The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  “That’s my transport,” Adnan called back to him. “You can stay here and explain what happened to the police.”

  As if in reply, howling sirens began to echo through the streets.

  “I don’t think so,” Hugo growled.

  Lights flashed through the palm trees that surrounded the property. Hugo nodded toward the gate.

  “They’re here for you.”

  Adnan chuckled. “Hardly.” Then he turned around and ran toward the clearing as the helicopter was descending. Hugo pulled out his second knife and threw it toward the gangly man. A fraction of a second later, something happened that Hugo had never seen before—Adnan leaped into the air, writhed, and somehow caught the knife in the air by its handle. Before coming to land on the grass again, he hurled it back toward Hugo in a sweeping, graceful motion. Hugo’s mouth hung open at the beauty and deftness of Adnan’s reaction.

  Hugo twisted away instinctively, but the knife still sliced him high on his left shoulder. He cried out as pain reverberated through his body. Sinking to his knees, Hugo watched in a haze as Adnan rolled, stood, and kept running toward the helicopter.

  Hugo gripped his bloody shoulder as Adnan climbed into the aircraft. The engine increased power, and the chopper took off. Hugo stared as it disappeared into the night. He shook his head and asked the now-empty space before him, “How on earth did you do that?”

  2

  Revenge is sweet. That’s what Adnan said to himself as the helicopter rose into the night. He gazed down at the man on the ground, staring back. That man had known who he was. But Adnan had no idea who he had been. Sitting up in the passenger seat, Adnan buckled the safety harness and pulled on the pair of headphones that hung in front of him.

  The pilot’s voice crackled in his ears. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I came as soon as I could.”

  Adnan glared at him. “How hard can it be to read a watch?”

  “I’m sorry,” the pilot repeated.

  Adnan ignored his apologies and stared into the dark Spanish sky with its brilliant shining stars. They picked up speed as they rose to their cruising altitude.

  “Set course straight north,” Adnan instructed.

  The pilot nodded. “Okay.”

  Adnan took a few deep breaths, and his pulse returned to normal. It was always like this after a mission, with adrenaline coursing through the body. Although he was hardened in the game, Adnan was still human, and human reactions happened whether you wanted them to or not. He stared out the convex windowpane as they flew over the perimeter of the town. Outside it, the lights became less numerous, and expansive fields spread out. Olive trees reached out in endless rows.

  The last six months had been hard. No—not just hard. More like torture.

  In his former profession, he had been the Spaniard—a feared assassin who had disseminated death and destruction for two decades. His resumé included several high-ranking diplomats, a couple of bankers, and a dozen other well-known individuals. But he’d stopped when he met her. She had been like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky. When he’d met Florence, he had been forced to choose; either he would pursue a life with her or continue as an arbiter of death. For Adnan, the choice had been easy. He’d chosen Florence, and the year he’d spent with her had been the best of his life.

  The chopper passed through some turbulence and shook. The pilot pointed through the windshield.

  “Not far now,” he said. “Five minutes.”

  Adnan scratched his chin and didn’t respond. The first part of the plan was completed; the next was equally important. Below them, a string of lights along a road led them to their destination. The pilot skillfully steered the helicopter toward the abandoned country house that had been Adnan’s base for the past week. It was a perfect spot—deserted, unassuming, and leased anonymously via a post office box. Adnan pointed down at the large gravel field in front of the building.

  “Put us down there. When we land, turn off the engine. There are some things I need to do right away.”

  The pilot nodded. “Sure.”

  Dust swirled up as the copter’s blades beat against the ground. They touched down, and Adnan took off his harness, pulled off the headset, and opened the door. He crouched as he ran toward the house and went through the front door.

  Outside, the engine slowed down. In the darkness of the house, Adnan took a deep breath. “Okay, here we go.”

