Chapter 5 — A Promise At The Cable Car Station

The empty cabin cannot go on its own without someone in the control room. Duy rushed forward and pressed the emergency stop button. Cabin number 17 slowed down, the guide wheel slid on the cable and stopped less than ten meters from the platform.

The tin box was in the middle of the chair, next to a gray towel. No one died, nor was Mr. Khang. The strange signal that just came through the radio was just a sentence repeated from some device in the cabin.

“Don't come closer,” Duy said.

Linh stands behind the safety line. “You think there's a trap?”

"I think this is a technical device. Do not touch anything of unknown origin."

Tu ran from the control room. He looked at the cabin, then looked at Duy. “If it's the sender, they want us to see it.”

“Then I'll stay here,” Duy replied. “I called the captain.”

Tu said no more. He checked the station door and confirmed there was no one on the roof. Linh took her phone to film the entire cabin from outside the line. The tin box is dark blue, the size of a notebook, with four dented corners. On the lid is a triangle with the number 08:40. Next to the box there is a very thin wire connecting to the handrail.

“Duy,” Linh called.

He shined the light on the rope. "Don't touch. Maybe it's just connected to the audio switch."

“But who put the box in the cabin?”

"The cabin is remotely controlled. They have access to the operator panel."

Tu said: "Only three people have that right."

“Who are the three people?” Linh asked.

“Me, the captain and Duy.”

Duy looked at Tu. “You mean I put it on myself?”

“I just said access.”

“Can you open the cabin after hours?”

"Have."

“So there are four of us, not three.”

Tu did not answer. The captain arrived with a security guard. They locked the area and made a scene report. Duy explained the wire and requested that no one enter the cabin until the sound system was identified. The captain called the technical department from town, but the wind caused the transmission to flicker.

Linh stood outside, recording each operation. She noticed a new scratch on the cabin's surface, running from the back door down near the wheel. The scratch contained white stone dust, while the platform was covered with brown dust.

“Which cabin just passed has white stone?” she asked.

Duy looked at the direction of the route. "The old hut area. There is a closed limestone quarry down there."

“The cable route runs through there?”

“No. The cabin can be pulled back to the maintenance section.”

Linh remembers that the map has a marked line from the rest hut to post number 4. The person who took the box may have brought the cabin there, then dropped the box before sending the signal.

“Tu, why is cabin number 17 still operating when the station is closed?”

Tu answered slowly: "Maybe the operator forgot to lock the maintenance mode."

"You're the temporary one in charge. You haven't forgotten that, have you?"

“I was not in the control room when the power went out.”

Duy looked at the case list. "Where are you?"

“Check the inventory.”

“At the same time, someone took the box.”

“You mean I'm the culprit?”

“I want you to tell me exactly what you did.”

The captain interrupted, asking everyone to avoid arguing in the record-taking area. He assigned two employees to open the cabin after the technical department confirmed there was no electrical hazard. Duy stood next to Linh, not looking at Tu anymore.

Linh asked softly: "Do you really doubt him?"

"Tu knows all the old ways too well. He also knows how to make us look in the wrong direction."

“But he may also be the only one who wants the box found.”

"Why?"

“If he wanted to hide it, he wouldn't have let it in the cabin.”

“Maybe he wants us to receive the box for him.”

A technician wearing insulated clothing checks the wire. It feeds into a small speaker mounted under the seat. Upon removing the cover, the person found a battery-powered audio player and a memory card. The device has a pre-installed saying about Mr. Khang. There are no obvious fingerprints.

“Does the memory card have data?” Duy asked.

“Haven't read it here. Must be sealed.”

Linh wrote down the seal number. The employee opened the cabin with a mechanical key. Duy went in first and turned off the auxiliary power. Linh followed when allowed. The box was in the right position, under it was a cleaning cloth and a piece of paper folded into quarters.

The note read: “Khang kept his word. The rest have not yet.”

Linh realized that the handwriting was not her father's. The strokes are straight and decisive, the letter "g" does not close around. She took a photo, but didn't pick it up.

Duy checked the bottom of the box with a light. “The box was not pried open. The lock is still intact.”

“So the person who ordered it wants us to open it?”

“Or want us to take it to someone who has the key.”

Tu stood outside the cabin door, listening to the last sentence. “Mr. Khang is the only person who has ever repaired this type of lock.”

“You just said he died,” Linh replied.

