The Hugo Xavier Series: Book 1-3

by Filip Forsberg

  Sara shook her head. “Magnus is a special one, but I don’t think you have to worry,” she said with a warm smile. “You’ve known each other for twenty years. I mean, you’re probably best friends.”

  Marco chuckled and said, “It’s just too much to take in. Of course we know each other, but we’re not best friends. I mean, he has a past like . . .”

  He fell silent. Sara met his gaze.

  “Like?”

  Marco shook his head. “Forget it.”

  She shrugged and replied, “As you wish.” After a pause, she asked, “And you’re traveling today?”

  “Sure am.”

  “Where?”

  “To Oslo. The presser is this afternoon at one of the central hotels there.”

  “Are you coming back tonight, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Marco said. “I might just need to stay one night. I don’t know what Magnus has planned.”

  She drank up the last of her water and traced her foot between his legs. “Okay. Don’t forget me.”

  Marco’s eyes widened. “N-no, of course not,” he stammered, his throat suddenly closing up. “I’ll be back tonight if everything goes smoothly. I’m taking the plane up.”

  Sara blinked. “Oh. Right. Okay, just be careful if the storm gets any closer. Hurry back. I’ll be here.”

  Marco stood and kissed her, then stretched his arms over his head. “I’m gonna go and pack. See you tonight.”

  Marco left, and all of a sudden, she was alone again with her thoughts. Everything was going as planned. Marco was as easy to control as a little kid. A little care and love, and he’d do exactly what you wanted.

  On the small table next to her, her phone buzzed. She picked it up.

  “Yes?”

  A dark, raspy voice answered. “We have a problem.”

  A lump of ice materialized in her stomach. Raynard. She glanced at the clock and noted that it was a little after eight a.m. This wasn’t according to plan.

  “Why are you calling now?” she asked. “The plan was that you should only call when you’re at the destination.”

  “A . . . situation . . . has arisen that we didn’t anticipate.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  Raynard ran through what had happened. The hit. The hunt. The police. The other van and the bastard inside who had thrown a hand grenade at his men. Sara bit her lip as Raynard fell silent. The seconds passed.

  “Where are you now?” she asked finally.

  “We’ve lost them for now,” he said, “but it probably won’t be long before they show up again. We need help to get away. I’ve ordered the boat to go north so we can meet up with it as soon as possible.”

  Sara sighed. “Okay, good. But what do you want me to do? I mean, I hired you for an assignment, and I thought you worked completely independently. You came highly recommended.”

  “Listen!” Raynard hissed. “We’re not being followed by cops; they’re professionals! They’re getting help from someone, so we need someone in our corner too. Do you understand?”

  Sara fell silent. Then she said, “I’ll see what I can do. Call me back in ten minutes.”

  “We don’t have ten minutes!”

  “Ten. Minutes.”

  Raynard’s tone was icy cold. “Fine, ten minutes. Not a second more.”

  ***

  Pleasure. Only pleasure. The gorgeous woman’s long, strong fingers slid deliciously over the skin of his back. Jasper Roscoe moaned as her hands massaged his powerful muscles. She kneaded him rhythmically, and as she worked, he felt the tension being pushed out inch by inch. He relaxed even more, and the woman’s thumbs slid down his spine. Down and down. She leaned forward, and he caught a whiff of her scent, like lavender and summer.

  His phone rang from the chair next to him, and he opened his eyes. He sighed, rolled over on the massage table, and picked it up.

  “Jasper here.”

  “It’s me. Sara.”

  Jasper flinched. “Sara?” He cleared his throat and tried to hide his irritation. “Why are you calling me? And how did you get this number?”

  “Actually, you said I could call you at any time, remember? We have a situation, and I don’t know how to handle it. I need help.”

  “But I’m going to be contacting you this afternoon. That’s what we decided, right?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She drifted off. The seconds passed slowly. When she spoke again, her tone was unmistakably stressed.

