Classified Archive (Book 2)11,12,13

 

Chapter 11: "Interrogation Record"

The morning after the meeting at Cape Rytyi dawned overcast. Elena sat in Gromov's office, nervously tapping her fingers on the armrest of the chair. The colonel was searching through the safe hidden behind a painting of Moscow—a banal hiding place, but effective.

"Here," Gromov finally extracted a small metal box. "What my mother gave me. My father's archive, which he kept secret even from his superiors."

He placed the box on the table between them and opened the lid. Inside lay folders yellowed with age, photographs, several audio cassettes, and a small notebook in a worn leather binding.

"I've never shown this to anyone," Gromov said quietly, taking out one of the cassettes. "I don't even know why I kept it. Perhaps I was waiting for the right moment. Or the right person I could trust."

Elena carefully took the cassette. On the faded label was handwritten: "I. Velichko, first interrogation, 06.18.1967."

"Do you have something to play this on?" she asked.

Gromov nodded. "An old cassette player. Father was always conservative about technology."

He took a bulky player from his desk drawer, already an antique in the digital age. He inserted the cassette, and the room filled with the characteristic noise of old tape.

Then a confident male voice cut through the hissing and crackling:

"June 18, 1967, Secret Medical Center No. 16. Interrogation of cosmonaut Velichko, Igor Dmitrievich, after returning from orbit. Present: Colonel Markov V.A., Major Gromov A.S., Doctor Zotov L.P. Beginning recording."

The sound of a chair being moved was heard, then another voice, tired and slightly trembling:

"State your name, position, and rank."

"Velichko, Igor Dmitrievich, cosmonaut, Major of Aviation."

"Describe the events of June 16, 1967, that occurred during the flight of the 'Zarya-7' spacecraft."

A pause followed, then Velichko's voice, now less distinct:

"I was performing a scheduled mission in Earth orbit. At 23:40 Moscow time, I noticed an object approaching the ship. At first, I thought it was space debris or an American spy satellite. But the object moved... incorrectly. It changed trajectory without apparent inertia. Stopped instantaneously. This contradicted all the laws of physics I knew."

"Describe the object," said the voice that Elena now recognized as Markov's grandfather.

"Irregular shape, something between a sphere and a disk. Emitted a bluish glow. Size... difficult to say exactly, but approximately the size of a car. Smooth surface, without visible joints or windows."

"What happened when the object approached your ship?"

Another pause, then Velichko's voice became quieter and more tense:

"The object stopped about a meter from the window. The glow intensified, and... I felt a presence in my head. Not voices, but... images. Information that appeared directly in my consciousness."

"What kind of information?" Markov asked sharply.

"Various. Visions of the past and future. Technologies I didn't understand. And a warning."

"A warning about what specifically?"

Velichko's voice became more detached, as if he were reliving the experience:

"About the path humanity is taking. That we are developing too quickly technologically and too slowly—spiritually. That we create weapons capable of destroying us, but do not create a society capable of living in peace. That we are depleting our planet's resources faster than it can recover."

"This sounds like communist propaganda, Velichko," Markov's voice hardened. "Are you sure you didn't make all this up under the stress or oxygen deprivation?"

"I'm telling you what I saw and felt," irritation appeared in the cosmonaut's voice. "They showed me two possible futures. In one, humanity destroys itself in a series of conflicts and environmental catastrophes. In the other—it reaches the stars, united by common goals. And they said the choice is ours."

"Who are 'they'?" This was the voice of Gromov's father, calmer and more neutral.

"I don't know," Velichko answered honestly. "They didn't introduce themselves or show their physical appearance. But I felt... multiplicity. As if communicating not with one being, but with a collective intelligence."

The sound of papers being turned was heard, then Doctor Zotov's voice:

"According to your medical indicators, during the alleged contact, abnormal surges in brain activity were observed. Especially in areas associated with visual information processing and abstract thinking. Are you sure this wasn't some form of hallucination?"

"I know the difference between reality and hallucination, doctor," weariness now sounded in Velichko's voice. "What I experienced was more real than our conversation now."

"Let's return to the warning," Markov intervened again. "What exactly did these... beings want from us?"

"Nothing. They were simply informing us. Showing variants of the future and saying the choice was ours. But they added that they would return in fifty years to see which path we had chosen."

"Return? Where?"

"To a place they had visited before. Where they left their mark thousands of years ago. Somewhere in Siberia, by a large lake. I saw images... a rocky shore, a cape jutting into the water."

"Baikal?" suggested Gromov's father's voice.

"Possibly. I'm not sure. But they left... a beacon. Part of their technology that should activate when the time comes."

"You mean the sample found on your spacesuit?"

"Yes. It's not just a piece of metal. It's a communication tool. And an information storage."

"What information?" There was greedy interest in Markov's voice.

