Secret Archive 7,8,9

 

Chapter 7: "Voice from Orbit"

Moscow State University greeted Elena with noise and bustle. Students hurried to lectures, professors crossed spacious halls with folders of papers. Ordinary academic life, in stark contrast to the tension and danger she had felt in recent days.

Mikhail Levin, Andrei's colleague, worked in the materials science laboratory located in one of the university campus buildings. Elena had called him in advance, and he was waiting for her, nervously pacing in front of the building entrance.

"Are you Elena?" he asked as soon as she approached. A short man in his forties with disheveled hair and an anxious look—a typical scientist torn from his research.

"Yes," she confirmed. "You're Mikhail? Andrei left a sample with you for analysis."

"Let's go inside," Levin glanced around. "It's not wise to talk outdoors."

They walked through long corridors and descended to the basement where the laboratory was located. Modern equipment, computers, microscopes—all of this sharply contrasted with the shabby walls of the Soviet-era building.

"Andrei isn't responding," said Levin, closing the laboratory door behind them. "I tried calling him, wanted to tell him what I discovered. It's... it's something incredible."

"Andrei and Anna Korneva have been kidnapped," Elena said directly. "Presumably by people connected to the Ministry of Defense. They demand that I bring the sample to Lake Baikal within 48 hours."

Levin paled. "My God... I thought Andrei was exaggerating when he spoke about the importance of this research. But now..."

"What did you discover in the sample?" Elena interrupted him. "Is it truly material of non-terrestrial origin?"

"I would never say such a thing officially," the scientist nervously ran his hand through his hair. "Such statements can only be made with irrefutable evidence. But..." he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, "I've never seen anything like it. The material's structure doesn't correspond to any known earthly element or alloy. It contains isotopes not found in the periodic table. And it demonstrates properties that contradict known laws of physics."

"What kind of properties?"

"It changes density without apparent cause. It reacts to certain frequencies of electromagnetic radiation, as if... as if 'responding' to them. And the strangest thing—it emits weak radio waves in a very unusual spectrum." Levin approached the computer and displayed a graph with wave peaks. "See these peaks? They repeat with perfect mathematical sequence. Too perfect to be a natural phenomenon."

"An artificial signal?" Elena suggested.

"Seems that way," Levin nodded. "But technology capable of embedding such a signal into the crystalline structure of a material... we simply don't have anything like it."

He walked to a safe in the corner of the laboratory and opened it. Inside lay the same metal container that Andrei had taken from the country house.

"Here's the sample," Levin carefully removed the container. "I've done all the necessary analyses. The results are here," he handed Elena a flash drive. "But I must warn you: the material is exhibiting increasingly active properties. When Andrei first brought it, the radiation was barely noticeable. Now it has intensified almost twofold."

"Why?" Elena frowned.

"I don't know," the scientist answered honestly. "Possibly because of our tests. Or..." he hesitated, "or the material is reacting to something external. Something we cannot detect."

Elena remembered Severov's words about how the sample might serve as a kind of "beacon" for those who were supposed to return after fifty years.

"How long has the material been with you?"

"About thirty hours," answered Levin. "Andrei and I began analyses yesterday morning, and I continued alone after he left."

"And have you noticed any changes in your condition? Headaches, unusual dreams, hallucinations?"

Levin looked at her with surprise: "No... Should there have been?"

"I'm not sure," replied Elena. "But some people who have come into contact with similar material have reported strange effects."

She didn't specify that she meant Velichko and possibly Kornev himself. The less Levin knew, the safer it would be for him.

"I need to take the sample," she said, extending her hand toward the container.

"Of course," Levin nodded. "Andrei said it was temporary. I've already broken numerous rules by working with an unidentified material without official documentation."

Elena placed the container in her bag.

"Thank you for your help. And please, don't tell anyone about our meeting or the properties of this sample. For your own safety."

"Don't worry," Levin smiled grimly. "I have no desire to share a discovery that would most likely be considered the ravings of a madman. Or worse—accused of stealing classified materials."

They were about to say goodbye when Elena's phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number:

"I have what Kornev was looking for. Personal archive, digitized tapes. Let's meet at the 'Nostalgia' café in an hour. Come alone. A.K."

A.K.—Anna Korneva? But she had been kidnapped. Or was it someone else? In any case, it could be an important lead.

"I must go," said Elena, shaking Levin's hand. "Thank you again for your help."

"Good luck," replied the scientist. "And... I hope Andrei will be all right."

Leaving the university, Elena looked around carefully but noticed no surveillance. Perhaps they considered her too obvious a target to openly follow? Or maybe they were simply tracking her through other, more sophisticated methods?

Café "Nostalgia" was located in a quiet lane near Chistye Prudy. A small establishment styled after Soviet times, with samovars, old photographs, and retro music. Elena arrived early to survey the surroundings and choose a safe spot.

The café was almost empty—just an elderly couple in the corner and a young woman with a laptop by the window. Elena chose a table in the back of the hall, with a good view of the entrance, and ordered tea.

Exactly an hour later, the café door opened, and a man in his sixties entered. He was stocky, with gray hair and a neat beard. He looked around and, noticing Elena, confidently approached her table.

"Captain Svetlova?" he asked, sitting down across from her. "Alexei Kornev, Valentin's brother."

"Do you have identification?" Elena asked cautiously.

The man took out his passport and handed it to her. Indeed, Kornev Alexei Alexeevich, born 1960. The photograph matched his appearance.

"How did you know how to contact me?" asked Elena, returning the passport.

"Valentin left instructions," replied Alexei. "In case of his..." he faltered, "in case of his death, I was to contact you and pass on something important."

"Why me specifically? We weren't acquainted."

"He followed your career," explained Alexei. "Especially after the Klimov case. He said you were one of those rare people who aren't afraid to go against the system for the sake of truth."

Elena remembered how Kornev had mentioned this case during their first and only meeting in the café.

"What exactly did you want to give me?"

Alexei glanced around, then leaned closer: "Valentin created a digital archive of all the materials he collected on the 'Zarya-7' project. Documents, photographs, recordings... everything. He kept copies in different places, in case one of the hiding places was found."

"And you have access to this archive?"

"To one of the copies," Alexei nodded. "But most importantly—I have recordings that exist nowhere else. Valentin found old magnetic tapes in the personal belongings of one of the deceased project participants. Recordings of conversations with 'Zarya-7' during contact with 'Object X.' He digitized them and asked me to keep a copy."

"These recordings could be extremely important," said Elena. "My daughter Anna and my husband have been kidnapped, and I think it's connected to their investigation of the 'Zarya-7' project."

"I know," Alexei nodded grimly. "Valentin warned that this could be dangerous. That's why I was so careful in contacting you." He took a small flash drive from his pocket. "Here's everything I have. Including the conversation recordings."

Elena took the flash drive: "Thank you. This may help save lives."

