I just stormed out of the café, forgetting everything. Neither the coffee nor the newspaper I'd been reading stuck in my mind. I hadn't even found the chance to pay the bill. What had happened was hiding right before my eyes. It was there, as if mocking me. Taunting me. It felt like if I reached out my hands, I could almost grab it.
And so I ran, cutting through the heavy monsoon rain like a surgeon's precise blade against my skin. The first thing that came to mind was that fire station building. I jumped on the next bus. It was a one and a half hour ride. Of course, it had to be there. Forman... he was mentioned in one of those documents I'd read. I remember it clearly. It was the first day I came, during that one-sided introduction with Fuat. The document was in English. It was the first place the foreman's name appeared. Was it the same person? Even if not, it was worth a try. There had to be something I could find... maybe the tiniest scrap of evidence. Even the smallest clue would be enough, maybe.
I thought all this as the bus made its way toward Saigon. After more than an hour, I had arrived at this Southeast Asian metropolis. I started running, the monsoon rain pouring down. Even soaking wet, I didn't care at all about my condition. I ran straight to that building still under lockdown. Normally, I knew I couldn't get in. I tried to talk my way past the officers guarding the place, some high-ranking police or something. Even flashing my rank insignia was useless... I cursed loudly. Then I tried again and again. Each time, every door slammed shut in my face. The more I tried, the deeper I sank. Normally, following the "Show, don't tell" rule, these conversations should be included, but honestly, I didn't care much.
After that, I gave up. Standing under the heavy rain, soaked to the bone, I threw myself toward the bus stop to escape the monsoon. I reached into my pocket to pull out a cigarette — but the only thing I found was an empty pocket. I cursed that too.
I could have tried to get in indirectly. Maybe as an escort or somehow managing to get special permission. But then I wouldn't be alone. Someone would be watching over me. I couldn't explain my situation anyway. Being treated like a madman was one thing (and who trusts someone making accusations based on rare hallucinations?) Even if I got inside, I might not reach that document. At best, it might've been transferred or destroyed. If they had enough influence over the fire station, that wouldn't be hard for them. Plus, they could watch me with their reach.
In these conditions, I couldn't trust anyone. I had to take a huge risk. Getting in meant risking exposure. It wasn't something you could easily do. Someone could be on my tail at any moment. Maybe they already were.
But I had no choice but to take the risk — and I did.
I circled the building. The heavy monsoon masked the sound of my footsteps. There had to be a weak spot. Even though I couldn't examine it closely, there must've been a blind spot in the police blockade. The blind spot I could call the building's "dead zone" was about 50 meters from the service area — the place I needed to reach. I had to buy time to get there.
The first thing that came to mind was the handgun I carried at my waist. Could I fire one or a few shots and slip away? Maybe I could buy myself about a minute. Of course, how hard that would be was obvious. The chance of getting caught was high. Plus, it could ruin my military career. If I got caught...
Should I really do this? Was there another way? If what I suspected was true, there might be no other way to get to it. If I wanted to investigate, it was a risk I had to take... but I could ruin everything. Did I really want that?
I'm not good at overthinking. I'm more an action guy. If I knew I'd think this much, maybe I'd have tried forcing my way through the front door. That'd be an exaggeration, but maybe even more effective. If I wanted to throw everything away, that would've been the way. There was no other way anyway... so I walked slowly toward the blind spot where I could fire. It was now all or nothing. I reached my hand to the holster on my waist and...
The three shots I fired opened a window for movement. The investigation forces scattered like a flock of startled birds, focusing all their attention on one point. I don't know how far I ran, but I found the spot to jump. I climbed up quickly. I didn't have much time anyway... the service system was right in front of me.
I threw myself inside immediately. I don't know how far I crawled inside. I felt my way through, blindly groping the path, and finally reached the entrance on the first floor.
It was chaos everywhere. Uniformed and plainclothes police were everywhere. Military police were there too. Because of the alarm and the gunshots, everyone was looking into every corner, searching for the intruder. They were carefully inspecting every nook.
Under these conditions, moving was already difficult. I found a cover spot. I knew where I had to go. All the documents were either in the storage on the lowest floor — which must be packed with people because of the investigation — or in the few lockers on this floor...
The only thing I could think of was causing a distraction. If I created chaos, I could get out of here. The first thing that came to mind was the plumbing system. If I could blow it up, water would flood everywhere and give me a chance to move. The plumbing pipes passed through this floor, so it wasn't impossible. The main problem was the security forces here. I had to be in the cafeteria area on the first floor. It was relatively less crowded.
