He knew Freya was covering the hall; somehow, he needed to get into the living room. He gathered everything he had and leaped into the room. There was a thunderous noise, and he knew instantly that he’d made a mistake. Raynard had moved indiscernibly across the room, and when Hugo flew through the doorway, Raynard stood up and emptied his magazine.
Hugo rolled up like a ball and landed hard on the floor. Freya shouted from the hall. But Raynard and the other man—whoever he was—ran through the room to the doorway Hugo had come from and disappeared through it. Freya rushed to Hugo and helped him up.
“Are you okay?”
Hugo nodded. “Yeah, I was a little too eager.”
Freya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. They’re stuck up there. They’re going nowhere.”
Before Hugo could answer, he froze and looked at Freya. In the distance was the unmistakable sound of an approaching helicopter.
“No.”
They rushed into the room with the spiral staircase and dashed up them. When their feet hit the roof terrace, Raynard turned around and fired. Hugo and Freya threw themselves into cover. Hugo glimpsed a man in a suit running up to the highest point on the terrace. The roar of the copter was getting closer.
“Goddammit!” Hugo yelled. He checked his weapon. There were only two rounds left.
He aimed carefully at Raynard, who was in the process of changing magazines. Gently, Hugo pressed the trigger. Then he did it one more time. The second shot hit Raynard’s shoulder; he spun around and fell to the ground. The man in the suit turned around in horror. When Hugo saw his face, a shock went through his chest. It was Jasper Roscoe. All the pieces fell into place as Hugo looked at the famous businessman.
“Don’t move!” Hugo roared.
Ignoring the command, Jasper jumped onto the helicopter’s landing gear and climbed inside. Hugo got to his feet in a hurry. The chopper was fifteen meters away, and the engine noise grew as the pilot increased the rotors’ speed. Hugo rushed toward the helicopter. Freya shouted something, but Hugo ignored it. His legs pumped. Seven meters, five, three. Jasper’s eyes widened as he began to understand what Hugo was planning to do.
“Move!” Jasper screamed.
The pilot pulled hard on the control stick, and the helicopter took off. Hugo rushed forward, and at the last second, he jumped.
***
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Hugo flew in an arc through the air and, at the last second, got hold of the copter’s landing gear. He grabbed it as the wind tore at him. The roar was deafening. He hung on while the helicopter rose ten meters. Jasper Roscoe stared down at the man as if he’d come from another planet. But he quickly grasped the situation and started kicking wildly at Hugo.
Hugo defended himself as best he could, but when Jasper’s kicks hit home one after the other on Hugo’s arms and fingers, he could feel his energy draining. In one last desperate attempt, Hugo grabbed for Jasper; to his surprise, he caught hold of Jasper’s foot. Hugo pulled, and Jasper slipped out of the seat.
“No!” he cried. “I’m falling!”
Hugo pulled harder, and Jasper slid down even farther toward Hugo.
“No! Lower the helicopter! I’m falling!”
The pilot abruptly took the helicopter lower, and for a moment, Hugo became weightless. His body hit Jasper’s as they both desperately struggled to hold on. They punched and clawed at each other, and Hugo hit an edge. The air was pounded out of his lungs, and he began to slide off the landing gear. They were now only five meters from the roof from which they’d lifted off.
In the corner of his eye, Hugo saw Freya running toward them. She was holding something in her hand and spinning it. As she got closer, she threw it at the chopper. Hugo recoiled when a load collision echoed through the air and spun around the landing site. Hugo saw his chance. The helicopter would never get clear.
Next to him, Jasper shouted incoherently. Hugo knew he had to put everything on one card. He turned to the side, grabbed Jasper’s torso, and pulled. Jasper slipped further down, and he struggled manically to stay with the copter. Hugo bared his teeth.
“You’re coming with me!”
