Chapter Three

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10 Years Later

Nolan dried off his face with a dusty hand towel and turned to observe the dilapidated hotel room. He'd stopped in Kentucky on the way to Colorado, so he hadn't expected much, but this was a little worse than what he had in mind. However, he couldn't pass up $10 for a semi-comfortable bed. He looked up at himself in the streaky mirror. Strange. Sometimes he wondered

if it was really himself he was looking at. He gave a small smirk at the man staring back at him.

Thirty-two seemed so old and now I'm looking at it.

He pulled a shirt over his head before packing up his belongings that consisted of a comb, an extra pair of pants, and his wallet that was growing dangerously slim. Nolan wondered if any other dishonorably discharged Navy SEAL had to get a job at Walmart at some point in time.

He shouldered his black backpack and checked out of the motel. It was two o'clock in the morning, so the parking lot was dark except for a couple broken streetlights. Ever since he got out of prison a week ago, sleep hadn't come easy. Maybe once he reached the cabin he'd bought in Colorado things would start to relax around him. The world had changed so much since the incident that changed his life ten years ago. Sure, he watched the news every day from his cell and saw the new technology come and go, presidents being elected, skirmishes overseas, but being back in the real world was still...different. His time in jail was foggy now, like a giant ten-year gap in between twenty-two and thirty-two.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and walked up to a beat-up 1980s Chevy. The engine hiccupped twice before roaring to life.

He drove down a lonely highway that dipped and curved around the hilly mountains. He was hoping to stop for gas and after two hours of driving, there wasn't a town in sight.

What were you expecting? This is Kentucky after all...

Just as the needle dropped dangerously close to empty he came to a dimly lit gas station that contained a small diner inside. After he had filled up his tank, he decided a cup of coffee would do him good.

He sat in the corner of the greasy diner. Two truck drivers filled two of the seven tables available and there was one waitress for all of them.

Nolan was studying a newspaper article about combat in Poland. As he read, his mind wandered to the group that interested him the most. From what he understood, the Bolsheviks were still active, but not as prominent in terrorism as before. That was good. Maybe that night so long ago had actually hurt them a little.

"What can I get for you, hon?"

The waitress's shrill voice made Nolan nearly jump out of his skin.

The waitress laughed heartily. "Did I scare you, sweetie?"

Nolan offered a small smile. "No, it's fine."

She snorted another chuckle before pulling out a notepad. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have coffee."

"Sure thing."

As soon as she was gone, Nolan released a breath. It was like the ten years of recovery he'd received in prison was quickly fleeting in the real world. Maybe actually working through his problems would do him better than punching a psychologist in the face. That was a bad day; but thankfully the prison never called another doctor for him after that.

Once he'd downed his cup of coffee, he bought a road map to help navigate through the mountains to his new cabin in Colorado. From the pictures he'd seen online, it looked more like a shack that would need a lot of work, but he didn't mind. It would be something to keep him occupied for a few months.

Soon he was back on the road and came into a small town outside of Missouri. The warm mid-morning sun instantly made him drowsy as he pulled up to a stoplight. He closed his eyes for a brief second until he heard a car come up beside him. He glanced over and saw a dull black Toyota with heavily tinted windows parked on his left.

The first thing Nolan noticed was that there were new chrome running boards that circled around the bottom of the car, as well as a connecting bumper and fender. It almost looked like a low-profile bumper car. Then he saw that the tires were facing right, even though the only way for the car to turn was left.

When the light turned green, Nolan didn't drive forward. He kept a close eye on the other car as it hesitated. Eventually, it straightened out its tires and punched the gas.

You're just paranoid. He thought.

Nonetheless, his senses were on high alert the rest of the way through town. Four more hours passed until he took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. He was going slow through another mountain range, guiding his car gently through the hairpin turns. Rock walls jutted up to one side and a steep drop-off on the other. He had to admit it was beautiful. Yellow sunlight shimmered on the orange and red leaves of the trees and the scent of rich decay made its way to his nose. He glanced up in the rearview mirror and saw a black Toyota with chrome running boards coming into view.

It couldn't possibly be the same one. Could it?

An arm stuck out of the passenger side holding a Glock 18.

What the—

Nolan's back window exploded in shards of glass. He immediately stepped on the gas, whipping around a tight corner.

The Toyota may have looked beat up, but it was fast. Every time he lost sight of it, Nolan could hear its angry engine reverberating through the valleys. His heart hammered in his chest and after each curve in the road, the car was following close behind. He scrambled for his cell phone and dialed 911.

A dry female voice answered. "911, what's your emergency?"

"Uh, yeah, there are two people chasing my car and trying to kill me. They have a Glock 18 and—"

"I'm sorry, sir, we can't help you if we don't know where you are."

"Oh, I'm sorry, let me just look at my map real quick right after these guys stop shooting at me."

"Are you sure they're being intentional in their actions, sir?"

Nolan couldn't believe it. "No, I'm sure they just want a hug. Did I mention they're carrying a Glock 18?"

