The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  The driver stepped on it, and a faint smell of smoke began to fill the cabin. They gained on their target. The van in front of them had been hit, and a faint vapor swirled behind it.

  Hong shouted, “Teng! Are you going to shoot them?”

  Teng bared his teeth. This had already taken too long. The police were surely on their way. They had to finish this now.

  “Yes, hold on.”

  Teng leaned out of the side window and started shooting. The long hail of ammunition thundered into the window of a sedan driving next to the Novus van, and it exploded in a cloud of shards. Hong cried with delight.

  “Again, more!”

  The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and shook his head but said nothing. Teng swapped out the magazine once more and again hung out the side window. The cold wind tore at him, but he aimed carefully.

  This time they wouldn’t get away. As Teng was about to squeeze the trigger, his target punched the accelerator and sped past a long, red Royal Mail truck. Teng motioned for the driver to follow.

  “Get us up in front.”

  The driver started to turn the wheel, but in the same instant, Teng watched in horror as the van’s brake lamps turned on; a fraction of a second later, the brake lights of the mail truck also lit up.

  After that, everything happened at half-speed. When the truck’s brakes locked, it started to slide, pulling three cars along with it. The cars were pushed aside but avoided crashing as their speed was so low.

  But the speed had been high enough to overturn the truck. It collapsed onto its side like a butterfly knife on the slippery road. A white cloud rose, and a long, crashing sound echoed across the highway.

  *

  They left the chaos behind them. A cloud of rushing snow flew into the air as the huge truck tipped over with a crash, blocking the road.

  “It’s okay, Tim,” Hugo said.

  Tim grabbed the wheel so hard Hugo thought the bones would penetrate his skin. His voice broke.

  “You never said we were going to overturn a truck.”

  Mikko burst out laughing at the unexpected comment, and his laughter swept over the others. They shrieked with laughter at the stunning fact that they had survived. Life was always at its sweetest after you’d come close to death’s awful breath. Sussie wiped away tears. Her bloodstained face was streaked.

  “That was impressive, Hugo,” she said. “Very impressive.”

  “Thanks.” Hugo looked at the clock. Half-past ten.

  “What do you think, Tim? Will you and your girlfriend be going to the Maldives?”

  Tim forced a smile. “Yes, of course we will. If we survived the last fifteen minutes, the rest will be a child’s game.”

  Hugo pulled out his phone. “Madeleine,” he said into the receiver, “it’s me.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do we have permission to enter the press conference?”

  Madeleine’s voice disappeared for a few seconds. When she returned, she replied, “You do. The press conference starts at eleven o’clock, and there are two access cards for you at the receptionist’s desk.”

  “Only two?”

  “That’s all we were able to arrange.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Any other information?”

  “Yes,” Madeleine said. “We’ve received reports that an airplane has entered English airspace and done some sort of controlled crash landing.”

  “Controlled crash landing?”

  “Right. It’s hard to interpret the report because it’s missing a lot of information. But it seems that an aircraft was hijacked in Tallinn and set course for London.”

  A chill rolled through Hugo.

  “Xi.”

  “Yeah. He seems to be a tough one.”

  “You can’t even imagine.”

  Madeleine gave Hugo some more updates, then said, “That should be everything for now.”

  “Thanks for the help. We’ll get back to you when we can.”

  “Good luck.”

  Hugo peered out through the cracked windshield. The large glassed, high-rise buildings stretched upward to space as they approached central London. None of the team noticed the red, bulky van keeping its distance behind them.

  28

  Klaus pulled the seat belt so tight that he could barely move, but it didn’t help. When the helicopter rocked, his stomach nearly came up through his mouth.

  “How far?” he groaned.

  The pilot pointed. “Not far at all. London Heliport is ten minutes away.”

  Klaus winced and said, “Okay, just be sure to get us there as softly as possible.”

  The pilot gave a brief nod. He’d seen it before—wealthy businessmen who wanted to impress their girlfriends by taking them up in a helicopter. It’s a wonderful trip until it ends with the businessman throwing up all over himself.

  “Absolutely, sir. As softly as possible.”

  Klaus fixed his eyes on the Shard, London’s iconic skyscraper. He’d heard that it helped to fix your gaze on something when you were feeling motion sickness. Keeping his eye on the building, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. It rang twice before a female voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me.”

  He was met with a hesitant silence, and then, “Are you there yet?”

  “Not yet. Almost.”

  “How do things look?”

  “I went through everything on the way here, and it all looks good,” Klaus said. “The operation is continuing according to plan.”

  “Good. Call me when something new happens.”

  “Will do.”

  He hung up and breathed as deeply as he could with the seat belt restricting his midsection. When he lifted his hand, he noticed it was trembling. So much was at stake; he must not fail now. But he wouldn’t. The men stationed in the van outside the hotel had sent him continuous updates, and everything looked good. No, it would be fantastic. Weeks of planning would reach their peak within the next hour, and what would take place would dominate world news for the foreseeable future. He shivered with anticipation.

  *

  Heat boiled within him. Mustafa touched his forehead and found it sopping wet. He took a few steps toward the bathroom but had to stop. Tanya rushed over to him.

