Chapter 32: Tobias – Location

Part of me feels like Tris has gone to Erudite. I know it's an overreaction, but I can't seem to clear the comparison from my head. All I can think is that she's out of my sight and beyond my reach if she needs help, and she's potentially in danger. And the worry eats at me more and more the longer the day stretches on.

It would be better if we had something interesting to do – anything to distract me – but instead we walk as we did yesterday. We're all in one group, since we only have Margot to guide us today, and we trudge along streets that are farther away from the buildings, but other than that, it's exactly the same as yesterday. And just as frustrating.

My father is walking more normally now, apparently having healed some overnight. I guess he slept better than I did. That shouldn't surprise me; he's had plenty of experience sleeping soundly regardless of what happened during the day. I, on the other hand, can't even remember the last time I got a full night's sleep…. I guess it was back in Dauntless, months ago, before I found the war plans. Before initiation began. Before I found out Eric would be overseeing the training. Before I began worrying about Uriah showing his Divergence. Before thoughts of Tris kept me awake until the early hours of the morning, only to be followed by nightmares about what might happen to her. Before the war and everything that has happened since. Before this mission that has left me facing my only four fears at every conceivable moment. It's been a very long time….

I move my gaze away from Marcus, trying to shift my train of thought. It's hard enough to deal with him on a good day. Right now, it's beyond foolish to dwell on him.

I'm not sure it's an improvement when my eyes fall on Peter. He's been keeping his distance from me and Uriah and Christina today, watching us warily. Realistically, he doesn't need to worry. Tris had the final word in last night's discussion, and we won't act against him right now, not without new provocation. But I certainly don't bother to tell him that, and I notice that Uriah and Christina don't either. I guess we're all willing to let him squirm a little longer.

We use our dwindling cash to buy lunch from a street vendor, and we eat on a sidewalk that's within sight of both of the buildings we're watching. The food is stale and virtually tasteless, and I'm too worried to want to eat anyway, but I force most of it down. My body needs something to help it run, and if I can't give it sleep or freedom from stress or any type of emotional reassurance, I have to at least give it calories. But finally my stomach rebels, and I give the rest to a small child who watches us hungrily. She runs away with it like she can't believe her luck, and suddenly I feel guilty for eating as much as I did.

The first two broadcasts of the day come and go, and the sun slowly sets, and there's still no sign of Tris or the others. In a way, the darkness is useful, since it hides my increasing agitation. I'm practically twitching, and I can't help looking around, hoping that maybe Tris is within sight after all, and I somehow just missed her. I can feel my father's eyes on me in growing disapproval; yesterday, he wouldn't even look at me, but today he feels comfortable judging me again. I guess he didn't need much recovery time for that.

And then she's finally here, approaching us as fast as she can without drawing attention, her expression carefully neutral. For a second, I'm filled with nothing but relief, and then I realize she's alone. Something must have gone wrong.

I approach her as casually as I can manage, imitating the way I've seen people greet their friends over the last two days. She does the same, but as our eyes lock, I can see the anxiety in hers. Still, it's worry – not outright panic. Whatever is happening, we don't need to run right now. So, I pull her into the protective circle of my arms and hold her against me as I press my cheek to hers. My lips brush her ear, and I can hear her breathing against mine.

"What happened?" I whisper so softly no one else could possibly hear. I keep my eyes on the people around us just in case the next broadcast starts. I won't repeat that mistake.

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "Later," she exhales against me. "Right now, you and Uriah need this." I feel her opening her coat and fumbling for something, and I slide my hand along the back of hers, following her fingers until I find the vaccine and needles hidden inside a pocket. I'm still pressed to her, my body shielding against prying eyes as I transfer the supplies into my coat.

"Give any extra to the others," Tris adds as I complete the action. "And hurry."

"Okay," I whisper, stepping away from her reluctantly, letting my fingers slide along her side as I pull back. Then, I return to the rest of our group, grabbing Uriah's arm without comment and pulling him toward the nearest public men's room. We can't talk privately there, but we'll have the visual cover we need.

There's a short wait for a stall, and I gesture Uriah into it while I wait for the stall next to his. I don't waste any time, injecting myself quickly and then handing the supplies under the partition to Uriah. He takes them without hesitation. He doesn't hand them back, so I assume he's hiding the remainder in his coat now.

