2. TAMAR AND THE INVADERS
Chapter 1
NIGHT OF TENSION
“Nonsense, Saranov!” The voice raps through the crackling of the radio. “Your reasons sound unconvincing.”
Saranov clenches his fists. His stocky figure is half bent over the transmitter. The sweat that runs down his square forehead shines in the bright glow of the large fires. It throws flickering and dancing shadows against the dense, dark edge of the forest, which encloses them like a black, impenetrable fence. His thick lips are compressed, and in his small eyes, a look of despair can be seen.
Once more he looks around him. Above the crackling of the flames and the crackling of the radio, he tries to hear the frightening sounds of the untamed wilderness.
“But I tell you we are in mortal danger!” he finally bursts out. He sounds desperate, on the verge of irresponsibility, like one who will revolt against established authority at any moment.
“You repeat it ad nauseam,” comes the answer, after Saranov switches the device over. “What are the so-called dangers that apparently threaten you?”
“I tell you it is invisible. We are just constantly aware of it.”
“But how on earth do you expect us to heed your pleas, as long as you can’t give us the slightest indication of the nature and extent of your threat?”
“Is it necessary?” Saranov almost shouts. “You know that the previous expedition simply disappeared from the face of the earth.”
“Hogwash,” comes the curt reply. “Sandra Voronej and her company reached their destination. They requested that we urgently send supplies and reinforcements. Unfortunately, secrecy was so essential that the message was short and concise. She provided no details of the circumstances they encountered there.”
“But precisely,” Saranov insists. “The helicopter that was sent also disappeared without a trace. Even less has ever been heard from Sandra and them again. I tell you there must be something, something big, intangible, and terrible...” His whole body trembles with the tension he is under. “It is this forest. It is immense and so powerful, it is driving me out of my mind it...!”
“Saranov!” barks the voice through the small speaker, “control yourself. It does not befit a man of your status and intelligence to carry on like a trembling child. Sandra got through. We know this. Most likely she and her company were picked up by the helicopter, but it crashed somewhere in the forest. You know that we have since made several reconnaissance flights over the mountain peaks. Nowhere did we notice signs of life or trouble. You will proceed with your assignment. You must find out what happened to your predecessors. We also want full details about the terrain, for the construction of our rocket base.”
“I beg you,” Saranov begins again, but he is coldly and abruptly interrupted.
“You will not contact us again unless you have important information to report. These long conversations are dangerous. No one may know of our plans. Someone may accidentally tune in to this wavelength at any time. All success forward, comrade.”
There is a clear clicking sound. Then it is just the hum of the small device on the massive stump of dry wood, in front of the man, who has half shrunk as if the last words have crushed his spirit. Without his thoughts controlling the movement, he switches off the transmitter.
A distance from the small tent in the middle of the fires, ten native porters of the safari sit. They sit close to each other and close to the flames as if they find protection in them. They could not follow the conversation because they do not understand the white