Jasper opened his eyes in horror as Hugo took hold of him with one hand. His other hand held the steel wire that stretched between the helicopter and the roof. He yanked, and Jasper screamed as he was pulled out of the aircraft. Hugo slid down the wire, and the pain that echoed through his hand and arm was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
It was like a saw was eating through the flesh of his hand. But mercifully enough, the pain didn’t last for more than two seconds before he and Jasper collapsed onto the roof. Jasper hit hard, and Hugo felt bones crushing in his body. The wind continued to tear at him. Freya rushed up to Hugo and helped him up.
“My God, your hand!”
Hugo glanced at his palm. It was a bloody mess, but he’d made it. He gritted his teeth and looked at Jasper Roscoe, who was moaning and squealing in pain.
“But he’s worse,” he told Freya.
Hugo and Freya pulled Jasper away, and the helicopter pilot finally understood that he wasn’t going anywhere. The helicopter slowly descended the rest of the way and landed on the roof. Hugo took a deep breath and sank to his knees.
“I’m just going to sit here for a little while and catch my breath.”
Freya squatted down next to him. “That sounds like an excellent idea. I think I’ll do the same.”
Hugo looked at Freya and smiled. Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, they burst into laughter. They’d fought and survived, and that was the only thing that mattered. To never, never, never give up.
***
EPILOGUE
Darkness. He floated through it. Hovered. He was everywhere and nowhere.
A voice echoed through the darkness.
“Hugo?”
He struggled to open his eyes. A flash of light filtered in as he pressed one eyelid open. The voice urged him on.
“Hugo? Are you awake?”
He opened his eyes and blinked. The light was bright, and it cut into his eyes. He blinked a few more times, and after a few seconds, a woman’s face slid forward. She leaned toward him.
“Hi, Hugo. How are you?”
He swallowed, nodded, and forced out words weakly. “I’m okay.”
The woman smiled. “Good, do you know where you are?”
Hugo nodded. “I’m at the hospital in Malmö,” he croaked. “You’re Dr. Nilsson.”
Dr. Nilsson looked over at the other side of the bed. “Yes, good, Hugo. The operation on your hand went well, and everything looks okay. It’ll be as good as it was before.”
Hugo drew a sigh of relief.
“Thanks.”
The woman pulled out an iPad and jotted something down on it. “I’ll be back later,” she told him. “There are some others here who want to talk to you too.”
Hugo glanced over to the other side of the bed and saw both Lita and Madeleine. Lita took a step forward and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, hottie. How’s it going?”
Hugo grimaced. “Better now that you’re here.”
Lita kissed him on the cheek and gingerly held his bandaged hand. Madeleine walked around to the other side when Dr. Nilsson left the room.
“Good job, Hugo. We got hold of Jasper Roscoe. He’s under arrest and will be interrogated in the next few days.”
Hugo pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“You caught him?”
“That’s right.”
“What about the others? The woman?”
“Her, too. She’s married to one of the financiers who helped Magnus prepare the deal. When she heard about it, she started crafting a plan to access all the cryptocurrency Magnus was using for bribes. And it was not a little money—we’re talking hundreds of millions in different cryptocurrencies.”
Hugo smacked his lips. “Damn. And Magnus? What’s going on with him?”
Madeleine rubbed he
r chin and replied, “I don’t know. Considering what’s in his diary and on that film, I would think there’d be an official investigation into his involvement in the deaths of his father and brother.”
“Good.”
Madeleine shrugged. “But it’s too early to say what it’ll lead to. It’s about something that happened decades ago.”
“True, but it proves that he murdered them. That’s got to mean something. He can’t get away with it, can he?”
“No, I agree. But the police investigation will show that. Over the next few days, we’ll be busy explaining to the authorities what happened in Nordhavn and out in Oresund. They’re furious and demand that we cooperate fully with them. We’re not off the hook yet.”
Hugo chuckled. “I can understand that. But we’ll probably make it.” He shook Lita’s hand playfully. “Right, honey?”
