Chapter 7 — End of Line Bus 08

Phong called back at eleven o'clock at night, when Huy was preparing to board the 11:30 p.m. bus. His voice was lower than usual, like someone speaking in a space that didn't want an echo.

"The device in Ms. Tue's car is a very small wireless camera, transmitting a 4G signal. The image quality is quite good. I took it apart and gave it to someone I know in the criminal technology department to trace the origin, but it will take a day or two." Phong stopped. "Huy, do you know when this thing was installed in the car? If it's been there for a few days, that means they already know about everything you and Ms. Tue talked about in the car."

Huy stood still for a few seconds, processing that information. If there was a camera in the car before he got on the first night bus, they would know he found the notebook. Know Tue told about what she witnessed. Maybe you know that he met Ms. Hoa yesterday morning.

"Thank you," Huy said briefly. "You don't need to report this to your superiors."

A moment of hesitation. "Understood," Phong replied and hung up.

On the 11:30 p.m. bus tonight, Huy did not sit in his old position. He stood on the front staircase near the cockpit, below the point where the hidden camera had been mounted, avoiding being observed by any remaining equipment. Tue said nothing, just drove normally, but when the car reached the road through Dai Nam Dong area, she turned on the left turn signal and turned onto a branch road that was not on the normal route.

"Where are you going?" Huy asked softly.

"A passenger requested to stop at an unofficial stop," Tue said, looking straight ahead. "She got on the bus at the fourth stop, sitting at the back of the bus. When I looked in the rearview mirror, she kept glancing at the back of the car as if she was afraid of being followed. And she put a small piece of paper on the seat next to her, not in her pocket but right on the seat - as if she was intentionally letting someone see it."

Huy stepped slightly back. Bench near the back of the car: a woman, about forty-five years old, wearing a blue-gray worker's suit that had been washed so many times that the color had faded. His salt-and-pepper hair is tied high, his face has the features of someone used to working outdoors. Her hands rested on her thighs, fingers clasped tightly together. On the chair next to him was a folded piece of paper.

Huy quickly looked around - there were only four or five other people in the car, no one was paying attention to him - then sat down in the seat opposite the woman, not the seat with the paper.

"Hello," he said softly. "I'm a journalist."

The woman was not surprised. Her eyes looked at him, making a quick assessment. "Miss Tue told me that you are learning about people who disappeared." Her voice was slightly hoarse, perhaps because she worked for many years in a dusty environment. "My Mr. Four."

Vo Van Bon. Freelance bricklayer. Disappeared on October 18. Fourth name in the notebook.

Huy leaned back gently. "Let me hear it."

The woman - her name is Tham - spoke in a heartbreakingly calm voice, like someone who had long passed the crying stage and only had the dry truth left to be told. Her husband is a freelance bricklayer, has been in the profession for twenty years, and lives in camp number 7 - a tent area for workers to stay overnight near Dai Nam Dong construction site. Before he disappeared, Mr. Bon told his wife that the head security guard at the construction site asked him and several other workers to work the night shift, pouring concrete for part of the basement "without recording it in the construction logbook".

"Do not keep an exam diary public?" Huy sat up straight.

"He also found it strange. But they pay double the night shift, and he needs money to pay for his older son's tuition." Ms. Tham looked down at her hands. "He worked two nights. Tuesday night, he texted me saying he would be home late because he had work. Then never come back again."

"Do you know where that basement part is in the building?"

"No. But he took a few pictures with his phone because he saw something unusual while pouring concrete." Ms. Tham slowly pulled out an old phone from her pocket, the screen had a small crack in the bottom corner. "He left his secondary phone at home. They don't know this phone exists."

She turned on the screen and opened the photo gallery. There are about twelve photos, taken in poor lighting conditions at night, many of which are blurry due to shaky hands. But enough to see: black plastic drums were placed in concrete molds before pouring, some of them even protruding. And next to one of those boxes was an abandoned set of worker's protective clothing.

Huy stiffened. Those plastic containers are not construction materials. They are placed into concrete molds before pouring, and once poured, they are completely covered by concrete, permanently remaining there.

He knew what he was looking at as evidence of. But I need confirmation.

