"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

a bit of unpleasantness."
Koltukhov glanced at his watch. "Well, I'll leave you two together now.
It's time I was off."
He nodded to the two men and walked unhurriedly to the door.


The name of the old Caspian town of Derbent means "Iron Gates". The
town once guarded the narrowest place on a caravan route running between the
mountains and the sea. Nikolai Opratin had been sent there to examine the
ruins of fortress walls in order to obtain more precise information about
the level of the Caspian in ancient times.
On his last day in Derbent Opratin wandered into an old stone quarry on
the deserted shore. While clambering about the quarry he caught his foot in
a fissure. Suddenly the rocks gave way. His heart missed a heat as lie felt
himself falling into nothingness. He landed with a splash in a pool of mud
about a dozen feet below.
He picked himself up and paused to catch his breath. Just a moment ago,
a hot blue sky had stretched above him; now he was surrounded by musty
semi-darkness. He took out his flashlight and swept its beam to right and
left. He saw damp, moss-covered walls.
This prompted the thought that he had probably fallen into the
underground passage that had once connected the Naryn Kale Fortress with the
sea. The passage was mentioned in legends but so far no one had been able to
find it.
The flashlight beam moved downwards. Opratin was a self-possessed man,
but the sight of a human skeleton filled him with horror. He turned to flee
and stumbled into a pool of cold water. This brought him to his senses.
Besides, whom was he fleeing from?
He returned to the skeleton, to which the remnants of clothing still
clung. The poor devil must have fallen into the passage and been crushed by
rocks. Opratin's flashlight picked out a half-rotten sack. He gave the sack
a push with his shoe. A gun fell out of it.
"It's a German pistol, a Luger," Opratin said to himself. "How odd!"
Poking through the contents of the sack he found a portable radio
transmitter, several sticks of dynamite and some cartridges covered with
green mould.
He turned his flashlight back on the skeleton. Something sparkled in
the neck of the torn shirt. Bending down to take a closer look, he saw a
shiny metal chain on which hung a small crucifix and a flat rectangle of
iron with letters on it. Opratin wiped the iron rectangle with a corner of
the sack and read:
A M D G
Below these were smaller letters.
Only a Catholic would wear a crucifix round his neck, Opratin
reflected. How long had the man lain there? Then suddenly he came out of his
reverie. He certainly had no intention of becoming a corpse to keep the
skeleton company. He picked up the pistol, saw that it was in working order,
and fired at the spot of blue sky above his head. Minutes passed, minutes
that seemed hours to Opratin. He fired again. The passage rumbled like an
active volcano, but no sound came from above.