Alexei took the medallion from under his shirt.
"But I've already opened it. There was only a parchment with Latin inscription and a schematic drawing."
"Perhaps there's a second hiding place," Rustam suggested. "Let me see."
Alexei handed the medallion to the old man. Rustam examined it carefully, turning it different ways and studying each symbol.
"Interesting," he murmured. "According to the records, the medallion contains not only the location of the treasure but also the key to opening it."
He pointed to a strange symbol located in the center of the cross on the front side of the medallion.
"Do you see this sign? It's not just decoration. It's the arrangement of stars on the summer solstice. If you look from a certain point on the shore of Issyk-Kul, the stars align in exactly this order above the place where the treasure is hidden."
"So the medallion is a kind of astronomical instrument?" asked Alexei.
"A map, a compass, and a key," Rustam nodded. "The Nestorians were not only religious figures but educated people, knowledgeable in astronomy, mathematics, medicine. They created a protection system inaccessible to the Mongols with their primitive understanding of the world."
Rustam turned a few more pages of the book and suddenly froze.
"Here it is," he whispered. "Just as I thought."
On the page was text in old Kyrgyz and a drawing depicting a crystal of strange shape, surrounded by radiance.
"This is the 'Key of Solomon,'" said Rustam. "A crystal found in the mountains of Judea during the time of King Solomon and crafted by ancient masters. They gave it a special form which, it was believed, enhanced its natural properties."
"What properties?" asked Alexei.
"Healing," Rustam replied. "Insight. The ability to see the true essence of people and things." He shifted his gaze to Alexei. "That's why Karabaev is so desperately searching for it. He has a rare form of degenerative disease. Doctors give him no more than a year to live. He believes the crystal can heal him."
"How do you know about Karabaev's illness?" Alexei asked in surprise.
"In small communities, it's hard to keep secrets," Rustam shrugged. "Especially when you're rich and influential. His frequent visits to Swiss clinics didn't go unnoticed."
Suddenly, noise came from outside—through the roar of rain and wind penetrated the sound of engines.
"Have they found us?" Dinara asked anxiously.
Rustam approached the cave entrance and carefully looked outside.
"Not yet," he said. "They're combing the slope in a large group, but they haven't found this cave yet."
He returned to the book and quickly flipped through several pages.
"We need to find the exact location of the treasure before the summer solstice," he said. "And for that, we'll need another item."
Rustam pointed to a drawing in the book—a strange disc with concentric circles and unusual symbols.
"This is an astronomical instrument created by the Nestorians. With it, one can calculate the exact time and place to look for the entrance to the cave with treasures."
"And where is this instrument?" asked Alexei.
"I don't know," Rustam answered honestly. "According to the records, it was hidden separately from the medallion in a place called the 'Abode of Faith.'"
"'Abode of Faith'?" Dinara repeated. "That's what they call an ancient burial mound near the northern shore of Issyk-Kul."
"Possibly," Rustam nodded. "The records only say it's a place associated with great sorrow and the death of many people."
The noise outside grew louder. Flashlight beams darted across the slope, picking out rocks and trees from the darkness.
"They're getting closer," Alexei said anxiously. "We need to leave."
"There should be another exit," said Rustam, rising to his feet. "All caves in these mountains are connected. If the records are to be believed, this grotto connects to a large cave system that emerges on the opposite side of the mountain."
He raised the lamp and headed deeper into the cave. Dinara and Alexei followed him. The grotto narrowed, transitioning into a narrow corridor where they had to walk bent over. The corridor gradually descended, deeper into the mountain.
"Careful, it's slippery here," Rustam warned as they began descending a steep slope.
The air was becoming humid, and the sound of running water could be heard. Soon they found themselves in another grotto, significantly larger than the first. A small underground stream flowed here, disappearing into a crack in the far wall.
"We go that way," Rustam pointed to a narrow passage to the left of the stream. "It should lead us to the other side of the mountain."
At that moment, voices and flashlight beams came from behind—the pursuers had discovered the first cave and were now following them.
"Quickly!" Rustam commanded, heading for the passage.
But before they could take even a few steps, people with flashlights and weapons appeared from the opposite side of the grotto.
"Stop!" one of them shouted. "Don't move!"
They were trapped—the way forward and back was cut off. People in black clothing and masks surrounded them, weapons pointed.
"It seems the game is over," Rustam said calmly, lowering the lamp.
From behind the armed men emerged a tall, middle-aged man in expensive mountaineering attire. He had a well-groomed face with sharp features, dark hair with gray streaks, and eyes full of cold calculation.
"Timur Karabaev, I presume," said Rustam, looking at him.
"Rustam-aga," the man nodded. "At last, we meet in person. I've heard much about you."
His Russian was impeccable, with barely detectable accent.
"And you must be Professor Sorin's grandson," Karabaev shifted his attention to Alexei. "Alexei Igorevich, if I'm not mistaken. And, of course, Dinara Kambarova, talented ethnographer and special services employee."
"I don't work for the special services," Dinara replied coldly.
"Come now, dear," Karabaev smirked. "Your work on the commission for cultural heritage protection is a cover for counterintelligence activities. But that's not important now." He stepped forward. "What matters is that you have a medallion that belongs to me."
"The medallion belongs to no one," Rustam objected. "It's the key to a secret that our ancestors have guarded for centuries. A secret you are incapable of understanding."
"Oh, I understand its value perfectly," Karabaev replied. "Better than anyone else." He turned to Alexei. "The medallion, please. And the book too."
Alexei instinctively covered the medallion on his chest with his hand.
"And if I refuse?"
Karabaev smiled—a cold, soulless smile.
"Then I'll have to take them by force. And believe me, it will be unpleasant for everyone present."
Rustam stepped forward, shielding Alexei and Dinara.
"You will get neither the medallion nor the book, Karabaev," he said firmly. "You are unworthy to touch them."
"Worthiness—such a subjective concept, Rustam-aga," Karabaev shrugged. "Who determines who is worthy and who isn't? You? Your ancestors? The Nestorians, long since decayed in the earth?" He shook his head. "No, in our world, everything is decided by power and money. And I have both."
He nodded to one of his men:
"Take the medallion and the book from them."
The masked man stepped forward, heading toward Alexei. At that moment, with unexpectedly quick movement,