  “Mustafa! What is it?”

  He tried to speak, but no words came out. He got down on his knees. Tanya stroked his back.

  “Mustafa, talk to me. What’s going on? Are you sick?”

  The truth was that Mustafa Boon had never felt anything like this. It was as if his interior was on fire and lava was streaming through his veins. Every movement thundered as unrelenting pain echoed through his muscles. He gasped for air.

  “I need— Take me to the toilet. I’m going to— Something I’ve eaten . . .”

  But he knew better—this wasn’t food poisoning. It was something else. He inched forward, crawling on the floor to the bathroom. He pushed open the door and continued inside. Tanya followed him helplessly.

  “Mustafa, should we call for an ambulance?”

  He shook his head. “No, not now. Press conference must continue.”

  Someone from QuantumCorp must have poisoned him, Mustafa thought. It had to be. They were the only ones who had something to gain from the press conference being canceled. His knees burned like fire as he crawled along. When he arrived at a stall, he pushed the door open, threw himself over the toilet, and vomited.

  Black blood and bile poured out of his body. Currents of spasmodic pain washed over him like waves on a beach, and small, blinking stars danced in the corners of his eyes. His abdominal muscles cramped, and he slipped and fell hard, hitting the toilet seat with his chin and biting off his tongue. Torrents of blood poured from his mouth.

  Somewhere far away, he heard his name being called. He tried to focus on it, but it drifted away into nothingness. Faster and faster, the darkness rushed forward, enveloping him, and finally taking him down.

  *


  He thanked God. Klaus Horst jumped out of the helicopter and wobbled as his feet landed on the icy ground. Snow swirled around him as the powerful rotor spun slowly. He took a few deep breaths and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Someone shouted at him, and he turned and looked at the pilot, who was knocking on the window.

  The pilot pointed, and Klaus followed his finger. Two dark BMWs were driving toward them. They stopped, and three jumped out of each car. They were all armed. A muscular man with dark, cropped hair approached Klaus.

  “This way, sir. We’ll take you to the liaison center.”

  Klaus followed him. This was something QuantumCorp was a champion in—transport and logistics. When a company had operations across the globe, as QuantumCorp did, it was almost impossible to not become a specialist in those things. The cropped-hair man handed an iPad to Klaus.

  “Here’s the latest status report,” he said.

  Klaus skimmed it. The three nanobot injections had been performed according to plan. The targets didn’t seem to indicate that they knew anything.

  Goal 1: Mustafa Boon. Injections 1 and 2 performed. No reactions.

  Goal 2: Tanya Lipton. Injections 1 and 2 performed. No reactions.

  Goal 3: Ben Chimes. Injections 1 and 2 performed. No reactions.

  Klaus lowered the tablet as they passed two taxis in the middle lane. He glanced over at the people outside on the sidewalk, who all went about their own affairs without knowing what he was up to. Without a clue that he was headed to his fate, to the moment he’d been waiting for his entire life. Now, at last, was his chance to shine.

  The cropped-haired man raised a walkie-talkie. “Nest, this is Runner. Come in.”

  The radio crackled. “Bird’s nest here. Come in, Runner.”

  “We have Tiger in custody. Moving on to you. Estimated arrival fifteen minutes.”

  “Roger, Runner.”

  “Runner over.”

  Klaus tensed his jaws to suppress a giggle. Tiger. He liked that code name.

  It had started to snow again, and the thin snowflakes filled the air outside. Klaus grinned to himself, feeling warm inside.

  29

  Time was almost up. They skidded around a parked car as they approached the Oriental Mandarin, and Hugo pointed.

  “There!”

  Tim stepped on the brake, nearly causing the van to crash into a parked car. Hugo threw open the door.

  “Move it! It’s almost eleven!”

  He, Freya, and Sussie rushed into the beautiful hotel and to the receptionist’s desk. A faint exquisite jasmine scent welcomed them. Behind the desk, gorgeous receptionist beamed at them as they entered, her row of perfectly white teeth glittering like diamonds.

  “Welcome to the Oriental Mandarin. How can I help you?”

  Hugo cleared his throat. “We’re here for the press conference.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Hugo Xavier.”

  The woman smiled, showing off her perfect teeth again. “One moment, please.”

  She disappeared, and Hugo turned to Freya. “What do you guys think?”

  “The lobby looks okay, no threats that I can see,” Freya said. “Sussie, do you see anything?”

  “Nope, nothing.”

  The woman came back and pulled out an envelope. “Here you go, Mr. Xavier.”

  Hugo took the envelope and ripped it open, and two access cards with attached lanyards fell out. He gave one to Freya and nodded to Sussie.

  “Find somewhere you can observe the entire lobby, okay? Freya and I will go to the press conference. Let us know if you see anything suspicious.”

  Sussie put an earpiece in her ear and nodded. “Roger.” She spun on her heel and disappeared into the elegant lobby.

  “Freya, are you ready?”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Good. Let’s take it nice and easy. If you see anything suspicious, let me know before you act. Got it?”

  “Obviously.”

