamed, and Hugo went flying. Mikko, caught by his newly attached seat belt, grunted as it cut into his midsection. In front, Freya and Sussie jerked forward but were held tight by their shoulder straps.

  The cyclist turned quickly to escape the oncoming van, cutting wildly toward the center median. As he hit the curb, his bike was hurled into the air. Everything slowed down, and Hugo watched as the cyclist sailed in a wide, slow-motion arc through the air. The bicycle went skidding across the oncoming lanes of traffic, and the kid hit the asphalt hard. As he made contact, something exploded around his head. Hugo felt his heart stop.

  “No!” he cried.

  Freya released the brake, and the van’s wheels began to roll again. She turned left to straighten the vehicle on the road and stared back at the cyclist in the side mirror. The tires finally found their way, and the Sprinter picked up speed again in pursuit of the fleeing van.

  Sussie turned and gasped, “Oh my God, is he dead?”

  Hugo leaned out the window and saw the cyclist crawling to his feet. The young man’s head was wrapped in a poof of black nylon. Hugo watched as the man pulled it off.

  “He’s alive!” Hugo moaned in relief. “He was wearing an inflatable helmet—you know, one of those Hövding things.”

  Mikko opened his eyes wide, and a second later, his laughter rumbled through the van.

  “That’s one lucky guy!”

  “No kidding.” Hugo shook his head, took a deep breath, and then fixed his gaze again on the fleeing van. By this time, it was several hundred meters further ahead.

  “Freya! Speed up!” he shouted.

  Freya nodded. “Okay! Hold on!”

  Freya pushed the engine, and it roared as they rocketed after the black Renault. Hugo, having had his fill of crashing into the back of Sussie’s seat, finally fastened his seat belt. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  “Madeleine!” he said when his superior picked up. “It’s me.”

  “Hugo. Where are you?” Madeleine Singh replied.

  Hugo pressed the phone to his ear to block out the road noise. “We’re following a van in the northern part of Copenhagen. We just nearly collided with a cyclist—can you contact the Dutch police to send an ambulance to him?”

  “Good Lord, Hugo. Sure, what’s the address?”

  Hugo gave it to her, then said, “There’s one other thing I want to talk to you about, but we’ll have to do it later. Right now, we’ve got to focus on catching up to this van.”

  “All right,” she said. “Call me when things have calmed down.”

  “Roger.” Hugo dropped the call.

  Freya skillfully steered past two garbage trucks and slipped into the fast lane as the Sprinter passed through an intersection. Slowly but surely, they were getting closer. The Renault was just fifty meters in front of them now.

  “Freya, you got him?”

  Freya had extensive driving experience from her time in the military. She could maneuver virtually any kind of vehicle. On top of that, her reputation preceded her for fearlessness, hyper-competency, and—when necessary—ruthlessness. During the last assignment they’d been on, she’d assisted Hugo out of plenty of difficult situations.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “I’ll catch them.”

  Sussie opened her laptop again and said, “I don’t know where they’re going, but if I had to guess, I’d say they’re heading to one of the ports along the coast.”

  Mikko frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they were out at Nordhavn. The only reason to drive to Nordhavn is if you’re going to take a boat from there.”

  Mikko nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

  Another cloud of smoke burst from the back of the Renault ahead of them.

  “Their car may be about to give up,” said Hugo. “Can you get any closer, Freya? Try to push them as much as possible.” He looked at Sussie and asked, “Which port is the most likely one they’ll head to?”

  “I’ll see if I can figure that out.”

  “What about me?” Mikko asked.

  Hugo nodded toward two dark duffel bags sitting in the back of the van. “You can get our weapons ready.”

  Mikko’s eyes glittered. “Abso-frickin’-lutely.”

  Hugo swallowed. Starting a firefight in a densely populated area wasn’t ideal. They did everything in their power to avoid shooting near civilians, but alas, violence was often forced to face violence. This was the bitter truth Hugo had learned during his years in the military. Life is full of people, bad as well as good, but the fact was that no one was either completely bad or good. People were often a mixture.

  Of course, a select few were mostly evil, people who found great pleasure in exercising power over others. When you met people like that, the types that liked to hurt and kill, there was only one way to meet them: with strong, brutal force. Hugo had learned that lesson early on, and today, he’d been reminded of it again.