"Listen," Alexei lowered his voice, "my brother told me something before his death. About what he discovered. It sounds like nonsense, but... he was convinced that Velichko really had contact with something extraterrestrial. And that this 'something' left a message. A warning."

"What was the warning about?"

"That they would return. In fifty years. It was supposed to happen in 2017." Alexei shook his head. "Valentin was obsessed with finding evidence of this return. He spent months investigating strange phenomena, unexplained events, anomalies. And it seems he found something. Shortly before his death, he became very cautious, speaking in whispers even in his own apartment, checking his phone for wiretaps."

"What about Anna?" asked Elena. "Did she know about her father's investigations?"

"Not everything," replied Alexei. "Valentin tried to shield her from the most dangerous aspects of his work. But she's a smart girl, she figured out a lot on her own. And, as far as I know, in recent weeks she was actively helping him."

Elena pondered this. If Anna indeed knew more than she let on, it could explain her kidnapping. She wasn't just a historian's daughter but effectively a co-investigator in his research.

"I need to listen to those recordings as soon as possible," said Elena. "Do you have a safe place where we could do this?"

"My apartment," Alexei suggested. "It's a couple of blocks from here. There we can examine everything calmly."

They paid and left the café. Elena remained alert but noticed nothing suspicious. Ten minutes later, they were riding the elevator in an old building with high ceilings and spacious staircases.

Alexei's apartment proved to be the typical dwelling of an elderly intellectual—bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, antique furniture, photographs on the walls. The host led Elena to his study, where a computer was located.

"Here we can review the files," he said, turning on the system. "Give me the flash drive."

Elena handed him the device, and Alexei inserted it into the computer. The contents appeared on the screen—dozens of folders with documents, photographs, and audio files.

"This folder contains the conversation recordings," Alexei pointed to a directory named "Zarya-7_audio." "Valentin numbered them chronologically."

He opened the first file, and from the speakers came the voice of a dispatcher:

"Center calling 'Zarya-7'. How do you read? Over."

"Reading you well, Center. 'Zarya-7' on the line. All systems operating normally." This was the calm voice of the cosmonaut, presumably Velichko.

The recording contained standard conversations about orbital parameters, life support systems, and planned experiments. Nothing unusual.

"This is June 15," explained Alexei. "The day before contact. And here's what happened on the 16th..."

He opened the next file, and the tone of the recording changed dramatically. Velichko's voice sounded tense:

"Center, this is 'Zarya-7'. Reporting visual contact with an unidentified object two kilometers on course. The object has an irregular shape, emitting a bluish glow. Requesting instructions."

The dispatcher's voice, with noticeable agitation: "'Zarya-7', maintain distance. Take no action. Conduct photographic surveillance of the object."

"Complying, Center. But the object... it's moving strangely. Changing trajectory in jumps, without inertia. It doesn't resemble any spacecraft known to me."

Interference was heard in the recording, then Velichko's voice again: "The object is approaching the ship! Distance decreasing... one kilometer... five hundred meters... two hundred... Center, it's right by the porthole!"

Then silence ensued, interrupted only by static noise. After about a minute, Velichko's voice returned, but it sounded strange, monotonous, almost as if in a trance:

"The glow is penetrating inside the ship. I feel... a strange influence. Voices in my head. They're saying..."

The recording was cut off, as if someone had switched off the transmitter. The next fragment began with another voice—someone from the ground control center:

"Lost contact with 'Zarya-7'. Time 23:47 Moscow time. All attempts to restore contact unsuccessful."

"What happened next?" asked Elena when the recording ended.

"There was no communication for almost three hours," answered Alexei. "The next recording is from early morning on June 17."

He opened the next file, and again Velichko's voice sounded, but now completely different—tired, with pauses, as if the man was struggling to find words:

"Center, this is 'Zarya-7'. Communication restored. I'm... I'm alright. The object departed approximately an hour ago."

"Velichko, what happened?" This was a new voice, more authoritative, presumably someone from leadership.

"I... don't know how to describe it. The object established some kind of contact. Not physical. Mental. I saw images, heard... no, not heard, rather felt... information. They transmitted a message."

"Who are 'they'?" the voice asked sharply.

"I don't know. Can't describe. But they've been observing us. For a long time. And they... are concerned. Our development is proceeding along a dangerous path."

"Velichko, your condition? Possibly oxygen deprivation or psychological stress..."

"No!" The cosmonaut's voice became firmer. "I am fully conscious. The ship's systems are functioning normally. Oxygen levels are normal. What I experienced was real. They conveyed a warning. About the future. About a choice that humanity must make. And that they will return in fifty years to see the result."

"Return where?"

"Coordinates... I can't remember exactly. Somewhere in Siberia. A lake... A large lake."

"Baikal?" the voice suggested.

"Yes, possibly. And also... they said they are leaving a beacon. A part of themselves. Something that will help prepare for their return."

The recording ended there. Elena and Alexei sat in silence, contemplating what they had heard.

"Astonishing," Elena finally said. "If this is an authentic recording..."

"Valentin was convinced it was genuine," Alexei nodded. "And the similarities with his own findings, with the accounts of other project participants... everything points to Velichko truly having encountered something inexplicable."

"What happened to the cosmonaut himself after his return?"

"Officially, he died a month later from the effects of radiation poisoning," replied Alexei. "But Valentin found documents indicating that Velichko was actually placed in a secret medical center for study. And possibly he remained there for many years, perhaps until now."

"The 'beacon' Velichko spoke of," Elena said thoughtfully. "Could it be the same sample of material that your brother found?"

"Most likely," Alexei nodded. "Valentin was convinced that the sample was somehow connected to the return of 'them,' whoever they might be. That it serves as a kind of transmitter, signaling humanity's readiness for contact."

Elena remembered Levin's words about how the sample's radiation had intensified in recent days. Coincidence? Or was the material indeed "activating" as the time of return approached?

"What about the location?" she asked. "Baikal is mentioned as the possible place of return. Did your brother have more precise information?"

"Yes," Alexei opened another folder on the flash drive and showed a map of northern Baikal with a marked point. "Valentin determined the probable location from indirect data in various documents. It's Cape Rytyi on the western shore."

Elena felt a chill run down her spine. This was the exact place specified in the message from the kidnappers. They knew about the coordinates of the return and wanted her to bring the sample there.

"Is there something special about this place?" she asked.

"According to my brother, this cape has always been surrounded by legends," replied Alexei. "Local residents consider it sacred and dangerous. Magnetic anomalies and strange light phenomena are regularly recorded there. And in 1967, immediately after the flight of 'Zarya-7,' a secret expedition was sent there. Officially—for geological research. In reality—to search for traces of a possible previous visit by 'them.'"

"And what did they find?"