  They put the access cards around their necks and approached a sign that said in bold letters,

  Techyx Press Conference

  They showed their cards to the two guards, who gave brief nods and let them through.

  “Welcome. The press conference will be starting soon.”

  “Thanks,” Hugo said as he opened the door for Freya. She stepped in, and Hugo followed. A dozen pairs of eyes turned and examined the new arrivals. After a few seconds, they turned back to their notepads and tablets.

  “There are two seats over there,” Hugo said in a low voice. “You go grab them. I’ll see if I can circulate a bit.”

  Freya walked away and sat down in one of the vacant chairs in the back of the room. Hugo turned right and strolled around the room, assessing the participants of the press conference.

  Small, seated groups of men and women whispered to each other, but Hugo couldn’t hear what most of them were saying. A couple of white-clad figures stood talking to each other in the back of the room. Hugo headed back to Freya.

  “It looks okay for now. I don’t see any threats.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He glanced down at the yellow bag between her legs.

  “Make sure to keep that close. When something happens, shit will go down fast.”

  *

  Pain echoed through his body as he crawled forward and stood up. He swayed for a few seconds before a man rushed up to him.

  “Oh my God! I saw everything! Are you hurt?”

  Xi blinked and tried to regain his orientation. He was in a park. He must have landed in a tree and slid down to the ground from there. The stranger continued to speak to him in a distressed voice. Xi shook his head slowly. He had to get to the Oriental Mandarin as quickly as possible. He turned to the babbling man.

  “What time is it?”

  The man fell silent and shifted his weight. He hesitated but checked his watch.

  “A little after eleven.”

  “Goddammit,” he cursed under his breath. The press conference had already begun. “Which way to the Mandarin Hotel?”

  The man took a step back, a little more suspicious now.

  “Why?”

  “I have to get there; my family is there.”

  The man frowned and a few seconds elapsed. More shouting voices came from further away. As they came closer, the man lifted his arm and pointed.

  “It’s that way. Just under a hundred meters.”

  Xi smiled and bent down. The stranger was still standing there; he never noticed the knife until it impaled the soft underside of his chin. He fell backward, and Xi pulled the lifeless body deep into the snow-covered bushes.

  The hiding place wouldn’t stop the guy from being discovered, but it would give Xi a few extra minutes to complete his final mission. This was his destiny. He would show them just who they had betrayed.

  Xi took a couple of sluggish steps in the direction that the now-dead man had pointed.

  *

  They swung around the corner, and Klaus caught sight of the dark van.

  “So close?”

  The cropped-hair man—the one with the code name ‘Runner’—shrugged. “The range isn’t that far, and this was the best place.”

  Klaus groaned. The magnificent Mandarin Oriental was a hundred meters away. He had preferred a little more space between himself and the press conference, but he couldn’t do anything about it now.

  “Okay, get me into it.”

  Runner leaned forward to the driver. “Frank, park over there. Tiger and I walk over to the van.”

  “Roger.”

  The dark BMWs turned in behind a garbage truck that was idling at Knightsbridge. They jumped out, and Klaus pulled his coat around his body as he met the cold air. They hurried over to the van.

  “Nest, we’re on our way. We’ll be with you in ten seconds.”

  “Bird’s nest, Roger.”

  The rear door opened the moment they arrived. Two strong hands reached out and
pulled Klaus up, and Runner climbed in and closed the door.

  An older man with a trim, white beard set down a plastic coffee mug and stood up.

  “Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome.”

  Klaus walked up to him and shook his knuckly hand.

  “Dr. Zepp. Good to see you. Everything all right?”

  Zepp motioned for them to follow him. “Absolutely. As you can see, we have complete control over the situation. The press conference is just starting.”

  A man sitting in front of a monitor swirled around on a chair and faced Klaus.

  “Oh, hello there,” said the thin man with dark-rimmed glasses. Klaus immediately recognized him.

  “QC! Everything good?”

  QC shook his head and said, “No, not quite.”

  Dr. Zepp froze. “What? Two minutes ago, you said everything was fine.”

  QC’s mouth became a thin line. “Yeah, but that was then, and now is now.”

  Klaus held up his hand. “Enough. What do you mean, QC?”

  “This. Look.” QC pressed the keyboard, and on the screen, the grainy image of an office glided forward. A dark-skinned man was lying down on a couch, and a man and a woman were standing next to him. The woman had her arms crossed in front of her; the man on the couch wasn’t moving.

  “Who is that?”

  “That, my friends, is Mustafa Boon.”

  Dr. Zepp gasped. “What? What is he doing there? Why isn’t he out at the press conference presenting?”

  “Something must have happened to him in the last five minutes, of course,” said QC.

  Klaus turned to Zepp and glowered. “This is unacceptable. This is your responsibility—you were supposed to make sure everything went smoothly.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I apologize.”

  “Well, it’s too little, too late, isn’t it?”

  QC worked on the keyboard. “Wait, I’ll see if I can get some sound.”

  A few seconds later, a hidden speaker came to life.

  “Mustafa, can you hear me? Mustafa!”

  “Check his pulse.”