  “Raynard just called. His team’s in trouble, and he wants me to help them.”

  “What do you mean, ‘help’? What in the hell does he want you to do?”

  Sara relayed what Raynard had said to her, and Jasper listened as patiently as he could. When she was done, he groaned. This was partly his own fault—he admitted it—but it was too good a chance not to take it.

  When he had heard that Sara Blitz was after the contents of Magnus von Silverstråle’s safe, Jasper had seen his opportunity. He’d gotten in touch with Sara and suggested a collaboration, and Sara had accepted. Jasper had rubbed his hands together in luscious delight; he was one step closer to destroying Magnus von Silverstråle. Once Sara had agreed, Jasper hadn’t wasted any time tapping into his extensive network of contacts.

  Jasper was the one who’d hired Raynard and his team and put them in touch with Sara Blitz. Raynard had excellent references, and it had seemed like a perfect match. But, as it turned out, working with him might not have been the right decision. Perhaps he should’ve chosen someone who could better monitor the operation. Jasper had thought Raynard and his troops were completely independent, that they took care of themselves when given an assignment. But apparently, that wasn’t the case.

  “Okay,” Jasper said, pulling in a deep breath. “Take it easy, Sara. I have some contacts in Sweden who can help. They might be able to get a team together to go to Denmark and help protect Raynard and what remains of his group.”

  Relieved, Sara said, “Can you? You’re a lifesaver.”

  Jasper pondered. There was barely enough time, but he could probably arrange for a team to shoot over to Denmark and take care of whoever was after Raynard.

  “When Raynard calls,” Jasper told Sara, “tell him a group of men will be arriving by boat from Sweden. When do you think Raynard will get to the docks?”

  “No . . . no idea,” Sara stammered.

  Jasper’s brain raced. “Okay, it’ll probably within the next half hour. So if my men get there in an hour,” he glanced at the clock, “they’ll be there a little after nine.”

  Sara exhaled a pent-up burst of air. “Thanks. I tell him.”

  Jasper clenched his teeth anxiously. “I’ll be in touch later today to see how it’s going. And don’t call this number again. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  Jasper ended the call. The massage therapist stood quietly next to him, waiting. She signaled toward the door as if to ask if she should leave, but Jasper shook his head and took hold of her hand. Its softness caught him off-guard—he had expected someone so strong to have a callous or two. With his other hand, Jasper scrolled through his contact list. When he found who he was looking for, he tapped the name.

  A raspy Spanish accent responded after two rings.

  “This is Pancho.”

  “It’s me. I need help.”

  Pancho cleared his throat. “Now?”

  “Yeah. Now.”

  Pancho didn’t seem thrilled. “What do you need?” he asked after a long pause.

  “A team. At least six, preferably eight men. Pro. A protective run.”

  “Uh-huh. And what do you want protected?”

  “I hired a team to do a job in Denmark. The job’s done, but someone is pursuing them and has already taken out half of their group. Whoever it is, it’s not the cops. I need you to go over and protect them from these assholes. The team has to deliver their cargo to Oslo in less than twelve hours.”

  Pancho was quiet. “And these stalkers—
they’re professionals, you think? I guess you’re including heavy armament?”

  “Of course.”

  “And what about payment?”

  “Triple rate. And a bonus for the completed assignment.”

  “Triple rate?” Pancho whistled. “Yeah, that should help. Okay, let me make a few calls. I’ll call you back soon.”

  “Good. I’ll arrange the yacht; it’ll wait for you at Landskrona, on the west coast of Sweden.”

  “All right. I’ll call you right back.”

  Jasper put down the phone. Still holding onto the woman’s hand, he pulled her closer.

  “Just one more call, sweetie, and we can finish what we were doing.”

  Jasper Roscoe’s pulse increased in speed; everything in the world seemed to revolve around him at this moment. This was what he was built for—to arrange, to fix, to coordinate. To work in the dark, pull the strings. This was his fate.