"That's the most interesting part," Alexei opened a document marked "Top Secret." "According to this report, the expedition discovered an area with abnormally high levels of radiation and strange magnetic disturbances. And in the center of the anomaly—a stone of unusual shape with a geometric pattern that couldn't have been created by nature. Unfortunately, the photographs weren't preserved, but there's a drawing made by one of the expedition members."

On the screen appeared an image—a schematic drawing of a stone with concentric circles and lines engraved on it, forming a complex pattern.

"Looks like some kind of code," noted Elena. "Or a map."

"Exactly," Alexei nodded. "Valentin believed it was a sort of message left during a previous visit. Possibly a map of the stellar sky or coordinates of the system from which 'they' came."

"What happened to this stone?"

"It was removed and delivered to a classified laboratory somewhere near Moscow. Its subsequent fate is unknown. But Valentin believed it's still kept in that same special storage we discussed. Along with the sample and, possibly, Velichko himself."

Elena pondered this. Everything was coming together in a strange but internally consistent picture. Contact in 1967, a warning about return in fifty years, a "beacon" in the form of an unknown material sample, a sacred place on Baikal as the meeting point...

"And your brother believed that this return would actually happen? In 2017?"

"Not just believed," Alexei answered seriously. "He found evidence. Over the past two years, reports of strange phenomena in the Baikal region have increased. Unexplained light effects, failures in electronic equipment, magnetic anomalies. And in June of this year, meteorological satellites recorded a powerful energy surge over northern Baikal, not far from Cape Rytyi. Officially explained as ball lightning, but Valentin was certain it was the beginning of the return process."

"And at the same time, he began receiving threats," Elena nodded. "Those who knew the truth about 'Zarya-7' didn't want it to become public knowledge. Especially now, when Velichko's prediction might come true."

"Exactly," confirmed Alexei. "My brother said he was being watched. That his phone was tapped, his apartment certainly under surveillance. He became very cautious, changed routes, met people only in public places."

Elena looked at her watch. Time was relentlessly ticking away, and she had less and less chance to reach Baikal on schedule.

"I need a copy of all these files," she said. "Especially the conversation recordings and documents about the location on Baikal."

"Of course," Alexei nodded. "I'll make a copy on your flash drive. But I must warn you..." he lowered his voice, "those who kidnapped Anna and your husband are very dangerous people. They control the situation at the highest level. And they will do everything to ensure that the truth about 'Zarya-7' and the return doesn't become known to the general public."

"Why?" asked Elena. "If there really is an extraterrestrial intelligence trying to contact us, isn't that the greatest discovery in human history?"

"Or perhaps the greatest threat," Alexei grimly replied. "Think about it: 'they' transmitted a warning. About our 'dangerous path of development.' About the 'choice' humanity must make. What if this choice implies rejecting something that gives power to the current elites? Nuclear weapons? Control over resources? The very structure of society in which one percent owns most of the planet's wealth?"

Elena pondered this. Alexei's words made sense. The establishment rarely welcomes radical changes, especially those that might undermine the foundations of its power.

"In any case, I need to get to Baikal," she said decisively. "It's the only chance to save Andrei and Anna."

"I can help," offered Alexei. "I have connections among pilots of private planes. We can arrange a flight to Irkutsk without official registration. It's safer than flying a regular route, where they would certainly track you."

"That would be an enormous help," Elena gratefully replied. "Time is of the essence."

While Alexei made several phone calls, she carefully studied the map of Baikal on the screen. Cape Rytyi was located in a remote part of the shore—no roads, only hiking trails or approach by water. Getting there would not be easy, especially considering she would probably be followed.

Alexei returned after a few minutes, looking pleased: "We're in luck. My friend, a former military pilot, is currently in Moscow and can take you to Irkutsk this evening. Small private plane, no registrations or checks. He'll land you at an abandoned military airfield fifty kilometers from the city."

"That's perfect," Elena nodded. "But how do I get from Irkutsk to Cape Rytyi?"

"I've thought about that too," Alexei opened a new map on the screen. "In the village of Buguldeika, there are local fishermen who can take you by boat along the shore. It will take several hours, but there's no other way. You can't drive there by car, and we don't have a helicopter."

Elena made notes on her phone: "How much time will the entire journey take?"

"If you leave this evening, you'll be in Irkutsk early morning. Another couple of hours to Buguldeika by car, then four to five hours by boat to the cape. You should make it by tomorrow evening."

"Within my allotted forty-eight hours," Elena nodded. "Good. But I need to do one more thing before departure."

"What exactly?"

"Verify the authenticity of the recordings," she replied. "I have an acquaintance who's an expert in audio analysis. He can determine if these recordings were falsified."

"You have doubts?" Alexei frowned.

"I need to be certain," Elena said firmly. "Before risking the lives of loved ones."

She copied the necessary files to her flash drive and thanked Alexei for his help.

"I'll send the flight details and contact information for the fishermen to your phone," he said, escorting her to the door. "And be careful. Those behind this will stop at nothing."

"I understand," Elena nodded. "Thank you for your help."

Stepping outside, she immediately headed toward the metro, carefully watching for any surveillance. So far everything seemed clear, but she had no illusions—sooner or later they would find her. The question was only whether she would manage to do everything necessary before that moment.

The next stop was the home of Sergei Voronin, a leading expert in audio analysis, with whom Elena had collaborated on numerous investigations. She called him on the way, and he agreed to see her immediately.

Voronin lived in a modern high-rise on the outskirts of Moscow. His apartment was filled with professional equipment—computers, microphones, amplifiers, and acoustic systems.

"What recordings this time?" he asked when Elena handed him the flash drive. "Telephone conversations? Hidden recording of a confession?"

"Something much more unusual," she replied. "Presumably, communications with a spacecraft from 1967. I need to know if they're authentic or not."

Voronin whistled: "Interesting! But it's a complex task. Recordings of that age have characteristic features that are difficult to fake."

"That's exactly why I came to you," Elena nodded. "If anyone can determine authenticity, it's you."

The expert connected the flash drive to his computer and began work. First, he simply listened to the recordings in their entirety, then began analyzing them in parts, using specialized software.

"Look," he said after some time, pointing to a screen with wave graphs. "Here are the characteristic features of magnetic tape from that period. Micro-defects, a certain type of noise, degradation of high frequencies..." He moved to another graph. "And here we see signs of the equipment on which the recording was made. This is indeed 1960s technology. Frequency range, distortion level, specific artifacts during radio transmission..."

"So these are authentic recordings?" Elena clarified.

"One hundred percent," Voronin answered confidently. "Faking this with such a degree of detail is impossible. I have sufficient experience working with archival recordings to assert this with certainty. Moreover," he pointed to yet another graph, "there are signs of some strange background signal, especially in those parts where the cosmonaut talks about contact. Low-frequency pulsations that don't correspond to any type of interference or noise known to me."

"What could it be?"

"I have no idea," the expert admitted honestly. "But it's definitely not a recording artifact or an overlay of other radio signals. It's something... different."

