Three.
Hugo gritted his teeth.
Two.
A voice in the back of his head shouted a warning.
One.
The intersection was now ten meters away. Something was wrong.
“Freya! Watch out!”
Freya heard Hugo shout but barely had time to react before they arrived at the light. Instinctively, she smashed the brake pedal and pulled the handbrake at the same time to get them around the turn. Something flashed in front of them. A row of trees spread down the far side of the sidewalk, but—there! It glinted again. The stench of burnt rubber filled Hugo’s nostrils, but he ignored it. What he couldn’t ignore was the metallic flashing that kept coming from the row of trees. Then he saw it: A shadow. A man. Weapons.
There was a flash, and the windshield in front of Freya and Sussie exploded. Wind roared through the cabin as thousands of shards rained down on the passengers. Freya shouted something, and after that, chaos took over. Shots echoed and hit the metal around them. Heavy bullets tore large holes in the body of the van, and more windows burst inward. Freya held tight to the handbrake as the van tilted to the side; then, the Sprinter toppled over. Hugo felt a strange sense of lightness as he moved through the surreal space. The unearthly squeal of metal rang in his ears, and every muscle in his body tensed. Mikko fell on him heavily, landing on his midsection. The air was forced out of Hugo’s lungs with a crunching grunt.
He could feel the van sliding along the road. The muffled sounds of shooting ceased, but the squeak of metal and the stinging odor of smoke filled the air.
As the van came to rest, he yelled, “Sussie! Freya!”
Sussie called back in answer, but he couldn’t make out what she said. He didn’t hear Freya at all.
“Freya!” he tried again.
A few long seconds passed. “She’s unconscious!” Sussie shouted. “She’s alive but unconscious.”
“Shit, shit shit,” Hugo swore. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, and Mikko’s body slid off him. Hugo grabbed his friend’s head before it could hit the ground.
“Mikko, can you hear me?”
Mikko’s eyes fluttered, and he opened them. Hugo smiled broadly.
“There you are, buddy. Are you hurt?”
Mikko stared at him, then cast his eyes to the left and to the right. He blinked a few times. “No, I don’t think so. Bruised yes, but probably nothing serious.”
Hugo watched with relief as the massive Finn sat up. A thick streak of blood was running slowly down his forehead. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.
Hugo leaned forward and pointed. “There are two guys with weapons over there, diagonally in front of us, fifteen meters away. They’re here to take us down.”
Mikko blinked, nodded, and gave a thumbs-up. Hugo glanced at Sussie.
“Take care of Freya. Mikko and I will fix this.”
Sussie removed her seat belt and crawled over to Freya, who lay motionless on the driver’s side door. Meanwhile, Hugo grabbed one of the bags Mikko had been going through just a few minutes earlier. He pulled out a dark Steyr AUG, and the slender weapon was like an extension of him. He took the other one out of the bag, tossed it to Mikko, and held up his finger.
Outside, Hugo could hear footsteps, and they were getting closer. He shifted forward in the direction of the missing windshield. Sussie stared at Hugo as he crawled past. Hugo signaled for Mikko to move back toward the two rear luggage doors as the steps outside came closer still. There were two of them out there, one coming from the van’s right side and one from the left. And there were voices. Hugo couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t matter.
They were going to reach the toppled van. And then one of them would stick his weapon inside and fire. After that, they would put their heads in to see that everyone was dead.
As the seconds passed, nausea reigned more and more mightily within Hugo’s belly. He pushed it away—there was no time for that.
Silently, Hugo gestured to Mikko to move even closer to the broken rear doors. The footsteps came to a stop, and a shadow moved just outside. Then there was the flash of a weapon, and Hugo threw himself out of the mangled Sprinter, firing as he flew sideways through the air. His weapon unloaded, rending the air like a giant zipper as he fired ten rounds before the other guns had even been cocked and aimed.
In the same moment, Mikko leaped out the broken rear doors and fired. The two men outside never had a chance; they fell to the pavement dead. Hugo and Mikko landed on the ground heavily, and something sharp sliced the side of Hugo’s abdomen. He howled as a blade-like edge penetrated deep into his flesh. Mikko jumped to his feet and swept the area with his weapon. There were no more guns pointed at them. Further down the road, a black van sat with its engine idling. A man stepped out from behind it, glaring at him.
“Hugo,” Mikko frowned, “I think there’s someone who wants to talk to us.”
Hugo braced himself and sat up. A sharp metal shard slid out of his body, and he felt blood flowing down his side. He groaned. In times like this, Hugo found it hard to believe he had a genetic defect that made him less sensitive to pain than others. This felt plenty painful. Still, it was true; Hugo wasn’t completely numb to pain, nor was he immortal. It was just that his body had a different pain threshold than most people.
He stumbled to his feet and moved to Mikko. Mikko pointed to the man standing over by the other van.
“Someone you know?” he asked Hugo.
Hugo frowned. “No—not directly, anyway.”
The man cupped his hand around his mouth, and Hugo realized he was talking to someone. Then there was the sound of a revving engine. At first, Hugo couldn’t fully distinguish where it was coming from. He turned his gaze over his shoulder and saw—it was coming from behind them. Mikko followed Hugo’s gaze.
