The Secret of the Soldier's Gold (10 page)

“I'm glad we decided to do this, Frank,” Joe said. “We need to take some mental space from that case.”

The man kept the instructions at a professional level, given what Joe had told him about their motorboat back in Bayport. After Frank and Joe both took a look at the navigation map of the Tagus and asked several questions about the river, Frank saw the man relax noticeably. He was clearly convinced that he didn't need to worry about the two teenagers bringing the boat back safely.

The man headed back up the dock, saluted to the Hardy boys, and turned back to the rental office.

Joe started the engine, backed the motorboat out of its berth, and headed out onto the Tagus.

Their plan was to go upriver as far as the new Ponte Vasco da Gama, then back down the Tagus
under the Ponte 25 de Abril, and as far as Belém.

“This is easy,” Joe said. “These different-colored buoys will keep us from getting into trouble with the rest of the boat traffic.”

“Ah, this is the life, isn't it?” Frank said. He had sat down in the seat next to Joe, laced his fingers together behind his head, and leaned back.

“You're telling . . .,” Joe started to say, when they heard a cracking sound. Suddenly the boat's windshield shattered. “What the . . .”

Frank turned around. Behind them they saw another motorboat with two men in it—and it was gaining speed. One man was driving the boat and the other was aiming a rifle in their direction.

“Somebody's shooting at us, Joe!” Frank said.

“Quick, Frank—look at that navigation map!” Joe shouted. “I think there's another dock up the river. We need to head for it ASAP!”

Frank leaned down to pick up the navigation map just as a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped to the floor. “Joe, you need to start moving the boat in a zigzag,” he said. “If you don't, one of those bullets is going to hit its mark.”

Right away Joe began to weave the motorboat through the water, regardless of the buoys. This was no time to worry about anything except escaping. “See anything on the map?” he shouted.

Frank glanced down at the map, then scanned the shore of the Tagus. “Yes! I think that's the Doca
do Terreiro do Trigo,” he said, pointing ahead. “You need to go that way.”

Joe, still zigzagging, headed the motorboat roughly toward the dock.

“You're doing a great job dodging bullets,” Frank shouted. “Nothing has . . .” Just then a bullet hit the gas tank, and fuel began leaking onto the floor of the boat. “Joe—I think I spoke too soon!”

“If a bullet hits the gasoline, it could cause the boat to explode,” Joe shouted. “And we're too far from the dock to take a chance on trying to make it to shore!”

“I guess that means only one thing,” Frank said. “We'll have to swim the rest of the way. Are you up to it?”

“The same thing happened to us once in Barmet Bay—remember? We made it to shore then, as rough as that water was. So this should be no problem,” Joe said. “I'll cut the engine so that we don't go much farther and destroy something in our path.”

Frank looked at the approaching motorboat. It was still several yards away. “Joe, if there were some way we could slip over the side, unnoticed, and swim underwater before they get here, then I think we might have a chance,” he said.

Joe looked at the other motorboat. “Hey—looks like they're slowing down,” he said. “Maybe they
think we're going to spring some kind of trap on them.”

“Let them think what they want to,” Joe said. “This pause should give us enough time to be far away from this boat before they decide to get closer.”

Joe turned the motorboat around so that the windshield, though shattered in several places, would hide them as they slipped into the river. “I hadn't thought about it, Frank, but probably
this
even looks a little threatening,” he said. “They may think we're going to take a run at them.”

“We may just survive this after all,” Frank said.

The teens quickly took off their shoes, secured their wallets in their clothes as well as they could, and slipped over the side of the motorboat into the murky water.

“I think the river is just muddy, not polluted,” Frank said, “so we should be able to swim underwater until we're far enough from the boat to escape detection.”

Frank and Joe each took several deep breaths before heading underwater toward the dock.

Frank was sure they hadn't swum more than fifty yards when he felt a shockwave. It forced him to the surface. He couldn't believe what he saw—their motorboat had exploded. Pieces of it were starting to fall into the water around them.

Joe surfaced and took a gulp of air.

“Dive! Dive!” Frank screamed at him.

Several large chunks of what used to be the boat were headed right for Joe's head.

Joe glanced up, saw what was happening, and dove underwater just in time to save himself.

Frank dove right after his brother and forced himself to keep his eyes open. It caused a momentary stinging sensation, but Frank could at least see far enough to know that Joe was okay.

Joe swam as fast as he could, checking his direction each time he came up for air. He wanted to make sure he was headed directly for the docks and
not
back out into the middle of the Tagus. Frank was right behind him.

When Frank surfaced again, he heard sirens from what he was sure were police boats converging on the scene of the accident. Frank stopped swimming and started treading water. He looked back in the direction of the enemy boat and saw nothing.
Of course,
he thought,
they're not about to stay around and explain why they were shooting at the Hardys' boat.

Joe had now surfaced and was also treading water. He waved to Frank and Frank waved back. Then Joe pointed to the police boat that was headed toward them. “Let's keep our story simple,” he shouted to Frank. “There's no need to complicate matters.”

“Good idea,” Frank shouted back.

The police boat first reached Joe, took him aboard, and then picked up Frank. A police officer handed each of them a blanket and then gave them each a small cup of very strong coffee.

“I told them I didn't speak Portuguese,” Joe whispered. “I don't think any of them speak much English.”

Within minutes they had reached the building that housed the river police. Frank and Joe were taken to a room, given dry blankets, and told in Portuguese and some English to wait until an English-speaking police officer could be located.

Finally a man named Captain Matos arrived. He greeted the teens pleasantly in English and then apologized profusely for the accident, telling them that he was just glad that two American citizens weren't killed while on a pleasure cruise down the Tagus River.

“So are we,” Frank said.