"Everything. About us, about them, about the Universe. About possible paths of development, technologies, scientific discoveries. But access to it will open gradually, as humanity becomes ready to understand and use it."

A long pause followed in the recording. Then Markov's voice, now more restrained:

"Major Velichko, you understand that everything you've said sounds like the ravings of a mentally ill person? If not for your impeccable reputation and psychological tests before the flight, I would recommend immediate psychiatric evaluation."

"I'm telling the truth, Comrade Colonel," Velichko replied wearily. "Whether you believe it or not is your business. But the information I received is too important to ignore. Humanity stands at a crossroads, and we have a chance to avoid catastrophe."

"Enough," Markov said sharply. "We're temporarily ending the interrogation. Cosmonaut Velichko needs rest and medical examination."

Footsteps were heard, the sound of a closing door, and the recording paused for a few seconds. Then it resumed, but without Velichko. Only the voices of those remaining in the room were heard.

"Markov, I think we should take his words seriously," this was Gromov's father. "Velichko doesn't seem crazy. And those anomalies that our instruments recorded during the communication break..."

"What are you suggesting, Gromov? Report to the Central Committee that we've established contact with aliens who criticize our path of development? Or perhaps appeal to the UN with a statement about the coming end of the world? Do you even understand what international scandal this would cause?"

"I'm suggesting not rejecting information out of hand just because it doesn't fit our notion of reality," Gromov-senior replied calmly. "We need to conduct a thorough study of the sample, analyze all data collected during the flight. And, possibly, organize an expedition to Baikal, to the place Velichko described."

"An expedition is already planned," Markov said unexpectedly. "But not for contact, but for study and, possibly, neutralization of the threat. If what Velichko says is true, we cannot allow this information to become public knowledge. Imagine the panic, religious unrest, political instability."

"What about the warning? The chance to change course?"

"Changes must occur gradually, under control. Not as a result of intervention by unknown forces. Until we understand what we're dealing with, all information about the contact remains strictly secret. This is a matter of national security."

The recording ended, and the room was once again filled with silence.

Elena looked at Gromov:

"Your father was right. They decided to hide everything, instead of using the opportunity."

Gromov nodded grimly:

"And not just hide. Eliminate everyone who knew or could guess. Including my father."

"But why did Velichko say he died two weeks after returning? According to Severov, they kept him in a secret medical center much longer."

"Because the official version required his death," Gromov replied, taking another cassette from the box. "But here's a second recording, made secretly by my father almost a year after the return of 'Zarya-7'."

He changed the cassette in the player, and after a short hiss, the voice of Gromov-senior came on:

"May 24, 1968. Secret recording. Velichko is still being held in isolation at the 'Argus' center. Officially he is dead, cremation documents forged. His condition has stabilized, but the periods of 'transmission,' as the doctors call them, have become more frequent."

The sound of footsteps, then the voice changed to the familiar voice of Velichko, but now somewhat detached, monotonous:

"They observe. Have always observed. From the very beginning. We are an experiment, but also a hope. One of many species standing on the threshold of the cosmic era. Most do not cross this threshold. Destroy themselves, unable to cope with their own technologies and primitive instincts."

"Igor, do you recognize me?" asked Gromov-senior.

"Alexander Sergeevich Gromov. A good man. One of the few who listens."

"What happens to you during these... transmissions?"

"I see through their eyes. Feel with their mind. They connected me to better understand. To prepare."

"Prepare for what?"

"For the return. For the moment of choice. When they come again, humanity must be ready. The sample... the sample is already changing. It's alive, in a sense. Part of their collective mind."

"Where is it now, this sample?"

"Divided. Studied in different places. They don't understand what they're doing. Trying to use as a weapon what was created as a bridge."

Velichko's voice suddenly changed, became more tense:

"You are in danger, Alexander Sergeevich. They will soon come for you. Markov knows you are meeting with me. Knows you're trying to spread the truth."

"What are you talking about, Igor? Who will come for me?"

"Those who want to preserve power at any cost. Even at the cost of the future. Be careful."

The recording cut off, and Gromov turned off the player.

"Three weeks after this recording, my father died," he said quietly. "The official version—heart attack. But mother never believed it. He was healthy as an ox, didn't drink, didn't smoke, regularly had medical checkups."

Elena thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the table:

"And what became of Velichko? Is he still alive?"

"I don't know," Gromov shook his head. "According to official documents, he died back in 1967. But if we believe this recording and Severov's words, they kept him in a secret center at least until the late 60s. What happened next—no traces."

"But if he survived those times, he should be over ninety now," Elena mused aloud. "At that age, even if he's alive, he's unlikely to be a useful source of information."

"Don't be so sure," Gromov said unexpectedly. "If contact with 'Object X' really changed him, as my father said, he may possess knowledge or abilities beyond ordinary human experience."

Elena looked carefully at the colonel:

"Do you believe in this? In all of this?"

