The Secret of the Soldier's Gold (12 page)

“It doesn't matter. They're trying to kidnap Senhora Santana,” Frank said. “Come on!”

The three of them raced toward the back of the restaurant, but Captain Matos had seen them. Now he and the other man were almost dragging Senhora Santana with them. They crashed through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and disappeared.

Frank and Joe sped up.

When the Hardy boys and Isabel reached the kitchen, they found several overturned tables and
trays of food—obviously meant to slow them down. When they got to the back of the kitchen, they saw an open side door. They raced toward it and saw that it led to a rear parking lot. A vehicle just like the one that Captain Matos used to shuttle the teens back to their hotel the other day was now speeding away.

“This parking lot will lead them back to the street in front,” Isabel said. “If we hurry, we won't be too far behind.”

Once again they raced back through the restaurant. There was still so much turmoil inside that nobody bothered to stop them and ask what was happening.

Just as they got outside Captain Matos's car was coming up the side of the restaurant. The Hardy boys and Isabel raced toward her sports car. They were in the car and on the street before Captain Matos's car had reached the corner of the block.

“This car can go twice as fast as that thing,” Isabel said proudly. “They'll never get away from us!”

But it turned out to be harder than any of them thought it would be to keep up. Captain Matos's car raced through the narrow streets of Lisbon.

“Who is this Captain Matos?” Isabel asked.

“River police. We think he's also a member of one of the fascist groups,” Joe said. “He's in on this
in some way. He knew where our hotel was without our telling him.”

Isabel shook her head. “My father would not believe this,” she said, “because no one has ever been able to prove anything about police involvement in those fascist groups.”

“That may change,” Frank said.

“That guy could show the race-car drivers back home a thing or two,” Joe said, keeping his eyes on the other car.

“That's the truth,” Frank said. He looked over at Isabel. “Do you have your cell phone with you? We could get the police to set up some road blocks.”

Isabel shook her head. “My phone needed to be charged and I didn't have time to do it.”

“They're pulling ahead of us,” Joe said.

Frank looked. The taillights of Captain Matos's car seemed to be getting smaller.

“Watch this!” Isabel said.

She shifted and the car shot forward. The size of the taillights quickly increased.

“Where are they headed?” Joe asked.

“Across the river,” Isabel said. “We're almost to the Ponte 25 de Abril.”

As she spoke the huge bridge came into view. It was brilliantly lit. Captain Matos's car was already on the bridge. By the time the Hardy boys and
Isabel reached the first span, Captain Matos's car was halfway across.

“We can't lose them, Isabel,” Frank said. “If we do, then . . .”

Frank's jaw suddenly dropped midsentence. “Whoa. I don't believe it. Look!”

Up ahead, as if in slow motion, Captain Matos's car spun out of control. Suddenly it flipped over on its side and then tumbled end over end until it flipped over one of the guardrails and plunged into the Tagus River.

It took Isabel just a few minutes to reach the scene of the accident.

Joe jumped out and raced to the edge of the bridge. Down below he could still see one of the car's headlights, but he could tell that the car was sinking fast.

Other cars on the bridge had also pulled over to see the accident.

Joe began to take off his shoes.

“What do you think you're doing?” Frank demanded.

“I'm going in after Senhora Santana,” Joe replied. “This is all our fault. We can't let her drown!”

“Joe,” Frank said, “I don't think . . .”

“I'll be just fine, Frank,” Joe said.

Joe got as close to the edge of the bridge as he could, took a deep breath, and plunged into the river.

The rescue mission seemed to take forever. Joe steeled himself against the impact of the water. Just as he hit the surface he held his arms over his head and totally relaxed his body, allowing it to plunge as far as the force of his entry would take it. The minute he felt pressure in his ears, he got ready to spring up. He suddenly forced himself upward and broke the surface of the river.

Joe opened his eyes and looked up toward the bridge. He waved at Frank and Isabel.

