Chapter 7 — The Thirteenth Landmark

The next morning, red numbers appeared on Bo Bac's door before any warning speakers sounded. The number stickerer left while it was still dark, leaving behind small signs saying "Priority areas for support". Below each number there is a plot code.

Phuc took nearly two hundred photos in one hour. He sent photos to the residents' group, then received more than forty messages asking if their houses were about to be demolished.

An stood in the middle of Reed Street, holding a water level gauge and data recorder. It's sunny, but RiverEye's forecast has put the North Coast into alert level three. Families that are marked are given relocation registration forms. The support level is slightly higher than the market price, but only applies for seven days.

“They want us to panic and sign,” said a woman selling dry goods.

“Have you received the paper yet?” An asked.

"Yes. They said if you don't sign, when the flood comes, you'll have to bear it."

An looked at the ballot. The line "voluntary" is printed in small print, while the word "high risk of flooding" is in the middle of the page in red ink. The attached map has no contour lines, just a filled area.

“You keep the original,” An instructed. “Don't sign now.”

A middle-aged man recognized her. “Are you from the center?”

“I'm a data validation engineer.”

“So tell me, where is the water?”

An looked towards the embankment. The river surface is nearly half a meter lower than the warning line. “Currently there is no flood.”

“But they told the flood to come.”

“The data is being checked.”

The man smiled bitterly. “You sound like them.”

An does not blame. She knew a technical answer could not erase a signature on paper.

Khoi appeared with life jackets and a list of elderly people who needed to be moved. He pulled An out of the crowd.

"The south embankment just released a small amount of water. They call it a pressure test."

“Did anyone sign the order?”

“The electronic board says Hoang Nam.”

“He was the last one to sign?”

“Not sure yet. But the electronic signature was created at 5:13.”

An remembers the hidden message: find the last person to sign the order tomorrow. Tomorrow in the message could be today. She called Bich.

“I need a record of Nam's electronic signature.”

"I'm asking for data from a source in the center. But the source wants you to stop seeing Khoi."

"Why?"

“Because they said Khoi had been disciplined.”

“He was disciplined for saving people outside his area of responsibility.”

“I know. But the supplier doesn't know.”

An turned off the phone. Khoi looked at her.

“Bich doesn't want me near?”

“Bich wants us not to make ourselves targets.”

"It's late."

A short whistle sounded. Tan Giang's car stopped at the beginning of the street. Vu Hai Duy walked down with Ha, the legal woman yesterday. They pass by the doors of houses with red numbers, greeting people with proper smiles.

Duy stopped in front of the dry goods seller's house.

“We just want to help her move to a safer place,” he said.

“I don't sell houses.”

"No one forced her. But water was predicted."

An stepped forward. “What sensors are the forecasts based on?”

Duy turned to her. “Miss Lam is working outside the scope again.”

“I'm checking the public figures.”

“And you come to a conclusion?”

“The data is not enough to issue a level three alert.”

Duy laughed. “If we wait for enough data, people will be passive.”

“If we give them the wrong warning, they will lose their homes.”

“A house can be rebuilt. A life cannot.”

“No one can use human life to force the sale of land.”

Ha walked up and gave An a document. “This is a reminder not to speak on behalf of the city street.”

An did not accept. “I have not spoken on behalf of anyone.”

“You are undermining trust in the warning system.”

“Trust is not something that is protected by hiding data.”

Duy looked at the people gathering. He lowered his voice to An:

“You want to know who your father saved, right? Ask your mother how much he received.”

An felt his fingers shrink. She didn't answer, just turned to the residents.

“Everyone has the right to request the original water level map and warning time. Please take a photo of all documents before signing.”

Ha moved forward, but Khoi stood between the two of them.

“This is a residential area, not a meeting room,” he said.

Duy looked at Khoi. “Are you still using anger as a substitute for process?”

“I use boats to replace cars that don't come.”

Duy did not say more. He got in the car, but before the door closed, his eyes stopped on Phuc who was filming a video at the end of the street.

That afternoon, Bich sent An a copy of a signature file. Account name: HNAM-CTRL. Time: 05:13. The authentication code was generated from a device located at the northern pump warehouse, not the center.

“Where is Nam Ky?” An asked.

“If the log is correct, he's at the pump depot.”

“Which warehouse?”

“Warehouse number 4.”

An looked at the key in his pocket. Nam may not have been the controller, but he definitely went back to where her father hid the files.

Khoi took An to the pump warehouse at dusk. The outside door is not locked. Inside there are four high-capacity pumps and pipelines leading to Can lagoon. A new control panel is installed, the red indicator light flashes.

“No one,” Khoi said.

An inspection of the floor. There was fresh mud and a broken access card. The name Hoang Nam is printed on the card.

A starter pump. The sound vibrates in the background, the water in the pipe rises. An looked at the pressure gauge. Kim crossed the green within forty seconds.

“Turn it off!” she shouted.

Khoi ran to the switch, but the control panel did not respond. An opened the electrical cabinet and saw that the control wire was shorted through a timer. The small screen shows: “CYCLE 13”.

“They are pumping water into the lagoon,” An said.

“Why?”