Tris is waiting with the others when we return, and I go straight to her, letting Uriah pass the materials on to the next person.

Her outward expression is still calm – she puts on a good act when she needs to. I lean close again, giving her the opportunity to fill me in on what happened. As our bodies touch, I can feel her trembling slightly.

"We need a place to talk," she whispers, "after the broadcast. We have to take action tonight." She doesn't offer any details, but cold understanding sinks into me at her words. There are multiple reasons Tris might have returned alone, but only one explains why we need to act so quickly. Pari or Amar has been captured, or maybe both. But even as I think about it, I know it must be Amar. If it were Pari, it would already be too late to complete our plan – she can't stand up to questioning.

Tris is looking at me, whether seeking comfort or offering it I don't know, because I can't meet her gaze right now. My mind is focused on Amar – my friend and former instructor. But that description isn't enough. He gave me my Dauntless name and helped me to forge a path for myself in an unwelcoming faction, a path that reshaped my life into something better than what I left. He's the only real role model I've ever had, and I know I wouldn't be the person I am now without him. And I already had to mourn him once.

Unbidden, the thought comes that the last time we talked, we literally fought. He held me back from Peter and said I was out of control. He didn't even trust me to go with them today. I don't want that to be the last moment I ever spend with him.

I'm vaguely aware that Tris steps away from me and whispers to some of the others. When she returns, she indicates that we should move away from them. I don't respond, but I do walk with her, my hands in fists and my eyes unseeing.

My breathing is too fast, and I can't seem to slow it. I want to go after Amar, want to find some way to rescue him, want to do anything but walk calmly around the same damned buildings over and over. But I force myself to march robotically forward, the way I did when I pretended to be under the simulation, invading Abnegation with horror racing through my mind.

Tris walks silently beside me. I know this must be killing her as much as it is me, but I have no reassurance to offer her. I can't stop my own dark spiral of thoughts, let alone change hers.

At least she's safe, I try to tell myself, but I know that's a lie. There's no safety right now, with the NUSA government sinking its claws into Amar. And that thought leads to even worse ones – images of what Amar said on the train…his body being flooded with serum until he gives in or suffers brain damage or dies...his laughing eyes slowly glazing over.

Yesterday, it felt like time stopped as we waited for a broadcast. Today, I swear it moves backwards. Every moment is an eternity that's taking us farther and farther away from where we need to be, farther and farther away from any chance of rescuing Amar.

Just when I'm sure I can't take the wait any longer, the next transmission finally begins. It's clear in my head, a combination of words and images, and I wonder for a split second how similar it is to what Caleb felt when I sent him my broadcast in the bomb shelter. But the thought passes as Tris and I turn toward the northern building in unison, our movements effortlessly matching the crowd's.

And suddenly I can see where the projector is. More than that, though, I can sense where the person controlling it is. It's almost like a map forms in my mind, diagramming the floor of the building where he sits. I even know his name – Dan Miter – and what he looks like, or at least how he sees himself. And I can almost glimpse the others who work with him. I reach deeper, seeking out the images, and they grow clearer. By the end of the broadcast, I know the names and appearances of three people who work there – and more importantly, I know exactly where they work, exactly where the Control Computer is.

I feel like the knowledge should give me some sense of pleasure, or at least a fierce triumph. But all that fills me is grim determination. We're going into danger yet again, racing to finish our mission before my friend's suffering ends one way or another. There's no relief in that.

It's a huge risk going back to our nighttime spot. We still don't know if Pari was questioned or not, but if she was, that location is far from safe. But we need somewhere to plan, and there's nowhere else private. So we approach cautiously – and from a different direction than the last couple of nights. Everything is quiet as we get closer, and Margot and Christina slip ahead to scout it out while the rest of us hide well back.

I'm hyper-alert as we wait, my hand closed on the gun that's hidden under my coat. But I don't take it out. If anyone comes by, it's a toss-up if it will be a passing civilian or someone looking for us.

Beside me, I can feel Tris' agitation in her tense movements and rigid posture. I wish it were safe enough for me to comfort her, but right now, that type of distraction wouldn't help any of us. So, I force myself to ignore her presence and focus on the rest of the world. It's a hard wait.

