The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  “Excellent,” Adnan said, smiling. “Lead the way.”

  Marjorie went through the door into the kitchen, and Adnan followed, the gun pointed at her back. She passed the colossal island and arrived at a metal door.

  She nodded at it and held up a key. “We have to go through this door to the basement. It’s down there. But . . .”

  Adnan looked into Marjorie’s eyes. “But?”

  “There are two more guards down there. And the lock to the vault, we can’t open that. It can only be opened by voice and handprints of Argento or the three doctors on the board.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Thank you very much for your help. That’s all I’ll be needing.”

  A glimmer of hope lit up Marjorie’s eyes. “Thank you—”

  Adnan lifted the gun and shot her in the center of the forehead. Marjorie’s head flicked backward from the force, and she hit the ground.

  Adnan reached down and took the key from her outstretched hand, then opened the metal door. A long, steel staircase descended into darkness, the treads outlined with a continuous strip of embedded LEDs. Adnan started down the steps with his weapon raised and ready.

  Voices echoed up from below. As Adnan reached the end of the stairs, an oval-shaped room opened before him, with a hallway to its right. He followed the corridor and found another round room with a desk in the middle. A guard was sitting behind the desk, and he jumped to his feet, perplexed when he saw the intruder. Adnan’s gun gave one single chuk, and the man fell.

  At the sound, another guard rushed in from an adjacent room. Chuk-chuk. Adnan shook his head. Amateurs. He walked past the desk to the circular, thick metal door that marked the entrance to the vault. Attached to the wall to the right of the door was a dark metal panel. Adnan lifted his jacket and pulled a flat, padded envelope from his belt and opened it. Inside was a silicone cast of a hand that looked almost like a latex glove. He pulled it onto his own hand and placed his palm on the panel.

  A metallic voice said from hidden speakers, “Welcome, Dr. Schwanberg. Please submit a voice test.”

  Adnan pulled a small, square device from his pocket. He held it in front of his mouth and pressed a button on the side. “The light is everything,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and I am the light.” What pretentious drivel.

  The metallic voice responded immediately. “Thank you, Dr. Schwanberg.”

  The one-ton beast of a door clicked and rolled to the side, and Adnan stepped into the vault. One more step closer to his objective. The vault was empty except for a small desk, chair, and computer. Adnan pulled out the chair and sat down in front of the monitor. The computer was already powered on, and Adnan tapped the spacebar to wake up the monitor. Then he clicked on the top icon: System settings.

  No, that wasn’t right. Adnan continued down the list and methodically clicked through the icons. There. Backup.

  He retrieved an SD card from his pocket and pushed it into the machine. A moment later, a prompt popped up, he pressed start, and a progress bar appeared. The computer began writing a full backup. Adnan chuckled. Despite all the intelligent people they had access to, they couldn’t have prevented this.

  When the copying was complete, Adnan pulled out the SD card, stood, and took a deep breath. He could almost taste his revenge. The mission complete, he turned around and disappeared.

  ***

  A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words. If that was true, then the image in front of Hugo Xavier had to be worth a million. He drew his lovely wife closer to him and breathed her in. Her hair glanced over his cheek, and a sense of belonging filled him. She put her arm around his neck.

  “What do you say? Are you sure?”

  Hugo chuckled. “I don’t know,” he teased, “what if I change my mind?”

  Lita Marquez tilted her head at him, unamused.

  “Yes, of course I’m sure,” Hugo said. “You know that.”

  Lita threw him her stunning smile, and Hugo savored it. Her Spanish features somehow seemed even more prominent now that they were in Spain.

  A miniature sneeze interrupted their conversation, and he turned to the stroller in front of them. Leaning forward, he checked on his baby daughter, Elektra, who was fussing in her sleep. Her eyes remained closed, and after a few seconds, she made her way back to a deep slumber.

  Lita looked up at her husband and said, “It’s a good thing you’re sure. Because there’s no way back.”

