she told Amanda, who would arrive with the rest of the group an hour later for the day’s symposium. After Brooke tipped one of the sentries at the hotel entrance, he managed to get her a taxi within minutes. She found Olga upstairs in her office, wetting a lock of hair with saliva and attempting to curl it. But the hair, too dry and brittle, sprang straight out again. “I give up.” Olga used a hairpin to keep the curl in place and turned to Brooke. Her blue eyes were bright. Brooke hugged her. “Excited about the symposium?” In contrast to her eyes, Olga’s lips curved downward in a sad little smile. “The uprising isn’t over yet.” She pointed at the White House on the distant horizon. With the center charred, the formerly massive rectangular building looked like a two-tower structure. “The radio announced that repairs have already begun. Incredibly efficient, and a good theme for my opening speech: They’ll whitewash the outside to symbolize the restoration of hope, but the scorched core of our parliament signifies the black void of lawlessness and corruption in our midst.