Elena felt a chill run down her spine. Everything pointed to the story about contact with "Object X" being true. And that Velichko's warning about a return in fifty years could also turn out to be reality.

"May I have a copy of your analysis?" she asked. "And the recordings too."

"Of course," Voronin nodded, copying the files to a new flash drive. "But I must ask... is this related to some investigation?"

"Yes," Elena answered briefly. "And it may prove more important than all my previous cases combined."

After receiving the copies, she thanked the expert and left his apartment. Time was running short—only a few hours remained until departure, and she still needed to prepare for the trip to Baikal.

But before heading home for her things, Elena decided to make one last call. She found a secluded spot in a small square and dialed Gromov's number.

"Elena?" the colonel's voice sounded anxious. "Where are you? I've been trying to reach you all day."

"There were reasons not to answer," she said. "Andrei and Anna Korneva have been kidnapped. The kidnappers demand that I bring the sample of material from 'Object X' to Baikal within forty-eight hours."

"Damn!" Gromov cursed. "Is this connected to Zotov?"

"To whom?" Elena didn't understand.

"Colonel Zotov, former member of the commission investigating the 'Zarya-7' incident. I visited him yesterday in a nursing home. He... told me some things. About the contact. About the warning. About 'their' expected return. And it seems this is already happening."

"What exactly did he tell you?"

"Too much for a phone conversation," replied Gromov. "But the main thing—Markov is controlling all of this. He's continuing his grandfather's work, trying to manage the situation with the return. And, it seems, wants to use the sample as bait."

"Bait? For what?"

"For those who are returning," Gromov grimly answered. "You see, Velichko's warning was more specific than we thought. 'They' predicted that humanity would follow a path of self-destruction. That we would increasingly rely on technologies that could ultimately destroy us. And that in fifty years 'they' would return to check if we had changed. If not—they would help us change. It's not a threat, but... a kind of intervention. Like when a doctor sees a patient heading toward doom and decides to resort to radical treatment."

"And Markov wants to prevent this 'treatment'?"

"Yes, because it implies cardinal changes in our society. Abandonment of certain technologies, restructuring of the economic system, new forms of social organization... All that threatens the power of current elites."

Elena pondered this. It explained much—the persistence with which traces of contact were concealed, attempts to obtain the sample, and even the kidnapping of Andrei and Anna.

"What should I do?" she asked. "I can't risk the lives of loved ones."

"Go to Baikal," Gromov said after a pause. "But be prepared for Markov to try to use you. He doesn't intend to release the hostages, no matter what happens. For him, the stakes are too high."

"Can you help?"

"I'm also heading to Baikal," replied Gromov. "I'll be there around the same time as you. We'll meet on site. Just be extremely cautious. Trust no one but me."

After the conversation with Gromov, Elena felt both relief and anxiety. On one hand, the colonel's support was important. On the other—the entire situation was becoming increasingly complicated and dangerous.

She quickly stopped by home, gathered necessary items and weapons that might be needed in an emergency. Then she headed to a small airfield outside the city, where Alexei's old acquaintance was already waiting for her—a gray-haired pilot with a weathered face and a keen gaze.

"Sergei," he introduced himself. "Former military pilot, now a freelancer. Ready for a flight to the edge of the world?"

"More than ready," Elena nodded. "And thank you for agreeing to help."

"Alexei is an old friend," the pilot shrugged. "And I'm not too old yet to decline adventures. Especially when it comes to saving people."

They boarded a small but sturdy aircraft. While Sergei prepared for takeoff, Elena checked the contents of her bag one more time. The sample was securely packed in a container, documents and recordings were on a flash drive, and a weapon was hidden in a secret pocket.

"Fasten your seatbelt, Captain," said the pilot. "We have a long flight ahead."

The plane took off and set course eastward, toward the shores of Baikal, where perhaps the fate of not only Andrei and Anna, but of all humanity would be decided.

Looking out the window at the receding lights of Moscow, Elena once again replayed in her mind the voice of cosmonaut Velichko from half a century ago: "...they will return in fifty years to see the result." What awaited them at Cape Rytyi? An ordinary fabrication and Markov's trap? Or truly a meeting with something beyond human understanding?

Answers to these questions awaited her on the sacred shores of the ancient lake, which holds secrets that humanity might not yet be ready to learn.

Chapter 8: "Night Visitor"

The hoarse sound of the small plane's engines gradually became a monotonous background for Elena. They had been flying for four hours already. Sergei, focused on piloting, occasionally cast brief glances at her but didn't attempt to start a conversation—he understood that in such a situation, his passenger was in no mood for small talk.

Beneath the plane's wings, the vast expanses of Russia passed by, dimly illuminated by moonlight. Cities were rare islands of light in the dark ocean of night.

Elena tried to doze off, but sleep wouldn't come. Images of Andrei and Anna kept appearing before her eyes, somewhere in captivity, possibly injured. What were their captors doing to them? Holding them as hostages or using them for some other purpose?

"Captain," Sergei's voice interrupted her thoughts. "We'll need to make an intermediate landing for refueling. In about half an hour."

"Alright," Elena nodded. "How long will it take?"

"Forty minutes, no more. There's an arrangement with the local guys; everything should go quickly."

The plane began its descent, and Elena saw below a small airfield—several structures and a dimly lit runway.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"The town of Miass, Ural," replied Sergei. "Once we cross it, only Siberia remains."

When they landed, an old truck with a fuel tank drove up to the plane. Sergei began refueling, while Elena decided to stretch her legs after sitting for so long in the cramped cabin.

The night air was fresh and cool. The airfield was essentially just a large field with one hangar and a small dispatcher's house. No security, only a couple of workers helping with the refueling.

Elena walked several dozen meters from the plane, breathing the clean air and trying to collect her thoughts. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness, moving directly toward her.

Elena's hand instinctively reached for her weapon, but then the moonlight revealed familiar features.

"Severov?" she exhaled, not believing her eyes. "German Nikolaevich?"

The old engineer looked terrible. His coat was hastily thrown over pajamas, his gray hair disheveled, his face more gaunt and paler than before. But his eyes—his eyes burned with a feverish gleam.

"Elena Viktorovna," he gasped, approaching. "Thank God I made it. I thought I wouldn't find you."

"How did you get here?" Elena couldn't hide her surprise. "We left you in Krasnaya Gorka."

"After you left, they came," Severov spoke hurriedly, nervously looking around. "Military, disguised as gas service. Searched the entire house. But I managed to leave through the back exit. Old connections still work—found out about your route. Realized you were flying to Baikal."

"What did they want? The sample?"

"Yes, but not only that," Severov lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "You. They want to catch you. Markov is very angry. You've found too much."

"How do you know?"

"Heard their conversation. I had installed a listening system in the house," a weak smile flickered in the old man's eyes. "An old habit. They spoke about Markov, about his order to deliver you alive or dead. That 'the operation is entering its final phase.'"

