The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  Hugo grabbed her hand, pulled her up, and helped her back inside. “I know,” he said. “Just take it easy. It’ll be fine.”

  Sussie stood in at the top of the steps to the cabin and met Freya. Wrapping her arm around the other woman, she helped her down, and Hugo followed. In the warmth of the cabin, they got Freya down on the couch and wrapped a blanket around her.

  Frank turned and looked at Freya, then nodded to Mikko. “Hey, can you take over for a few minutes?”

  Mikko blinked, nodded, and walked over. Frank pointed forward. “Stay the course,” he instructed. “Touch nothing. Okay?”

  Mikko swallowed. “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

  Frank opened a cupboard, took out a pillbox, and then approached Freya, who watched him with half-open eyes. From a cooler near the sofa, Frank grabbed a water bottle. Then he shook out out a small, white tablet and handed it to Freya.

  “Here, take this.”

  Without questioning, Freya tossed the tablet into her mouth and washed it down. “Thanks,” she croaked.

  Frank held out his hand for the bottle, and Freya gave it back to him. He put it on the table and said, “Give me your hands.”

  Freya blinked. “What?”

  Frank smiled and winked at her. “Trust me.”

  She stretched out her hands, and Frank took hold of her wrists. He placed his thumb on the undersides of the wrists and pressed gently.

  “What are you doing, exactly?” Freya asked.

  Frank pressed harder. “This helps,” he said. “It’s an old fishing trick.”

  Hugo stood nearby and watched with interest. Frank kept the pressure constant on Freya’s wrists, and before long, Freya’s breathing had become less labored. Her cheeks showed a little more color, too.

  The seconds passed. Frank looked at the seasick woman and asked, “How do you feel?”

  Freya nodded slowly. “I’m not sure,” she said. Then she looked up at him. “A bit better, perhaps.”

  Frank nodded. “Some respond, others do not.”

  Hugo went over to Mikko, who held the steering wheel in a cramped grip.

  “How’s it going?” Hugo asked his friend.

  Mikko’s strained smile said it all. Hugo patted him on the shoulder.

  “You’re fine.”

  The waves grew taller, and the boat heeled.

  “Frank!” Mikko cried.

  Frank gently released Freya’s wrists. “You’ll manage?” he asked her.

  Freya nodded. She was sitting straighter now, and her face no longer looked pale. “Yes, thank you. That was very kind.”

  Frank smiled at her, then left her to take the steering wheel from Mikko. “Good job,” he said to the younger man. “You did well.”

  Hugo pointed at the radar screen. “It looks like we’re getting closer.”

  “Yeah, we’ve probably gained a couple minutes. It doesn’t look like they’re as fast as we are.”

  “Good,” Hugo said. “Keep the speed as high as you can. When we get closer, we’ll try to figure out how to stop them.”

  He went to the table where the rest of the group was sitting. Sussie was next to Freya, and Mikko sat on the other side, doing something on an iPad. Hugo sat down and looked at his comrades. It had been two arduous hours, and it showed on their faces. On any mission, the pendulum swung rapidly; when you experienced a shooting like they had just hours ago, adrenaline was pumped into the body. This meant you temporarily got a sort of superpower, but it also meant that when the adrenaline subsided, your body dropped into an almost shock-like state. The exhaustion you could feel after something like that was a physical force that could bring you to your knees.

  He turned to Freya and Sussie. “How’s it going?”

  Freya nodded dully. “I’m feeling a little better now that Frank helped me,” Freya replied.

  “So it worked?”

  “Yeah, it feels like it.”

  Sussie ran a hand through her hair. “I’m a bit worried about how we’ll be able to stop them once we catch up,” she admitted.

  Hugo nodded. “I am, too. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” He looked at Freya and said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Then he turned to Mikko, but the big guy leaned forward and threw a playful punch on his shoulder.

  “You know we Finns are indestructible, right?”

  “Yeah,” Hugo laughed, “you have God and Mannerheim—they give you all the strength you need, right?”

