The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  Inspector Sánchez bit his lip. It was time to bet everything on one card. He was going to catch the Spaniard, and after that, he’d have his day. “Get as many as you can to the airfield!” he roared. “The moment everyone is there, I want them in the air and on course for Baccu, Listorni, and Pacculi. Move!”

  “Absolutely, boss, right away!”

  Sánchez clicked off the call. Joaquin turned to him.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine. Take us to the airfield as fast as you can. We need to get those choppers up in the air.”

  Joaquin nodded and punched up the speed.

  6

  It was time to be fearless. Hugo stepped on the accelerator and passed a few semis. Two signs swooped by, letting him know his exit was coming up. As he sped along, he could only hope there were no cop cars on this stretch of the highway right then. He glanced at the speedometer and saw he was going a hundred and seventy kilometers per hour.

  He picked up his phone and scrolled with his thumb to Mikko’s name.

  “Hey, buddy!” Mikko answered.

  “Hey. Where are you guys?”

  “We’re on the flight, on our way down to you. We’ve got about an hour till we land.”

  “Okay, good,” Hugo said. “Both Sussie and Freya are in?”

  “Yep, we’re all here. Are you coming to pick us up, or do we need to arrange transportation?”

  Hugo hesitated. “Arrange it if you can. I’m heading east, and I don’t know if I’ll have time to pick you up.”

  “Why are you heading east?”

  Hugo told Mikko what had happened over the past few hours and that he was now heading for a remote mountain village.

  Mikko disappeared a few seconds as he informed the others, then came back and asked, “So why are you betting on Pacculi?”

  Hugo pulled the wheel and swerved past a slow-moving bus in the middle lane. “It’s my best guess at the moment,” he said. “If they’re going to make a trade, he wants to make the location as isolated as possible.”

  “If that’s what he wants.”

  “Yeah, it’s a long shot, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

  “Okay, but are you going to do it yourself?” Mikko asked. “They’re going to have a lot of guns there.”

  “You’re probably right, but there’s no other way. If there are too many of them, I’ll wait patiently.”

  Mikko roared with laughter. “No, you won’t. You know that as well as I do.”

  Hugo shook his head. Mikko knew him well. When you met the edge of death with someone, you got a bond that few people share.

  “How many weapons did you bring?” Hugo asked Mikko.

  “Freya says we have handguns for all of us and a pair of heavy automatic rifles. It isn’t easy to travel around Europe with weapons, even if you have special permits.”

  A car honked as Hugo roared by. “Okay, we can make do with that. Find a transport when you land. I’ll call you as soon as I can, but I don’t know how long I’m going to be tied up.”

  “Roger that, buddy.”

  “See you soon.”

  Hugo ended the call. Mikko was a good man. He was strong, loyal, and reliable. It was good that his team was coming; going on a mission alone was never a good thing. Alone was never strong in this business.

  Hugo almost passed his exit, and he braked hard and peeled right just in time. It wouldn’t be long now—he was less than fifteen kilometers from the village. He stopped at a red light, shifted down, turned left, and passed the line. Cars honked and tires squealed as Hugo skidded through the intersection and continued toward his goal. His shirt stuck to his back with nervous sweat as he crossed his fingers that he’d chosen the right village. If the helicopter were to continue to any of the other locations, this trip would be futile.

  He fished the communications radio from the floor where it had fallen. Turning it on, Hugo set it back in the passenger seat. The female voice was speaking.

  “That’s what I’m saying. If you follow the chopper’s course as it’s heading right now, Pacculi seems to be the best guess.”

  Then came Sánchez’s thick, distinctive voice. “Perfect! That’s where we’re going. Are you sure?”

  “For now, but I can’t be positive that the chopper won’t change course.”

  “Right, sure. Contact me directly if that happens.”

  “Copy that.”