"What operation?" Elena tensed.

"What's happening at Baikal," Severov looked around again. "I don't know all the details, but it's connected to the 'Return.' And to the sample you have."

"What do they want from this sample?"

"It's the key," the old man came closer. "Listen carefully—we have little time. The sample isn't just a piece of material. It's part of 'their' technology. A kind of communication tool. 'They' left it fifty years ago as a promise to return. And now, when the time has come, the sample has activated."

"What do you mean by 'activated'?" asked Elena, remembering Levin's words about growing radiation.

"It's emitting a signal that 'they' can track. A guiding beacon for the return. Markov wants to use it to lure 'them' into a trap."

"A trap? But why?"

"To capture their technologies," Severov answered grimly. "Or to destroy them. 'They' bring knowledge that will change our society. Make many existing power structures unnecessary. Markov and those behind him cannot allow this."

Severov took from his coat pocket a small key and a little notebook.

"Here," he handed them to Elena. "The key to a bank vault in Irkutsk. In the vault is the complete archive of my research on 'Object X' and everything I've learned over the years. Including the exact coordinates of the place where the return will happen."

"Cape Rytyi?" asked Elena.

"Yes, but the specific location is much more precise," Severov nodded. "My notes include a diagram. And instructions on how to activate the sample to full power. This is important—otherwise 'they' might not find you."

"Why don't you come with me?" asked Elena, accepting the key and notebook. "I can protect you."

Severov smiled bitterly: "From an enemy like Markov, there is no protection. Besides, I'm too old for such adventures. My time has passed, while yours is just beginning." He placed his hand on Elena's shoulder. "Listen to me carefully. Whatever happens at Baikal, remember: 'they' didn't come to conquer us. They came to offer a choice. And the sample... it's not just a beacon. It contains information. Knowledge that can change everything."

"Captain!" Sergei's voice came from the plane. "Refueling complete, time to take off!"

"I need to go," said Elena.

"Yes, go," Severov nodded. "And be careful. Trust no one. Even those you consider friends. The stakes in this game are too high."

"Let me help you," Elena insisted. "At least to find shelter somewhere safe."

"Don't worry about me," the old man smiled weakly. "I still have a couple of aces up my sleeve. Old connections, backup hideouts. Focus on your mission. And..." he hesitated, "if you see 'them,' tell them that some of us did understand the message. Tried to change something. Let them know that not all of humanity is deaf to warnings."

With these words, he turned and quickly disappeared into the darkness. Elena wanted to follow him, but at that moment Sergei called her again.

"Captain! We really need to take off. I received a message that a government helicopter is heading to the airfield. We'd better get out of here before they arrive."

Elena ran to the plane, putting the key and notebook in her pocket as she went. Within minutes they were gaining altitude, leaving behind the lights of the small Ural airfield.

"Who was that?" asked Sergei, when they stabilized at cruising altitude. "Your man?"

"A witness," Elena answered briefly. "A very important witness."

"He found you strangely," noted the pilot. "In a remote airport, in the middle of the night."

"He has his methods," Elena didn't want to go into details. "How much longer do we have to fly?"

"Under favorable conditions—about five hours," replied Sergei. "We'll be in Irkutsk at dawn."

Elena nodded and leaned back in her seat. The meeting with Severov had stunned her. How did the old man know where to look for her? How did he get to a remote airfield? And most importantly—what secrets did the vault in Irkutsk hold?

She took out the notebook and began examining it in the dim light of the cabin. Inside were not just notes, but carefully encrypted coordinates, formulas, and diagrams. On one page, Elena found a detailed drawing of Baikal's shore with a marked point—evidently the very place where the return was to occur.

On another page was a diagram of the sample itself with notations about activation points. According to the notes, the material was indeed some kind of incredibly complex device, capable not only of emitting signals but also storing vast amounts of information. How it worked, Elena didn't understand, but she intuitively felt that Severov wasn't lying. The sample was the key to everything.

The flight continued in silence. Elena tried to process all the information she had received in recent days. A secret space mission, contact with non-terrestrial intelligence, a warning about a return in fifty years, a strange sample from "Object X," a conspiracy at the highest government level... It all seemed like the plot of a science fiction film, but she held the evidence in her hands.

Gradually fatigue took its toll, and Elena dozed off, clutching Severov's notebook in her hand.

She awoke to Sergei's gentle touch on her shoulder.

"Captain, we're approaching Irkutsk. Landing in fifteen minutes."

Elena straightened up and looked out the window. The first rays of the sun were coloring the horizon in a soft pink. Below, the lights of a large city were visible, and just beyond—the dark surface of Baikal, the world's deepest lake, keeping its secrets for millions of years.

The radio in the cabin suddenly came to life, and through the static burst a male voice: "To all ground services and aircraft in the Irkutsk area. Special control regime declared. Repeat: special control regime. All arriving flights undergo additional inspection. Operation code: 'Zarya-7.'"

Elena and Sergei exchanged glances.

"They know we're flying," she said grimly. "And they're waiting for us."

"Not a problem," the pilot replied calmly. "I have a backup plan. We'll land not at the airport, but at an old military base fifty kilometers from the city. It's abandoned, but the runway is still in decent condition. From there, we can reach Irkutsk by car with my local friend."

"Excellent," Elena nodded. "Let's do that."

Sergei changed course, and soon they landed on an abandoned runway surrounded by forest. As the pilot had promised, an old SUV with a short, stocky man at the wheel was already waiting for them.

"Mikhail," he introduced himself. "An old friend of this air pirate. Where should I take you, Captain?"

"To the center of Irkutsk," replied Elena. "To the main bank."

"Let's go," Mikhail nodded. "Just hold on tight. The road isn't the best."

They said goodbye to Sergei, who stayed to prepare the plane for the return flight, and set off. The road indeed turned out to be terrible—dirt, broken by heavy trucks, with deep ruts and washouts.

"What's happening in the city?" Elena asked Mikhail. "Have you heard anything unusual?"

"Oh, unusual is plenty," he chuckled. "Military on high alert, patrols everywhere. They say exercises are being conducted, but we know that's nonsense. No exercises were announced. And also," he lowered his voice, "they're not letting anyone into the Cape Rytyi area. A whole expedition went there with some secret equipment. Local fishermen saw it."

"When was this?"

"Three days ago," replied Mikhail. "A large group, serious gear. Definitely not tourists. They say scientists and military were among them."

Elena pondered this. Obviously, Markov was preparing for the return. Gathering equipment, personnel. But for what? To establish contact or to eliminate a threat to his power?

"Has anything unusual happened recently at Baikal?" she asked. "Strange phenomena, anomalies?"