So I was able to slip inside more easily, heading toward the offices. I moved with soft steps deeper in. A few police officers were rifling through the office desks, searching. I had to get them out of the way to reach the pipe. Luckily, on one of the desks, some plastic gloves caught my eye. I put them on to avoid leaving fingerprints...
The two officers were quite close to each other. Naturally, I had to take both down without showing my face. Taking cover, I approached them. Both had their faces turned towards each other, debating something in their own language.
I strangled one silently until he passed out, then, without showing my face, threw a few punches at the other. Taking advantage of his confusion, I knocked him out the same way. I dragged both under the desk and then stepped carefully past the pipe. A couple more cops were stationed nearby; I'd have to draw them away elsewhere.
I pulled out my lighter from my pocket. The first thing that came to mind was setting the desk on fire. Since the building was concrete, it wouldn't easily catch fire, so I wasn't worried about a blaze. As soon as they saw the flames and rushed over, I took the chance to open the maintenance system hatch. What came next was like unraveling a thread. Using the water pressure, I easily slipped down to the lower floor.
They had sounded an alert, so luckily the area was empty. It was a huge mistake. Leaving this place unattended in such a critical situation could only be chalked up to amateurism. Well, my entrance was practically a circus anyway. The security gaps were enormous... and I was also lucky, of course.
I searched through everything for that document. It had to be around here somewhere. It was only about a week old anyway. Of course, if Forman or anyone else had influence inside, destroying the document wouldn't have been difficult. But at least if it remained...
No matter how much I looked, I couldn't find it. I checked dates, classifications, types, even things that could be considered ephemera. The only place left in my mind was the Chief of Staff's office. Luckily, there was direct transit to the third floor from here, right to the Chief's office. I threw myself into the elevator and went up.
The floor was eerily empty. So empty it was unsettling... Even walking half a step on the synthetic tiles would've made noise, but it was unnecessary to be cautious really. Somehow the upper floor was empty... clearly unsettling.
I reached the door after a short walk down the corridor. I fished out a couple of paper clips from my pocket. No matter how secure the lock system was, there was a tiny vulnerability against lockpicking. A small opening was left just enough for the tip of a paper clip. Normally, if you tried lockpicking, the clips would snap and get stuck in the lock. Still... with the right method, that door could be opened with some force. As an intelligence agent, I knew that method well. So I used it and opened the door.
I entered, and just in case, pushed a chair in front of the door on the left side.
It was a medium-sized room. Very classic: a desk, a bookcase, a few filing cabinets, and some random clutter. The desk and the area around it were covered with crime scene investigation stuff—those things brought in for research, you know. I searched around for a while, looking for anything that might help me. But there was nothing.
I kept searching the document. I checked every corner carefully, every book, every item, every piece of furniture one by one. It was like it vanished into thin air. Under the chair and the seat, the weird spots on the desk, even in the drawers. Nothing useful, no sign of the document. At last, I scanned the drawers one more time, just in case I missed something.
Then something stranger caught my eye. A barely noticeable small bulge on the first drawer of the desk. It was extremely hard to see, but I felt it by touch. With a little fiddling, I noticed the wooden base of the drawer was lifted. There was a notebook there... I didn't have time to read it, but I skimmed it quickly. They were Remzi's personal notes. Some strange things stood out—things that should be transcribed... and the document I was after—the one I'd gotten during that one-sided meeting with Fuat. I had handed it to Muzaffer.
The document was about an arms shipment from Palawan to South Vietnam. It wasn't top secret by any means, just intelligence speculation. But the thing I was looking for was here. Somehow, Forman's name was mentioned. The notorious American trust... probably supplying the regional cartel or similar groups through shell companies. And more... somehow it was in Remzi's hands.
Remzi, due to his political views, was opposed to these things, but here there was something different... why would an American trust be shipping weapons here? It started to make sense in a way. Remzi died in a political conflict. Probably right before he could expose the document... a powerful weapon. He was taken down before he could use his trump card. But why? Why would weapons be sent here through shell companies all of a sudden? Vietnam wasn't a place to profit from commercially. South and Central America or Sub-Saharan Africa... those would bring twenty times the profit. Politically, they wouldn't gain anything either... it wasn't the right time for that. But one thing I knew for sure... this guy was definitely involved. As I said, Remzi most likely fell victim to a foreign policy assassination. An unsolved case.
Thinking all this, I headed for the door, pushed the chair back into place, and took a deep breath before stepping out. What was left now was to flee. Flee and think. What I could do...
Click!
I felt the cold metal on the back of my neck. A single bullet away from my head being blown to pieces.