“To throw the Nazis off track,” Frank said.
“What Nazis?” Joe said.
“Joe, after the war there were a lot of Nazis who escaped from Germany and went into hiding all over the world,” Frank said. “Let’s say that one way or another some of the Nazis who captured Heinz-Erich Lüdemann had a pretty good idea of where the gold might be buried. Maybe they got the information out of him. Maybe Heinz-Erich told somebody he trusted and then that person betrayed him. I don’t know. He probably thought that if he reburied the suitcase with bricks, then whoever dug it up might think that it had never contained gold bars in the first place—and that the gold that Heinz-Erich Lüdemann said he had buried there could be almost anywhere. They wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Well, Frank, at least we have a possible solution to what happened to the gold,” Joe said, “but how do we find Heinz-Erich Lüdemann without a name?”
Frank picked up the Lisbon telephone directory and started thumbing through the yellow pages until he found “Journais.” “Newspapers,” he said. “Now, I think there’s probably . . . Yes! Here it is. Die Zeit!”
“That’s German, Frank,” Joe said.
“I know, Joe. I got an A in Mrs. Rolf’s class last year, remember?” Frank said. “We’re going to put a personal ad in Lisbon’s German newspaper: Die Familie Fleissner sucht Heinz-Erich Lüdemann. The Fleissner family is looking for Heinz-Erich Lüdemann.”
“Well, it might work,” Joe said. “I bet the concierge could help us do it. He’s been able to do everything else for us.”
Thirty minutes later Frank and Joe were back in their room with assurances from the concierge that the personal ad would appear in the next morning’s edition of Lisbon’s German-language newspaper, Die Zeit, along with Frank and Joe’s hotel telephone number.
“I don’t think I can stand just sitting around anymore,” Joe said. “I’m feeling restless. I’ve got to get out of this room.”
“You know what Isabel said, Joe,” Frank reminded him. “We need to lie low for another day or so. How about working out in the gym? Judging from the picture in the hotel’s guest services magazine, it’s top-notch.”
“That might help,” Joe said. “Let’s go.”
Just then the telephone rang.
“Maybe it’s Isabel,” Frank said, picking it up. “Hello?”
The voice immediately started speaking in German.
“Wait, wait. Slow down! I don’t really speak German that well,” Frank said frantically. He couldn’t believe that someone had already found out about the newspaper ad, but in English he added, “Are you calling about the ad I just placed in Die Zeit?”
For just a moment there was silence. Then a woman’s voice quietly said, “Perhaps.”
“I don’t understand. The newspaper hasn’t even printed the ad yet,” Frank said. “How do you know about it?”
“Lisbon’s German community is very close-knit,” the woman said. “Someone at the newspaper office called me.”
“Okay, then. Please listen carefully. Don’t hang up,” Frank said. He tried to tell Frau Rilke’s story as quickly and as concisely as possible. When he finished, he said, “Do you know Heinz-Erich Lüdemann?”
“I think we should talk,” the woman said. “I will meet you but only in public.”
“Name the place,” Frank said.
“Sua Excêlencia. It’s a popular restaurant,” the woman said. She gave Frank the address. “Tonight at eight o’clock. I’ll have a table reserved under the name ‘Santana.’”
“We’ll be there,” Frank said.
14 Car Underwater
* * *
When Frank got off the telephone with the woman, immediately he called Isabel.
“She wants to meet us at Sua Excêlencia at eight o’clock tonight,” he said. “The address is . . .”
“Oh, I know where it is. It’s one of Lisbon’s nicest restaurants,” Isabel said. “I go there a lot. It’s not close to your hotel, so I’ll drive you.”
“Great! Thanks for offering,” Frank said. “What time will you pick us up?”
“Half past seven,” Isabel said. “That’ll give us time to get there, park, and then find this woman.”
“See you then,” Frank said. He hung up the phone and turned to Joe. “Now if we can just find something to keep us occupied for the rest of the day, we’ll be okay.”
“The gym!” Joe said. “That’ll get rid of some of this excess energy.”
“Right,” Frank said. “Let’s change and head on up there.”
For the next couple of hours the Hardy boys worked their way through every piece of equipment in the state-of-the-art gym. By the time they were through, they were exhausted.
“We might have overdone it,” Joe said. He looked around the gym. “I wish we had some of this equipment back in Bayport.”
“Me too,” Frank agreed.
When they got back to their room, they took turns with the shower. Then Frank called guest services and asked for a wake-up call at six o’clock.
“That should give us plenty of time to nap and get ready,” he said to Joe.
“I don’t know, Frank,” Joe said with a yawn. “It may take me that long just to wake up.”
But when the wake-up call came, both Frank and Joe bounded out of bed with no trouble and got dressed.
“We’d better call Dad, just to keep him informed,” Joe said. “I think he was a little anxious about what happened on the river.”
Frank picked up the phone and called their parents’ room. When his father answered, Frank told him the latest news. “We might have found Heinz-Erich Lüdemann, Dad,” he said. He gave his father a shortened version of the personal ad they had placed in Die Zeit. “It turns out that somebody on the newspaper staff called this woman even before the ad printed, and now she wants to talk to us. Isabel is going to drive us to the restaurant.”
“I’m impressed with your detective work,” Fenton Hardy said proudly. “You seem to have this well under control.”
“I guess we’ll know more after we talk to the woman, Dad,” Frank said. “We’ll call you as soon as we get back.”
Frank and Joe dressed for dinner in a nice restaurant and then headed downstairs to wait for Isabel. As usual, she was right on time.
“How do you do it, Isabel? Once again you’re here on the dot,” Joe said, climbing into her sports car. “I’m always either a few minutes ahead of time or a few minutes late.”
Isabel grinned. “I just know how long it’s going to take me to get to places in Lisbon,” she said. She shrugged. “I never thought of it before.”
After they got to Sua Excêlencia, parked Isabel’s car, and walked through the front door of the restaurant, Joe glanced down at his watch. “Wow—on time again!” he said.
Isabel laughed. “Don’t tell me that was a test!”
“No, I’m just trying to figure out what the secret is to being on time,” Joe said, smiling.
Frank told the maître d’ that they were meeting the party seated under the name “Santana.”
“Ah, yes,” the maître d’ said. “This way, please.”
The three of them began to follow him into the main room of the restaurant. They had gone no more than a few feet, though, when the maître d’ stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asked.
“Well, that’s Senhora Santana over there,” the maître d’ said, pointing, “but I don’t understand why she’s leaving with those men.”
Joe looked. A woman with dark black hair was being led toward the rear of the restaurant by two men. “Frank—it’s Captain Matos!” he said. “I don’t recognize the other man.”
“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 door
s 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.”
15 The Secret Revealed
* * *
Once on land Se
nhora 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.”
The Secret of the Soldier's Gold Page 9