Mikhail chuckled: "Something strange is always happening at Baikal. Locals are used to it. But in recent months... yes, there have been several unusual things. Light phenomena over the water, electronics malfunctions, unexplained animal behaviors. Fishermen noticed that some schools of fish are forming strange groups, uncharacteristic for their species. And two months ago, there was a powerful light surge over the northern part of the lake—like a giant lightning bolt, but turquoise in color. Scientists explained it as an atmospheric phenomenon, but local shamans say it's a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"The awakening of the lake's spirits," Mikhail shrugged. "Or, as some old men say, the return of ancient visitors. In Buryat legends, there are stories of beings who came from the sky and brought knowledge to the first people. Then left but promised to return when people were ready or when danger threatened them."

Elena shivered. Too many threads converged at one point. The legends of indigenous peoples, a secret Soviet space mission, strange contact in space, a prediction about return after fifty years, unusual phenomena at Baikal... This couldn't be mere coincidence.

When they entered Irkutsk, the city was already fully awake. The streets were crowded, but Elena immediately noticed an increased presence of police and military patrols. Checkpoints with document verification stood at some intersections.

"Drop me off a couple of blocks before the bank," she asked Mikhail. "I'll continue on foot from there."

"As you wish," he nodded. "And then?"

"Then I'll need to get to Buguldeika," said Elena, remembering the plan made with Alexei Kornev. "From there by boat to Cape Rytyi."

"I can help with Buguldeika," said Mikhail. "My nephew lives there, a fisherman. He'll take you wherever needed without unnecessary questions."

"That would be ideal," Elena thanked him.

Mikhail stopped the car in a quiet lane not far from the center. "I'll wait for you here for two hours. If you don't come, I'll be at the 'Baikal' cafe on the corner of the central square."

Elena nodded and, pulling up her jacket hood, got out of the car. The day promised to be sunny but cool—typical autumn weather for these places.

She walked through the streets of Irkutsk, trying not to stand out in the crowd. From the corner of her eye, she noted surveillance cameras and patrols. There was tension in the air—residents clearly didn't understand the reasons for such increased security measures but realized that something unusual was happening.

The Central Bank turned out to be a massive Stalinist-era building with high columns and heavy bronze doors. Inside was a spacious operations hall with high ceilings and marble floors.

Elena approached the information desk and presented her documents. "I need access to a bank vault," she said.

The clerk checked her documents and nodded: "Please proceed to the depository department. It's through that corridor, second office on the right."

In the depository department, she again had to present her documents and the vault key. After all checks, a bank employee escorted her to the vault—a spacious room with rows of metal boxes from floor to ceiling.

"Your vault is number 312," he said, pointing to a door in the central section. "Two keys are needed to open it—yours and mine. After that, I'll leave you alone with the contents."

Elena inserted Severov's key into the keyhole, the bank employee inserted his key into the adjacent opening, and they turned them simultaneously. The door opened, revealing a metal box inside.

"I'll wait outside," said the employee. "Call when you're finished."

When he left, Elena carefully removed the box and opened the lid. Inside was a thick folder with documents, several photographs, an old notebook in a leather binding, and a small metal cylinder resembling a flash drive.

Elena quickly reviewed the folder's contents. There were copies of reports on the "Zarya-7" project, Velichko's medical records after his return, photographs of "Object X" taken from the spacecraft, and Severov's own notes—his observations, theories, conclusions.

She was particularly interested in a map of northern Baikal with a precisely marked location on Cape Rytyi. Next to the mark was a strange diagram—concentric circles with lines connecting them in a complex geometric pattern. The caption read: "Activation pattern. Identical to the pattern on the stone."

The notebook turned out to be Severov's personal diary, which he had kept since 1967. On the last pages was an entry dated last week:

"Everything indicates that the time has come. The sample is radiating more strongly, the frequency of the signal is changing according to the predicted pattern. If Velichko was right, the Return will happen in the coming days. Markov has already mobilized his resources. I've heard that a special group with equipment for intercepting the signal has been sent to the Cape Rytyi area. They want to establish control over the Return, use it for their own purposes. But they don't understand what they're dealing with. 'They' cannot be controlled or managed. 'They' didn't come as conquerors or subjects, but as teachers and, possibly, judges. And the sample is the key to their message. I must find a way to pass it to someone who can use it correctly. Who will understand that knowledge should belong to all humanity, not the chosen few."

The metal cylinder turned out to be indeed a flash drive of unusual construction. Elena decided to study its contents later, when she would have access to a computer.

She carefully packed all the materials in her bag, leaving the empty box in the vault. Then she called the bank employee.

"I'm finished," she said. "Thank you for your help."

Leaving the bank, Elena didn't head directly to the meeting place with Mikhail but made several loops through neighboring streets, checking for surveillance. Everything seemed clear, but she wasn't deluding herself—in a city with so many military personnel and surveillance cameras, remaining unnoticed for long was impossible.

She had almost reached the lane where Mikhail was supposed to be waiting when her phone vibrated in her pocket. The number was unfamiliar.

"Hello," she answered cautiously.

"Elena Viktorovna?" the voice was male, troubled. "This is Alexei Kornev. I have bad news."

"What happened?"

"German Severov was found dead in a Miass hotel this morning. The official cause—heart attack. But my source in the police says there were signs of a struggle that they tried to conceal."

Elena felt a chill run down her spine.

"When did this happen?"

"Around four in the morning. A couple of hours after he contacted you."

"How do you know he contacted me?" Elena became alert.

"He called me before that," explained Alexei. "Said he found you and passed the vault key. And that afterward he planned to disappear. Use the last escape route."

"But didn't make it," Elena grimly concluded.

"No. Someone got to him first. Elena Viktorovna, be extremely careful. These are very serious people. They will stop at nothing."

"I understand," she replied. "Thank you for the warning."

Ending the conversation, Elena quickened her pace. Severov's death meant that the hunt was in full swing. And that she was one of the main targets.

Mikhail was waiting for her at the agreed place, nervously checking his watch.

"Everything alright?" he asked when she got into the car.

"No," Elena answered honestly. "Everything is very bad. But we're still going to Buguldeika. Right now."

"As you say," Mikhail nodded and started the engine. "It's about three hours' drive to Buguldeika. If we're lucky, we'll be there by noon."

The car set off and left the city, heading toward the shore of the sacred lake where, perhaps, the fate not only of Andrei and Anna but of all humanity would be decided.

Chapter 9: "Contents of the Vault"

The road along Baikal seemed to Elena both beautiful and unsettling. On one side, breathtaking views opened up—the blue expanse of the ancient lake, surrounded by mountains, stretching to the horizon. On the other—each kilometer brought her closer to the culmination of this tangled story, the outcome of which was impossible to predict.

"First time at Baikal?" asked Mikhail, skillfully maneuvering on the winding road.

"Yes," Elena nodded. "Never thought I'd end up here under such circumstances."

"Baikal is a special place," Mikhail said thoughtfully. "Locals say it possesses its own consciousness. That it chooses who to allow access to its secrets and who to deny."