  He entered a rustic living room. Centuries-old beams held up the ceiling, and the floor was made of semi-cracked stone slabs. Fifty years ago, it would have been a cozy family home. Adnan passed through the living room and into the kitchen, where copper pots hung around a substantial woodstove. He crossed this room, too, pushing through a door and entering the room he’d been using as an office for the past week.

  A desk stood in the middle of the square room, and on top of it lay some of the material he’d collected about the building he had just visited. Pulling out the chair, Adnan sat down and pulled out the small, dark flash drive he’d taken from the safe. This was what would lead him to the next part of his revenge train. The hairs on his arms stood on end as he thought about it.

  An array of untraceable cell phones sat charged and ready on the desktop. Grabbing one, Adnan dialed a number and waited as it rang twice.

  A woman replied, her voice soft and sweet like honey. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Yes?” There was a few seconds’ pause. “Well,” the woman asked, “do you have it?”

  Adnan nodded. “I do.”

  “Excellent. Very well done.” She hesitated again. “Did you run into any difficulties?”

  Adnan’s voice was completely calm. “Some unforeseen things happened, but nothing serious.”

  “What unforeseen things?”

  Adnan told the woman how a man had appeared out of nowhere and attacked him. “But there was never any real problem,” he said with a nonchalant chuckle. “He’s still there, and I got what I came for.”

  The woman’s voice softened. “Okay, so there’s no way they can trace you back to us?”

  “No chance whatsoever.”

  “Excellent.”

  Adnan pursed his lips. “So, I’ve got what you want,” he said. “Now it’s time for you to give me what I want.”

  “Not so fast. I know you’re passionate about your mission, but this is going to take some time. You have to understand that.”

  “I don’t have to understand that at all!” Adnan snapped. “I knew you might pull this. We had a deal—I was going to steal this thing for you, and you were going to give me the address where Vimpel and Zuch are hiding!”

  “No need to get all worked up. I am completely clear about what we agreed on. I’ll order the data transfer to be ready to go the moment you send us the item.”

  “How long before I can get it to you?”

  The woman’s voice became sickeningly soft. “Only half an hour, I think. Call me in thirty minutes, and I’ll make sure we’re ready. Then you’ll get what you want.”

  Adnan clenched his fists, turning his knobby knuckles white. “Thirty minutes,” he repeated. “Then make sure you’re done.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Adnan clicked the call away and stared at the phone. After a few seconds, he picked the device apart piece by piece. When the phone was little more than scraps, he pushed the pieces into a trash can, his pulse pounding in his ears. It was time. Adnan stood, went to the powerful computer that stood against the far wall, and powered it on. One step closer to his revenge. Tick tock.

  ***

  From the frying pan into the fire. The flashing police lights moved closer, but Hugo barely noticed as the cars drove up to the gate, and officers poured out of them. They drew their sidearm and shouted at Hugo to stay where he was.

  Hugo stared up at the spot where the helicopter had disappeared. One of the officers pulled a set of keys from his pocket and approached the gate. A few seconds later, when it swung open in a wide
arc, seven cops streamed onto the property and ran up the stone walkway with guns drawn.

  “Put your hands up! Get on the ground! Now!”

  Hugo raised his hands in the air and slowly turned around as three police officers rushed up to him.

  “What is it you want?” he asked them. “Should I raise my hands or lie down on the ground?”

  One of the officers, a young man, gestured toward the ground in front of Hugo. “Down! Lie down and put your hands out!”

  Hugo nodded and crouched, keeping his eyes fixed on the young cop. “Sure, no problem. I’m unarmed.” He moved down and lay flat on his belly, extending his arms out to the sides. The grass was cool beneath his cheek and his fingers. The officers rushed forward, secured his wrists behind him with handcuffs, and pulled Hugo up to a sitting position. They spoke rapidly to each other in Spanish.

  Hugo took a deep breath. For once, the local police had reacted fast—and he’d ended up being arrested himself. Typical.

