Chapter 13 — Calls are not allowed to be hung up

Dan sat motionless for a few more seconds after the line turned off, both hands on the keyboard but unable to type any words. In her head, two voices were fiercely fighting each other: one voice belonged to an eight-year experienced operator, always reminding her to follow the correct process, to wait for enough grounds, to believe in the system that had been built over decades to avoid personal mistakes; another voice, quieter but more insistent, belonged to that April night five years ago, reminding her that there were moments when the system wasn't fast enough, and the price of that delay was a life.

She looked down at her hands, which were still shaking, then looked at the screen where the fifth call recording was still there, only two minutes and thirteen seconds short but already engraved in her mind like a brand new cut on top of an old cut that had never completely healed. She remembered the feeling of helplessness that April night, remembered the forty-two minutes of sitting silently waiting while knowing full well there was nothing more she could do but call. Tonight, she didn't want to repeat that feeling again, no matter what the cost.

— Dan, I heard you.

Anh Tuyet sat down in the opposite chair, grabbed Dan's shaking hands, forcing them to stop on the table.

— You don't have to decide alone. But you need to decide quickly, because that child doesn't have time to wait for us to consider any longer.

— I know what I need to do. — Dan said, her voice was strangely calm again, as if the panic just now had burned away all remaining hesitation. — I need to call Vinh, and this time I won't just ask him to pass by.

— What are you going to ask him for?

— I was going to ask him to knock on the door. Direct. Right now.

Anh Tuyet was silent for a moment, not because she objected, but because she clearly understood the weight of what Dan had just said. Knocking on an apartment door in the middle of the night without an official order, without specific confirmation, was an action outside of every protocol that both men had been trained to follow throughout their careers.

— If he did that for nothing, both of you would be in big trouble. He may be disciplined for abuse of power, and you, if it turns out that you incited an officer to act outside of your authority, will find it difficult to avoid responsibility.

— I know you're trying to protect me. But this time, let me take responsibility for my own decision. I don't want to look back later and know that I had the opportunity to do something, but chose to stay silent because I was afraid of the consequences for myself.

Anh Tuyet looked at Dan for a long time, her eyes scanning her former student's face, where the wrinkles of worry were deeper than any night shift she had ever witnessed during the eight years of mentoring her.

— I know that clearly, Ms. Tuyet. But I also know, if I don't do anything, and something happens, I will never be able to forgive myself again. Once in your life is enough.

That sentence made Anh Tuyet pause, her eyes softened, no longer the eyes of a team leader considering process risks, but the eyes of someone who had accompanied Dan through the pain five years ago, understanding better than anyone the weight that was weighing on her shoulders right now.

- Okay. I will stand behind you in this decision, no matter where it leads. But you must clearly tell Mr. Vinh about the level of risk he is taking, do not let him act without fully understanding the consequences.

Dan nodded, picked up the phone, her hands were no longer shaking. She dialed Vinh's number, waiting for each ring to pass in the tense silence of the on-call room at two-fifteen in the morning.

- Knit? What's up?

Vinh's voice immediately became alert when he heard the name appear on the screen at this hour, enough to understand that a call at two in the morning could not be a small matter.

— Mr. Vinh, I just received the fifth call. The little girl reported that her mother fainted, then there was the sound of a man screaming, the sound of struggling, then the line was silent for nearly a minute before it was completely disconnected. I heard intermittent breathing in that silence, but I didn't know whose it was.

There was a short silence from Vinh, enough for Dan to imagine him standing up, his hand clutching the phone tightly.

— Oh my god. Okay, tell me, what do you need?

— I need you to go straight to Lam Dien apartment building, knock on the doors of the two fourth-floor apartments facing the railroad tracks. I know you don't have an order, I know this is beyond what I have the right to ask of you. But I can't wait any longer.

— Dan, I understand that if you knock on the door and get nothing, you will have to explain a lot of things, and maybe even be disciplined for acting without authority during duty hours.

— I understand that clearly, brother. I don't force you to do it. I'm just telling you the truth, that I believe there's a seriously injured woman and a child facing that man alone right now, and I have no other way to help them other than asking you to trust me one more time.

The line was silent, only the sound of Vinh's breathing, heavy and thoughtful, as if he was having a conversation with his own professional conscience before giving an answer. Dan closed her eyes, waiting, knowing that his next answer could determine the fate of a long night that she had put all her energy into.

— I will go. — Vinh finally spoke, his voice was firm, without any hesitation. — But he wouldn't have broken down the door if there weren't obvious signs of danger as soon as he arrived. He can only knock on the door, request a check, and depending on the response of the person who opens the door, decide the next step. That's the last limit I can allow myself, Dan, I hope you understand.

— I understand, and I thank you for trusting me to this extent.

— I don't believe in a vague inference, Dan. I believe in you as a person, in the past eight years I have never seen you report a mistake once and make others pay the price for your caution. That's why he accepted this risk.

— That's enough, thank you very much.

— Don't say thank you yet. Go now, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay on the phone, I'll call you back right away.

The call ended, Dan put down the phone, looked at Anh Tuyet, the two did not say anything more, just exchanged a look that implicitly understood that from this moment, they had crossed a line from which they could no longer turn back.

Bao Ky, who had been standing nearby all this time, looked at both of them with a complicated expression, both worried and something like respect gradually forming.

— Ms. Dan, if Mr. Vinh gets into trouble because of this...

— I know, Ky. You will take full responsibility for your decision. But I cannot let a child pay the price just because we adults are busy arguing about what is enough grounds.

Bao Ky didn't say anything more, just nodded, pulled his chair closer to Dan's table, as a way to silently express that despite many concerns, he would not leave at this important moment. He reopened the debate in his mind about the line between process and intuition, and for the first time that night, he realized which side he was on without having to think any further.

The next fifteen minutes passed incredibly slowly, each second felt as heavy as a lead weight on the chests of all three people who were waiting together in silence, never taking their eyes off the phone placed in the middle of the table.

Dan took advantage of that time to once again review all the data he had collected, trying to find any small details that could help Vinh more accurately localize the area when he arrived, even though she knew that with only two suspicious apartments left, the rest largely depended on what he observed right at the scene. She reopened the map of the building she had sketched, stared at the two squares representing the two apartments, trying to figure out which door behind it hid an eight-year-old child and an injured mother.

Anh Tuyet quietly made Dan a cup of hot ginger tea, placed it on the table without saying anything, just a familiar gesture repeated from five years ago, when she also did the same thing on a similar long night. Dan looked at the cup of tea, didn't drink it right away, just let its heat warm his cold hands.