“The police?”
Hugo shook his head. “No.”
At that moment, another van—identical to the first, though red in color—appeared down the road. It was heading straight for them.
6
There was no time left. Madeleine Singh gripped the Bentley’s steering wheel tightly and stepped on the gas, skidding around the corner to Novus’ headquarters. A flock of cranes was sitting in the middle of the road, and she honked the horn and braked. The birds, panicked, lifted into the air and filled it with their loud bugle calls. Madeleine stepped on the accelerator again as she fished her phone from the bag on the passenger seat.
“Hey Siri, call headquarters,” she commanded the phone’s AI.
The computerized voice—male and Australian, per Madeleine’s preference—replied, “Calling headquarters.”
It rang twice, then a man answered, “Novus.”
“Adem, it’s me. Get the communication room ready. I’m almost there.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“Try to get hold of someone at the Danish police. We need to get in touch with them as soon as possible.”
A few seconds passed before Adem answered, “Okay, I’ll see if I can get someone.”
“Good. Be there in three.”
“Roger. The coffee’s ready.”
“Fantastic.”
Madeleine clicked off the call, happy to know that her instructions would be carried out to the letter. Adem was admittedly new—he’d been there less than a year—but he had already made himself an indispensable part of the company.
Madeleine loved her creation, a company that worked on the shadowy side of the corporate world. That world included things like industrial espionage, extortion, and theft of trade secrets. Nowadays, the corporate world had access to far more advanced assets than companies had dreamed of just fifty years ago. They now had advanced listening equipment, high-tech technology that could detect the smallest electronic tracks. Everything was within reach for anyone who knew where to look. Madeleine had seen a need for a stable, discreet business that could help companies when they were exposed; thus, Novus. An
d the last few years had been a great success.
Novus had grown to include forty people, fifteen of whom were divided into four task forces. But last year, disaster had struck. A customer had turned on them, arranging for a team of assassins to strike Novus early one morning. It had been a massacre. Half of her employees had been murdered; Novus had been close to collapse. But as if by a miracle, Hugo Xavier, Felix’s brother, had taken up the hunt for the perpetrators. Though paralyzed, Felix had survived, and Hugo had taken his place as leader of his task force.
As Madeleine pulled up to the headquarters building in Malmö harbor, she shivered. The worn outer metal panels were rusty, and some of the windows that stretched around the house at the top looked grimy. But it was just camouflage. Inside these walls hid a veritable command center with access to state-of-the-art technology. She threw the Bentley’s door open and hurried to the dark plate embedded next to a thick metal door. She pressed her hand against it.
“Come on, hurry up.”
The heavy door clicked and swung open. Taking the stairs two at a time, Madeleine flew to the second floor. A woman—Elsa—met her in the doorway and pointed toward the open office landscape filled with desks and monitors.
“In there. Adem has gotten the communication room ready.”
“Thanks,” Madeleine breathed as she hurried past Elsa. “Where is Adem?”
Madeleine disappeared into the room, and Elsa called after her.
“He was going to get his computer. He’ll be right back.”
Madeleine hurried into the communication room. A dozen screens stretched in a semicircle, displaying news broadcasts of what had happened in Copenhagen two hours ago. Four of the other monitors showed various images of suspects who might have had something to do with the attack.
A voice gasped behind her. “There you are.”
Madeleine spun around as Adem entered. He was carrying a laptop, which he placed on the large, oval desk in the middle of the room. Madeleine nodded toward the screens.
“How are things looking?”
Adem cleared his throat. “Not much to go on, actually,” he said. The people at the apartment were professionals. They didn’t leave many traces behind. They came in disguised, did what they were supposed to, and then vanished.”
Madeleine grabbed the coffee pot from the table and poured herself a cup. She sipped her steaming coffee, then asked, “No pictures?”
Adem went to a computer and sat down. As his fingers flew over the keyboard, the pictures on the screens changed to a black van approaching a beautiful house.
“This is the clip we have so far. They drive to the building and enter. Then a couple minutes pass, and they come out again.”
Madeleine approached the screen and squinted at it. “Any clues?” she asked.
Adem nodded. “Sussie sent a message twenty minutes ago saying she’d already run an analysis program on the clip and gotten part of the plate number.”
“Good. Where are they now?”
Adem stared at her blankly. “Who?”
“Hugo and Sussie and the team, of course.”
Adem frowned. “Oh. Sussie said they were on their way to a place they thought the bad guys were going.”
“And how long ago was that?” Madeleine asked.
Adem glanced up at the big clock on the wall and said, “Fifteen minutes ago.”
Madeleine sipped her coffee. “Nothing else from them since?”
“No, nothing.”
Madeleine nodded. She had full confidence in Hugo. If anyone was capable of taking care of his team, it was him.
“All right. Try to get in touch with Sussie as soon as possible. I need to talk to Hugo.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Adem worked on establishing communication with someone from Hugo’s team. Meanwhile, Madeleine’s thoughts wandered. Why had someone attacked Magnus von Silverstråle? What could he have had in his apartment that would attract an open attack like this? By a full-on mercenary team?