"Sir, those types of handguns are illegal to own—"

"You don't think I know that?"

"You are probably in shock. Now, if you'll tell me your general location, I can send you assistance."

Nolan cursed and hung up, tossing the phone to the ground just as the Toyota reeled back into view. This time, the driver was armed. Nolan swerved to dodge a round of bullets from the fully automatic weapon.

Were these guys crazy?

With a screech of tires, the Toyota sped forward and collided with Nolan's bumper. He nearly lost control of the wheel but quickly jerked it back it place.

He tried to swerve back and forth, but could've shake the other vehicle.

He had to get away. He glanced nervously at the steep cliffs around him. He'd have to deploy his airbags first if he wanted to make it, but maybe...

He pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard and heard his bumper being torn from the car. He watched as the metal railing that laced a sharp turn sped towards him head-on.

He crashed through the thick guard rail, slamming on breaks at the same time to reduce a little speed as his car went airborne off the road.

The white airbag exploded in the blink of an eye, crushing Nolan's face behind it. The wind was sucked out of his chest at the same time his stomach dropped as the car made its decent.

It tumbled down a hill, flipping several times, before crashing against a tree and coming to rest on its side. Most of Nolan's vision was distorted by the airbag around him, but he could faintly tell he was staring up at the sky. Pain rattled his insides and he couldn't move enough to tell if anything was broken. His mind fogged over.

Stay awake...stay awake...

He groaned as the airbag began to deflate. After a while, he kicked out the glass of the passenger door that was his only way of escape. He crawled through the opening, cradling his left arm. That seemed to be the only thing hurt, besides his whole body feeling like one giant bruise and several gashes in his skin.

He sat on top of the car door, looking around. He'd landed in a forested area and could see the road above him. Thankfully there wasn't a Toyota in sight.

He miraculously found his cell phone through the wreckage and began making his way up the steep hill.

That's the second time I've jumped off of something and survived. Either someone really wants to keep me alive or just wants to see how many times it takes to kill me.

He limped down the road as evening settled in the Ohio mountains. Why would anyone be trying to kill him? Nolan could actually think of a few, but those particular people were still in jail.

His steps quickly grew weary; his muscles were sore and tired and his busted arm was on fire. As he walked, he got to see the golden sun slip below another mountain range in the distance. The sky faded from velvet purple, to faint blue, to black.

He was just thinking how odd it was that no cars had passed when yellow headlights reflected around a corner. Nolan waved desperately at the semi-truck that came into view and was both shocked and relieved when it screeched to a halt.

Nolan walked up to the window just as it was being rolled down.

"You lost, son?" The driver, a weathered man with a mess of grey hair, asked. He looked gruff but had a small twinkle of kindness in his eye.

"I wrecked my car a few miles back." Nolan explained.

"Where're you headed?"

"To the nearest town. Anywhere, really."

He jerked his stick shift into drive. "Hop in, we're about twenty miles out."

Nolan didn't waste any time and climbed into the large vehicle with a slight groan.

"You alright there?" The man asked as the pistons of his truck squeaked to life.

"Yeah, just a little banged up." Nolan glanced at the skinny driver as the truck rolled into motion. He had an unruly beard that covered most of his lower face and deep wrinkles around his eyes. His arms were wiry and Nolan thought he looked to be under six feet tall.

"The name's Shaun Maverick." He said.

"Nolan Clay."

"So what happened?"

Nolan shifted uncomfortably. "I...ran off the road."

Shaun was quiet for a moment. "Huh. And it's not even icy yet. You ever driven through the mountains before?"

"A couple times. I grew up in North Carolina."

Shaun laughed. "So what? You drive over the edge on purpose?"

"I—um, yes, actually." Nolan replied absently, looking out the window.

The trucker immediately stopped laughing. "How fast were you going, son?"

"Probably around ninety." Nolan suddenly realized what he must be thinking. "I'm not suicidal. It was really an accident."

Shaun nodded, but didn't seem convinced. "Well, I'm glad you're okay."

The drove on in silence for a while until Shaun began chatting about his childhood growing up in Tennessee. Nolan listened, finding that the man's slow Southern drawl was somewhat relaxing. In fact, Shaun was probably the friendliest person he'd run into since he'd been put in jail. There was one man they called Sticks back in prison, who had gotten Nolan out of several fistfights; he was nice enough. He'd been put in prison for arson, though. Three times.

"You headed anywhere in particular?"

Shaun's words jolted Nolan back into reality. He nodded. "I bought a place up in Colorado."

"That's beautiful country up there. You got a family you're taking with you?"

Nolan's eyes wandered towards the window, a tinge of sadness quickly fleeting over his features. "No. Just me."

"Well, I didn't get married until I was thirty-five years old. Good thing, too. I think my wife would've beat me with a belt if she knew me before then."

Nolan smirked. "Why's that?"

