Chapter 4 — The Thirteenth Landmark

The drill was announced at eight in the morning and started at eight-fifteen, faster than any procedure An had ever seen. The Operations Center calls it “multi-stage response testing”; North Coast people call it by another name: siren.

An stood in front of the big screen with Hoang Nam and nearly twenty technicians. Digital map showing twelve RiverEye stations with blue dots. Dot number nine flashes yellow, then turns red. The water level in the Can lagoon area increased from 2.18 to 2.71 in just three minutes.

“This data is improbable,” An said.

Nam did not look at her. “Follow level two alert procedures.”

"The actual water level today is lower than yesterday. There is no upstream rain, wind pressure is stable."

“RiverEye is simulating the scenario.”

“Rehearsal must have the label simulation.”

“The label is already in the system.”

An pointed to the corner of the screen. There are no labels. Only status line: LIVE.

The internal loudspeaker broadcasts a signal asking people to move away from the North Bank area. A shortened map appeared on the secondary screen, red covering twelve streets. She realized the boundary did not coincide with the natural watershed. The houses close to the foot of the dike are not marked, and the vacant land next to the Tan Giang project is located in the "danger" zone.

“Who drew the warning zone?” An asked.

Nam replied after a few seconds: “Modeling department.”

“Your name?”

“You don't need to know.”

An took a screenshot. The technician next to her saw and secretly pulled her sleeve.

“Don't take pictures here.”

"Why?"

“Camera.”

An looked up at the ceiling. Six cameras rotate slowly, blue lights flicker. She put away her phone.

Outside, rescue buses were dispatched to the North Bank. Staff wearing reflective vests set up barricades on two routes. People panicked, taking children and carrying bags, but no one could explain why the clear weather had to evacuate. A group of Tan Giang employees distributed leaflets pledging to support relocation costs.

An knew that the word "voluntary" in the flyer only meant that the person who signed would be paid less than the person who signed early.

Khoi called her from a side stop.

"We're taking the elderly out of Reed Street. The water hasn't risen yet, but the barrier is blocking the main road."

“Don't take the red line.”

“Who drew the red line?”

“I'm looking.”

"Found quickly. Someone turned the exercise into a real evacuation."

Call was interrupted. An turned back to the screen and saw dot number nine change from red to green, as if there had never been a warning. The log line only had one update left at 8:21.

“What just happened?” she asked.

Nam typing on the keyboard. “Data Cleaning Filters.”

“Filters are not allowed to delete alarm history.”

“Today is allowed.”

“Who gave permission?”

Nam turned to her. “Do you want to lose your contract today?”

An did not answer. She opened the paper book, wrote down the time, data and the sentence Nam had just said.

At noon, the Operations Center held a press conference. Vu Hai Duy appeared on stage wearing a blue shirt and no tie. He talked about social responsibility, about livable cities, and about exercises to help people get used to warning technology. Behind him is the image of Tan Giang urban area with an artificial lake and clean roads.

Ngoc Bich had just arrived in Ha Luu and stood outside the meeting room calling An.

“I heard that forty households received relocation invitations during the exercise.”

“I see it too.”

"I have the name of the company that signed the land valuation contract. It's a subsidiary of Tan Giang."

“Send me.”

“You are standing next to Duy right Are not?"

"Are not. But he knew I was looking.”

Duy ended his speech by inviting residents of the North Bank to participate in a "civilized resettlement program". Right after that, he walked straight to An.

“Miss Lam, I heard you are in charge of RiverEye inspection.”

“I'm in charge of data calibration.”

“It's also an inspection. I want to thank you for making the rehearsal a success.”

“The drill had a fake water peak.”

Duy smiled, his eyes unchanged. “The closer the simulation is to reality, the more useful it is.”

“Simulations must be declared as simulations.”

“You're talking about technique. I'm talking about safety.”

“Security cannot be based on deleted data.”

Duy leaned over, his voice lowered. “Her father used to think he understood the country better than the people in charge. He made the whole city pay the price.”

An felt his hands get cold. Duy continued, softly as if asking about his health:

“I hope you don't repeat that mistake.”

“I also hope you will not repeat the behavior of those who caused his death.”

Duy's smile disappeared. Hoang Nam stepped forward and interrupted the conversation.

“Mr. Duy, the media team is waiting.”

Duy turned to leave, but before leaving, he said: "You should sleep in a safe place tonight."

An didn't know if it was advice or a threat.

Late afternoon, she and Bich met at a noodle shop next to the bridge. Bich brought a laptop and a printed file. She was thinner than the last time An saw her, her hair was cut to shoulder length, and she had a small tape recorder in her ear.

“This is Moc Luu company,” Bich said. “They priced the North Coast land three months ago. The report predicts the area will be at risk of severe flooding within two years.”

“Two more years?”

"Correct. But today they brought the car.”

An opens the warning map. Bich superimposed on the planning map. RiverEye's red area coincides almost perfectly with the first phase boundary of Tan Giang.

“If it's a coincidence, it's so beautiful,” Bich said.

