The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  “Run!” Freya cried. “We have to go out into the open!”

  They rushed on, and when they reached the far end, Hugo kicked open the door and rushed out into the hot air. He turned sharply right and rushed toward the area where the Spaniard shot the officers. Hugo came around the corner the second the bullets ran out in the Spaniard’s weapon. Hugo lifted his gun and fired while he ran.

  The Spaniard threw himself toward the car he’d come in, ripped open the passenger door, and crawled in. Hugo stopped, sank to his knees. The Spaniard was barely thirty meters away. Hugo took a deep breath and pressed the trigger. Heavy bullets hit the Spaniard’s car, but somehow the Spaniard still started it. The car roared to life, and the wheels spun as it reversed, making the dust swirl.

  Hugo’s weapon clicked and stopped shooting. He swore.

  The Spaniard threw it in gear and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. He swerved toward Hugo, who had to throw himself into cover when the car was a few centimeters away from hitting him. Hugo landed heavily, rolled, and got up. Mikko rushed up to him.

  “Are you okay?”

  Hugo staggered up onto his legs.

  “Yes. He’s incredibly lucky, that man. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Freya and Sussie rushed over to Hugo and Mikko.

  “What do we do now? Our car is shot up.”

  Hugo turned to their car and groaned when he saw smoke rising from the hood and two punctured wheels. He bit his lip while his thoughts rushed. If they didn’t find a transport right now, the Spaniard would get away.

  Someone called to their right, and they turned to the voice. It was Sánchez.

  “Help!”

  They rushed over to him and helped him up. Sánchez had a wound on his cheek that was bleeding profusely, but otherwise, there didn’t seem to be any life-threatening injuries. Sánchez wiped the blood off his face.

  “What about my men?” he asked.

  Hugo helped Sánchez up. “Mikko and Freya are helping them now. Take it easy.”

  Sussie bent down next to Hugo and whispered in his ear. Hugo froze and turned around. He looked at Sussie, who shrugged. Hugo leaned toward Sánchez and grabbed his hand, and pulled him up in a sitting position. In the same sweeping motion, he put his hand in Sánchez’s inner pocket and pulled out a few keys. Sánchez didn’t notice anything and sat up while he moaned.

  “Thank you.”

  Hugo nodded. “Thank you. You’re on your own for a while now. Call in and ask for backup and tell them what happened.”

  Sánchez stared at him.

  “But the Spaniard? Where did he go?”

  Hugo rose and stared at the dust cloud on the horizon. “He left,” he said. “And so must we.”

  Sánchez tried to get up, but Hugo put his hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

  “But how? Your car is shot up.”

  The others approached Hugo.

  “Status?” he asked them.

  “Three dead. The others are going to be fine. We helped them as best we could until the medics get here.”

  “Good,” he said. “All right, let’s go after the Spaniard.”

  Sánchez muttered, “But how?”

  Hugo showed his hand, opened it, and then quickly pulled it back when Sánchez grabbed for the keys Hugo was holding.

  “We’ll just borrow it; you will get it back in one piece. I promise.”

  Sánchez bellowed and swore after Hugo and his team as they ran toward the police bus.

  ***

  The truth always comes out. Dr. Balthazar Vimpel took a deep breath and walked through the door. The office wasn’t large, but it was tastefully furnished. A man dressed in white stood up behind a desk.

  “Something new?”

  Balthazar shook his head. “No. I’m waiting for an answer from Argento, but so far, I don’t know any more than you.”

  Dr. Archibald Zuch clenched his jaw, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. “This is unacceptable! With all the money we pay him, he should be able to give us answers!”

  Balthazar went to a leather sofa on the right. The exclusive furniture was extremely comfortable when he sat down. He nodded.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Archibald stared at Balthazar as if he were from another planet. “Are you sitting around talking about sofas now that we have a madman after us? Are you as crazy as him?”

  Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Archie. Nothing’s going to happen to us. We’re sitting here, fifteen meters underground, with a dozen guards patrolling every corner of the whole complex. He can’t come in.”

  Archibald walked around his desk and sat down opposite Balthazar. He shook his head.

  “You know, Balthazar, we have done a lot of good through our discoveries. But you know as well as I do that there were several question marks during the experiment involving the Spaniard’s daughter. If we had known then what we know now, we wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

  Balthazar pressed his lips into a line. “Probably not,” he said.

  They sat quietly. Balthazar remembered it like yesterday. The Spaniard had been immensely powerful in his persuasion of the doctors that his daughter would be allowed to participate. At first, they had said no, but the Spaniard hadn’t given up. And Balthazar had been intimidated by the man’s intensity. Against his will and better judgment, he’d agreed to include the man’s daughter in the treatment. He shook his head. Imagine how wrong things could go when fear prevailed. When the Spaniard’s daughter had deteriorated and died, and he’d threatened their lives, Balthazar had truly feared death for the first time in his life. And he hadn’t just feared for his own life, but for Sky and Laura’, as well. If something happened to them, he might kill himself, too. That’s what was ironic about this. To many extents, he understood the pain the Spaniard was carrying all too well. He also knew that it was he who was essentially guilty.