"Oh, I was a horrible drinker and gambler. Got into all sorts of trouble." Shaun expertly steered his truck around a corner without even stepping on the brakes. "I gave up on myself for a while. But, there has to be a little forgiveness for ourselves, don't there?"

Nolan gave a dry laugh, but didn't answer. He wasn't so sure about that.

They pulled up to a small town at around nine o'clock and Nolan had to admit he didn't really want to split ways with Shaun.

"Thanks for everything, man. I really appreciate it." He said.

The trucker clapped him on the shoulder heartily. "Get some rest, son. The tow trucks down here are real sleepy around this time, so don't expect much. There's a motel around her somewhere."

Nolan smiled. "I won't argue with that."

He shook hands with the small man and climbed down the two-step ladder of the truck. He gave an awkward wave as it screeched back into motion.

He looked around at the town he'd been dropped in. It was small and dark since most of the shops were closed for the night. Thankfully Shaun had landed him right in front of a convenient store with a Denny's attached to it. The coffee Nolan had that morning was long gone and his stomach growled for something to eat. After scouring through the store, Nolan found a sling to put his arm in. That was good enough for now; he wasn't so sure it was broken anyway.

Finally he was sitting in front of a stack of golden pancakes and bacon, relaxing his aching muscles. He hadn't realized how bad he looked until he was staring at himself in the mirror of the bathroom. His face was covered in blood, even though there were only six or seven tiny cuts from where the glass of his window had broken.

He was shoveling in the last bite of syrupy goodness when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and squinted at the number, but didn't recognize it.

He answered.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Clay? This is Jeremiah Howard, director of the Central Intelligence Agency, how are you?"

"I—uh, I'm...good, I guess. Why are you calling me?"

"That's a very broad question." Howard laughed, which made Nolan nervous. "It says here that you were part of a SEAL operation by the name of Project Coercion, is that correct?"

Nolan stiffened. "That is correct, yes." He said slowly.

"It also says you sabotaged the mission by disobeying orders and were the initial cause of your squad's—"

"Yeah, I know." Nolan interrupted and ran a thumb over the rim of his coffee mug.

"And did you commit the murder of Dimyan Egor?"

Inwardly, Nolan sighed. Sometimes he began to believe he actually did. He'd been asked the same question millions of times and no one believed him. "No, I did not." He said reluctantly. He wondered what would happen if he finally said "yes". Would they leave him alone?

"Well, I think we may finally have some proof to support that claim."

Nolan froze. After ten years? "What do you have?"

"We've detected two Russian hackers trying to get into the classified files of Project Coercion, which haven't been opened since the incident. They were trying to delete them."

"Why?"

"We're not sure, but we think they may want to erase some form of evidence."

Nolan was quiet for a moment. "Okay?"

The director paused before answering. "We think that Dimyan Egor is still alive."

Nolan almost laughed. "No way; that's not possible. I saw his body on that ship."

"We think that perhaps he staged his own death in order to drop off our radar. If that's the case, it worked brilliantly."

Nolan sat back in his booth, his mind reeling. "So is that why they killed my team? To try and clear the evidence?"

"Perhaps." Howard agreed. "We also believe he tried to frame you for his death, to erase the incident completely. Furthermore, he wanted everyone else dead so it couldn't come back on him in the future."

Nolan sighed. "Well, I think they've found out I'm alive and well."

"What do you mean?"

"Two people tried to kill me while I was driving today."

Howard was quiet on the other end. "Then I guess that furthers our case, so I'll get right to the point. You're the only man with the information we need. You know what happened on that ship."

Nolan pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew what was coming. "Look, man, I just got out of prison. I'm trying to find my way around again and I'm not willing to revisit any of this again."

"I understand. But you do realize these attacks won't stop until the Bolsheviks know you're dead, right? You're a piece of evidence that could destroy their case."

"Would you not want me if I told you I was mentally unstable?"

"No, we've already seen the results of your last physical examination."

After a moment, Nolan sighed. "Metaphorically, what would you propose I do?"

"Find Egor. If we take him out, statistics show that the rest of the Bolsheviks will eventually fade away. We need you to locate him and put an end to this before more people die. I have a team with me that has been researching this case for a while now and we could use you to be our point man."

Nolan clutched his cell phone tightly. Not a chance. He'd been running from his past for ten years, trying to forget. Going after terrorists and putting other people in danger was exactly what he didn't want. It had taken years to get over the sounds of explosions and death and terror that played in his head like a movie stuck on repeat. Even now he struggled with paranoia of everything around him. Going back into the military would be like a ghost returning to the grave.

Then again, as it stood, he was labeled as a traitor, a convict, and a murderer. He'd been searching for forgiveness ever since it happened. Maybe this was the answer, then. Maybe he could clear his name and start anew without the weight of everything he'd been carrying. Maybe he could erase it for good.

"I'll do it."

"Nolan Clay," Howard said, "Welcome to Project Mediator."

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Thank you again for reading!

Do you think Nolan made the right choice or is he just asking for more trouble?

Don't forget I'm going to be posting another chapter on Thursday! <3


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