  Just then, a rotund man, not in a police uniform, approached the three cops. He held a cigarette tightly between two thick fingers and squatted in front of Hugo. The large man’s eyes slid toward the house and the bodies inside.

  “What’s going on here, then?” he asked Hugo. “Been busy tonight?”

  Hugo met the man’s stare. “Would you believe me if I told you I was innocent?” he asked.

  The man laughed. “No, I wouldn’t say I’d believe that.”

  Hugo shrugged and said, “Well, I am. My wife was the one who called you, and I was the one who told her to do it.”

  The man’s smile stiffened slightly. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  The man stood up with some effort and shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out soon if that’s true,” he said. He looked back down at Hugo. “I’m Inspector Pedro Sánchez of the Spanish police.”

  Hugo nodded. “Nice to meet you, Inspector,” he said. “I’m Hugo Xavier.”

  Inspector Sánchez motioned for two of the officers to help Hugo up. Once on his feet, Hugo stretched. His hands ached behind his back, but he ignored it. Sánchez said something to the officers that Hugo didn’t understand, and then two of the cops came up and stood next to him. Sánchez walked to the entrance of the house and peeked in. After a few seconds, he waved to Hugo, and the two officers led him up to the window. Sánchez pointed in at the bodies.

  “Why did you kill them?”

  With a forced smile and as calm a voice as he could muster, Hugo replied, “Okay, listen, Señor Pedro Sánchez. I didn’t kill anyone. I was out walking with my wife and baby down the road when this happened.”

  Sánchez raised his eyebrows incredulously. “In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes. My little girl has trouble getting to sleep lately. The only thing that seems to help is to go for a walk in the stroller, so that’s what we did. It’s what we do every night. After we passed the gate there, I heard muffled gunshots.”

  Inspector Sánchez smiled; his yellowish teeth sparkled. “And you are familiar with the sound of muffled gunshots?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve been in the Swedish military for years, so I know perfectly well what suppressed shots sound like. But that’s not even the main point.”

  Sánchez frowned. “Go on.”

  “I asked my wife to go home with our daughter and call you while I entered the property.”

  “And why would you go in?”

  “Because I know that if there is suppressed gunfire in the middle of the night in a quiet Spanish village, it means trouble. Then I heard a scream which proved it. Someone was hurt and needed help. When I came onto the property and got to the pool here, I saw all that blood. And just a few minutes later, a man showed up.”

  “Who?”

  “The killer.”

  “How do you know he was the killer?”

  “Because he said that he was.”

  Sánchez took a puff of his cigarette. “You’re saying the killer told you he murdered those people?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Sánchez licked his lips and said, “You must understand, Mr. Xavier—this story sounds pretty incredible.”

  “Yeah, I completely agree. But the fact is he introduced himself.”

  Sánchez shrugged. “All right. So tell me what happened to him.”

  Hugo nodded toward the tiny dot of the faraway helicopter. “He’s long gone now. He was an assassin called the Spaniard. You know him?”

  Sánchez gasped, and his face paled.

  ***

  Fate. It could be nothing more than fate. Dr. Balthazar Vimpel pulled his hand over his face as he sat down in the soft office chair. The hand-sewn leather enveloped him. He pulled his keyboard closer and grabbed his mouse, then clicked on a folder on the desktop. On the screen, a photograph of a beautiful woman opened above a news article. He read the text he’d gone over so many times before.

  Florence Baxi. 37 years old. Suicide. Acute, traumatic grieving reaction after the death of her daughter. Married, no other children or extended family.

  He read on through the text. Florence had been married to Pablo Kosh, and they’d had a child who had been diagnosed with cancer when she was only a couple of years old. It had been a rare form of cancer, and the prognosis had been poor from the beginning. But Balthazar Vimpel had heard about the case and had immediately wanted to offer the child the chance to take part in an experimental program that his company, Cabello Medico, had developed.