  He shook his head. “But we can’t give up now. Not when we get this far. We’ve done a lot of good over the years. You know that,” he said. “And when you work with patients as sick as we do, it’s indispensable that there will be some who die along the way.”

  Archibald met his gaze and shrugged. “Yeah, I know it, and you know it, but I wonder if those who judge us know it,” he said.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Archibald leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “What happens now?”

  “We’re waiting for Argento to call.”

  “And until he does?”

  “Let’s take it easy. We’re going through that material that we’re going through in these lawsuits. When this is over, and we’re called for interrogation, we need to have control of all the details.”

  Archibald sat quietly for a few seconds. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Archibald stared at Balthazar for a moment and chuckled. “We’ve known each other a long time, my friend,” he said. “As long as you say we’ve done good in this world, I’m happy.”

  Balthazar got up. “We have. We’ve done more good than most people even dream of. But there’s always—”

  He fell silent when his phone rang. He picked it up.

  “Balthazar,” he said.

  He flinched, and Archibald stared at him when he saw Balthazar frown. Balthazar brought the phone down and pressed a button.

  “I’ll put you on speaker, Argento. I’m sitting here with Archibald.”

  Balthazar put the phone on the coffee table between them and sat down. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  Reinhard Argento’s voice rose into the air. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

  Balthazar looked at Archibald, staring at him. Balthazar leaned forward.

  “The good.”

  “The Spaniard is injured,” he said. “According to the latest police report I came across, he was shot in the shoulder while trying to escape.”

  Archibald breathed sharply. “Is he dead?”
>
  “No. He’s injured. Not dead.”

  Archibald sank back on the couch. Balthazar frowned. “And the bad news?”

  “He has escaped and is currently at large.”

  Balthazar swallowed, and a pearl of sweat slid down his back. He shivered. “That’s not good, Reinhard. We were hopeful that you would have resolved this by now.”

  Reinhard Argento chuckled. “Gentlemen, you know as well as I do that this is an extraordinary situation. The Spaniard isn’t a mere assassin. If he were, you wouldn’t be hiding, and I wouldn’t be going around Spain looking for him. This man is a ghost, and a ghost you don’t kill so easily.”

  Balthazar scratched his temple. “But what happens now? Is he close?”

  Argento hesitated. “It’s not entirely clear. I’m outside an industrial area where a shooting took place between the Spaniard, Novus, and the Spanish police.”

  Archibald shrugged. “Novus? Who is that?”

  Argento told Archibald that he’d contacted Madeleine Singh and that she’d agreed to take the mission to stop the Spaniard. He also relayed the police report he’d obtained that described the events in the house where four people died. When he fell silent, Balthazar moaned.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Argento cleared his throat. “Gentlemen. This is a unique situation we find ourselves in, and we need all the help we can get. Hugo and his team from Novus are searching for the Spaniard as bloodhounds. Given their reputation, we’re lucky to have hired them. But I don’t want to give you false hopes. I’ll send additional guards to La Rosa Española to ensure that nothing happens. I don’t think there’s any chance the Spaniard will find you, but I’d rather be on the safe side.”

  Archibald rose, his eyes fluttering. “Coming here?”

  Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Calm down. He says there’s no risk of that.”

  Archibald stuttered, “I have to make sure Heléne is okay.”

  Before Balthazar could say anything, Archibald ran out of the room. Balthazar shook his head.

  “He’s close to the edge.”

  Argento’s voice crackled. “Take it easy. I’ll send extra guards to make sure nothing happens. It’s a minimal chance, but just to be on the safe side.”

  “Okay, call me as soon as you know more.”

  “Sure. I’ll let you know.”

  Balthazar terminated the call. He wiped the sweat off his face, and the room spun.

  12

  Adnan Kosh groaned as he swerved a little too hard, and he grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The car he passed honked, but Adnan ignored it. Now it was a matter of putting as much distance between himself and the police. A wave of dizziness swept through him. He touched his shoulder and felt the warm, moist blood. He looked at his reddened fingers and swore.

  “Shit. Come on.”

  He drove up the highway, got into the right lane, and matched the pace with the rest of the traffic. He slid in behind a truck and took a few deep breaths. It had to do for now. He held the steering wheel with his knee, twisted himself, and pulled out the backpack in the back seat. He opened it, pushed his hand down, and grabbed a small first aid kit.

  He emptied it into the passenger seat and struggled to get his jacket off. He succeeded and started unbuttoning his shirt. Pain radiated through the shoulder down to the chest. Adnan clenched his jaw.

  “Come on, come on. Don’t faint.”

  He could not get his shirt off, but he pushed it down, exposing his wounded shoulder. He grabbed the rearview mirror, twisted it, and looked at the wound. The bullet had gone straight through. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to subside, a thumping sensation emanated from the injury. Adnan moaned as he took a washcloth from the first aid kit, tore it up, and washed the wound. He couldn’t stop, not now. Not when the police were after him. If Adnan remembered correctly, the castle he was heading to should not be more than forty kilometers away. He could do it if he didn’t stop, but it also meant he had to do this in the car.

