CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
10:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Deep Underground
Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia
“Tim Rutledge has been arrested.”
Luke limped into a small, ultra-modern command center, walking with an aluminum cane. He wore surgical scrubs and a pair of cheap flip-flops on his feet. He also wore an orange fuzzy sweater—it was cold down here. His taped-up midsection was impossibly sore—it felt like he would never bend at the waist again. His left arm throbbed, even through the painkillers. Next to him, Chuck Berg seemed like the picture of health and vitality.
Kurt Kimball looked up as they entered. He seemed very much himself—tall, bald, strong, in dress pants and dress shirt and a blue windbreaker jacket. The only thing about him that belied the circumstances was the dark rings
