The Maya 1.13
Previously On The Maya...
The Maya—a living legend covert operative-for-hire that no one she encounters can remember.
George Kirkegaard—a former newspaper owner forced out of business by state government.
Eugenio Stavros—a shipping magnate on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Use to renegotiate a steel contract.
Amara Barclay—a savvy, independent multi-millionaire entrepreneur and socialite with unparalleled beauty.
Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake—two U.S. government officials running off-the-books dark ops involving The Maya.
Tuscon Sutton II, known as the "The Greatest Man of The East," is convicted on several charges including securities fraud in late November, 1929. Not only does it mean a long jail sentence, his $11.5 billion empire is to be dismantled. Shortly after the verdict is handed down, Sutton and his wife Lilith learn all their children have died when a tornado destroys the eldest son's home. Shortly after that, Sutton is struck down with a disease that causes his body to decay and renew over and over again. He becomes known as "The Living Dead."
In his condition, the prison he was remanded to longer will take him. Out of fear of contagion, he is permitted to leave the United States in a one engine plane his siblings purchase for him. With no asylum extended and nowhere else to go, Sutton heads from Los Angeles, California out over the Pacific Ocean with 12 hours of fuel and a week's worth of supplies. He is not seen or heard from again...
And now...the next installment of The Maya.
But, in the late Spring of 1930, several eyewitnesses claimed to not only see Sutton, but his wife Lilith, together at the lavish Agua Caliente Casino and Resort in Tijuana, Mexico. Mexican authorities investigated, but neither Sutton or Lilith were found on the premises.
It was not until September, 1934, that the Tijuana sighting proved plausible. Sutton, along with Lilith and three very young children in tow, appeared in Guadalajara, Mexico. That was not all. They brought with them gold ore, enough to trade for a larger cargo plane, fuel, and some materials and equipment commonly used for building roads. They then shipped everything by freighter to an unspecified location that the freighter's captain swore later required Sutton to be at the helm for the final four hundred nautical miles.
Not only were the Sutton's and the ship's crew onboard, but accompanying them were two families of four, four married couples and six individuals. Mostly citizens of the United States, three different kinds of engineers, an industrialist, a contractor, an expert in volcanic soil, and a school teacher were among them.
Late 1934 is the last time anyone claims to have seen Sutton or any of his family members. However, others traveled to and from Sutton's secret location regularly for decades, up until early 1989, when immigration tapered off drastically. In all, over two hundred and seventy thousand people are known to have renounced their rights and privileges from countries throughout the world to claim citizenship on the Isle of Use.
Amara paused in her account, then rose to her feet. Confused by her abruptness, Kirkegaard stared after her.
"Is that it?"
"No, there is some more," Amara said. She then pointed up at the white screen. A chime Kirkegaard had not previously heard was sounding, and the screen was announcing their approach to the Isle of Use. Passengers were requested to return to their seats and buckle in. "It was good talking to you, George," she said.
"You, too," Kirkegaard mumbled to himself, giving a pathetic wave no one saw.
It took him a while to readjust to reality, so enthralling was Amara's tale of Sutton, he felt like he lived it. And that had only been five years of Sutton's life! How much more was there to Sutton, and by extension, the Isle of Use? Sutton must be around one hundred years old, if he still lived.
It was then Kirkegaard recalled something Jim had mentioned earlier, about finding plenty to do on his own due to his inquisitive nature. He smiled. He was finally on the inside of the inside joke, if just barely. For the first time since Jim's invitation, so close to his mysterious destination, Kirkegaard was genuinely looking forward to this new adventure.
A moment later, he could feel their full descent as the cabin of the jet inclined. It was impossible to judge speeds at cruising altitude, but as they rushed first towards the ocean and then land broke sharply into view, for an instant, Kirkegaard had the sensation of a landing way too hot. Almost as quickly, however, the world outside the window began to slow to normal, and within a minute more, they touched down on light as a feather on a pristine concrete runway.
***
The two men sat in a booth in the corner, off the main hallways and near the backdoor exit of a local restaurant. Work was over and they had just ordered dinner. The first man watched as the second man pulled a flat metal box from his briefcase and set it on the table. He flicked a switch and then opened the box like a book, revealing a green screen which hummed to life. A moment later, a white circle appeared, small at first, but growing as it radiated up and out. It was followed by a white line that pulsed every time it traveled from one edge to the other.
The second man made a few more adjustments, turning a dial for contrast, another for signal strength. After fiddling with the controls for a while he sat back.
"It appears we have nothing, yet," he said.
"They might be waiting for a more opportunistic moment," the first man said. "The airport might not be the best of places to turn on the homing beacon."
"If they've made it at all."
The first man gave the second man a dour look. "Always the dark side with you, isn't it?"
"I'm just giving you a hard time," the second man said, "It's dangerous bringing this equipment here."
"I know, but I didn't want to wait until nightfall to meet in another alley. I want to know now if we are a go or not."
There were footfalls as someone approached their position. It was the waitress, back with their drinks. The second man laid the radar receiver so the screen was facedown and then waited until the server departed. When she was gone, he brought the screen back up.
"Any idea how they were going to manage it?" the second man asked, sipping on his strawberry lemonade, watching for a blip to appear. There was none.
"You mean, get to the island?" When the second man nodded, the first man shrugged. "No. Just speculation. Ships returning to the island are unmanned and unladen. They are electronically secured and monitored, so stowing aboard, while a possibility, is fairly difficult and would not be my first guess.
"There are a few flights coming and going from the island, nearly all of which are chartered by businesses. Again, unmanned and monitored, so again, not easy to stowaway on.
"However, getting on board as a company representative, or the companion of one, is a possibility, but not without some background checks. Companies, as you know, are thoroughly investigated, and their authorized personnel vetted. The companions of the personnel, though, not so much. The process for them takes less time."
"It's too bad the CIA couldn't have figured all of that out before all of their best agents got banned from flying there," the second man said.
The first man laughed. "That's why we went outside the company. Still, I have to admit, thanks to their failures, we do have some intel to work with. Once they're on the island..."
"If they get on the island," the second man corrected.
"Once they get on the island," the first man repeated, "The real work will start."
"Since so little is documented."
"Yes. It's not like going into a known environment. All the witnesses the CIA interviewed, particularly the pool of repatriated former island dwellers, provided a wealth of information, but that's different from building schematics or maps."
The second man nodded. "The interviews took place over three years ago. A lot could change in that time."
"We knew all that before we started this operation. But, as I've told you before..."
There was a sudden pinging noise. As their gazes both turned to the radar screen, they found a blip emanating. The second man pushed a button and a set of coordinates appeared above the blip.
"By the looks of things, it's definitely in the Pacific," the second man said. There was a rising excitement in his voice. "Not the Equator, but within twelve degrees. We'll need to plug in the coordinates to be sure, but my guess is somewhere south and west of Mexico."
The first man was beaming.
"I told you The Maya was good."
"This is better than good," the second man said, his own smile matching the first's. "The Maya has landed."
'The Maya' now publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the evenings.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.