  Less than a year ago, Jasper had been admitted to the Shadow Council. It was a secret organization that exercised its power through blackmail, industrial espionage, and the latest front, information warfare. That’s what it was about—to meet a challenge and turn it into a victory. He picked up the phone, pulling the woman’s hand to his chest. His heart was hammering with excitement. This was the ultimate pleasure.

  8

  Pain. It was there; he could feel it as if it were a distant howling wind. Hugo grimaced as he pulled up his shirt and bared his stomach. Sussie gasped and nearly dropped the first aid kit she was holding.

  “Jesus, Hugo, it’s deep.”

  Hugo pursed his lips and replied, “Yeah. Just do what you can.”

  Sussie glanced at Mikko, who was sitting in the front seat. Mikko ran a hand over his face.

  “Need help?”

  Sussie swallowed hard, shook her head, and opened the first aid kit. “Thanks. I’ve got it.”

  She worked fast. First, she cleaned the wound as best she could. It was five centimeters deep, she saw once it was clean, but it was still just a flesh wound. Hugo would heal fine if he could only rest for two or three days. No chance of that happening right now.

  She sterilized the injury and inspected her work, then nodded contentedly. The whole time Sussie had been working on him, Hugo hadn’t said a word. She looked at him. His face was tense but not panicked. Any other man would have screamed in pain, but not Hugo.

  He looked down at the gash. “How does it look to you?” he asked.

  “It looks pretty good if I say so myself. Now let’s just see if we can glue you back together.”

  Sussie took out some spray glue and aimed the nozzle at the wound. A thin, transparent liquid sprayed out of the bottle, covering the torn skin in a matter of seconds.

  “Hold on.”

  When they hit a speed bump, the van bobbed.

  “There,” Sussie said. “Good as new.”

  Gently, Hugo tried to move his torso. It felt okay; he was stiff where the injury was, but he could go on. He pulled himself up in a sitting position.

  “Thanks, Sussie.”

  “Nemas problemas.”

  Hugo filled his lungs with air, expanding his midsection. He held it for a moment and closed his eyes—time to bring back the focus. Little by little, he let the breath seep out of his nostrils.

  “Okay,” he said, looking in Freya’s direction in the driver’s seat. “What’s up with the other van?”

  Freya passed through a busy intersection, then replied, “They probably have a good fifteen-minute advantage on us. I’ve driven north from Copenhagen, but I don’t see any trace of them.”

  “Mikko? What do you think?”

  The large Finn was studying an iPad. “There are ports north of Copenhagen,” he said, not looking up. “My best guess is that they’re trying to get to one of them so they can take a boat from here. If they’re going to Oslo, they don’t have many choices.”

  Hugo looked out the side window. Dark clouds were slinking in from the west; it wouldn’t be long before the rain began.

  “Are there any airports here?”

  Sussie shook her head. “No, not here. They’ve got one in Zealand, but that’s a good bit further west.”

  Hugo mulled it over in his mind. Yes, that must be their plan—to find a boat take what they stole to Oslo that way. It was the only explanation.

  “Well, we’re going to have to find the ports as soon as possible, then,” he said to the group. “Mikko, can you find the way to the nearest one?”

  Mikko nodded. “Working on it now.”

  Hugo turned back to the driver. “Freya, continue north, and as soon as Mikko has the road to the nearest port, we’ll head that way.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Hugo leaned back and put his hands behind his head, staring at the Sprinter’s ceiling. It was often like this on assignments—when reality hit, it was always the well-thought-out plan that was scrapped first. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. It’s me.”

  Madeleine’s voice was clear and distinct. “Hey! How’s it going?”

  Hugo quickly summed up the situation.

  “And you’re okay, you say?” she said tensely. “Can you keep going?”

  “I can.”

  “Hugo, are you sure?”

  “Madeleine, listen, I’m fine. If I didn’t think I could do it, I would say something. Trust me.”

