CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Add just a little more color under the eyes.” White House Chief of Staff Peter Holmes watched as a makeup artist carefully applied small amounts of foundation to President Pierson’s cheeks, adding some color to his pallor. “No offense, Mr. President, but you’ve looked better.”
“No kidding,” Pierson murmured.
Holmes had his suspicions about what the CIA agent, Steele, had said to him when they were alone. But he hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything at all about it. “Are you ready to address the nation, sir?”
“No,” Pierson said flatly. “I’m not.” To the makeup artist he said, “Please excuse us.”
The woman nodded and abruptly left the office.
As soon as she was gone, Pierson rose from his chair and tugged the white cloth that had been draped over his neck to protect his cl