Gromov was silent for several seconds, then slowly nodded:

"Before—no. I considered my father's notes as delirium or the result of some strange game by the intelligence services. But now, after everything we've learned... Yes, I believe. And I think we need to find Velichko, if he's still alive. Or at least trace his fate."

"Where do we start?"

"With the place he mentioned," Gromov took an old photograph from the box. It showed a complex of buildings surrounded by a high fence with barbed wire. "The 'Argus' Center in Kazakhstan. Officially it was a secret research institute studying the effects of cosmic radiation on living organisms. In reality—one of many secret laboratories where experiments were conducted that no one was supposed to know about."

"Kazakhstan?" Elena frowned. "That's another country now. How will we get there?"

"I have connections," Gromov calmly replied. "Former colleagues, now working in Kazakhstan's security service. I can arrange an unofficial visit."

"But first we need to find out if this center still exists," Elena noted. "After the collapse of the USSR, many secret facilities were abandoned or repurposed."

"Agreed," Gromov nodded. "And I know who can help with this information. One of my former colleagues now works in the Ministry of Defense archives. If anyone knows the fate of such objects, it's him."

Elena thoughtfully sorted through the photos and documents from Gromov's father's archive:

"Everything indicates that the case is much more serious than we initially assumed. This is not just an investigation into the strange death of a historian. This is..." she hesitated, searching for words.

"This is a question of the future," Gromov finished for her. "If Velichko's prediction is true, and 'they' are indeed to return after fifty years, then the time has almost come. And the sample that Markov is so desperately seeking may be the key to everything."

"Or a weapon of enormous power," Elena added grimly. "Depending on how it's used."

Gromov stood up, went to the window, and silently looked at the Moscow streets below for some time.

"We need to act quickly," he finally said. "Markov and his people are undoubtedly already on our trail. And if what Velichko said is true, much more than our lives is at stake."

Elena also rose:

"Then let's not waste time. I'll contact Andrei and Anna, inform them of our plans. And you arrange a meeting with your contact in the archives."

"We'll meet in two hours at the eastern entrance to Gorky Park," Gromov nodded. "It's crowded enough not to attract attention, but there are places where we can talk quietly."

When Elena was already at the door, Gromov called to her:

"Captain... Be extremely careful. If even part of what Velichko said is true, we are being hunted by people for whom human life means nothing."

"I know," Elena smiled slightly. "Not the first time I've encountered such people."

Leaving Gromov's office, she paused for a moment in the corridor, trying to collect her thoughts. Velichko's interrogation, his strange predictions, the mysterious center in Kazakhstan... It all formed a picture that was both frightening and fascinating.

But the main thing—time was running out. If the return was indeed to happen fifty years after the 1967 contact, they were already late. And whether they would find answers to all questions in time could depend not only their future, but the fate of a much larger scale.

Chapter 12: "Ghost Town"

The dusty road crossing the Kazakh steppe seemed endless. The old SUV bounced over numerous potholes, forcing passengers to grab door handles.

"Another fifteen kilometers," said the driver, an elderly Kazakh with a weathered face and sharp eyes. "After that hill over there, we'll turn onto a dirt road."

Elena nodded, not taking her eyes off the worn map on her knees. According to Severov's records and coordinates obtained from Gromov's contact in the archives, Zvezdny-45 should be located in a sparsely populated area of northern Kazakhstan, far from major cities and transport routes.

"Strange place for a scientific center," Anna remarked, looking at the boundless steppe outside the window. "So far from everything."

"Perfect place for secret research," Elena replied. "Away from prying eyes, at a sufficient distance from settlements to minimize the risk of accidental witnesses."

Their driver, who introduced himself as Bolat, smirked: "Many cities were built this way in Soviet times. Appeared out of nowhere, weren't on maps. People inside lived as if in another world—stores full, houses good. And around—steppe and hunger."

The journey to Kazakhstan had not been easy. After meeting with Gromov in the park, where the colonel gave her contacts of his acquaintance from Kazakhstan's security services, Elena and Anna had to act cautiously and quickly. They flew to Nur-Sultan on a regular flight, then transferred to a local plane to Kostanay, and from there headed by car to the presumed location of the secret city.

Andrei had insisted on coming with them, but Elena was adamant—someone had to stay in Moscow and continue working with the sample and documents, especially those they found in Severov's cell. Additionally, if they were being followed, splitting the group increased the chances that at least some information would be preserved.

The SUV turned off the asphalt onto a barely visible dirt road, and the bumping intensified.

"There used to be a good road here," Bolat noted. "Concrete, for military cargo. Now everything's collapsed, overgrown."

"Have you been to Zvezdny-45?" Elena asked.

"No, they didn't let people inside," the driver shook his head. "But I delivered cargo there to the very gates. I know there was big science there. Studying space, people said."

The road went over a low hill, and when they overcame the ascent, a view of the valley opened before them. Several kilometers ahead, amidst the flat steppe, a gray silhouette was visible—a group of buildings surrounded by a high fence.