  There was a pause and then a simple “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Hugo repeated. “Have you gotten ahold of anyone with the Danish police?”

  “No, not yet. They’re silent as the grave. Since Magnus is such a famous person, I guess they’ve put the lid on things. But we’re working on it. I know some people quite high up in the Danish police force, so we might be able to gain access through them.”

  “Sounds good. What about Magnus? Have you talked to him?”

  “Yes,” Madeleine replied hesitantly. “I talked to him, but not as much came from the conversation as I had hoped. I still don’t know what they stole.”

  “Damn, that man is stubborn! He said nothing?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Hugo considered the situation. He had a strange feeling about all this. He couldn’t shake the sense that there was something wrong. “What do you think?” he asked his boss.

  “I don’t know. It’s something that’s valuable enough for Magnus to start all this but at the same time so secret that he can’t let the police find it.”

  “Could it be gold or diamonds?”

  Madeleine replied, “Perhaps. What could he not tell the police about? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe he bought it with laundered money?”

  “No. Magnus is richer than King Midas,” she replied. “He has as billions, so it would be pointless for him to save stolen gold or diamonds in his safe.” She paused. “No, it’s got to be something else. Something small enough to fit in the safe and secret enough that no one is allowed to see it.”

  Both were silent for a long time. Finally, Hugo cleared his throat.

  “Okay, we’re heading north anyway. We believe the guys who stole the whatever-it-is are on their way to a port outside Copenhagen. Our theory is that they’ll try to get to Oslo during the day since Magnus is supposed to hold a press conference there.”

  “All right,” Madeleine said. “Call me later when you know more. And don’t worry about the mess down in Nordhavn. I’ll get a message to the Danish police about what happened so that they don’t start some big investigation.”

  “Sounds good, Madeleine. Thanks.”

  “Always.”

  Hugo clicked off the call and looked out the sidebar. Thick drops of rain had begun to fall. They made little horizontal rivers on the window as the van sped past the outer suburbs of Copenhagen.

  Hugo gave a little nod. “Let’s go hunting.”

  ***

  They say a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Raynard rolle
d down the window and spat. He was shaking with rage. Half of his troops were dead. Half! He couldn’t believe it. And all because that son of a bitch had thrown a hand grenade.

  Dead.

  Raynard slammed his hand against the door, and the banging echoed around the cabin. Afterward, he was still just as angry—and his hand throbbed. He swore and turned his back to Jules.

  “Who was the other group?” Raynard asked him.

  Jules looked at the floor. “I don’t know.”

  Raynard punched the door again. “That’s not good enough!” he shouted. “They were professionals! You get that, Jules? These weren’t some regular private citizens who just happened to stroll by. That group—the two men and the two women—they’re professionals. That’s the only explanation.”

  Raynard turned around, and Jules met his gaze. Raynard’s eyes blazed.

  “Maybe our client has additional resources in play,” Jules said with a shrug.

  Raynard stared at him, pondering the idea. It wasn’t uncommon to arrange backup teams that could be deployed if the first group failed. But he’d never heard of the backup attacking another team in the middle of a successful mission.

  “No, that can’t be it. Why would they come after us? Why put up with all that devastation and in the middle of Copenhagen? No, that makes no sense.”

  From the driver’s seat, Noah cleared his throat. “We’ll be there in just a couple of minutes.”

  Raynard looked through the windshield. The rain was pouring down now, and far away, lightning flashed. He heard no thunder.

  “Great. Get us there as quickly as you can. I’ll follow up with our client and see if we can get some help.”

  He picked up the phone and dialed. A woman answered.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Raynard. Have you arranged help for us?”

  The woman—Sara—didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Reinforcements will be arriving from Sweden in an hour. A team will come in on a boat.”

  Raynard fell silent. That was impressive. He hadn’t expected her to actually get assistance for them, especially considering that the assignment had been postponed for two weeks.

  “An hour?” he repeated. “You said a team from Sweden?”