"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 would talk for hours in private. About what—I don't know, father never said."
"Is your father still alive?" asked Alexei.
"Yes, thank Allah, he's alive. He's 84 years old and still sturdy, though his health has been failing lately. He lives in a village an hour's drive from here." Ermek sipped his cognac. "He knows local legends and stories better than anyone. If anyone can help unravel the mystery of the medallion, it's him."