  He pulled her closer and kissed her. Her lips tasted even better than she smelled. Hugo moved his arm down around her waist, and with the other hand, he grabbed hold of the stroller again. The couple was on one of their nightly tours with Elektra, who, in the past week, had settled into the habit of waking late at night—and only going to sleep again if Hugo or Lita went for a walk with her. Normally, the two of them alternated the task to give each other a break.

  Tonight, it had been Lita’s turn, but Hugo had found himself wide awake and so had joined his wife and child on their excursion. They’d walked barely ten minutes from their apartment, but Elektra had already fallen asleep.

  Hugo turned his eyes up to the stars. The black sky was especially magnificent tonight—vast and clear—and the warm summer breeze caressed his skin. It was one of those perfect moments that happen so rarely, the kind that demanded adoration from all who experienced it.

  Finally, he looked back to his wife and said, “What do you say? Want to go back?”

  Lita leaned toward him as they continued down the street. “Yes,” she answered. “It’s lovely out here, but I’m tired. Let’s go home.”

  He could feel her love as she looked at him. Things had been rough for a while, but this week had done wonders for their relationship. He drew her closer as they turned and walked back toward the apartment. At this hour, the streets were deserted. The young couple passed an enormous, walled-in property, its entrance marked by a massive iron gate. Moonlight glinted magically off the white-painted surface of the perimeter wall, and the wispy branches of palm trees swayed over the top. Hugo soaked in every second. For the past four weeks, they had been on a much-needed holiday here in Spain. Just a month earlier, Hugo’s right hand had been nearly destroyed on an assignment. For two weeks after the mission, his hand had been wrapped in bandages; it was only a few days ago that he’d been able to take them off and gradually start using his hand again. The muscles were still stiff, but with training every day, the hand would be back to normal before long.

  Hugo and Lita passed more estates and arrived at a four-way intersection illuminated by two glowing lampposts. A left turn would take them down to the village where they’d rented a small apartment.

  Lita stopped. “Should we go back or keep going?” she asked her husband. “I’m not feeling tired anymore.”

  “No?” Hugo grinned and peered down at their sleeping baby. “Hmm, well, our daughter looks like she’s tired.”

  Lita drew him close. “You’re right. Maybe we can find something else to do while she’s asleep.”

  A wave of heat radiated downward through him. It didn’t take much for this woman to get him worked up. “I like the way you think,” he replied.

  They made the turn and strolled down the pavement until the adobe sidewalk began that led to the heart of the village. As they stepped up onto the sidewalk, a single sharp sound rang out somewhere behind them. Two seconds later, there was another. Hugo flinched.

  “What was that?” he asked. Deep down, of course, he knew what it was, but he didn’t want his mind to go there.

  Lita cocked her head to the side. “What?”

  Hugo stared in the direction of the sound. “You didn’t hear it?”

  “No,” Lita replied with a shrug.

  Hugo nodded pensively. He was an ex-military man; he knew what gunfire sounded like, even from afar. His heart began to pound. Getting involved in a firefight when your wife and children were there was an awful situation to be in, but Hugo had a feeling there was nothing he could do about i
t. He set his jaw and nodded at the stroller.

  “Lita, take Elektra to the apartment and lock the door.”

  His wife stared incredulously at him. “Are you serious? What are you going to do?”

  Hugo pointed back at the gate a dozen meters behind them. “I need to check out what that was,” he said. “If there’s gunfire now, at three in the morning—let’s just say it’s not a good thing.”

  Lita swallowed, and her eyes flickered. “But—”

  “Dammit, Lita, just do it.” He closed his eyes when he saw the hurt in hers and took a calming breath. “Please. Take Elektra to the apartment and lock the door. Did you bring your phone with you?”

  “No.”

  “Shit. Neither did I.”

  A muffled scream traveled through the night air, and they both froze. Lita bit her lip.

  “Oh my God. I heard that.”

  “Okay, go. Call the police when you get to the apartment.”