A tear slid down Lita Marquez’s cheek as she leaned forward and kissed him. “Yes, you better believe it.”
Hugo pulled her closer, taking in her vanilla-summer scent. Everything was going to be okay. He knew it. Taking a deep breath in, he savored the moment. Right now, right here, everything was as it should be. He kissed his wife again, and right now, that was all he needed.
THE SPANIARD
Filip Forsberg
1
Practice makes perfect. Pablo Francisco Adnan Kosh had followed that adage all his life. A hundred meters in the air, he adjusted his body weight and pulled to the right, and his paraglider slid through the warm air.
It wouldn’t be long now. Below him, row after row of holiday homes slipped by. But those weren’t his goal; Adnan’s target was still a mile away. He flexed every muscle in his body as, above him, the midnight stars glittered. This was his time — revenge would soon be one big step closer. Somewhere in the distance, a horn honked, but Adnan ignored it. The glider was a high-quality Dudek Reportair, and it responded to his slightest movement.
Adnan counted backward from five in anticipation. He’d only made it to three when he saw it. The target slid into view behind a swath of majestic fir trees that marked the property’s southern boundary. Behind the pines, a well-manicured lawn stretched like a pure green carpet up toward the house. The mansion—that was more like it—was an exquisite combination of old and new. Modern steel and glass walls enclosed the older section, which had been built several hundred years before. It wasn’t a palace, but the house was undeniably spectacular.
Adnan shivered. For him, this place symbolized neither life, hope, nor anything beautiful. For him, it only meant death. And that was the message he was bringing: death.
He clenched his jaw and adjusted the paraglider so that it flew down toward the tree line. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scouted for guards on the lawn or along the tree line. He didn’t see anyone. Adnan took a deep breath and held it as his heart thundered in his chest.
He pushed the craft into a soft arc as the lawn approached and then pulled hard up; it swung down like a bird of prey. His feet met the soft earth, and he ran with the glider as it swept toward the ground with him in a perfect fluid motion.
This would be the most vulnerable part of the operation; it was where he was most exposed. Working fast, Adnan pulled down the wing and, when it came to rest on the ground, disconnected his harness. Not wasting a second, he drew his weapon and swept it slowly over the surroundings. No one was there except the trees and their dancing dark shadows. Beyond them was the wall.
At regular intervals along the wall were tall poles fixed with high-efficiency cameras. There were tons of them, all pointing outward. The thing was, while investigating the property, Adnan had learned that behind the wall, there were no cameras at all. Whoever had installed them apparently hadn’t fully understood the idea of security, but Adnan wasn’t complaining. Their incompetence only made his work easier.
He folded up the Dudek and stashed it behind the trees. Adnan moved smoothly between the trees and covered the seventy meters to the house in less than half a minute. When he got there, he gazed up at it. There were three floors on the old section and two on the new one, and the modern extension slid around the old house like a horseshoe.
To the right, a kidney-shaped swimming pool stretched out, and its water sparkled on the facade. Neat boxwoods shielded the pool from the house, and two parallel stone paths made a line between the two.
He moved closer but froze when he heard voices. A glass door slid to one side, and Adnan saw two men dressed in dark suits step out. He crept behind the nearest tree and watched. Each of the men had an automatic weapon strapped across his chest. One of them, a dark-haired, gangly type, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep puff.
“But honestly,” he said to the other, “can you imagine anyone being so stupid as to attack us?”
The other man, whose coarse hair was the color of sand, shook his head and replied, “No way. Still, you never know. You heard what happened to Dr. Schwanberg.”
The men walked along the gangway toward the pool.
“Yeah, sure, but I mean—that had to have been something besides murder. Don’t you think so? I mean, he was over seventy.”
“What I heard was that they found him in bed,” said the blond. He was the older of the two, Adnan saw, but quite fit. Even in the darkness, Adnan could see his full shoulders and thick biceps as he walked. “But apparently, the expression on his face was terrible. Like he’d died in serious pain.”
