HOPE AND THE TWO Less Thans are led down a series of hallways, passing from one official-looking tent to another. Although there are soldiers everywhere, there’s a difference between these Brown Shirts and the ones from her past. They may brandish the same weapons, but these soldiers seem somehow less vindictive. A couple of them actually smile.
The trio is taken to a waiting room and asked to sit on benches.
“Where were you?” Book asks Hope, when Heywood and the soldiers disappear.
“At the Department of Records.”
“The Department of Records? Doing what?”
“Digging,” she says, and her tone makes it clear she won’t explain any more than that.
The three of them wait for nearly an hour, hearing the muffled conversations that drift through canvas. Hope has nearly dozed off by the time a Brown Shirt sticks his head through one of the flaps.
“All right,” he says. “Follow me.”
The three are ushered through a final series of tunnels and tents, reaching a chamber that’s the most elaborately furnished of them all. Ornate rugs line the floor, and wingback chairs are spread around like chess pieces on a board.
Behind a large wooden desk sits an older woman wearing a dark suit, a cream-colored blouse, and a plain necklace. She has short, reddish-brown hair. Although it’s the dead of night, she pores over a series of documents like it’s the middle of a workday. Hope feels a pang of disappointment. This isn’t President Vasquez.
The woman finishes writing, leans back in her chair, and makes a steeple of her fingertips. She smiles warmly, but Hope notices the deep bags under her eyes. She looks as tired as Hope feels.
“My name is Jocelyn Perrella,” she says. “I’m overseeing the transition from President Vasquez to President-Elect Maddox. I know you wanted to meet personally with the president, but I’m sure you can appreciate how busy he is, what with the inauguration and commemoration. He sends his regrets and asked if I would meet with you instead. Are we all fine with that?”
It seems less a question than a statement.
“Yes, ma’am,” the three say in unison.
“Good.” She nods first toward James Heywood and then to a woman sitting in the corner, scribbling furiously. “You’ve already met James, and I’ve asked one of the staff to take notes, so we have a clear record of your statements.”
“Thank you,” Hope says.
“No, thank you,” Perrella says. “Your letter was eye-opening, to say the least, and I’m sure what you’re about to tell us will be a big help to the Republic as we move forward.”
Hope, Book, and Cat start with basic introductions, and when they draw up their sleeves to show their tattoos, it’s easy to note the shared glance of concern between Perrella and Heywood.
“What camps were you at?” Perrella asks.
“Liberty and Freedom,” Hope explains.
“So you’re orphans.”
“Now, yes,” Hope says.
“Been there how long?”
“Pretty much my whole life,” Book says.
“Less than a year for me,” Hope says.
“Same,” Cat adds.
Jocelyn Perrella studies them a moment. Her fingertips dance on the envelope sitting on the corner of her desk.
“I read your letter. Saw those pictures. But for the benefit of this hearing, would you mind telling me, in your own words, everything that’s happened to you?”
Hope and Book take turns describing all that they’ve experienced, starting with the discovery of Cat outside Camp Liberty and going through each of the atrocities they witnessed—which are many. Hope watches the woman’s face as Book explains. On more than one occasion, she shows genuine surprise. For Hope, it feels good to finally share this story with someone willing to listen.
When they finish, the older woman removes her glasses, lays them carefully on the table, and rubs the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. It’s almost as if she’s hoping to massage away this situation.
She turns to Hope. “Why’d you break into the Department of Records earlier this evening?”
“I was looking for something,” Hope answers.
“Did you find it?”
“Only partially.”
“I see. Well, next time, you should go through the proper channels and not damage government property.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hope murmurs. Her face burns.
“When the soldiers discovered you, you were examining the folder of Dr. Uzair Samadi. Why?”
She hesitates before saying, “He was my father.”
“Dr. Samadi was your father?” Hope nods, and the woman shares another glance with James Heywood. “Is that why you came here? To read about your father?”
“No. We came here to warn you about Chancellor Maddox. But when I saw the Department of Records—”
“You just figured you would break in and find your father’s file.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“And did you find anything interesting?”
Hope starts to answer but then stops herself. She could be mistaken, but the tone of the conversation feels suddenly different. Hope gives her head a shake.
“So you don’t care to share what you discovered?” the woman prompts.
“No, ma’am.”
Jocelyn Perrella nods grimly. “And all three of you are convinced Chancellor Maddox is up to no good?”
“That’s right.”
“Based on what?”
Was the woman not listening? “Based on everything Book and I just told you,” Hope says impatiently. “Based on everything she did. The people she tortured, the people she killed. The weapons she’s stockpiling at the Eagle’s Nest. Stuff we saw with our own eyes.”
“I see,” Perrella says, and sighs. “And what do you want me to do about it?”
Hope can’t believe what she’s hearing. “What do you mean, what do we want you to do about it?” she sputters. “We want you to stop her!”
“You realize you’re talking about the next president of the Republic of the True America.”
“Not if the current president prevents her from taking over—”
“It’s not a matter of President Vasquez preventing her from taking over. The election is done. The people voted. This is a democracy.”
“Yeah, but if the people knew—”
“What? How she’s revived the Western Federation? How its unemployment numbers are the lowest in the country? How it has the fewest reported cases of unrest?”
Hope feels like she’s in a bad dream. This can’t be happening. The woman can’t possibly be saying this.
“I don’t know anything about those statistics,” Hope says, “or whether they’re true or not—”
“Trust me, they’re true.”
“—but they don’t alter the fact that Chancellor Maddox is a cold-blooded killer.”
Jocelyn Perrella smiles grimly.
“I have an idea,” she says, giving one of the Brown Shirts a nod. “Why don’t we find out the truth so we can end this game of speculation?”
Hope doesn’t understand what the woman is getting at, even when the Brown Shirt disappears from the room and reappears a moment later . . . with Chancellor Maddox at his side. The chancellor’s blond hair is as perfect as ever. A beauty-queen smile plasters her face. Her ankle-length coat drapes across her shoulders.
“Yes, these are the ones,” Maddox says with a self-satisfied air. “These are the terrorists who are trying to bring down the country.”