  “And tell them what?” she asked.

  “Just what happened,” Hugo said. “That your husband heard gunfire from the Villa Casablanca on Calle 5, and ask them to send a car to check it out.”

  Lita grabbed the stroller, and Hugo leaned over and kissed her.

  “I love you.”

  She smiled weakly. “Love you too,” she said, then took off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk.

  Once he felt she was far enough away, Hugo turned around and walked up to the gate. He peeked through the iron bars. The long lawn that stretched up toward the house was lit with evenly placed spotlights, but to the right and left, there was darkness. A paved walkway stretched from the gate up to the entrance of the villa. Dancing light reflected on the white-stucco walls of the house from the surface of an in-ground pool.

  Hugo tilted his head and listened intently. All he could hear was a gentle rush of wind in his ears. But his warning system was already triggered. Hugo had done this before, and he knew how difficult it could be to discover from the outside something that had happened inside a house.

  On the wall near the gate was a recessed box with a button. Hugo pressed it and heard ringing. Several signals chimed, but no one answered. He’d half-expected an angry, rich Spaniard would start barking at him for waking him up in the middle of the night, but nothing happened. Hugo looked through the bars again. He had to get onto the property one way or another.

  Glancing to his right, he eyed the palm trees stretching along the wall. He made his way to one of them, took a firm grip on the trunk, and pulled himself up. When he’d climbed a few feet, he strapped every muscle in his body and leaped against the wall like a spider monkey. With his fingers gripping the top edge and his toes planted on the wall, he sprung himself up onto the top.

  A camera on the corner of the roof glided past him in its automatic path, and Hugo raised his hand as he investigated it. If the whole thing turned out to be a false alarm, this wouldn’t matter anyway. He swung his legs over the wall and jumped down, landing on the soft, manicured earth. He sank down and rolled before coming to his feet again. The tingling sensation inside him continued; he’d long since learned to trust his instincts. It’s what kept you alive.

  “Okay,” he whispered, “let’s see what’s going on.”

  The villa was an interesting creation, a hyper-modern extension of an old estate. Tall glass walls encircled the older part of the house like a horseshoe. Hugo swiftly made his way toward the glittering pool, but froze as he reached the edge.

  Blood. A large amount of blood covered the rocks that surrounded the pool. Hugo clenched his jaw, crouched, and got closer. Reaching out a hand, he touched the blood—it was still wet. Whatever had happened here, it had been recent. But where was the victim? And where was the attacker?

  There was movement inside the house, and Hugo hurried behind one of the bushes near the pool. Through one of the massive windows, Hugo saw a door open inside the house, and a tall, gangly man walked through.

  ***

  Hugo watched from behind the bush as the man entered the living room of the villa. He was bald and thin, but he moved with an air of great confidence. He moved across the room and picked up a cell phone from a side table. He turned and began to speak into it, and Hugo strained to get a better look at the room. He tensed; on the far end, several bodies lay motionless on the polished concrete floor.

  Hugo cursed himself for not having brought his gun, but he hadn’t wanted to walk around with his wife and child armed. At least he had his knives in their holster across his chest. Those babies were part of him, as natural against his body as the wedding ring on his finger. They weren’t the ideal weapon in this situation, but they would have to do. Hugo could only hope that Lita would get hold of the police in time.

  The man in the living room was still talking. He was gesticulating irritably and waving a gun as he spoke.

  Hugo glanced around the pool area. The man would pass through the glass doors at some point to make his way down to the gate. And that’s where Hugo had to stop him. But he had to do it without using deadly force. If Hugo killed him, the Spanish police might accuse him of whatever happened here.

  The man finally stopped talking and put the phone into his pocket. He stood for a few seconds, seeming to weigh what to do next. Hugo crept closer until he was behind the bush closest to the glass doors. The man spun around, pulled a small object out of his pocket, and muttered something. Then he put the object back into his pocket and turned toward the glass doors. Hugo got a good look at him then; the man was incredibly tall, almost seven feet. His limbs were long and spindly, and when he walked, he leaned forward slightly. But something about his movements reminded Hugo of a panther. This guy was a trained killer.