  Mikko banged his fist on the table. “Exactly!”

  Hugo shook his head and grabbed one of the team’s bags. He fished out an iPad and powered it up. “Let’s see if we can get through to headquarters,” he said. In a moment, he’d activated the encrypted communication system. The tablet blinked, and the app’s icon changed color from red to green.

  “There we go.”

  Hugo pulled up a menu and scrolled down until he found what he was looking for. “Check it out, guys. We have a hit on what we found in the van. And also the pictures you captured from the traffic camera, Sussie.”

  Sussie leaned forward. “Great! Tell us about it.”

  Hugo clicked on the alert, and a picture of a grim-faced man appeared. His skin was dirty, but he was still recognizable. Steel-blue eyes, a straight nose, and curly hair. Hugo knew exactly who this was before he even started reading.

  The traffic camera images contain two identifiable men. The first is Jules Timo, a thirty-five-year-old Belgian mercenary. Tino served in the French Foreign Legion for three years before being thrown out. Afterward, he was recruited as a soldier for hire. He has performed a dozen assignments that we know of, and likely more. Tino is known to have murdered at least five people. He is wanted by Interpol with a million-dollar reward. Two of his well-known clients are Tony Stanos and Raynard de Cryx.

  Reading over Hugo’s shoulder, Mikko raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like a nice guy.”

  Hugo clicked on the next profile. A close-up of total brutality emerged. A man’s unsteady eyes stared straight ahead; the skin on the right side of his face was mangled in a saw-like scar.

  Hugo scoffed. “Wait until you hear this, then. Raynard de Cryx—another French legionary. He wasn’t only kicked out but also went to prison for murdering one of his fellow soldiers. He was only in for four years, and when he came out, he went to Africa and was commissioned as a mercenary. He took part in two massacres over the last decade and is internationally wanted. He disappeared four years ago and is suspected of moving to the private sector, where apparently, there’s a need for militiamen of Raynard’s caliber.”

  Mikko snapped his fingers. “So they both belong to the heavy artillery.”

  “Yeah, but why use these types of guys for a burglary?”

  “What do you mean?” Sussie asked.

  Hugo thought for a minute. “In this world,” he said, “if you’ve got an assignment that needs to be done, you want the right type of people for it. It doesn’t make sense to send an assassin to a burglary, or vice versa. But here, you’ve got the most brutal types of people sent to commit a simple theft mission. It just sounds weird to me.”

  Mikko was just about to respond when, at the helm, Frank cried out, “No!”

  ***

  There was no time to rest, but Raynard had to catch his breath. As he sank onto the soft sofa in the cabin, fatigue pooled in his body like rain on a tarp. The last few hours had been a haze—the burglary, the escape, the shootout. It had been quite a day.

  He lifted his hand and saw that it was shaking slightly. Before anyone else could notice, he laid it down next to his leg. He looked around at the luxurious cabin. Velvety sofas lined two of the walls in an L-shape. In front of them stood a wooden table with a lip all the way around. The walls were covered with electronic equipment.

  He straightened up when Jules and Noah entered the cabin. Jules approached the table; Noah carried the dark red box by its handle.

  “Everything okay?” Jules asked.

  Raynard nodde
d. “Fine, why do you ask?”

  “You look pale,” Jules said with a shrug.

  Dammit. Raynard needed to maintain a mask of normalcy and strength despite the way he felt at the moment.

  “I’m fine. Just a little seasick.”

  Jules nodded but didn’t answer. Raynard pointed to the wall of electronic equipment.

  “What’s all that?”

  Jules glanced at the wall and replied, “No clue. I’m not sure if Sammy even knows.”

  Raynard shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Put the box here.”

  Noah set it on the table with a thump. The yacht lurched, and Raynard grabbed his midsection as his stomach went up to his throat. He suppressed the nausea.

  “All right,” he said, swallowing. “Let’s have a chat with Sammy.” Raynard got up, walked over to the door, and disappeared through it.