  The radio fell silent, and Hugo pumped his fist triumphantly. “Yeah!” It had been a long shot, but he’d guessed correctly. Without his team there, he wasn’t sure what he could do if he met the Spaniard again. And if the Spaniard had agreed with someone to make a trade, surely the other party would face up heavily armed. He reached back for his duffel bag and pulled it into the passenger seat. As he swerved past two buses, he pulled back the bag’s zipper and reached inside. The familiar contours of his SIG-Sauer slipped into his hand, and he pulled it out, checked the magazine, and nodded.

  “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He put the gun down and said a quiet prayer as outside, the lush Spanish landscape swished past. He went through the numbers; there were barely ten minutes to go. He eased off the gas as he passed an industrial area, but not before a police car hidden on the roadway caught his speed. The cruiser pulled out onto the road and went after him.

  ***

  Pedro Sánchez scrolled through the photos on his phone until he found what he was looking for—a grainy picture of the man who called himself the Spaniard. Sánchez held up the phone so all the men in the helicopter could study his face. The photo showed a middle-aged man with a furrowed, serious appearance. His eyes were deep-set, giving him a sleepy expression. His shaved head and smooth-shaven face were not handsome in a classic sense, but he wasn’t ugly.

  “This is the man we’re after,” Sánchez said.

  A heavily armed police officer leaned forward and laughed. “One man? Is this all to catch one guy?”

  Sánchez moved the phone around so all six men could get a proper view of him. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating this man,” he told them. “He’s the most dangerous person you’ll face in your whole life. What he has done would give you nightmares.”

  The officer chuckled again and patted the weapon that hung over his chest. “Ha! I don’t think so. He looks like my old fifth-grade teacher. I’ll show him the respect he deserves with this.”

  Sánchez took a deep breath. That was all he needed now—a cop with delusions of grandeur. Sánchez swept the photo aside, and another image appeared. He held it up for the officer to see, and the smile froze on his face.

  “Listen,” Sánchez said. “Eight years ago, he was hired by a cartel in Chile to kill a rival cartel leader and his family. This is what he did to them.”

  The cop stopped laughing as he stared at the phone. He swallowed hard. “Okay. I understand.”

  Inspector Sánchez put the phone away and let his eyes move over the task force. The men were trained, professional, and well-armed. But they must not underestimate the Spaniard. If they did, they would be dead.

  The heavy vibrations of the rotor thundered through the seats.

  “This is going to be the most important mission of your careers,” Sánchez told them. “Don’t think otherwise. The Spaniard belongs to a level of assassins that most of us never come across. So right now, I need you to put away all thoughts of personal honor and focus on working as a team. It’s the only option.”

  One of the men nodded and asked, “What about the other helicopters?”

  “I’ve instructed them to set a course for Pacculi instead, but it will take some time before they get here—probably at least another half hour. Which means we’ll be there at the same time as the Spaniard. And probably the people the Spaniard is meeting there.”

  “Got it.”

  The helicopter banked left, and Sánchez took a deep breath. “This is where I need your best, gentlemen. Can you give it to me?”

  Like one man, t
he black-clad officers raised their arms in the air. “Yes, sir!”

  His pulse pounded in his chest, but Sánchez forced himself to show a cold face. He had to be the picture of power here—these men were looking to him for guidance. Sánchez drew his weapon, inspected it, and holstered it again. He checked his watch. It was just before eight in the morning, and what a morning it would be. Sánchez stared out the window and watched the beautiful mountain landscape glide by. A picture is worth more than a thousand words.

  ***

  Adnan Kosh looked out over the rocky mountain village as the helicopter came in for a landing. He signaled to the pilot.

  “Take one more lap.”

  The pilot nodded and brought the control lever softly to the side, and the helicopter moved into a smooth turn. Adnan peered down at the village. It wasn’t large at all, perhaps forty colorful buildings lying along narrow, winding streets. There was a square in the middle, probably the center of town, and to the left, the houses stretched up to the edge of a precipice.