"There it is, Zvezdny," Bolat slowed down. "Dead city. After the collapse of the Union, everyone was evacuated, equipment too. What they couldn't take away—they abandoned. Now there's only wind and ghosts."

As they approached, details became clearer. A high concrete fence with barbed wire on top, watchtowers along the perimeter, massive gates—everything spoke of the high security level of the facility. But now the fence had collapsed in many places, the towers were tilted, and the gates stood wide open.

Bolat stopped the car about two hundred meters from the gates: "I won't go any further. Bad place, people say. Those who go there come back sick or with their heads not right."

"Superstitions?" Anna inquired.

"Maybe," Bolat shrugged. "Or maybe radiation or some chemistry. Who knows what they studied there? I'll wait for you here for two hours. If you don't return—I'll leave."

"Fair enough," Elena nodded, taking a flashlight, a bottle of water, and a gas pistol from her backpack, which she had smuggled in. "We'll try to make it in time."

She and Anna got out of the car and headed towards the gates. The midday sun was beating down mercilessly, but the air remained dry and cool—a peculiarity of the local climate.

"Creepy," Anna admitted as they passed under the rusted arch of the gates. "Like in a horror movie."

"Focus on the task," Elena replied calmly. "We need to find the laboratory complex Severov wrote about. There, according to him, the main research on the sample from 'Object X' was conducted."

The ghost town met them with oppressive silence. Houses—mostly five-story Soviet-built buildings—stood with empty sockets of broken windows. Streets were overgrown with grass breaking through cracked asphalt. Here and there were the remains of abandoned equipment—trucks and even a military armored personnel carrier.

"Families of scientists and service personnel lived here," Elena said, pointing to residential buildings. "Look, there's a children's playground. And there, I think, was a cinema."

"Like in Pripyat," Anna nodded. "Only without radiation. At least, I hope so."

They walked along the main street, checking against the map Gromov had received from his contact. According to the diagram, the laboratory complex was in the northern part of the city, slightly away from the residential quarters.

"It should be over there," Elena pointed to a massive building with a dome-shaped roof, rising above the other structures. "Looks like an observatory or research center."

They quickened their pace, trying to ignore the oppressive atmosphere of the empty city. Sometimes strange sounds could be heard in the empty buildings—structures creaking, rustling, glass tinkling. The wind chased scraps of newspapers and papers through the streets, creating the illusion of a ghostly presence.

Finally, they reached the domed building. Up close, it was even more imposing—three stories high, made of gray concrete, with a minimum of windows and a massive steel door.

"'Institute of Space Research. Argus-7 Facility,'" Anna read the inscription above the entrance. "Looks like we're in the right place."

The main entrance was welded shut with metal sheets, but on the side of the building they found a technical door, closed but not locked. The hinges were rusted, and Elena had to apply significant effort to open it.

"Careful," she warned, turning on the flashlight. "The building has clearly been abandoned for a long time, collapses are possible."

Inside, it was semi-dark. The flashlight beams revealed long corridors littered with debris and trash. Here and there on the walls were visible inscriptions—instructions, warnings, signs. Most doors were broken down or stood wide open.

"Severov wrote about underground levels," Elena said, looking around. "The main laboratories should have been there. We need to find a staircase or elevator."

They methodically explored the first floor, looking into each room. Most were empty or contained only fragments of furniture and equipment. Some preserved traces of hasty evacuation—scattered papers, abandoned personal items, half-drunk cups on tables.

"Look," Anna pointed to a wall in one of the corridors, where an evacuation plan hung. "This shows all levels of the building. Three aboveground and two underground."

Elena carefully studied the diagram: "Elevators are out, no electricity. There should be an emergency staircase... here, in the eastern wing."

They headed in the indicated direction and soon found a heavy metal door with the inscription "Personnel Only. Levels B1-B2." The door was ajar, and behind it began a concrete staircase going down.

"Ready?" Elena asked, directing the flashlight beam into the darkness of the stairwell.

"Not really," Anna answered honestly. "But there's no other way out."

They began to descend. The staircase was steep, with high steps. Pipes and cables ran along the walls. Every few meters hung signs indicating the level and directions to emergency exits.

Finally, they reached a landing with a door that read "Level B1. Laboratories 1-12." The door wasn't locked, and they entered a long corridor with many doors on both sides.

"Shall we split up?" Anna suggested. "Save time."

"Under no circumstances," Elena shook her head. "In such places, we stick together. We'll start with the first laboratory and methodically check each one."

Laboratory No. 1 turned out to be a large room with the remains of some bulky equipment. Judging by the surviving inscriptions, they analyzed cosmic radiation here. Laboratories No. 2 and No. 3 were similar—broken instruments, overturned tables, piles of papers on the floor.

"It seems the most valuable equipment was taken away," Elena noted. "And the rest was simply abandoned or deliberately destroyed."