“It's not a coincidence.”

An told about Milestone 13, the recording box and warehouse number 4. Bich did not interrupt. When listening to the last file, she asked to play it again three times.

“This voice is not your father.”

“I know.”

“I recognize the pronunciation. The speaker used to work as a construction inspector. Maybe…”

Bich stopped and looked through his contacts.

“Phan Duc Loc. That year he was the head of the inspection team. Now retired.”

"Where?"

“Right in Ha Luu. But you shouldn't come alone.”

An looked through the window. On the riverbank, new steel stakes are aligned like giant measuring lines. A white pickup truck parked across the street. The man wearing an arc-shaped silver ring is sitting in the car.

“I don't have much time,” An said.

“You can have a lifetime if you know when to stop.”

“Mark 13 recorded 2.47 meters. If it's right, RiverEye isn't just wrong. It is covering another water level.”

Bich closes the laptop. “Then go find someone who can read that number.”

That night, An went to her mother's house. Phuc is sitting in front of the computer, his face lit up by a video he just downloaded.

“Look at this.”

Video recorded from a phone shows Tan Giang staff going door to door on Say Street. They put red stickers on the doors, measured the yard, and asked the residents' ages. At thirty-seven seconds, a man leans down and says to the camera:

“Mark this area first. If there is water in the drill tomorrow, prices will go down.”

Phuc zoomed in on that person's face. The arc-shaped silver ring is clearly visible.

An felt his chest become heavy.

“Where did you get the video?”

“A vegetable seller sent it. I posted it on my page.”

“Delete now.”

"Why?"

“Because they will find you.”

“They already looked.”

Phuc pointed out the window. A white pickup truck just parked across the street.

Mrs. Hanh walked out of the kitchen, holding a half-moon key. “An, come inside.”

“Mom, don't hide it anymore.”

“Mom didn't hide it.”

“I just said your father received the money. What else do you know?

Mrs. Hanh looked at the car on the street, then gave her the key again.

“There's one more thing in warehouse number 4. The tape is just a message. Your father kept the original in a place where no one would think of it.”

"Where?"

“Just below Mark 13.”

An opened his eyes wide. The old water mark is more than just a measuring device. It's a lockbox in the middle of a city that's being erased from the map.

Outside, the pickup truck started. Headlights swept through the shop door, turning the teacups on the table into streaks of white light.

Bich texted a single sentence: Phan Duc Loc just called me. He said your father wasn't the one who opened the sewer first.

An holds the key. This time, Mrs. Hanh did not tell her not to go.

“If you can open it,” Mom said, “you must accept everything that is inside.”

An looked towards the river. The water is still low, but the sound of pumps from the Tan Giang project echoes through the night, steadily like a heart testing its rhythm.

An did not return to the hotel. She drove around three streets, checked to see if the white pickup was following, then parked in the backyard of the tea shop. Mrs. Hanh had already left a mat on the warehouse floor.

“I didn't ask what you did,” she said.

“Mom, there's no need to ask. I will tell.”

An told about the red warning zone, the relocation tickets and Duy's words. Mrs. Hanh listened until she mentioned that Mr. Vu had signed the order in the past. She took out the tin box and placed it on the table.

“There's another receipt in here,” she said. “I found it after you left.”

The receipt was from a field hospital, dated September 12. The two transmitters were delivered to the North Shore at 4:30, but the delivery list listed the time as 6:10. An calculated the distance and understood: someone had changed the time to prove that the hospital was only saved after the sewer opened.

“How long will you keep it?”

“Since moving house.”

“Why only now?”

“Because I don't know it's important. I only know that your father's signature is under the name of a person I never met."

An read the name: Nguyen Dieu Trang.

Phuc walked in from the yard, carrying an old radio. “I found this in the pump warehouse.”

“When did you get in there?”

“When everyone was at the meeting. I just recorded the video, didn't remove anything."

The radio did not have a battery, but on the back there was a sticker: Channel 13 — for use when network is lost. An remembers the sound file has a bell ringing three times.

Khoi called and said the rescue team had found Thao's old warehouse. In the device list, a channel 13 transmitter is still listed as “unrecovered.”

An looked at her mother. “I have to go.”

“I can go anywhere. But don't go thinking you can fix it all alone.”

“I don't think so.”

“You're holding the whole city in a tape recorder.”

An placed the radio on the table. “I just want to know who muted it.”

That night, they found the key to the rescue warehouse in an expired medicine box. Phuc charges the radio with a homemade cord. When the machine was turned on, channel 13 played a crackling sound, then a woman's voice read out the names of each evacuated household. Last name is Thao.

Khoi listened over the radio and said nothing. When the voice finished reading, he only asked:

“What do you hear?”

An replied: “A person did the right thing me."

“And then?”

“Then someone changed the time.”

Khoi exhaled. “Then we'll find that person tomorrow morning.”

Outside in the yard, Tan Giang's pump is still running regularly. The pumping rhythm no longer resembles the heart. It sounded like someone knocking on the door, patiently waiting for someone inside to open it.