  He leaned forward and watched the fleeing black van swerve obliquely across an intersection and then disappear down the street. Hugo grabbed Freya’s shoulder and felt her formidable muscles playing under the sleeve of her thin jacket.

  “Get us closer.”

  Freya caught a glimpse of Hugo’s gaze. It was hard as stone.

  “On it.”

  ***

  Raynard pressed the button on his radio. “Laszlo!”

  The Hungarian mercenary’s voice sounded a moment later. “Yeah?”

  Raynard turned in his seat and stared back at the white van chasing theirs. The driver was undoubtedly skilled. They were much closer now, and it wouldn’t be long before they had caught up completely.

  “Where are you?” Raynard asked.

  “Still two hundred meters behind you. It’s no good; we won’t be able to reach you.”

  Raynard tightened his jaw. “Speed up—we need help now! They’re getting closer!”

  Laszlo didn’t hesitate. “We’ll do what we can. But if we can’t get closer, what do you want us to do?”

  Raynard was quiet for a moment. This whole situation was about to slip out of his hands. It was supposed to have been a swift, effective hit, a quick in-and-out, no injuries. But already now two people had died—no, not just two people but two policemen. That meant the entire Danish police force would be coming after them.

  A drop of sweat ran down his back, and he shuddered. Usually, his operations went through without major problems. But this one had gone sideways from the beginning.

  “Shit!” he cursed. Then, to Laszlo, “Get up here as soon as possible. We’ll see if we can arrange a surprise for our tailgaters. Hang on.”

  Raynard leaned forward and thumped the driver on the shoulder, pointing a hundred yards away at a derelict warehouse. “Noah, head toward that building.”

  Noah nodded.

  The taste of metal was sharp in Raynard’s mouth. “Jules,” he said, “take a man with you and be ready to jump out. Get behind cover as soon as possible. Got it?”

  Jules bared his teeth and unfastened his weapon. “Roger.” He nodded at Joshua, a mercenary from Azerbaijan, sitting in the van's third row. Joshua returned the nod.

  “When you get around the corner,” Raynard told Noah, “hit the brakes hard. When these guys are out of the car, you step on it.”

  “Understood.”

  They approached the corner. The shabby corrugated-iron-sided warehouse stretched fifty meters to the road junction. On the other side of the intersection was a parking lot where ten white vans stood parked side by side. A row of trees ran along the s
idewalk; they would give Jules and Joshua excellent cover.

  Raynard was counting down as Noah passed some cars parked on the right.

  “Three . . . two . . . one. Now!”

  Noah stepped on the brake, making the tires howl like timberwolves. Then he yanked up on the handbrake, and the van turned smoothly as the speed bled off. Raynard reached out and pulled the side door open.

  “Go!”

  Jules pushed open the front passenger door and threw himself out. A split-second later, Joshua dove from the side door. The two men hit the ground, rolled, and got to their feet in one smooth motion. The moment Raynard pulled the side door shut again, he saw Joshua and Jules running to their respective trees and taking up position behind them. He was hit with a wave of pride at how professionally these two men had adapted to the situation and how effectively they’d managed his instructions. For a moment, he was like a beaming father at his kids’ high school graduation.

  He looked back. The team’s other van flashed to the side of the road and disappeared as Noah steered the Renault around the corner.

  “Laszlo!” Raynard called into his radio. A second passed, and then Raynard pushed the talk button again. “We’ve arranged a nice surprise for them, Laszlo. Get here as soon as possible, and we’ll finish the job.”

  The Hungarian mercenary chuckled. “Roger that,” he said gruffly. “On my way.”

  ***

  Every muscle in Hugo’s body was in full swing as he watched the black Renault Master disappear around the corner.

  “Freya, don’t lose sight of them!”

  “Don’t worry, they won’t escape,” she replied as she swerved through traffic.

  To their right, a worn old warehouse obscured their view. The corrugated metal plates flew past, and the seconds ticked away. Freya deftly and calmly steered the van toward the intersection. Something in the pit of Hugo’s being lit up like a sparkler, and he clenched his hands into fists. As time passed infinitely slowly, his heart pounded in his chest. A few more seconds and they would be around the corner.