“Sometimes these rental motorboats aren't maintained properly,” Captain Matos said. “Of course, this could have just been an unfortunate accident.”

“You just never know what to expect,” Joe said lamely. He had to admit that he wasn't prepared for such a simple solution to what had happened. “What do we do now?”

“There's not much we can do,” Captain Matos
said. “I'll have one of our officers drop you off at your hotel and you can get cleaned up. We'll take care of all of the paperwork here.” He gave them a big smile. “Again, I'm just glad that you're okay.”

Still wrapped in blankets, the Hardy boys were taken to a car that was parked just outside the front entrance to the police station. Captain Matos opened the door for them, and Frank and Joe climbed into the backseat.

“Take these young men to the Hotel Lisboa Plaza,” Captain Matos said to the driver.

“Thanks, Captain Matos,” Joe said.

“My pleasure,” Captain Matos said. He closed the door and nodded at the driver.

As the driver pulled out into traffic Frank leaned over as if he were trying to adjust the blanket around his shoulders. He managed to get close enough to Joe's ear to whisper, “Don't say anything at all.”

Frank nodded, then leaned forward. “How far are we from our hotel?” he asked the driver.

“We're in the Alfama. Your hotel is in the Baixa, not far from the Bairro Alto,” the driver said. “Maybe five kilometers?”

“Thanks,” Frank said. “I wasn't sure.”

He looked out the window to see if he could read the street signs. He saw that they were on the Avenida Infante Dom Henrique. He knew that this
street was a major thoroughfare.
Well,
he thought,
as long as we don't turn off onto some deserted road, we'll be fine.

When the driver turned right onto the Rua Aurea, Frank felt they were probably going to be all right. He knew that this street led directly to the Avenida da Liberdade.

Finally the driver pulled up in front of their hotel.

“We'll just leave the blankets in the car,” Frank said. “We're still a little wet, but we'll look less obvious without them.”

“Okay,” the driver said.

“Thanks for the ride,” Frank said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Joe said.

Once the boys were out of the car, the driver pulled back into traffic, and Frank and Joe headed for the front door of the hotel.

“Okay, I want to know a couple of things,” Joe said. “First of all, why didn't you want me to say anything? And second of all, why were you so nervous on the trip back? Are you worried that we'll have to pay for the boat?”

“Did you tell Captain Matos where we were staying?” Frank said.

Joe stopped. “No, I didn't, but . . . he knew, didn't he? He told the driver where to take us.”

“Exactly,” Frank said. He pushed the button for
the elevator. “I thought that whole interview was a bit too simple. So I'm thinking he's connected in some way to what happened.”

“Are you telling me that you think he's one of the fascists too?” Joe said.

When the elevator car arrived, the teens stepped back to let the passengers off.

On the way up to their floor, Frank said, “I'm just saying that I don't know whom to trust anymore. He knew more than we told him and he clearly didn't want a big investigation.”

“Well, what I want to do first is get out of these wet clothes and have something to eat,” Joe said, inserting the key into the door of their room. The telephone rang just as they entered. “Hurry! It might be Mom or Dad, wondering where we are. If they know we had a second close call, we'll probably be on the next plane to Bayport.”

Joe quickly grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“We want that gold and we want it now,” the voice said. “We're tired of playing games with you.”

“Well, I've got news for you,” Joe managed to say calmly. He motioned for Frank to move near the receiver. “The de Feira brothers have the gold.”

“We're sure that's what you wanted everybody to think,” the voice said. “But the de Feira brothers have a suitcase full of bricks.”

Joe hung up the receiver. “That guy has to be telling the truth, Frank,” he said. “Why would he call us and tell us something like that?”

Frank nodded. “I think you're right, Joe. It also makes sense. Isabel's source—who said the information about the suitcase with the gold bars had made its way through the underworld network—was probably right on the mark.”

“Maybe those people who were shooting at us on the river just meant to scare us,” Joe offered. “Maybe they didn't mean to hit the gas tank.”

“That fits too,” Frank said. “We both agree that they're dangerous, but that doesn't stop them from making mistakes.”

“That's the truth,” Joe said. He let out a big sigh.
“What now?”

“We call Isabel and let her know what's going on,” Frank said.

“Good idea,” Joe said. He picked up the receiver again and dialed Isabel's number.

When Isabel answered, Joe told her about what had happened on the Tagus and then about the telephone call they had just received. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

“I agree with your assessment,” Isabel said. “There really must have been bricks in the suitcase, or they wouldn't have called you.”

“How did the bricks get there?” Joe said.

“I have a feeling that Senhora Bragança knows more about the gold than we thought,” Isabel said, “but I also have a feeling she'd never tell.”

“You may be right,” Joe said.

“So you must be very careful now. I don't think you should leave the hotel—there are probably a lot of people out there who think you still have the gold,” Isabel continued. “They could try to kidnap you and coerce the information out of you somehow.”

“That doesn't sound pretty,” Joe said.

“Let me talk to some of my father's undercover police officers,” Isabel said. “They should know what's going on.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “We'll just stay here until we hear from you.”

Joe hung up the phone and relayed the entire conversation to Frank.

“While you were talking to Isabel, I was thinking about Senhora Bragança,” Frank said. “I agree with Isabel. I think she knows something about that suitcase. You saw the way she looked when we mentioned the person who had previously lived in that house.”

Joe nodded. “Do you think she found the gold and then put the bricks in the suitcase, so that it would look like she hadn't stolen the treasure?” he asked.

“Well, at first, I'd actually thought that might be what had happened,” Frank said, “but then I thought it had to be somebody else—somebody Senhora Bragança allowed to dig up the suitcase.”

“She wouldn't let just anybody do that, Frank,” Joe said. “It would have to be somebody . . .” He stopped. “Hey—are you thinking what I'm thinking?”