Frank let out the breath he had been holding.

“Amazing,” Isabel said.

“It was an Olympic-quality dive,” Frank said. “I hope he can repeat it the next time he competes back in Bayport.”

“Too bad there were no judges around to give him a score,” Isabel said.

Joe was swimming furiously toward Captain Matos's car. It was now totally submerged, but its headlights were still on.

When he finally reached the car, he took a deep breath and dove underwater.

Joe was amazed at how well the headlights illuminated the water around the car. Now he could see that the interior was also illuminated. Someone must have turned on the dome light either before or after the car hit the water. Joe wondered who it had been.

When he reached the side of the car, he saw
Senhora Santana's face at the window. She was clearly terrified.

He quickly gave her the hand signal for “okay,” hoping that it had a universal meaning. It seemed to work.

Joe took a quick look inside the car. He was sure Captain Matos and the other man were dead.

Joe motioned Senhora Santana away from the window. He tried to smash the glass with the heel of his hand, but it wouldn't break. Inside, he saw Senhora Santana take a deep breath. All of a sudden the window started to lower. Joe realized that in this older-model car, the windows could be lowered manually. Senhora Santana was able to roll the window down only halfway before the pressure of the water cracked it, sending broken glass at both her and Joe.

Joe was sure that his chest was going to burst if he didn't surface soon—but he reached inside, grasped Senhora Santana's arms, and started to pull her out of the car.

Once he'd extracted Senhora Santana from the car, Joe put his arm around her waist and fought his way to the river's surface. Miraculously Senhora Santana was still breathing. She was unable to swim on her own, though, so after treading water for a few seconds Joe held her and swam with her toward the bank.

Frank and Isabel cheered. They had been joined on the bridge by several hundred other drivers who had been watching the drama unfold below them.

Two police vehicles had been summoned to the scene by drivers with cell phones. They were there in time to help pull Joe and Senhora Santana from the river.

“Come on,” Isabel shouted. “We need to go meet them!”

Frank and Isabel jumped back into Isabel's car.

Just beyond the first span of the bridge there was a dirt road that had been built recently by a dredging company so it could get its equipment into the river. The police vehicles had taken that road and Isabel followed.

One of the police cars had a searchlight that was now scanning the river for Joe and Senhora Santana. Within seconds it landed on them.

Frank could see that one of the police officers was swimming in the river, heading toward Joe and Senhora Santana. When the policeman reached Joe, he took Senhora Santana and the three of them swam toward the bank.

As Joe reached the bank, his brother grabbed his hand.

“I could have made it,” Joe said. “I was a little winded, but still, I could have made it.”

“We know that,” Isabel said. “And I will definitely be there for your Olympic performance!”

Joe grinned.

Another police officer handed a blanket to Joe. “Thanks,” he said. He turned back to Frank and Isabel. “You're not going to believe Senhora Santana's story,” he said. “She whispered some of it during our swim—it's incredible. And I've only really heard the
beginning
of it.”

Once on land Senhora Santana was given first aid and was pronounced to be in miraculously good condition given what she had just been through. She insisted that she didn't need to go to the hospital, and the doctor who examined her agreed.

“I must tell my story immediately,” Senhora Santana said. “My grandfather could be in trouble now that these dangerous people know about the gold.”

Frank looked at Isabel. “We're not far from your house,” he said. “Your father probably needs to hear this too.”

As Isabel's sports car barely held three people, they all decided that Joe would ride to Inspector Oliveira's house with Isabel and that Frank would
ride with Senhora Santana in one of the police vehicles. The trip took only about fifteen minutes.

Inspector Oliveira met them at the door to the house. “Your father is on the telephone,” he told the Hardy boys. “He sounds quite worried.”

Joe took the call. “We're fine, Dad,” he said. “And I think we've just about solved the mystery.”