He’d even had a security detail in his apartment around the clock to protect his treasures. Madeleine supposed it wasn’t unusual when dealing with powerful men like Magnus von Silverstråle. They probably had all sorts of secrets that weren’t allowed to see the light of day.
This was more than a regular mission for her. She was friends with Magnus; they’d known each other five years now. They had met at a dinner at the American embassy in Copenhagen, and they’d immediately gotten along. The world they both moved in was a small one, and three years ago, Madeleine had helped Magnus when he’d been the victim of industrial espionage. He had hired Novus, and they had managed to identify the mole and discreetly eliminate it.
She took a long sip of her coffee. She needed to talk to Magnus again, needed more details to try to understand what was behind the coup. Madeleine picked up her phone, scrolled to the call list, and pressed Magnus von Silverstråle’s name. Two seconds passed before a dark voice answered.
“Magnus.”
***
It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Laszlo Jelinek whooped at the sight of the van lying on its side, smoke billowing from its engine. The tar-like brake tracks on the road traced a wide arc; there were broken glass and contorted metal everywhere.
“We have them!” he shouted.
Subek Major took the safety off his weapon and nodded. “Come on,” he said in his thick Hungarian accent, “drive to them so we can put an end to this. The others must have served them to us.” He turned to the two men in the back seat.
“Get ready. When we arrive, we get out and fire at their vehicle with everything we have. Understood?”
The two men, dressed head-to-toe in black, nodded as one. Subek nodded. This was a good day. He got to work with his countrymen, and they got to reach their highest goals. Everyone in the van was a Hungarian mercenary; these men were the best of the best. Laszlo revved the engine as adrenaline soaked every muscle in his body. Thirty meters, twenty. The tires screamed as he pulled the wheel sharply to the side.
“What are you doing?” Subek roared.
But as soon as he said it, Subek understood what was going on. A man with a long, black rifle appeared on the right of the van and opened fire. Shots hit the windshield. Subek wasted no time; he kicked the door open and threw himself out. A soldier in the back seat screamed when a round hit his shoulder, throwing him backward.
Laszlo yanked up on the handbrake, causing the van to skid wildly.
“Shoot!” he roared.
One of the men slammed open the side window behind him and hung himself out of it in one smooth motion, opening fire. Shots thundered through the cabin. The man by the overturned van dove for shelter as Laszlo kicked open the door and jumped out.
He pulled out his weapon and opened fire on the crumpled white Sprinter. He held down the trigger, emptying the entire magazine and making the very air around him tremble. From the corner of his eye, he saw sunlight reflecting off another van, this one red. In front of it stood Raynard, studying him the way a master studies a pupil. Laszlo tensed his jaw, happy to demonstrate his skill for the man who had hired him. Smoothly, he changed the mag and began shooting again. Subek ran up to his side and joined him in the firefight. Not wanting to be left out of the action, the third Hungarian jumped out and ran to them. Stopping a few meters from where Laszlo stood, he raised his weapon’s muzzle at the upended van.
The three mercenaries moved in sync, Subek in front. They progressed toward the van, holding down the triggers as they walked. Hundreds of bullets pulverized the vehicle, ripping holes in metal from top to bottom. Laszlo glanced over and saw Raynard nod approvingly; it gave him a feeling of warmth in his heart.
When Subek and Laszlo’s magazines ran out, Laszlo signaled a ceasefire to the third merc. Anyone left in the Sprinter had to be dead by now. Everything was silent—it was a stunning sound. Laszlo’s whole body tensed as he motioned for Subek to move to the left. Laszlo went around the van to the right.
<
br /> The people in there were surely pulverized. It was over. They’d succeeded. He gritted his teeth in a grim smile.
***
The roar was deafening. Heavy ammunition hit the van, pounding rhythmically. Crouched down behind it, Hugo shouted to Mikko, and Mikko replied with a shrug that said I can’t bloody hear you!
Hugo motioned for Mikko to crawl toward the center of the van; it was the only place they could hope to be protected from the warfare. They hunched down, attempting to communicate a plan with only their eyes. A foot away from the front of the van, a gap large enough to peek through had opened in the tattered metal; Hugo crawled over to it. He put his eye up to the hole and saw two men walking toward them with automatic weapons. They were dressed all in black.
Shit. These guys had to belong to the same outfit as the others. He shook his head. He should have suspected that not everyone in the group was in the same car. A slug struck close to his head, and he slid down close to the ground again.
There were large concrete boxes set along the sidewalk that obscured the view of the red van. Hugo had glimpsed a man standing in front of it just before the Sprinter had overturned. Was he still there?
As Hugo crawled along the edge of the vehicle, shells continued to strike all around him. Shattered glass crashed under his knees as he stuck his head into the van. Sussie sat huddled in the middle, apparently unharmed. Scared, but intact.
“Where’s Freya?” he asked.
Before Sussie could answer, a female voice came from his right, and Freya crawled forward from the back seat. Hugo smiled broadly.
“Are you okay?”
Freya spat blood. “I have one hell of a headache,” she said, “but no broken bones—I think.”
“Good. You’re a tough one.”
The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3 Page 30