  “Okay, here we go,” he said.

  He threw the used washcloth into the passenger seat’s footwell and studied the wound in the rearview mirror. It looked better. The entrance hole was black, and a faint streak of blood ran down his chest. Someone honked, and Adnan punched the accelerator when he saw that he was driving too slowly. When he got closer to the truck, a car overtook him. An older man glared at him and flipped him the finger as he passed.

  “Mind your own business, old man,” Adnan muttered.

  He pulled out a can of spray glue, opened it, and aimed carefully at the wound. He pressed it, and a thin liquid shot out and stuck directly to the wound. When the cold liquid hit him, a shock went through him when it landed on the open wound.

  He studied his work in the rearview mirror. It looked okay. He leaned back and shrugged as the wound on the other side of his shoulder touched the seat. He swore. He grabbed the steering wheel with his left hand and took a deep breath. He twisted his right hand as far as he could, and when his arm didn’t get any farther, he pressed the top again. The cold liquid hit the rear shoulder. He couldn’t see where he was aiming, but it had to do. He threw the empty can into the passenger seat and took a few deep breaths. This was an emergency solution. It had to do for now.

  His brain raced, and somehow he knew it didn’t matter. His life after his wife and child’s death had been a living hell to him, and he wanted nothing more than to see them again in the afterlife. But first, he would avenge them. He would take revenge on those who took everything from him.

  He swerved when the truck in front of him braked. He grabbed a bandage from the passenger seat, tore it, and bit his jaws together. He pressed it as hard as he could against the wound, and when he was done, he did the same with the wound on the back. When he was done, sweat ran down his forehead, and he wiped it off. He looked at the clock.

  It was a little after two. His brain raced. He relived the battle in his mind. That Hugo Xavier had been there again. So that man was after him. Adnan spat. If he wanted a fight, he’d get it. He wouldn’t stand between Adnan and his revenge. He bent over, grabbed a phone he had hidden under the seat, and dialed a number from memory. A couple of signals came through before a voice responded.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. The Spaniard.”

  A few seconds’ pause. Then, “I don’t think so. He’s retired. The last I heard from him was three years ago.”

  Adnan bit his teeth together.

  “Pullman, can’t you hear it’s me?”

  Pullman Zero hesitated. “You can do so much now with technology. How can I know that you’re not a voice from a computer program?”

  Adnan growled. He didn’t have time for this. But he took a deep breath.

  “Ask me something that only I can know.”

  “Okay, during the mission in Rome. Who snitched on the accountant?”

  Adnan snorted. “Simple. It was the German official who worked at the embassy.”

  Pullman gasped. “Adnan, what are you doing? Is that really you?”

  “Very much so. Listen, I need your help. I’m in trouble, and I need you to help me.”

  “Okay, no problem. I owe you my life, so of course, I’ll help.”

  “Good.”

  Adnan Kosh spoke rapidly, recounting everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours and where he was going.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said. “And you want us to stop this Hugo and his team that’s after you?”

  “Yeah. And the police, too, if necessary. But they can take a little longer. I think Hugo is the primary threat. I don’t know exactly where they are or even if they got away from the warehouse. But if they’re on their way, you have to stop them.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the guys together and we’ll get out of here right away. What does the car look like they’re traveling in?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but given that their car was shot up, the only transport there was a police bus. If they’ve gotten
out of there, they’re in it.”

  Pullman chuckled. “Okay, Adnan. For your sake!”

  Adnan raised his hand in the air.

  ***

  Old gunpowder doesn’t perish easily. Pullman Zero pounded the table, making the tools on it jump.

  “How about that!”

  A voice behind Pullman said, “Who were you talking to?”

  Pullman turned around and looked at Roddy Tix.

  “You’ll never guess.”

  Roddy shook his head. “Who?”

  Pullman smiled. “The Spaniard.”

  Roddy shrugged. “He’s retired, hasn’t he? That was years ago. He met a woman, and they had a child together.”

  Pullman chuckled. “I’ll tell you on the way. Get the guys. We have a job,” he said.

  Roddy’s wrinkled face stared at Pullman Zero. “What are you talking about? What job?”

  Pullman hurriedly told Roddy what the Spaniard had said and that he’d called in one last favor. Roddy frowned.

  “You can’t be serious. We’re going hunting for a police car full of cops?”

  Pullman turned around and rushed through the dirty garage. He kicked the door open. “Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s a police bus, not a car. And it’s not full of cops. It’s full of a team in search of the Spaniard.”

  Roddy hesitated. His eyes fluttered. But Pullman stared at him.

  “Let’s go, you idiot! Call the guys in, and I’ll fix the equipment and the car. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  Pullman Zero rushed through the door and left Roddy. He ran across the dusty courtyard and proceeded to a rusty barn door. The heavy, old door slid, squeaking, to the side. He entered the huge barn packed with four vans in varying condition. The three on the right were dismantled, but the fourth was drivable. The black Ford shined as the sun peeked through the doorway. They’d just stolen it from a nearby village, and the plan was to strip it for parts.