As they drove, Elena decided to more carefully examine the contents of the bank vault. First, she opened Severov's diary—a thick notebook in leather binding, written in a small, neat handwriting.

The entries began in June 1967, immediately after the return of "Zarya-7":

"June 16, 1967. Velichko reports contact with an unidentified object in orbit. Something emitting a bluish light approached the ship. Communication interrupted for 2 hours 47 minutes. After contact restoration, Igor is saying strange things about 'mental connection' and a 'message.' The leadership is in panic. No one knows what to do."

"June 18, 1967. The ship successfully landed. Velichko is in serious condition—physically exhausted, mentally disoriented. Constantly speaks about a 'warning' and a 'choice.' A strange metallic fragment was discovered on his spacesuit, attached to the outer covering—silvery material with a bluish tint. No one understands how it got there. The sample has been confiscated for study."

Elena flipped forward several pages:

"July 7, 1967. I've been included in the scientific group studying the sample. It's something incredible—the material doesn't correspond to any known element. Its structure changes, reacting to various stimuli. It's especially responsive to certain electromagnetic frequencies. Scientists are baffled."

"July 15, 1967. Velichko is becoming increasingly strange. Periods of clarity alternate with trances, during which he speaks of events that haven't yet occurred. Today he predicted an accident in our laboratory an hour before it happened. The leadership is frightened. There's talk of stricter isolation."

Flipping forward several more pages, Elena saw an entry made almost a year later:

"May 22, 1968. Official version: Velichko died from the effects of radiation poisoning. Body cremated. But this is a lie. I saw him personally three days ago—he's alive, kept in a secret medical center near Moscow. His condition has stabilized, but periods of trance have become more frequent. He continues to speak about 'return in 50 years' and that the sample is not just a piece of metal, but a kind of 'key' or 'transmitter.'"

Further entries spanned decades. Severov documented everything he could learn about the "Zarya-7" project and its aftermath. Velichko's fate, research on the sample, attempts to decipher the "message." As well as systematic destruction of information by official structures. Mysterious deaths of project participants, disappearance of documents, pressure on witnesses.

Elena was particularly interested in entries from recent years:

"March 15, 2016. Everything indicates that the prediction will soon come true. Just over a year remains until the fifty-year mark. The sample has begun showing increased activity—radiation has intensified, spectral characteristics have changed. Markov is mobilizing resources. I've heard that a group of specialists has been sent to Baikal under the guise of a scientific expedition to install some kind of equipment. They're preparing something."

"June 3, 2017. A powerful energy anomaly was recorded over northern Baikal—pulsating bluish glow that lasted almost 20 minutes. Official sources are silent, but my contact at the observatory confirmed: this is not an atmospheric phenomenon. Something is approaching."

The last entry was dated just a few days earlier:

"September 28, 2017. Valentin Kornev is dead. Officially—heart attack, but I don't believe it. He found something important, something related to the coordinates of the return. And someone was very frightened by this. I must be extremely careful. Possibly I'm next. But before they get to me, I must ensure that key information reaches reliable hands. Captain Svetlova is my last hope. If she's reading these lines, then I succeeded.

Elena, if you're reading this, remember: the sample is not just a material object. It's a communication tool and information carrier. It can be activated according to a specific pattern that corresponds to the pattern on the stone found at Cape Rytyi. When the pattern is reproduced and the sample activated to full power, contact will occur. And it will depend only on you whether this becomes the beginning of a new era for humanity or the final chapter in our history."

Elena closed the diary, deeply impressed by what she had read. Then she turned her attention to the photographs found in the vault. One of the images captured a strange object in space—something with an indefinite form, emitting a bluish glow. The caption read: "Object X, photographed from 'Zarya-7', June 16, 1967."

Other photographs showed the research center where the sample was studied, and Velichko himself after his return—emaciated, with a vacant gaze, but alive.

Finally, she took out the strange metallic object found in the vault. It was a small plate about the size of a palm, silvery with a slight bluish tint. Its surface had a complex geometric pattern resembling the diagram from Severov's notebook.

"What's that?" asked Mikhail, casting a quick glance at the strange object.

"Better you don't know," replied Elena, carefully packing the plate into a special container that was also in the vault. "There are things too dangerous for ordinary people to know."

"I understand," Mikhail nodded. "I've lived a long life at Baikal. Seen various things. Some things are better left unquestioned."

They continued driving in relative silence. Elena immersed herself in studying maps and diagrams, trying to precisely determine the location on Cape Rytyi where she needed to go. According to Severov's notes, it was a small bay at the base of the cape, hidden from casual eyes by rocky outcrops.

"We're approaching Buguldeika," said Mikhail after about two hours. "My nephew Nikolai should be waiting for us at the pier."

The village of Buguldeika turned out to be a small fishing settlement on Baikal's shore—several dozen houses, a dock for boats, a small store, and a café. Everything looked quiet and sleepy, but Elena immediately noticed unusual activity—several military vehicles stood at the pier, and a helicopter circled in the sky.

"What's happening?" she asked Mikhail.

"I don't know," he frowned. "Never seen so many military here before. Something serious."

They stopped on the outskirts of the village to avoid drawing attention.

"I'll go find Nikolai," said Mikhail. "Wait here and keep a low profile."

Elena nodded and remained in the car, carefully observing what was happening through the window. The military seemed to be conducting some operation—checking all boats, questioning local residents. One of the officers held a photograph in his hands, showing it to fishermen.

"They're looking for me," thought Elena with cold certainty. Obviously, Markov had deployed all resources to intercept her before she could reach the return site.

Mikhail returned after twenty minutes, looking concerned.

"Bad news," he said. "Nikolai has been detained for questioning. All boats have been confiscated 'pending clarification of circumstances.' No one can go out onto the lake without special permission."

"Damn," Elena cursed. "They're blocking all routes."

"There's good news too," added Mikhail. "Nikolai managed to pass a message through a neighbor that there's a backup option. Three kilometers from here, in a forest cove, he has a hidden old boat. With it, you can reach Cape Rytyi, though the journey will take longer—the boat isn't as fast."

"It's our only chance," Elena said decisively. "Show me the way."

They turned around and drove around the village, taking a forest road. After some time, Mikhail turned onto a barely visible path winding between trees.

"We continue on foot from here," he said, stopping the car. "About half a kilometer to the shore."

They got out of the car and moved along the path winding among pines. Elena carried her bag with documents and the container holding the sample from "Object X" and the strange metal plate from Severov's vault.

The forest was quiet, only occasionally the treetops rustled in the wind. The air smelled of pine and the freshness of Baikal, but Elena couldn't relax—a sense of danger did not leave her.

Finally, they came to a small cove, hidden from prying eyes by rocky outcrops. At the shore, tied to an old tree, a small motorboat bobbed on the waves.