"Look," Anna pointed to the door of Laboratory No. 7, the only one that was locked. On it hung a plaque with the inscription "Special Access. Sector X-7."

"X-7," Elena said thoughtfully. "Possibly a reference to 'Object X'?"

The door was metal, with a code lock. But years and corrosion had done their work—the door was slightly skewed, and a gap had formed in the upper part.

"Boost me up," Anna asked. "I'll try to see something through the gap."

Elena linked her hands, and Anna, leaning on them, pulled herself up to the upper part of the door. Shining the flashlight through the gap, she looked inside for several seconds.

"There's some equipment... tables with instruments... and what looks like a hermetic chamber in the center," she reported. "But I don't see a way to open the door from inside."

Elena examined the lock: "This is an old Soviet model. Mechanical, no electronics. Maybe we can crack the code..."

She tried several combinations, but unsuccessfully. Then she carefully examined the wall around the door and discovered a small metal panel with screws.

"This might be access to the lock mechanism," she said, taking a multi-tool knife from her backpack. "Let's try."

Elena carefully unscrewed the screws and removed the panel. Behind it were wires and a lever mechanism. A few manipulations—and there was a click.

"It worked!" Anna exclaimed when the door opened slightly.

They entered Laboratory No. 7, illuminating their path with flashlights. Unlike other rooms, this one was less affected by decay. Equipment stood in place, though covered with a thick layer of dust. In the center was a hermetic chamber of glass and metal, resembling a large incubator.

"They researched the sample here," Elena said confidently, examining the instruments. "Look, special manipulators for working with dangerous materials, radiation sensors, spectrometers..."

Anna approached a computer terminal in the corner: "Without electricity, we won't be able to access the data. But perhaps paper archives remain."

They began to methodically examine cabinets and drawers. Most were empty or contained only technical manuals and standard forms. But in one of the distant cabinets, behind a broken panel, Elena discovered a hiding place—a metal box, carefully hidden from prying eyes.

"Someone deliberately hid this from the evacuation team," she said, carefully extracting the box. "Perhaps one of the scientists who didn't want the information to be destroyed."

Inside the box was a thick folder with documents, several photographs, and a strange object wrapped in protective covering. Elena carefully unwrapped it and found a small glass vial with a silvery-blue earthy substance. The vial was labeled: "Sample X-7-G. Soil. Not of Earth origin."

"Is this... what I think it is?" Anna whispered, looking at the vial.

"Seems so," Elena nodded. "Part of the material that was collected around the main sample on Velichko's spacesuit. Or, possibly, what remained after the analyses."

Anna meanwhile was reviewing the documents: "Here are reports on the material's composition. According to them, it contains elements not found in the periodic table. And has strange properties—changes structure at different temperatures, reacts to electromagnetic fields, emits weak radio waves in an unusual range."

"Anything about its origin?"

"According to one of the reports," Anna turned the page, "the material has similarities to substances found in meteorites, but with significant differences. Scientists couldn't determine the exact origin, but definitely excluded the possibility of Earth formation."

Elena carefully placed the vial back in its protective covering: "This is a valuable find. We'll take it with us—compare it with the sample Andrei is studying."

They continued examining the laboratory. In the far corner, Anna discovered another door leading to a small room resembling an office. There stood a desk with an overturned chair, bookshelves, and a safe, the door of which was ajar.

"The safe has already been opened," Elena noted, approaching. "But not completely emptied."

Inside they found several folders with personal notes, photographs, and, most interestingly, an old cassette dictaphone with several cassettes.

"Personal notes of the research director," Anna said, reviewing the documents. "A certain Professor Zotov L.P. According to the dates, he worked here from 1967 to 1991."

"Zotov?" Elena flinched. "The same name as in Velichko's interrogation record. He was one of those present."

"And, according to these notes," Anna turned the page, "he was the one who directed the sample research throughout all these years. Until the very collapse of the USSR."

Elena took the dictaphone and examined it: "It works, on batteries. Let's hear what's on it."

She inserted one of the cassettes and pressed play. After a few seconds of hissing, a tired male voice came on:

"June 12, 1991. Personal recording of Professor Zotov. Just received orders to terminate the project and evacuate the center. All equipment and materials are to be transferred to a new location, data—destroyed. Due to the political situation, the authorities fear that information about 'Zarya-7' and Object X could fall into undesirable hands."

A pause, then a heavy sigh:

"Twenty-four years. Twenty-four years I've studied this material, trying to understand its nature and purpose. And everything we've learned is now ordered to be forgotten. But I can't. Not after what I've seen. Not after what Velichko said."

Another pause, the sound of liquid being poured:

"The sample is not just an alien artifact. It's a communication tool. A storage of information of incredible density. The latest analyses show that it's changing—very slowly, almost imperceptibly, but changing. As if preparing for something. And comparing the data over all these years, I see a pattern, a cyclicity of changes that points to..."