  He saw two ways in, one coming in at the lower end of the village and one going out at the upper. The upper one stretched farther up the mountain, and Adnan saw it proceeded all the way to the summit. During the summer, tourists would come and drive up to see the spectacular views from the mountaintop.

  He saw no cars moving on the streets, but a couple of pedestrians were out and pointing up at the helicopter. It was a secluded place, and with only a couple of ways in and out, it was an excellent spot to monitor if you wanted to control an area. Adnan looked down at his phone and the coordinates he’d been sent for where the exchange would take place. He pointed to a flat ledge just above the village.

  “Land there!”

  As the pilot nodded and brought the control lever forward, the helicopter descended. Adnan clenched his jaw. The closer they came, the more the craft vibrated, and for a moment, Adnan thought they’d be shaken to pieces. The pilot hesitated.

  “You sure about this?”

  Adnan pointed to the landing site. “Yes! Land now!”

  The pilot shrugged and continued to move the control lever forward. With a violent pound, the helicopter finally touched down. Adnan signaled for the pilot to ease the engine but keep it running.

  “Stay here!” he shouted.

  The pilot nodded, and Adnan swiftly unbuttoned his harness and jumped out. He ran down to the village, came to a low stone wall, and hurtled over it. The helicopter’s thumping subsided as he passed houses on his left and right. Continuing around the corner, Adnan found himself on a narrow street that winded its way between two sloping stone abodes. He ran on through an alley and into an open space behind a cluster of homes. A woman screamed as he almost ran her down. She ranted and shouted, but Adnan muttered an apology and kept running.

  He checked the map on his phone. He was about fifty meters from the spot. Who would be there? If he’d judged LaCroix Richter correctly, he was sure Richter would have hired mercenaries to do the heavy lifting.

  Adnan slipped on a rock, tripped, and fell to the ground. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he struggled for breath. Flexing every muscle in his body, he stumbled back onto his legs. No, things couldn’t go wrong now. Not now.

  He gasped when he noticed he’d lost his phone. His eyes scoured the ground for it. There! It lay in the dust a few meters away. He ran over, picked it up, and moaned when he saw that the screen was cracked in several places. Shit! This was the last thing he needed now. With a broken screen, he wouldn’t be able to find the place.

  He pressed the side button, and to his delight, the screen flickered. He could see enough of it to make out the map. Pulling in a deep breath, Adnan looked at his surroundings. Twenty meters away was a dark alley. In the distance, he heard a second helicopter moving closer, and he froze.

  A shiver slipped through him. Were there going to be other players? He bit his lip. There was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was focus on the mission in front of him. Clenching his jaw, Adnan continued into the shadowy alley. He’d only gone a few feet when a voice echoed off the walls. He recognized it immediately.

  “That’s far enough, Adnan!”

  Adnan Kosh flinched, looked up, and drew his weapon as he saw the giant Russian mercenary in his path.

  “Leonid Sabanov. So, Richter hired you to make the trade?”

  “You are as sharp as ever, Adnan. How are you?”

  “Not so good now that you’re here.”

  Evil laughter reverberated through the narrow alley. Sabanov moved slowly toward him. “You always had a sense of humor. That’s what I told the others, but they never believed me.”

  “Get to the point, Leonid,” Adnan spat. “I have what you want, and you have what I want.”

  “You’re right. Work first, play later. Keep walking, but put the gun down first.”

  “Okay,” said Adnan. He lowered the weapon to the ground and proceeded. In the distance, he heard the second helicopter getting closer.

  7

  When two men entered the dark alley with guns pointed straight at Adnan, he raised his hands and stopped in his tracks. He was standing in the middle of the path, with a stone wall on each side stretching upward. One wall leaned slightly over him. Cobblestones covered the ground, and a stray cat ran past him. Far away, a helicopter was getting ever closer. The hairs on Adnan’s arms lifted.

  “How long are we going to stand here?” he asked the thugs.

  One of the men motioned for the other to search Adnan for weapons. He glared at Adnan and growled, “Quiet!”

