Chapter 5 — End of Line Bus 08

The bus trip at 11:30 p.m. that day passed without any unusual events. That didn't relieve Huy - on the contrary, it made him more alert. Those who had just warned him in the afternoon were now cautious and observing. They know you got on this bus. Maybe they are also on this bus, he just hasn't determined yet.

When the car reached the last stop and passengers got off one by one, Huy stayed until the last person. Tue was writing the shift handover book, but did not look up but said softly: "Tomorrow morning at seven o'clock, Nguyen Van Tang street, near the intersection with Ha Huy Giap. There is someone you need to meet."

Huy did not ask further. He got out of the car and walked towards the taxi station, feeling some eyes following his back on the empty road.

---

Early the next morning, Huy arrived on time. Tue stood there, not wearing a uniform, wearing a gray T-shirt and jeans, looking completely different when not behind the wheel of a ten-ton machine.

"The person you need to meet is Ms. Hoa," Tue said by way of greeting. "Dinh Trong Quy's wife. She doesn't want her family to know she's talking to a journalist, so I made an appointment here."

They entered a small beef noodle shop and found a table hidden in the corner. A woman named Hoa was waiting - about forty years old, her face was haggard like someone who hadn't slept for a long time, her hands on the table always clasped together and then let go. She was dressed in business clothes, perhaps taking advantage of breakfast time before going to work.

"My husband has been missing for a month and seven days," Ms. Hoa said as soon as Tue introduced Huy. No greetings, no beating around the bush. The words of someone who has repeated this in his head so many times that it no longer needs context. "There was no letter, no phone call, nothing. I reported to the police, they said to wait more. I kept asking and kept waiting."

"What were you doing before you disappeared?" Huy asked gently.

"He is a construction surveying engineer, working for several small construction companies. Last August, he was accepted to work on a short-term contract for a subcontracting company of Dai Nam Dong. The job was to measure the geology for the project's foundation." Ms. Hoa stopped, her hands clasped tighter. "Around mid-September, he came home late, didn't have dinner, went into his room and closed the door. I asked why he came home so late, he just said he discovered some problem at the construction site and was worried."

"Did he tell you specifically what the problem was?"

"He said it was inconvenient to say, but if what he calculated was correct, then that building was dangerous. I don't understand much about engineering, but I saw that he was really worried. He's not a worried person."

Huy took quick notes. Surveying engineers discovered geological problems in the project's foundation. If this information leaks out, it could paralyze the entire megaproject worth billions of dollars. "What did he do with that information then?"

"He intended to report to his superiors in the subcontracting company. But a week later, his contract was terminated early on the grounds of restructuring. He did not receive any compensation, only his last month's salary. And they confiscated all of his documents, drawings, and measuring equipment."

"Recover all measuring equipment?"

"Even the personal notes he handwrote during work. They said they were company property." Ms. Hoa looked straight into Huy's eyes for the first time. "But he was able to take pictures some important document pages before submitting. And he filed a complaint with the district's Civil Reception Office, along with those pictures."

This is the final link. Complaint with photographic evidence - that's why he had to disappear, not just be fired. "Do you know where he left copies of those pictures?"

Ms. Hoa pulled her handbag up from under the table and took out an old, crumpled brown paper envelope. "He gave it to me to keep, a week before he disappeared. Say if anything happens, give it to someone who can do something about it." She put the envelope on the table and looked at Tue. "Miss Tue said Mr. Huy can do it."

Huy looked at Tue - the driver just nodded slightly. He picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside were about twenty sheets of printed paper, each containing a photo of a computer screen or technical document. Detailed technical drawings of the underground geological structure, tables of measurement data, and a handwritten sheet of paper that Huy recognized as having different handwriting than the sheepskin notebook, but the content covered the same topic: the Lot B area of the Dai Nam Dong project was located on an unstable soft clay layer, not strong enough to bear the load of the sixty-storey tower according to the design.

"I will need these documents," Huy said slowly. "And I will need the name of the subcontractor company that Mr. Quy works for, along with the name of the person in charge of signing the contract with him."

Ms. Hoa provided that information within two minutes, clearly and in detail - evidence of someone who had been preparing for this meeting for a long time. Before getting up to go to work, she held Huy's hand for a second: "Find him for me. Or if that's not possible, at least let people know the truth."

After Ms. Hoa left, Huy and Tue sat for a few more minutes in silence. Tue sipped a cup of black coffee, looking out at the street that was starting to get lively.

"Since when have you known her?" Huy asked.

"Since Mr. Quy started taking the 08 bus regularly at night, about two months before his disappearance. He often sits in the row near the door, looking out the window. One day he and I talked when the car was stuck at a red light for a long time. He said he was worried about something, but didn't know who to believe." Tue put down the glass. "After he disappeared, I looked for Ms. Hoa."

Huy looked at the young driver with a completely new perspective. "You were investigating before I even showed up."

"I'm not a journalist," Tue shook her head. "I just drove and observed. But I can't just drive and pretend I didn't see anything."

That afternoon, Huy went to the address on Dinh Trong Quy's contract documents - a small alley in Linh Trung ward. The homeowner, an elderly woman in her sixties, said Mr. Quy moved out more than a month ago without answering the phone and without leaving a new address. "But it's strange," the old lady added, "there's no sign of his room being packed away. The clothes are still hanging there. Shoes are left at the door. Just people disappearing."

"Who lives in that room now?"

"Idle. I don't dare to rent it out because the furniture is still there, in case he comes back to get it."

Huy persuaded the old lady to let him see the room. The room door does not have an additional lock, just a latch on the outside. When the door opened, the musty, musty smell of a long-closed space rushed in.

The room is small, about eight square meters. The single bed is neatly covered with blankets. Office clothes hanging above hook. Honeycomb sandals and old leather shoes left on the ground. On the small desk is an old desktop computer - black screen, power cord not plugged into the outlet. Next to it is a magnifying glass and some technical pencils.

Huy sat down in the chair in front of the table, looking around the room. All objects are here. Just missing people.

He opened the desk drawer - it was empty. Open the lower compartment - an old dictionary and a few utility bills. Nothing unusual. But when he pulled the computer off the table to look at the back, he noticed something strange: the USB port on the back of the computer was scratched in one direction - not the type of scratch that comes from plugging in and removing a normal USB, but the type of scratch that comes from someone deliberately jamming something in and pulling it out quickly. It was as if someone had taken away a storage device that was already plugged in.

This room is not a place where one leaves on their own. This is where a person's body is taken - along with any remaining electronic evidence. And leaving clothes and shoes behind - that's the message: don't look, because this person won't come back again.

Huy stood up, took a few photos of the room with his phone, then walked out. The old lady of the house looked at him with concern. "Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," Huy said. Then added: "If anyone comes to ask about this room or about Mr. Quy, please remember to save their phone number."

On the way home, Huy heard a text message from Tue: "Tonight at 11:30 p.m., get in the car. I have something to show you." Attached is a screenshot from a personal camera video file - a blurry image but clear enough to make out the silhouette of a man sandwiched between two others, being led off the bus at a dark stop.

Under the photo, Tue added: "The night of November 1. Dinh Trong Quy. Last time I saw him."