The recording was interrupted by noise, then the voice continued:

"...Velichko's prediction. Fifty years. They should return in fifty years. If counting from 1967, that will be 2017. Very soon by cosmic standards. And the sample—the key to this return, a beacon by which they will find their way. But what will happen when they come? Is humanity ready? Have we made the right choice?"

Another pause, longer:

"I've made a decision. Not everything will be destroyed. Part of the materials I'll hide here, in a hiding place known only to me. Another part I'll pass to reliable people. To Severov, for example—he always understood the importance of this knowledge. And a few more copies of key documents I'll send to different archives under innocent names. If the prediction is true, and they really do return, someone should know the truth. Someone should be ready."

The recording ended, and silence reigned in the laboratory.

"Now it's clear where Severov got his information," Elena said quietly. "Zotov passed part of the materials to him before the center's evacuation."

"And now we know that the prediction was specific—2017," Anna added. "The year has already begun. If Velichko was right..."

"Then the return could happen at any moment," Elena finished for her. "And Markov knows this. That's why he's so desperately seeking the sample and eliminating anyone who might interfere with his plans."

Anna carefully studied the photographs found in the safe: "Look, here's Zotov and several other scientists around some equipment. And in the background... this is a chamber, similar to a medical capsule."

Elena looked at the snapshot and froze. In the capsule, behind glass, a human face was visible—a middle-aged man with closed eyes.

"Velichko," she whispered. "They kept him here, in this center. Not just researching the sample, but also the cosmonaut himself who had contact with 'Object X'."

"Judging by the date on the photograph," Anna turned the picture over, "this is 1985. Almost twenty years after Velichko's official 'death'."

"So Severov wasn't exaggerating. They really did keep the cosmonaut in a secret center for decades," Elena thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the table. "The question is, what happened to him after the center's evacuation in 1991?"

They found a few more recordings on the dictaphone, but in them Zotov mainly described technical details of the research, no longer mentioning Velichko's fate or where they might have moved the sample and equipment.

"Time to leave," Elena said, looking at her watch. "Bolat is waiting for us not more than half an hour, and we still have to return through the entire city."

They carefully packed the found documents, photographs, dictaphone, and sample vial in the backpack. Before leaving, Elena looked around the laboratory once more, trying to memorize the layout of the equipment and the general atmosphere of the place where, for decades, they had studied evidence of contact with a non-terrestrial intelligence.

Getting out of the building, they quickly headed towards the exit from the city. The sun was already setting, casting long shadows from the abandoned buildings. The empty windows seemed to watch them, like the eyes of invisible observers.

"Strange feeling," Anna admitted as they passed a half-ruined school. "As if we're being watched."

"It's always like that in such places," Elena replied, but she herself couldn't shake the feeling of a foreign presence. "Too many memories, too stark a contrast between what was and what has become."

When they finally exited through the gates, Bolat was already nervously checking his watch, sitting in the car.

"I thought you wouldn't return," he said with relief. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes," Elena answered briefly. "And now we need to get to Nur-Sultan as quickly as possible."

"As night is falling?" Bolat was surprised. "The road is long, dangerous. Better to stay overnight in Kostanay."

"No time," Elena shook her head. "We have urgent business in the capital."

Bolat shrugged and started the engine. As they drove away from the ghost town, Elena looked back one last time at the gray buildings harboring secrets from half a century ago. In the rays of the setting sun, the dome of the laboratory building gave off a dull reddish gleam, like a beacon pointing the way through time and space.

"They will return in fifty years," Velichko's voice from the interrogation recording echoed in her head. What if it was already happening? What if the mysterious return, spoken of by the cosmonaut, Zotov, and Severov, was beginning right now, in 2017, as had been predicted?

This thought haunted Elena all the way to Kostanay, where they arrived late at night, exhausted but full of determination to continue the investigation, which with each step increasingly turned into a race against time.

Chapter 13: "The Old Photograph"

Valentin Kornev's Moscow apartment looked unoccupied. A layer of dust covered the furniture, the smell of stale air filled the rooms. After the owner's death, little had changed here—only the study door, sealed by investigators, had to be opened anew.

Andrei carefully peeled off the police tape: "All documents should be in place. Elena said the investigation team made copies and returned the originals."

Anna nodded, anxiously looking around her father's study. They had returned from Kazakhstan the previous evening and immediately contacted Andrei. Elena stayed in the safe house to analyze the found materials, while Anna and Andrei went to Kornev's apartment to collect the remaining documents.

"It's hard to believe that just two weeks ago, Dad was sitting at this desk," Anna said quietly, running her hand over the polished surface of the writing desk. "All his papers, books, photographs... as if he just stepped out and will return any moment."

Andrei sympathetically touched her shoulder: "He was a remarkable man. A true scientist who wasn't afraid to follow the truth, wherever it led."