Christina eventually returns alone and leads us quietly into the building. She shows no sign of alarm, so I can only assume that everything is still the same as last night, with Margot "distracting" Simon and no one else here.

Every time we've gone down the dark stairs before, I held Tris' arm, but tonight I don't dare. If it turns out that Margot and Christina missed something, we'll be much too vulnerable here. So, I take my gun out and hold it ready as I descend first, making sure Tris is shielded behind me. To my left, I can tell that Uriah is doing the same thing. We did this when we invaded Erudite, too, keeping each other safe while protecting the rest of our squad.

Fortunately, we don't encounter anything. The place is dark and silent, with emptiness echoing through it. I've been in enough deserted buildings over the years to recognize the lonely feeling they have. Right now, it's a comforting sensation.

The moment we're in our secluded basement room, Tris begins.

"We were…noticed…just before we left the doctor's office," she says. Her tone is evasive, but I let her continue. "We had to run, and Pari got separated from us. We have to assume she was captured."

Tris pauses briefly, clearly struggling with the next part. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. "Amar went back for her. He said he'd do everything he could to keep her from being questioned, and he said that if he's captured, he can buy us twelve hours. But that means we have to finish everything by six in the morning. And that's assuming Pari didn't talk."

There's silence for a moment, and then Marcus breaks it. "He must have succeeded in stopping her, or there would already be military here. We should assume that she is dead and that Amar is a prisoner." I see Tris wince at the statement, but my father continues without pause. "We must focus on moving forward." His eyes turn briefly to me and then back to Tris, his expression hard. "What did you learn from the broadcasts?"

I answer immediately, to give Tris time to collect her thoughts. "The Control Computer is in the northern building, on the eighteenth floor. It's in a room near the southwest corner, well away from the elevator. The usual controller is named Dan Miter, and his assistants are Samantha Taylor and Michael Beamer. I know what they look like, and I can definitely find my way to the room and use the equipment."

Tris' face is still anxious, but she nods in confirmation, and I can tell she gathered the same information. Uriah, on the other hand, looks at me with wide eyes. He clearly didn't collect nearly as much data. A quick glance at the others shows they're in the same boat – except maybe Peter. It's always hard to read him.

"There are two security guards by the elevator, and two more outside the room itself," Tris says, beginning to focus again. "Dan wasn't thinking about the stairs, so I don't know if they're guarded or not, or even if they're locked." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "There are also guards in the lobby, but it was hard to sense how many. I'd guess four." She looks at me for corroboration, but I can only shrug. I didn't get that particular detail.

Marcus narrows his eyes, looking at me like I just failed the whole group. There's a trace of contempt in his voice as he says, "Were either of you able to determine if that's the daytime configuration or the nighttime one?"

"No," I answer coldly, not bothering to make an excuse. The less I talk with him, the better.

Tris, on the other hand, thinks about the question for a moment. "I didn't catch anything about guards during the midday broadcast," she says slowly, "but I think it's the daytime configuration. It seemed like what Dan sees when he enters the building, not when he leaves."

As she talks, I begin noticing a subtle shift in the room, and by the time she finishes, it's clear what it is. Everyone is now looking at my father the way they looked at Amar before, as if he's in charge. To make it worse, he's wearing his leadership expression, the one he always wore in public. My hands ball into fists at the sight. I will not let him make decisions that put Tris' life at risk.

"But," Caleb asks softly, "what does that tell us? I mean, do we know if buildings around here have more or less security at night?"

"Less," Christina answers confidently. "That's what Margot said the first time we came in here – that most companies just have one or two guards at night."

"But we're not talking about a private company," I remind her brusquely. "The NUSA government might not follow the same pattern."

"True," Cara answers in her Erudite tone, "but if the typical pattern is to have fewer guards at night, we can probably assume that there wouldn't be more guards at night even in a government building. So, the maximum number should be what Tris saw." That's probably a valid point.

"Okay," I say, "but that still means there are at least eight guards in the building. We'll need a good plan to get past them."

"What about other entrances?" Christina asks. "Margot said most companies don't secure their freight entrances very well." At the blank look on Uriah's face, her mouth curves into a half-smile, and she adds, "Like the door we've been using here."

Tris shrugs. "Dan didn't think about most of the building – just the floor he works on and the lobby he walks through. We don't know what to expect elsewhere."