“The device spoke, not me.”

“Do you have his home phone number?”

"Have."

“Call.”

Tu took the phone. The call rings four times then goes off. He called again, this time someone listened. A trembling female voice said Mr. Khang had been at the district hospital since afternoon because he fell in the garden and had not died.

Tu hung up the phone, his face pale.

Duy looked at him. “Who sent fake news?”

"I do not know."

“But that person knows where Mr. Khang is.”

The captain asked to take the box back to the operations room to seal it. Linh objected because she wanted to keep the scene in its correct location, but understood that leaving an unknown piece of evidence in the cabin was unsafe. They put the box in an evidence bag, noting the time, witnesses, and lock status.

Before leaving the cabin, Linh bent down to look at the scratches on the floor. A piece of white stone stuck in the ditch. She informed the staff, then picked it up with tweezers in the presence of the captain. The piece of rock is put in a separate bag.

“How long have you been doing archiving?” Duy asked.

“Six years.”

“Have you ever handled evidence?”

“Records, not objects.”

“Your note taking is good.”

“I just don't want anyone to say later that we lost something important.”

In the operating room, Tu placed the evidence bag on the table. He kept looking at the box through the clear plastic. The team leader made a detention record and asked him to move back to town with the police team the next morning.

Linh read each line. The delivery person's name is Duy, the recipient's name is the captain, and the witnesses are her and Tu. When they got to the "origin of physical evidence" section, they wrote: "Undetermined."

Tu suddenly said: "Shouldn't be brought back to town."

"Why?" Duy asked.

“If the box contains documents, the person who wants to get it will follow the car. The lower station is easier to monitor.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Keep it at the upper station until you meet Mr. Khang.”

Linh looked at the evidence bag. “And let the person with the old access card continue to try to get it?”

“I will watch.”

“You just admitted you had the right to open the door.”

Tu looked at her. “I admit I wanted to keep the evidence in a place where it would be harder to get to.”

Duy took the minutes and read them again. “The captain decides. Not us.”

The captain thought for a moment, then called the district police. They agreed to keep the box in a sealed cabinet in the operating room, with two keys, one kept by the captain, one kept by Duy. Tu Do not approach alone.

“I don't agree,” Tu said.

“I don't need your approval,” the captain replied.

The air in the room was as tense as the cables outside. Linh saw that Tu was about to say more but stopped. He put his hand in his pocket, touched something and pulled it out. A small key fell on the table.

“This key belongs to Mr. Khang,” Tu said. "He gave it to me two years ago, saying that if something happened at the old station, he had to open the filing cabinet. I forgot to return it."

Duy holds the key with gloves, not touching it directly. “Why are you saying it now?”

“Because I don't think he wants the box opened.”

“You know the box is in the cupboard?”

"I know it used to be at the station. I don't know which cabinet it's in."

Linh looked at the key. It has an engraved triangle and the number 08:40. We cannot continue to call this a coincidence.

The captain sealed the key with the minutes. They decided that tomorrow morning, after Mr. Khang was stable, they would ask about the origin.

Night falls quickly. The wind makes the cable system vibrate against the dark sky. The last passenger was taken to a temporary rest area. Linh sat by the window, looking at the bag of evidence in the safe. Duy checked the lock one last time.

“Do you think my father ever did anything wrong?” she asked.

"I do not know."

“I just said that.”

“Because I don't have the documents yet.”

“And what if the document shows you signed it?”

Duy locked the cabinet. "Signing a piece of paper doesn't mean understanding all the consequences. But if you know and still let my mother pay, I won't defend you."

Linh heard the answer and felt both pain and lightness in her heart. She was afraid Duy just wanted to find someone to blame. In fact, he was preparing for the possibility that the person he respected was also somewhat wrong.

Outside, a numberless cabin slides across a cable route that turns off the lights. Duy raised his head to look.

“There can be no cabins running right now,” he said.

The two went out into the hallway. The cabin stopped between the upper station and pillar number 4. There was no one inside. On the glass door appeared a line written with a finger on a layer of steam:

“The one who keeps the box is not the one who needs it.”

Linh looked at Duy. “Who is this for?”

“It could be for all of us.”

Tu stood at the end of the hallway, quietly looking at the words. When Linh turned around, he was gone.

In the safe, the evidence bag shook slightly. It's not because of the wind. From inside the tin box came the clicking sound of a metal mechanism moving on its own.