Anna smiled gratefully and began to methodically examine the study. A large oak desk, bookshelves reaching the ceiling, an old-fashioned sofa against the wall, a safe in the corner—which they had already checked during their first visit. Everything looked untouched, except the papers on the desk that someone had browsed through and not too neatly put back.

"What exactly are we looking for?" asked Andrei, studying the spines of books on the shelves.

"Elena thinks Dad might have had more materials on 'Zarya-7' that he didn't have time to show her before his death," Anna replied, opening desk drawers. "She's particularly interested in the connection between Grandfather and the project. Judging by what we learned in Zvezdny-45, many project participants were eliminated or forced into silence. If Grandfather was indeed involved..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but Andrei understood the unspoken thought: it could explain the strange deaths of not only Valentin but also his father many years ago.

They continued searching, checking every drawer, every folder, every book. On the shelves stood volumes on the history of Soviet science, cosmonautics, biographies of great scientists. Many books had bookmarks and notes in the margins—Kornev was a meticulous researcher.

"Look," Andrei took a heavy tome from the shelf, "History of the Soviet Space Program. Secret Projects. 1950-1970" with numerous bookmarks. "This might be useful."

He opened the book and began looking through the marked pages. Mostly these were standard facts about early space programs, nothing about 'Zarya-7' or the mysterious contact in space. But at the very end, between the last page and the back cover, Andrei discovered an envelope.

"What's this?" Anna came closer when he took out the envelope.

"Looks like personal materials," Andrei carefully opened it and extracted several photographs and a folded sheet of paper. "Look."

Anna took the top photograph and froze. In the black-and-white snapshot was captured a group of men—about fifteen people in civilian and military uniform, standing in front of some technical structure resembling a rocket or spacecraft. Date in the corner of the photograph: "05.17.1967."

"My God," Anna whispered, peering at the faces. "This is... this is Grandfather!"

She pointed to a man in the second row—young, with straight posture and a serious gaze. The resemblance to Valentin Kornev was obvious, though this man looked harder, more collected.

"'Scientific group of the 'Zarya-7' project. Baikonur Cosmodrome,'" Andrei read the caption on the back of the photograph. "'Launch in 24 days.'"

"I was always told that Grandfather was an ordinary engineer at a factory," Anna couldn't tear her gaze from the photograph. "That he died of a heart attack when Dad was fifteen. But they never mentioned any work in the space industry, let alone in secret projects."

Andrei laid out the rest of the photographs. They were taken in different places—a laboratory, some bunker, a lakeshore which, judging by the landscape, could well be Baikal. In all of them was present Anna's grandfather, often next to a tall man in military uniform with colonel's shoulder straps.

"Who is this man?" Andrei pointed to the military officer. "He clearly holds an important position, judging by how the others behave around him."

Anna looked carefully at the photograph: "I don't know. But judging by the shoulder straps and medals, indeed a high-ranking officer."

Andrei took the folded sheet that lay among the photographs and unfolded it. It was a list of fifteen surnames with code designations:

"Participants of the main group of the 'Zarya-7' project:

1. Markov V.A.—'Director'

2. Zotov L.P.—'Medic'

3. Kornev M.I.—'Engineer'

4. Gromov A.S.—'Controller'

5. Severov G.N.—'Communicator'..."

"There he is," Anna pointed to the third line. "Mikhail Ivanovich Kornev, my grandfather. And here are Severov and Zotov—everyone we've already learned about."

"And Gromov—the colonel's father," added Andrei. "But look at the first name... Markov."

Anna frowned: "Markov... That's the surname of the current Minister of Defense! Sergei Viktorovich Markov. Do you think there's a connection?"

"The initials fit," Andrei nodded. "V.A.—Viktor Alexandrovich, could well be the father or grandfather of the current minister. And if he was the leader of the 'Zarya-7' project..."

"Then his son or grandson might know about the return," Anna finished for him. "And trying to control the situation, like his predecessor half a century ago."

They looked at each other, realizing the significance of the find. If the acting Minister of Defense was involved in this story, it explained a lot—the surveillance, the strange deaths, the secrecy around everything related to 'Zarya-7'.

Andrei continued reviewing the list: "There are other interesting names here. For example, Klimov I.G.—'Archivist'. Not a relative of that Klimov from the Glass Quarter case?"

"Possibly," Anna nodded. "Judging by what Elena told, there was also a family history involved there, rooted in the Soviet past."

She continued the search, sorting through papers on her father's desk. In one of the folders, she discovered notes about the "strange behavior" of the sample from "Object X" in recent months, records of increasing activity in the Baikal region, excerpts from meteorological reports recording unusual atmospheric phenomena.

"Dad really believed that the return was near," Anna said quietly. "Look, he marked all the anomalies of the past year—strange light phenomena, electronic failures, unexplained weather phenomena. And they all concentrated around northern Baikal."