It turned out that Mr. and Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude had been watching television and saw a segment on the trouble at Sua Excêlencia. A reporter with one of Lisbon's television stations had been having dinner with his cameraman at the restaurant, and he was able to get some great shots—including one of the Hardy boys running through the restaurant toward the kitchen door.

“We didn't know what to think,” Fenton Hardy said.

“We'll fill you in on everything when we get back to the hotel, Dad,” Joe said. “I need to go now. Don't worry. I'm sure a police officer will bring us back. What could be safer than that?” He winked at Frank.

While Joe finished the call, Senhora Santana changed into some dry clothes that Isabel had managed to find. Once Joe hung up, he dried off and changed into some clothes borrowed from the inspector.

The Oliveiras' cook had made everyone some strong Portuguese coffee.

“Do you feel like talking now, Senhora Santana?” Inspector Oliveira said.

Senhora Santana nodded. “My grandfather has been waiting almost sixty years to return the gold to the Fleissners,” she began. “He's now an old man. He had almost given up! I think now he can finally die in peace.”

“Is he ill?” Frank asked.

“He isn't ill physically, really,” Senhora Santana said, “but emotionally and spiritually, well—that's another story.”

“It's a story I've heard often,” Inspector Oliveira said. “The war had such an effect on millions of people.”

Senhora Santana nodded. “Heinz-Erich Lüdemann didn't die. He was able to escape after the Gestapo took him back to Germany. He was on the run for almost two years—until the war was over. He hid in the forests, often just one step ahead of the authorities.

“After the war he returned to Lisbon, hoping to make contact again with the Fleissners. But he learned from Senhora Bragança that the Fleissners had fled to the United States. My grandfather entrusted Senhora Bragança with his secret and she let him dig up the suitcase from her garden. It was she, he told me, who suggested that he fill it with bricks and bury it again, which would throw off anyone who might come looking for it in the future.”

Frank and Joe looked at each other.

“Exactly,” Joe said.

“If anyone learned of the suitcase's existence and found it,” Frank added, “whomever it was might just think that the bricks were what was buried in the first place, and that the gold had always been somewhere else.”

Senhora Santana nodded. “With the end of the war and with so many displaced people moving themselves and their belongings around, nobody really thought much about the gold. It was actually quite common for people to dig up the wealth they had buried before and during the war and to carry it around with them. Heinz-Erich was one of many.

“Grandfather deposited the Fleissners' half of the gold in the largest bank in Lisbon. He put half of his half in another bank and then gave the rest to various relief agencies and other organizations who were trying to rebuild the lives of people who had lost everything.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a remarkable man,” Joe said. “I'd be honored to meet him.”

“I think he'd like to meet the people who saved his granddaughter's life,” Senhora Santana said. She turned to Frank and Isabel. “I'm including you in that,” she added.

“We'd be honored too,” Frank and Isabel said.

“There's something I still don't understand,
though,” Joe said. “Throughout Europe, there's no record of a Heinz-Erich Lüdemann who would be the age of your grandfather. Did he change his name?”

Senhora Santana nodded. “After my grandfather's return to Portugal he sensed almost immediately that it would be best for him assume a new identity,” she said. “He legally changed his name to Francisco Antunes and married a Portuguese girl—my grandmother.

“Over the years he discreetly tried to locate the Fleissners. He didn't want to be too public about it. He feared for his life. We heard stories of reprisals from ex-Nazis, not only in Europe but also in America.” She looked directly at Frank and Joe. “The Nazis who fled after the war didn't just go to South America—they went to North America, too. My grandfather feared not only for his safety but also for the safety of the Fleissners. It's easy to think that he should have been bolder in his attempts, I know, and my mother and I often suggested it because it troubled him so—but we hadn't experienced what he had gone through, hiding for over two years and afraid of his own shadow. I can hardly imagine his fear. We offered to help him with the search—even to go to the United States ourselves—if it would bring him some peace, but he would never let us.”