Beside him, the dark-haired man took a deep puff and blew out a cloud of smoke in the warm Spanish night. “I wonder how he died, then. Think he was poisoned?”
Adnan had listened long enough. He stepped out from behind the tree, advanced toward the gangway, and raised his gun. The two guards froze.
Adnan put his finger to his mouth, smiling. “Good guess,” he said to them. “He was poisoned.”
The muscled guard gathered himself, and his eyes flashed. “Who the hell are you?”
Adnan’s teeth sparkled in the pool’s spotlight. “Come on, you know that,” he said.
“You’re him,” said the younger one, his face pale. “The Spaniard.”
Adnan nodded. “Yes, I am.” He paused, relishing their terror, then said, “And just for the sake of clarity, the good doctor was poisoned with the venom of the stonefish. You know about it? Let me tell you. It’s one of the most painful toxins known to man. When the poison of the stonefish penetrates your veins, it’s like molten lava is flowing through them.”
The dark-haired man stared at him and said nothing, but Adnan saw an almost imperceptible twitching of his leg. A second later, the man threw himself at Adnan like a tiger, but Adnan was ready. His silenced weapon coughed once as he put a bullet through the man’s head, then turned and shot the other guard. Both men fell at his feet.
Adnan looked up at the still, dark house, then pulled the guards away behind the shrubs. The blood he ignored—it didn’t matter now. Adnan was here, and he had a mission. Walking up to the sliding glass door, he pushed it open and entered.
***
The best time is always now, Adnan thought as he pulled the door closed behind him and stepped into a cavernous living room. Three luxurious dyed-leather sofas surrounded a marble-top coffee table. Contemporary abstract paintings by von Heyl and Marden—originals, not prints—hung on the walls. The blue-white marble floor shone as if it were ice. It was a magnificent room, a striking mash-up of state-of-the-art suite and something from Arabian Nights.
Suddenly, Adnan heard more voices coming from behind a door across the room. Adnan ducked behind a sofa as the door opened. As they talked, he could hear three people—two men and a woman. Cautiously, Adnan peeked around the corner of the sofa to get a look at them.
The men were dressed in similar uniforms to the two men Adnan killed, and the woman was wearing a white lab coat. Her hair was tied up in a hard knot. She pointed out the window toward the pool.
“Get Max and Paul on top of it,” she hissed. Her voice was thickly Br
itish. “I can’t believe they aren’t answering. Now—tonight, of all nights! I’m going to have to call Argento if this continues. We can’t have guards who don’t know how to guard.”
The two men nodded and headed toward the glass door, their footfalls echoing on the marble floor. Adnan readied himself on the balls of his feet, and as the men walked past, he stood, lifted his weapon gracefully, and fired. The guards received two rounds each and collapsed. The woman in the lab coat screamed and began running back toward the door she’d come through.
“Stop,” Adnan barked.
The woman didn’t stop. Adnan fired a shot that landed on a statue next to the door, just a couple of feet from the woman. She stopped abruptly and raised her arms above her head.
“Please!” she cried, her voice cracking. “Please, don’t shoot.”
Adnan walked up to her. “Take it easy. I’m not going to kill you.”
Her hands trembled. Adnan took a step closer.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
The woman nodded quickly. “Yes—you’re the one Argento calls the Spaniard, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. And do you know why I’m here?” Adnan’s voice was calm, almost sweet.
“Yes,” she replied in a small voice.
“Good. Then you can be so kind as to show me.”
She shook her head jerkily. “I don’t have a key to it. Only Argento and Dr. Vimpel do.”
Adnan bent forward until his nose was an inch from the woman’s cheek. “Don’t worry about that, Marjorie. Just take me there.”
Marjorie froze when she heard her name. She swallowed, and her dry throat clicked. “Yes, right, I can take you there.”
The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3 Page 46