  On deck, a tall, thin man stood at the wheel. Sammy was a thirty-five-year-old Danish mercenary—though his reddish hair and freckles made him look a fair bit younger than he was. He was remarkably calm and efficient.

  Jules approached him and patted his back. “How are things going?”

  Sammy stared intently into the darkness. “It looks like we have a lead in this weather,” Sammy answered. “The other boat is following from here—” He tapped on a screen that showed the Oresund. “Straight from the south.”

  They were a red dot drifting in the middle of the screen. Just below them, a blue dot flashed. Raynard tapped on it.

  “That’s the boat that’s coming after us?”

  Sammy nodded. “Yep.”

  Raynard bit his lip. This wasn’t going as planned, and he hated that. Whoever was after them, they were clearly professionals. They weren’t cops; they moved too fast for that. Police officers liked to move in a more coordinated way, more methodically. The crew on that boat moved in an entirely different way.

  Jules approached them and pushed a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. “Could it be another team?”

  “What do you mean?” Raynard asked.

  Jules scratched his cheek. “I mean, could our client have two teams? So if one of us fails, the other one could take over?”

  Raynard shook his head. “Doubtful. It would be extremely amateurish to do that. In any case, the client would have informed us about it.”

  Jules considered that and said, “True.”

  “No,” Raynard said under his breath, almost to himself, “they’re hunting us.”

  Sammy pointed out the large front window. “Sweden’s over there. That’s where our reinforcements are coming from.”

  Frowning, Raynard strained to glimpse something through the raging storm but saw only a furious sea.

  “Where are they?”

  Sammy checked the screen. A faint blue dot was moving toward them on the right side.

  “They’re seven minutes out and coming in quickly.”

  “Good,” Raynard said. “See to it that we get to them as soon as possible.”

  Sammy’s eyebrows pushed together. “Should I not keep a straight course north?”

  Raynard was about to respond when a massive wave pushed the boat up into the air and then dropped it into a deep wave valley. Raynard’s stomach crept close to his throat again, and he felt his last meal ascending as if taking an express elevator. He kept his mouth shut, rushed up the stairs to the deck, and faded into the darkness. The icy rain battered his face, but he didn’t notice the pain; he was too busy doubling over the railing and releasing the contents of his stomach.

  His abdominal muscles cramped as he heaved again and again. After what felt like an eternity, he spat and straightened up. That was better. Not good, but better. He stumbled to the door, ripped it open, and made his way back to the cabin.

  When he entered the room again, Jules, Noah, and Sammy stared at him. Raynard thought he saw a twinkle of something in their eyes, and he met their gaze.

  After a few silent seconds, Sammy tapped the radar screen. “Three minutes.”

  Raynard blinked. “What?”

  Sammy nodded at the window. “Our reinforcements. They’ll be here in three minutes.”

  Raynard clenched his fists. “Perfect. We have to get them to protect us from that other boat.”

  They pushed on into the endless stormy gloom. Lights to their left revealed the Danish coast. The further north they got, the more the glow of Copenhagen faded. And then there was something shining dimly far out on the horizon.

  Raynard pointed. “What is that?”

  Sammy checked the radar screen and replied, “Looks like a cargo ship. There were a couple of Malaysian ships calling at the port of Malmö last week. It could be one of them.”

  “It looks huge.”

  Sammy nodded. “Some of them are pure monsters. It’s not uncommon to see one over three hundred meters long.”

  “Three hundred meters?” Jules gasped.

  Sammy chuckled. “Yeah, but this one isn’t nearly that big.”

  Raynard studied the radar screen. The blue dot to their south had come closer, but it still a considerable distance away. The second blue dot to the right was much nearer.

  “Not long left,” he commented. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he answered it. “Yes?”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  Sara. “What is it?” Raynard asked.

  “Jesus, Raynard. I’m trying to get you help. The least you could do is pretend to appreciate it.”