  The man grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, stepping out onto the stone slabs. He peered up, then to the left and right, tucking the handgun into his waistband. He was looking for something. Hugo sat motionlessly, his full attention directed at the thin figure.

  The man swore, spat on the ground, and took a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket. He lit it and mumbled, “Goddamn impossible to get good help these days.” He puffed the cigarette and walked toward the far edge of the pool, then took out his phone again. Hugo tensed every muscle.

  “Where are you?” the man shouted into the phone. There was silence as he listened.

  “It’s not that hard. I’ve been through this with you ten goddamn times! I need you to get here now. Land on the lawn. Now!”

  The man clicked off the call and returned the phone to his back pocket, then turned and walked back toward the house. Hugo followed him like a shadow. The man moved over the stone walkway, approaching the bush Hugo was hiding behind and then stopping directly in front of it. He spun around, put one bony hand on his hip, and looked up at the black night sky.

  This was Hugo’s chance. He moved like a wraith; in one soft motion, he grabbed one of the knives by his chest, sprang up, and threw himself at the man’s back. But the villain sensed something behind him, and a fraction of a second before Hugo crashed into him, he slid to the side.

  Instead of taking him down, Hugo hit the man’s shoulder, causing the gun to fly out of his waistband and clatter to the stones. The thin man stumbled toward the house as Hugo landed on the walkway. As he got to his feet, the man turned around and glared at Hugo.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Hugo gently caressed the air with the tip of his knife and replied, “The person who’s going to keep you here until the police come.”

  The man smirked. “You and what army?”

  Hugo shook his head and said simply, “Just me.”

  The man took a few steps to the side. His movements were like Hugo’s; he kept a low center of gravity and used stable, secure, sweeping motions.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen what you did here tonight, and that’s enough.”

  The man reached inside his shirt and pulled out a knife twice as long as
Hugo’s. “You don’t know anything,” he growled. “You’re not going to stand between me and my vengeance.”

  Hugo weighed the pros and cons before him. This guy was a trained killer and was also better armed than he was. But he couldn’t focus on those details now. Right now, he needed to keep the man occupied until the police arrived. Before Hugo could answer, the man lunged. Hugo jumped back, and the man grinned.

  “I am the Spaniard.”

  Hugo didn’t move a muscle. He’d heard of the legendary assassin known only as the Spaniard, a hitman who’d been operating for more than a decade without being caught. He was responsible for at least twenty murders. But Hugo had also read that the Spaniard had retired at least two years ago.

  “No, I don’t think you are,” Hugo said.

  The man grinned again. It was a menacing thing to behold; his teeth were yellowed, his lips leathery, and his eyes filled with malice. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” he replied. “That’s who I am.”

  Hugo took a few subdued steps to the right. “What’s the Spaniard’s last name?” he asked.

  The man tensed. “Why the hell do you care?”

  Now Hugo grinned. “I’ve read reports about him. If you’re the Spaniard, it’ll be easy to prove it.”

  The man’s mouth became a thin line. “Kosh,” he said. “My last name is Kosh. From my Albanian side.”

  Hugo raised an eyebrow. Could this be the legendary Spaniard? Or had the man just done his homework? “Nice to meet you, Señor Kosh.”

  Pablo Francisco Adnan Kosh didn’t answer. He rushed forward through the air like mercury, feinted a swipe with his knife, but instead swept Hugo’s leg out from under him. Hugo barely had time to perceive the man’s movement. He twisted his body in the air, threw himself to the side, rolled, and got up on his feet.

  In the distance, helicopter blades pounded through the night, and Adnan took off across the lawn. The chopper’s flashing lights passed over the house as it set course for the clearing below. Adnan was now near the edge of the grounds, and Hugo was five yards behind him.