"Again, though," Cara says, "the government is likely to follow the same trend as private industry, or at least not run counter to it. So, the other doors won't have more guards than the front lobby, and probably have fewer. We should use one of them."

But I shake my head. "You're not thinking about the rest of the security system. I'm sure there will be cameras at all entrances, and someone monitors those – the way Dauntless did, and the way Simon does here."

Cara pinches her mouth in annoyance. She clearly hadn't thought of that. I guess that's the advantage of having worked in the Dauntless control room for two years – I'm very aware of cameras.

"But where do they watch from?" Uriah asks.

Before I can answer, Peter speaks up. "You're missing the obvious again." It didn't take long for his usual attitude to return.

"What happens in buildings after all the good little day workers go home?" he asks us, a trace of disgust in the way his mouth is set.

Most of the others exchange uncertain looks, and suddenly I understand Peter's expression. That cluelessness shows just how divided our society is.

"In Chicago," I answer, "the factionless came in to clean. But we don't know if something similar happens here."

"Oh, come on," Peter says. "Of course it does. The 'big, important' people who work there during the day aren't going to clean up after themselves. They don't even want to see that filthy job." He shakes his head. "I'd bet anything that cleaners come in at night. And that means they're there right now."

"So, we have to watch out for them too?" Uriah asks in confusion.

Peter rolls his eyes. "No, you idiot. It means we can pretend to be them."

Christina glares at him before saying, "I'd think the guards would notice if a bunch of strangers came in instead of the usual crew."

Peter laughs. "Really? You lived in Candor for sixteen years. Can you name one person who cleaned the public restrooms during that time, or mopped the hallways?" Christina looks startled at first, and then her eyes begin to widen as she realizes she can't. Peter continues, "Can you describe one of them? Any of them? After sixteen years of seeing them?"

Christina looks down, clearly embarrassed. "No," she says finally.

"Exactly," Peter responds smugly. "No one notices the cleaners. Put on that outfit, grab those supplies, and you might as well be invisible." There's an edge to his voice, and I can tell he understands that perspective first-hand. Vaguely, I wonder how many buildings he had to clean as a young child, growing up factionless. How many toilets he had to scrub for children his own age who got to go to school when he didn't.

"Okay," Tris says tightly, and I suspect she was thinking the same thing I was. "But how do we get their uniforms and supplies? Particularly if the crew is already inside the building?"

"For a place that size," Peter answers, "they can't possibly carry in all the supplies at once. They'll probably have a supply truck they go back to regularly. There might even be uniforms in it. And if nothing else, someone will go outside to eat or smoke." He smirks as he adds, "And when they do, they'll use a back door – and they'll prop it open so they can get back inside."

I almost smile. For the second day in a row, Peter has handed us a plan. And it's a good one. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised; he probably would have picked Erudite if he'd had as many years of school as the rest of us, instead of half that number.

"Very well," Marcus says in his leader voice, and I bristle again. "To maximize the plan, we should split into two groups so we can cover two doorways at once."

"Why?" I can't help but snarl. I know I need to stay calm, but I won't have him splitting Tris and me up on top of everything else. It was bad enough when Amar did that, and I trusted him.

Marcus' eyes meet mine menacingly. "I would think the answer is obvious," he sneers as if I'm a troublesome child, but I don't let him finish. I have no interest in whatever lecture he plans to give.

"If Peter is right," I say firmly, "there will be a supply truck by the freight entrance. And that's the door the cleaners will use. So, what's the point of having half the group be somewhere else?"

Marcus glares at me, even more furious now, and for a moment the old familiar fear sinks into my stomach. I just showed him up in front of the others. There will be repercussions.

"Actually," Tris says in an odd tone, "I think maybe we should split into two groups." I meet her eyes, unable to hide the surprise I'm feeling. Is she really suggesting we separate for the most dangerous part of this mission?

"But not for the reason he suggested," she adds quickly, trying to calm me.

"Then why?" It's difficult to get the words out through the tension that is suddenly locking every muscle in my body. I don't know why I'm reacting so strongly, but it's presumably related to the images of Erudite that are abruptly flooding my mind.

Tris hesitates, looking very uncomfortable, before she takes a deep breath and begins. "I think some of us should try to rescue Amar."