"And most importantly," added Andrei, "all these phenomena intensified in recent months. As if something is approaching."

He suddenly stopped, looking at one of the photographs with close attention: "Wait... Is this Markov Jr.?"

Anna looked at the snapshot he was holding. It was a later photograph, judging by the quality and color, taken in the 1980s. In it, Viktor Markov, noticeably aged, stood next to a young cadet of a military academy. Under the photograph was the caption: "V.A. Markov with son Sergei. Military Academy graduation, 1985."

"It's him," Anna said confidently. "The current Minister of Defense. Compare with his official photographs—the same facial features, the same look."

Andrei took out his phone and quickly found a current photo of Sergei Markov. The resemblance was indeed obvious, despite the years that had passed.

"Now we have a direct connection," he said. "The current Minister of Defense is the son of the 'Zarya-7' project leader. He surely knows about the contact, the prediction, and the return. And apparently is trying to control the situation just like his father half a century ago."

Anna thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the table: "But what is his ultimate goal? To prevent the return? Or conversely—to meet 'them' and gain access to their technologies?"

"The stakes are too high for simple guesses," Andrei replied. "If Velichko's message is true, and 'they' really offer a choice between two development paths... then whoever controls this contact can influence the future of all humanity."

They continued searching and soon discovered another important find—hidden behind a bookshelf, a small metal box. Inside were microfilms marked "Personal Archive of M.I. Kornev. Top Secret."

"Grandfather made copies," Anna whispered. "Documents that should not have survived."

They couldn't view the microfilms on the spot—special equipment was required. But the very fact of their existence was a significant discovery.

"We need to take all this and show Elena," Andrei said, carefully packing the finds in his backpack. "Photographs, list, microfilms—everything might contain key information."

Anna nodded, but suddenly froze, listening: "Did you hear that?"

Andrei froze. In the silence of the apartment, the sound of the opening front door was distinctly heard.

"Someone came in," he whispered, turning off the light in the study. "Who else could have keys?"

"Only the police," Anna replied just as quietly. "But they would have called or knocked."

They pressed against the wall next to the study door. From the hallway came cautious steps—someone was slowly moving through the apartment, clearly trying not to make noise.

"Check the bedroom first, then the study," came a muffled male voice. "Look for everything related to the 'Zarya' project. Especially photographs and documents from 1967."

"Understood," replied a second voice. "And if someone appears?"

"Act according to circumstances. But the materials are the priority."

Andrei and Anna exchanged glances. There was no way out—the study door led only to the corridor, where the unknowns were now.

"Balcony," Andrei mouthed silently, pointing to the glass door.

They tiptoed across the study and carefully opened the balcony door. Fortunately, the apartment was on the second floor, and under the balcony was a small entrance canopy.

"We'll have to jump," Andrei whispered. "I'll go first and catch you."

He climbed over the railing, hung by his hands, and, swinging, jumped onto the canopy. The landing wasn't very elegant, but relatively quiet. Andrei quickly stood up and extended his hands upward: "Come on! I'll catch you!"

Anna, with the strap of the bag with documents clenched between her teeth, followed his example. When she was already hanging by her hands, ready to jump, the light came on in the study.

"Hurry!" Andrei mouthed.

Anna released her hands and fell right into his arms. From the impact, they both fell onto the canopy, but immediately got up and, without wasting time, descended to the ground via a downspout.

"Run!" Andrei grabbed Anna's hand, and they ran away from the house.

Behind them came a shout and the sound of an opening balcony door, but they were already turning the corner, plunging into the labyrinth of Moscow courtyards.

Only after several blocks, making sure there was no pursuit, did they slow to a walk.

"Who was that?" Anna asked, breathing heavily.

"I don't know," Andrei looked around. "But they were looking for the same things we were. And, judging by everything, acting on orders from above."

"Markov?" Anna suggested.

"Quite possible. If he really is trying to control the situation with the return, he will seek out and destroy all evidence about 'Zarya-7' and the contact."

They went out to the avenue and caught a taxi. On the way, Andrei called Elena and briefly, without details, reported what had happened. She ordered them to go immediately to the safe house and not stop anywhere along the way.

"The situation is heating up," Andrei said, ending the conversation. "Elena says they also noticed surveillance in Kazakhstan. Someone really wants to interfere with our investigation."

"Or get ahead of us," Anna said thoughtfully, looking at the photograph where her grandfather stood next to Markov-senior. "If the return is really close, then we are participating in a race where the stakes are incredibly high."

The taxi sped through evening Moscow, and Anna couldn't tear her gaze from the old photograph, as if trying to read in her grandfather's eyes the answers to all the questions that their investigation raised.

Who was Mikhail Kornev really? What did he know about the contact and the return? And most importantly—what role did their family play in this story, stretched over half a century?

One thing was clear for certain: the circle was tightening. And the closer they got to the truth, the more dangerous their mission became.