Bakyt, hearing his name, smiled and nodded. Then he said something in Kyrgyz.
"He says if you can survive in the mountains, you can survive anywhere," Dinara translated.
They continued driving along the mountain road. The sun was already setting when they finally emerged onto more level ground. Below, the lake shimmered, and on the shore, the lights of a small settlement were visible.
"From here to the nature reserve where Uncle Ermek works is about an hour's drive," said Dinara.
Bakyt said something, pointing to the road ahead.
"He says it will be safer from here on. This isn't a tourist route, mostly locals use it."
They descended to the lake and drove along the shore. The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains, coloring the water a deep purple. Alexei was enchanted by the view, but anxiety didn't leave him. Who were these people pursuing them? And what was so valuable about the medallion that they were willing to expend so much effort to obtain it?
It quickly grew dark, as often happens in the mountains. Bakyt turned on the headlights, and their beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the narrow road running along the lake. They passed several small settlements where occasional lights glowed.
"We're almost there," said Dinara when they passed a sign reading "Nature Reserve."
The road improved, and light poles appeared. Soon they saw a gate with a sign "Staff Entrance." Bakyt stopped the car and honked three times. After a minute, a guard approached the gate with a flashlight. Dinara lowered the window and said something to him in Kyrgyz. The guard shone his flashlight into the car, carefully examining the passengers, then nodded and opened the gate.
They drove through the gate and headed down an avenue lined with tall pines. At the end of the avenue stood a two-story Alpine-style house with a wide veranda. A light was on on the veranda, and there stood a man whom Alexei had seen in the photograph in Dinara's office—her uncle Ermek.
Bakyt stopped the car, and they got out. Ermek quickly descended from the veranda and embraced Dinara. Then he shook Bakyt's hand, saying something grateful. Finally, he turned to Alexei.
"Welcome, Alexei Igorevich," he said in clear Russian with a slight accent. "I've heard a lot about you from Dinara. And, of course, I knew your grandfather. He was a great man."
He firmly shook Alexei's hand. Ermek had an open face with deep wrinkles from sun and wind, penetrating dark eyes, and a thick, slightly graying mustache. He was dressed simply but neatly—in jeans and a plaid shirt like Dinara's.
"Thank you for the invitation," Alexei replied. "And for your hospitality."
"Come inside," said Ermek, gesturing toward the veranda. "You must be tired from the journey. Dinner is ready, and I have excellent cognac."
They climbed to the veranda. Inside, the house proved spacious and cozy. A large living room with a fireplace, walls hung with photographs of nature and wildlife, bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and a large wooden table already set for dinner.
"Dinara, show Alexei Igorevich to his room," said Ermek. "Meanwhile, Bakyt and I will take care of the car. We need to hide it in the garage so it doesn't attract attention."
The men went out, and Dinara led Alexei up the stairs to the second floor. There was a corridor with several doors.
"This is where the reserve staff live when they're working on long-term projects," she explained. "But now they're all out in the field, so the house is at our disposal." She opened one of the doors. "Here's your room."
The room was small but comfortable. A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a window with a view of the lake. On the walls hung photographs of local fauna—snow leopards, argali sheep, golden eagles.
"Make yourself at home," said Dinara. "The bathroom is across the corridor, the second door on the right. Come downstairs when you're ready."
She was about to leave, but Alexei stopped her.
"Dinara, wait. You still haven't told me why you were recording our conversation at the museum."
She froze for a moment, then closed the door and turned to him.
"You noticed," it wasn't a question but a statement.
"Yes," Alexei nodded. "And I turned off the recorder."
Dinara sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I don't just work at the museum," she admitted. "I also consult for a government commission on cultural heritage protection. We track attempts to illegally export artifacts from the country." She looked Alexei in the eyes. "When you called and told me about the medallion, I had to report it. It's part of the protocol." She lowered her eyes. "But when I saw that it was truly what you described… I decided to wait. To understand what it was first."
"You don't trust your superiors?" asked Alexei, sitting down beside her.
"It's not about trust." Dinara shook her head. "It's just that lately, some of the commission's decisions have been… strange. Valuable artifacts were transferred to private collections for 'study.' Documents were forged. Reports of thefts weren't properly investigated." She raised her eyes to Alexei. "And behind many of these stories stands Karabaev's name."
"You think he's bribed commission members?"
"I'm certain of it. But there's no proof." Dinara stood and walked to the window. "So I decided to act at my own risk. I wasn't sure if I could trust you, which is why I recorded our conversation." She turned to him. "I'm sorry."
Alexei was silent for a while, considering what he'd heard. Then he nodded:
"I understand. In your place, I'd probably have done the same."
The tension between them eased somewhat.
"Uncle Ermek is one of the few people I completely trust," Dinara added. "He refused all of Karabaev's offers, though Karabaev offered substantial money for access to certain areas of the reserve. He's incorruptible."
"Good," said Alexei. "Then let's talk to him about the medallion. Perhaps he knows something that will help us unravel this mystery."
Dinara nodded and headed for the door.
"Rest a bit and come down. We'll be waiting downstairs."
Left alone, Alexei approached the window. Beyond it stretched the nighttime Issyk-Kul—a dark mirror of water reflecting the stars and silvered by the moon's path. Somewhere there, in the coastal mountains, possibly lay hidden the secrets of the past and the mysterious "Solomon's Key" mentioned in the inscription on the medallion.
He took the medallion from under his shirt and looked at it closely. In the moonlight streaming through the window, the silver seemed almost luminous. The symbols on the reverse side seemed to pulse, as if trying to tell him something.
Alexei shook his head, dispelling the strange illusion. He was too tired; that's why he was seeing things. Leaving the medallion around his neck, Alexei washed up in the bathroom and went downstairs.
In the living room, Ermek and Dinara were already sitting at the table. Bakyt had apparently left. On the table stood dishes with meat, rice, vegetables, and boorsok—pieces of dough fried in oil. It smelled delicious and appetizing.
"Ah, our guest!" Ermek greeted him. "Sit down, Alexei Igorevich. We need to fortify ourselves before a serious conversation."
Alexei sat at the table, and Ermek poured cognac for himself and Alexei. Dinara declined, preferring tea.
"To our meeting," Ermek proposed a toast, raising his glass. "And to the memory of your ancestors, who were worthy people."
They drank. The cognac was indeed excellent, warming and aromatic.
"Dinara told me about your grandfather and what you found," said Ermek, serving Alexei meat and rice. "It's an amazing story. I remember Professor Sorin, though I was just a boy then. He came several times to meet with my father, Rustam. They