"Do you know what those plastic containers contain?"

Ms. Tham shook her head. But her eyes showed that she had asked herself that question many times and did not want to know the answer.

"Can I borrow this phone to copy photos?" Huy asked. "I'll return it right away."

Ms. Tham nodded. Huy quickly connected his phone to hers using AirDrop, transferring all twelve photos in less than a minute.

"Where are you?" he asked. "I mean the current permanent residence."

"I'm not in the camp anymore. After he disappeared, they kicked me out of the shack for 'running out of manpower needs'. I'm staying at my sister's house in Thu Duc, but I don't dare stay long because I'm afraid they'll find me."

"Do you have anyone you know in other localities? We need her to stay somewhere else for now, no one knows the address."

Ms. Tham looked at him with eyes that were both hopeful and fearful. "There is a cousin in Binh Duong. But do you think it's that necessary?"

Huy thought for a second, looking at the twelve photos that had just been transferred to his phone. The photos are not entirely clear, nor are they direct, irrefutable evidence. But they are clues, and in the right hands they could unlock more horrors. "I'm going to Binh Duong in the next week or two. And don't use your main phone. Only contact me through this number." He wrote his secondary SIM number on a small piece of torn paper.

The bus stopped at a dark spot on a side road. Tue does not announce stops - this is not an official station. Ms. Tham stood up and stuffed the piece of paper into her pocket.

"Mr. Huy," she said before stepping down. "You're on the right track. But be careful - the person who put the camera in Ms. Tue's car wasn't there to spy on you. They put it there to find people like me to approach you."

She got out of the car and disappeared into the darkness of the empty road. Car 08 started the engine and continued its journey into the night.

Huy sat down on the chair and looked at the twelve photos again on his phone. Plastic containers in concrete molds. Question The question he was most afraid of was echoing inescapably in his head. How many basements are there in the Dai Nam Dong project? And how many things have been concreted over, no one knows, no one is looking?

Those plastic containers are systematically placed into concrete molds. Not an accident, not accidentally forgotten. Someone had a plan. Someone gave an order. And workers like Mr. Bon were used to do that work, and then after knowing too much, they also disappeared in the same way - not into concrete, but somehow disappeared without anyone asking.

From the cockpit, Tue's voice echoed softly, just enough for him to hear over the noise of the engine: "Mr. Huy. Be careful behind the car. There has been a motorbike following since Ms. Tham got on the car. About twenty to twenty-five meters. Don't speed up, don't back up."

Huy did not turn around immediately to avoid letting the person on the motorbike know that he had discovered her. He slowly leaned against the window in the most natural way possible, then looked out through the glass. In the dim reflection of the streetlight on the glass, he caught sight of the silhouette of a motorbike traveling at the same speed as the bus, about twenty meters away. One person. Dark full face helmet. Don't go over, don't back out. Just follow.

"Can you slow down?" Huy asked softly.

"Have." The bus decelerated slightly, ten kilometers per hour. The motorbike behind also decreased, maintaining distance. It's not a random situation.

"Accelerate quickly, then stop suddenly at the next stop. I need to see how they react." Huy took out his phone, turned on the camera, and pointed it towards the right rearview mirror to record the image of the car following him.

Tue did not ask further. The bus accelerated suddenly, the brake lights lit up as it stopped at the next stop. The door opens. No one gets on or off at this station. In the fifteen seconds the door was open, he could see the motorbike behind him also stopping at a safe distance, waiting. When the door closed and car 08 continued to run, the motorbike continued to follow.

Professional. They know how to spy without being obvious.

Huy sent a short video via secondary SIM to Phong with a short note: "Being followed on car 08. The license plate follows if it can be read." He wasn't sure what Phong could do with this information in the middle of the night, but at least one more person knew.

When the car reached the last stop and Huy got off, the motorbike stopped at the beginning of the road, the lights turned off, waiting. Do not approach. No threat. Just observe.

The sixth witness had just gotten on and off bus 08. They had just learned about Ms. Tham. And now the clock is counting down for both sides - Huy needs to act before they find her, and they're counting down the time to decide if he knows too much.