"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."