“To create pressure differential. If the water in the lagoon is high, they can say the North Bank sewer is about to burst.”

Khoi used pliers to cut the timing wire. The pump stopped, but the water had risen another twenty centimeters.

A figure appeared behind the glass door. An thought it was Nam, but that person was a boy about fourteen years old, wearing a worker's shirt that was too loose. He panicked when he saw them.

“Do you work here?” Khoi asked.

“I was just told to turn on the phone.”

“Who said?”

“One guy wears a ring.”

“Do you know the name?”

He shook his head, but handed out a piece of paper with a phone number. An realized that the last three numbers had the same code on the oil paper.

“Who are you giving this to?”

“He said if anyone asks, say this is the rescue number.”

Khoi called in. The phone rang right in the warehouse, from a locked iron cabinet. They broke the lock and found a telephone and a set of house marking slips.

At the top is a map of the North Bank, but the red zone is not for relocation. Each house has a price code, arranged from low to high. Reed Street is at the top of the list because of "convenient access, weak opposition".

An took a picture of the whole thing. The boy looked at her, his face pale.

“Are you being forced?”

“My mother works at the construction site. They said if you don't turn it on, they'll give you a break."

An wrote down his name and mother's phone number, then called Bich's support line. The boy didn't want to come out, but Khoi said he would give it all family to safety.

As they left the warehouse, a text message from an unknown number arrived on An's phone:

Mark 13 is just a clock. The person holding the key is the one who decides where the water flows.

An looked at the semi-circular key. The message is no longer a warning. It is an affirmation that the person behind knows every step she takes.

During the night, the Tan Giang project map was updated on the city information portal. The North Bank area is officially classified as a "post-disaster reconstruction" area.

No natural disasters occurred.

But on the RiverEye monitor, water levels have begun to rise.

Phuc did not delete the video despite An's request. He just moved it to a new account, turned off comments, and added a note that the person in the picture had not been identified.

“I don't want to become someone who spreads rumors,” Phuc said. “But I also don't want them to tell people they saw it wrong.”

An reviews each frame. People wearing silver rings don't just put a price code on the door. He also took pictures of the electricity meter, water tank and the exit behind each house. It's a forced survey, not a support list.

Khoi took her to the house of Mr. Sau, the oldest man on Reed Street. He kept an old household registration book and knew every escape route across the canal. When he heard about being marked, he took out a wooden ruler hanging on the wall.

“Your father used to use this to measure water levels,” he said. “He doesn't trust the electric meter when the battery is almost dead.”

The ruler has blue and red lines. At the 3.0 meter mark, Mr. Vu wrote one word: "long road". At the 3.4 meter mark, he wrote: "hospital".

An asked: "How much can the North Bank withstand?"

Mr. Sau pointed to the 2.8 line. "Low houses are flooded. People still have a way to get to the dike."

“They said they were going to high school.”

“The real water hasn't come yet.”

“But they are pumping.”

Mr. Sau looked towards the construction site. "I know. I answer the phone every morning."

They went from house to house, re-measured the ground and recorded the difference compared to the map. Some apartments are forty centimeters higher than reported, some are ten centimeters lower. The errors are not just due to the data. Some homes are intentionally understated to be subject to repossession.

Bich interviewed people but did not ask if they would sell or not. She asked who came, what papers they brought, and what words they said. The answers repeat the same phrase: "If we don't sign, we won't be responsible when the water arrives."

An wrote that sentence in the notebook. It's not a technical warning; it is a disclaimer.

At the end of the day, she called Duy. He listened but did not speak.

“Do you know your people mark up house prices?”

“Tan Giang has a site clearance department.”

“I asked you.”

“You're trying to force me to admit everything.”

“I'm giving you a chance to speak before the data speaks for itself.”

Duy was silent for so long that An thought the call had been disconnected. Finally he said:

"That neighborhood is located on the old lake. I warned from the beginning that building there was dangerous."

“So why did you still sign?”

“I didn't sign the whole thing.”

“But you hold the ring.”

“The ring belongs to the family, not the license.”

"The person wearing the ring today is Dang Quoc Duy."

The end of the line echoed with breathing sounds. “You don't understand him.”

“So tell me.”

"He's not one to give orders. He just likes to think he's one to give orders."

“Who gave the order?”

“You wouldn't want to know.”

“I knew enough not to turn back.”

Duy hung up the phone.

That night, Phuc sent An another map. He took it from a contractor's computer and marked the houses with compensation prices. Reed Street is the lowest, but has three apartments close to the embankment have unusually high prices.

"Why?" An asked.

“Because they are located on the technical tunnel,” Phuc replied. “Whoever buys it will keep access to the water line.”

An zoomed in on three houses. One apartment belongs to Mr. Sau. One room belongs to the mother of a family with a feverish child. The third apartment has been vacant for a long time.

Below the map is a line of code: “priority recall — window zero.”

An understands that the plan is not just to get land to build a house. They need those three apartments to open the way to the water tunnel without having to ask residents' permission.

Khoi looked at her. “Don't say you're planning to go there right away.”

“No. I was going to let them think we didn't know.”

“I learned Bich's way of talking.”

“I learned from people who didn't want to be pushed into the water.”