  Raynard sighed. He didn’t have time for this squabble. He took a deep breath and said, “You’re right. I apologize.”

  Sara seemed to relax somewhat.

  Our other yacht is called the Mustang. The captain’s name is Bent, and the team leader’s name is Rick. They’ll be contacting you soon.”

  “Okay, good. And they’re professionals?”

  “They’re the best we could get our hands on with such short notice.”

  “All right, thanks for the help. We’ll meet up with them and head to Oslo as agreed.”

  Sara’s voice tensed again. “Are you sure you can get there?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry. If I say we’ll be there, we’ll be there.”

  “Right, but there are only seven hours left.”

  A wave of frustration rolled over Raynard’s chest. “Don’t worry,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Okay. Seven hours. Don’t disappoint me. Do you still have the box?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it unopened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Deliver it as agreed, and you’ll get a bonus of another million. It’ll be like a Band-Aid on the wounds since you lost part of your team.”

  Raynard frowned. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “That’s kind.”

  “Seven hours.”

  The call disconnected, and Jules looked at Raynard.

  “What did she say?”

  “The reinforcements from Sweden are going to call us.” He paused, then added, “And we get another million bandages on our wound because we lost half our team.”

  Jules’ eyes lit up. “They’re paying us an extra million?”

  Raynard nodded.

  “Nice!”

  “Yeah, but we don’t get it until we deliver that damn box to Oslo. We have seven hours left.”

  ***

  It was now or never. Sara Blitz licked her lips, then downed the last of her coffee. As she laid the cup on the sink, she stared out the large kitchen window. Outside, the storm raged in full force; the rain was like a jackhammer on the windowpane. Out on the horizon, lightning flashed, and she counted quietly to herself. After eleven seconds, she heard the roar of the distant thunder. Turning, Sara leaned against the sink and thought. She’d come a long way. She had. From her humble beginnings to where she was now, it was like night and day.

  But she wanted more.

  Sara’s upbringing had given her an unquenchable drive for wealth. And by a lucky coincidence, she’d already learned through Ma
rco that Magnus von Silverstråle had cryptocurrency worth one billion kronor in his safe. That was what he’d used to bribe select businessmen to make the merger happen. It had become too much of a temptation for her. Sara had been planning this for weeks, and when Jasper had contacted her, everything had looked like it really could work.

  But now, all that she’d planned was hanging in the balance. Now, she risked losing everything. If Raynard and his team didn’t get to Oslo at the agreed-upon time, her plan would fail.

  The kitchen seemed to shift around her, and Sara had to grab hold of the sink. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down.

  “How you doing?” came a deep voice. Sara opened her eyes and saw James, their English butler, standing in the doorway.

  “I’m good, thank you. Just got a little dizzy.”

  A wrinkle creased James’ forehead. “Can I get you something?”

  “It’s okay, James. I’m okay.”

  James gave a brief nod and said, “Excellent. If you need me, I’ll be in the west wing.”

  Sara nodded, and James departed, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more. There wasn’t much time; she had to take a chance if she still wanted this to succeed. Initially, she’d planned to go up to Oslo in their private plane, but Marco had taken it.

  She looked at the storm again and shuddered. How would she get to Oslo now? Biting her lip, Sara headed to the bedroom. She opened the closet door and flipped through the clothes that hung perfectly inside, choosing a dark, ruffled pantsuit and a pair of stiletto heels. She changed and admired her reflection in the full-length mirror.

  Perfect.

  Sara knew that when she met up with Jasper, she’d have to bring her a-game. She checked her makeup, and when she was satisfied, she grabbed an elegant white faux fur coat, hung it over an arm, and left the room for her office.

  Sara sat down in her office chair and crossed her legs. The soft leather enveloped her, and she savored the moment. Last year, she’d persuaded Marco that her own office would be necessary for reading about her stock deals. Marco, wanting to please his wife and support her small business venture, had arranged for a room to be converted into an office for her.