  The other brute lowered his weapon and walked up to Adnan. He looked grim; his bearded face was brutal. “Keep your hands up,” he said gruffly. “This will only take a second.”

  Adnan kept his hands raised while the man searched him. The man confiscated a gun and nodded back to his companion.

  “Clean.”

  The first man’s shoulders sank slightly, and he nodded toward a door in the wall to Adnan’s left. “Get in there.”

  Adnan approached the door, gripped the handle, and walked in. He found himself in an old, rustic kitchen. A round dining table sat in the middle, and a man stood by it. His eyes sparkled when he saw Adnan.

  “Adnan, my friend, it’s been a long time.”

  Adnan lowered his hands. “Leonid.”

  Leonid Sabarov motioned for Adnan to come in, and slowly, Adnan stepped forward, closing the door behind him. Leonid pointed to a chair.

  “Come on, sit down. How have you been?”

  Adnan remained calm. Leonid was a Russian mercenary who was as cruel as he was effective. His jovial appearance didn’t fool anyone. The man was a giant.

  Adnan pulled out a chair and sat. “All right,” he replied. “A lot has happened since we last saw each other.”

  Leonid sat opposite him and laid a gun on the table in front of him. He leaned forward. “How long has it been? Three years?”

  “Four. Since Afghanistan.”

  Leonid pounded the table, and the gun jumped. “Yes! You’re right. It was the mission with the warlord, right?”

  Adnan nodded. “That’s the one.”

  Leonid chuckled. “I don’t think he ever understood what happened there,” he said. “He had men protecting him, and you still took him out. It was a masterful shot, I have to say. Even though there were many problems for me on that mission, I must give it to you. A pure masterpiece.”

  Adnan remembered the mission like it was yesterday. Leonid and his team had been tasked with working on the security detail of a clan leader who controlled the local drug trade. The clan leader had given Leonid two bags full of money so he wouldn’t be murdered. He’d heard of a rumor that competing clan leaders had put a price on his head, and that one of them had hired the Spaniard to carry out the mission.

  Adnan had spent two terrible weeks in the field in the scorching heat, but he had succeeded. One morning, when the clan leader had been careless enough to leave his tent without the
customary sweep of his security forces, Adnan had spotted his chance. It was a hard shot—just under eighteen hundred meters, with a weak side wind. But he’d set the shot, and the clan leader had died instantly.

  “Thank you,” Adnan replied.

  Leonid smiled broadly while he studied the man across from him. Leonid was the great, heavy archetype of a Russian mercenary. His voice boomed in the old kitchen when he spoke. “So you’re looking for a couple of old doctors, is that right?”

  Adnan clenched his jaw and said, “That’s right. Do you have the information?”

  Leonid chuckled. “Not so fast, my friend. Before we get that far, you’re going to give me something, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am,” Adnan said with a grimace.

  Leonid leaned forward, and his eyes gleamed. “But first, tell me why you want these men. My client never said.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s not true. It does matter.” He patted himself on the chest. “It matters a lot to me.”

  Adnan sighed. He didn’t have time for games like this. Every second he wasn’t moving toward his goal was a lost second. But the quickest thing in this case was probably to just give Leonid what he wanted.

  “Those men are the ones responsible for the death of my wife and daughter,” Adnan said in a low voice.

  Leonid’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Yeah, you heard me right. I’m hunting the two doctors because they were in charge of a medical experiment my daughter participated in. Before she died.”

  Leonid leaned forward, sincerely interested. “Right,” he said, “I think I remember hearing a rumor about this. Something about your daughter being sick?”

  Adnan nodded. “Yes, she had cancer. A rare variety, quite difficult to treat. She was dying when we heard about this experimental treatment, and she was invited to join it.”

  “But that was a good thing, wasn’t it?”

  “At first, yes, the treatment was effective. But after only a couple of weeks, she suddenly got worse and died.”