"Here it is," Mikhail nodded. "Not in its prime, but it will get you to Cape Rytyi. There should be enough fuel. Nikolai maintains it, periodically checks the engine."

"Thank you for your help," Elena sincerely thanked him. "You're taking a big risk."

"It's nothing," Mikhail waved dismissively. "At Baikal, everyone helps each other. Now listen carefully: stay close to the shore, but not too close—there are rocks there. Go at medium speed so as not to attract attention with engine noise. From here to Cape Rytyi is about thirty kilometers, it will take about three hours in good weather." He looked at the sky. "And the weather, it seems, is deteriorating."

Indeed, clouds were gathering over the mountains on the horizon. Baikal was famous for its sudden storms, and Elena understood she needed to hurry.

"I'll tell Nikolai that the boat was used," said Mikhail. "He won't mind. Good luck to you, Captain. And be careful—strange things have been happening at Cape Rytyi for some time now. Locals don't go there without dire necessity."

"What kind of strange things?" Elena became interested.

"Light phenomena at night. Unexplained sounds. Electronics failing. And one fisherman swears he saw 'people glowing from within' there, but of course, no one believed him. They decided he'd had too much local moonshine."

Elena nodded, taking note of the information. "I'll be careful. And thank you again."

She climbed into the boat, placing her bag on the bottom. Mikhail helped push the vessel away from shore, and Elena started the motor. It worked after the second attempt, labored but steady.

"Farewell!" shouted Mikhail, waving from the shore. "May the spirit of Baikal protect you!"

Elena directed the boat toward the exit from the cove, keeping course along the shore. Now only the waters of the sacred lake remained between her and the meeting place.

She moved at medium speed, as Mikhail had advised, staying about half a kilometer from shore. To the right stretched the forested slopes of mountains, to the left spread the boundless expanse of Baikal. Ahead waited Cape Rytyi—the place where, if all the gathered testimonies were to be believed, the return would occur.

For a while, Elena felt a strange serenity. The nature around was majestic and beautiful, and the lake—calm, despite the gathering clouds. One could almost forget about the mortal danger, about kidnapped loved ones, about a conspiracy at the highest level.

But suddenly the serenity was disrupted by the sound of an engine—somewhere in the distance. Elena turned and saw on the horizon a rapidly approaching black boat. Judging by its shape and speed—military or border patrol.

"Damn," she whispered, accelerating.

Nikolai's boat couldn't compete in speed with a modern vessel. It was a matter of time—sooner or later they would catch up. The only hope was to reach the shore and hide in the forest or rocks.

Elena sharply turned toward the shore, hoping to use the local knowledge Mikhail had mentioned—rocks close to shore, dangerous for large vessels. Her small boat could pass between them, but the pursuers would have to slow down.

The maneuver worked for a time. The larger boat indeed reduced speed, wary of underwater rocks. But then it began approaching again, circumventing the dangerous areas. Through binoculars, Elena could see armed men on board.

She took out her pistol and placed it nearby. A fight would be hopeless—against automatic weapons and numerical superiority, but she wasn't planning to surrender without resistance.

Suddenly the sky darkened even more, and the wind picked up. Baikal, until then calm, began to cover with whitecaps. One of the famous Baikal storms was starting, sudden and fierce.

This could be salvation. In a storm, a small boat sometimes has an advantage—it's easier to maneuver between waves. A large vessel becomes less maneuverable in such conditions.

Elena directed the boat closer to shore, where the outlines of Cape Rytyi were already visible. It was no more than five kilometers away. With luck, she would reach it before being intercepted or before the storm became too strong.

The waves grew with each minute. The boat began to toss about, the engine working at the limit of its capabilities. Elena was soaked through from spray but stubbornly held course, not taking her eyes off the approaching cape.

Suddenly she noticed that the military vessel had stopped. Perhaps it had engine problems, or the commander decided not to risk it in the worsening weather conditions. In any case, this gave her a small lead.

The storm continued to intensify. Waves were already washing over the boat's sides, water collecting at the bottom. Elena desperately fought against the elements, trying to keep the vessel afloat and on course.

When only a couple of kilometers remained to the cape, the engine suddenly died. Flooded with water, it refused to start again. Elena cursed and grabbed the oars. Rowing against the growing storm was almost impossible, but she had no choice.

Her strength was already beginning to leave her when she noticed something strange ahead. Above the cape itself, despite the clouds, a glow was visible—a bluish pulsating light, very similar to what Velichko had described in his communications with the Center.

This sight gave Elena new strength. She rowed desperately, ignoring the pain in her muscles and the water streaming down her face—already unclear whether it was rain or spray from Baikal.

Finally, the boat's bow nudged the rocky shore at the foot of Cape Rytyi. Elena jumped into the water, which turned out to be ice-cold, and dragged the vessel onto the shore as far as her strength allowed. Then she retrieved her bag with documents and the container with samples.

Looking around, she saw that she had arrived at exactly the small bay marked on Severov's maps. From here, a narrow path led up the cape's slope, to its summit, from where the strange glow emanated.

Elena cast a final glance at the lake. The military vessel was still visible in the distance, struggling with the raging storm. She had a little time before the pursuers would reach the shore.

Gathering her remaining strength, Elena began climbing the steep path. The wind strengthened, the rain turned into a downpour, but the strange glow above the cape's summit didn't weaken; it seemed to grow brighter.

When she had overcome about half the ascent, she noticed some structures ahead. Coming closer, she saw scientific equipment—antennas, sensors, generators. And tents—several large expedition tents, secured to the rocky ground.

"Markov's expedition," Elena realized. They were already here, preparing for the return. But where were the people? The camp seemed empty.

Carefully bypassing the equipment, she continued her ascent. The path became even steeper, in places turning into an almost vertical climb up rocks. Rain and wind complicated the task, but Elena stubbornly clambered upward.

Finally, she reached a small plateau at the top of the cape. And froze, struck by the sight that opened before her.

In the center of the plateau was a huge stone with strange symbols carved into it—the same concentric circles and lines she had seen in Severov's notes. And above the stone pulsed a column of bluish light that rose high into the sky, piercing the clouds.

Around the stone stood people—about ten in protective suits, with equipment in their hands. They were so absorbed in what was happening that they didn't even notice Elena's appearance. And a little to the side, on an elevation, she saw a figure she immediately recognized from photographs—Sergei Markov, the Minister of Defense, grandson of the chairman of the commission investigating the "Zarya-7" incident.

But the most important thing wasn't this. A few meters from Markov, tied to metal posts, stood Andrei and Anna. Alive, but looking exhausted and frightened.

Elena's heart skipped a beat. She had found them. Now she needed to somehow save them.

She carefully retreated behind a large boulder to consider the situation. And then she heard a familiar voice behind her:

"Don't move, Captain Svetlova. And don't do anything foolish."

Elena slowly turned around. Before her stood Colonel Gromov, pointing a gun at her.