  Dr. Vimpel had carefully reviewed the risks with Florence and Pablo, and they had welcomed the possibility that their dying daughter could be in the program. At first, the little girl had responded well to treatment, but after a couple of weeks, her condition had deteriorated drastically.

  Just a few days after their last meeting, the parents had to come to terms that their daughter was not going to make it. Dr. Vimpel had been devastated when the child died, but he knew they’d done everything they could. For the young family, though, the pain hadn’t stopped there. Just a few weeks later, Florence had killed herself, and Pablo Kosh had been left alone.

  Two days after Florence had died, Pablo had driven to Dr. Vimpel’s house and knocked on the door. Vimpel opened the door, and Pablo looked him in the eye and said, “You have a month to live.” Without another word, Pablo had turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Dr. Vimpel in the doorway with his mouth agape.

  At first, Vimpel hadn’t taken the threat seriously. But when two of his colleagues died eight days later, he’d called an emergency meeting. Cabello Medico’s security department had already been invited, including the head of the department, Reinhard Argento.

  Argento was the archetype of a German security chief. Tall, with perfectly combed hair and a soft German accent, he was a perfectionist of the highest class. When Vimpel had first gone over the situation with Argento, the department head hadn’t been overly concerned. But when Vimpel mentioned the perpetrator’s name, Argento’s face had become tense. And now, a few weeks later, Vimpel understood why Argento had reacted the way he had.

  There was a knock on the door, and Vimpel was jolted from his thoughts.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a well-dressed woman stepped in. She smiled when she met his gaze, and he returned the smile.

  “Laura, I’m sorry,” Vimpel said. “How’s Sky doing?”

  His wife walked over, bent down, and kissed him. “Okay, so far. But it wears on your nerves being locked up here day after day.”

  Balthazar Vimpel rose and grimaced. “I know, it’s unbearable. But there are no other options that I can see. As long as we’re here, at least we’re safe. This place is more secure than anywhere else we could be.”

  Laura raked a hand through her hair. She was just over fifty, and her wavy locks had already turned white. Balthazar liked it.

  “But how much longer?” she asked. “How long are we going to sit here while that maniac runs around out there?”
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  Balthazar’s lips pressed together in frustration. “Until he’s caught,” he said, shrugging. “As long as he’s on the lookout for me, for us, we won’t be safe. He killed two of our employees!”

  A pearl of sweat ran down his temple, and he wiped it off.

  His wife sighed. “Yeah, I know. I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s just hard, especially for Sky—she’s only nine. She misses her friends, her school, her routines.”

  Balthazar took a deep breath and said, “As soon as Argento has made sure that the Spaniard is arrested and incapacitated, we’ll take a lovely holiday together.”

  Laura nodded toward the steel roof out the window. “Good. We’re going to need some sunlight after we’ve been caged up in this bunker for so long. I’ve almost forgotten what the sun looks like.”

  Balthazar walked over to the Keurig on the side table.

  “Want some coffee?” he asked Laura.

  “I’d love some.”

  He brewed two cups and gave one to his wife. They sat on the couch and sipped the coffee in silence, and Balthazar put his arm around her as she leaned on him. The love between them was still strong.

  “Have you heard from Argento today?” she asked finally.

  “No, not yet,” he replied, glancing up at the digital clock on the wall. “He’ll be calling in a few minutes with the daily update, though.”

  These last few weeks had been excruciating. Laura worked as a hospital administrator, but when Adnan Kosh’s threats proved to be accurate, Cabello Medico’s emergency protocol had been activated. They’d left their luxury Madrid apartment in the middle of the night for this secure hideout two hours outside of town. If it had just been for a few days, it would have been manageable; for Sky, it would have been an adventure. But now that they’d been there for almost two weeks, it was having a noticeable impact on their daughter. She slept a lot, was easily irritated the hours she was awake, and generally seemed moody.

  “Okay,” Laura said with a sigh. “I really hope he has some good news.”