The Maya 1.15
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.
George Kirkegaard is the only one of the auto-jet's passengers without a ride. Inside the airport, he is escorted to the counter where he discovers he's been tracked by the plastic card he was given by the kiosk back at the Eugene airfield. While waiting for his friend Jim Layton to arrive, Kirkegaard makes some observations about the terminal and the people. Everything appears to be new, and everyone seems healthy, happy and beautiful.
He doesn't get much of a chance to ponder on his findings before he is greeted by Lander Smith, an official with the Island Protection Bureau. After Smith introduces himself, Kirkegaard asks, "Am I in trouble?"
And now...the next installment of The Maya.
"No, but I understand you're waiting for your friend to pick you up and would like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."
"I've got nothing better to do."
"I appreciate that." Smith took off his hat and sat down beside Kirkegaard. "I hope out here is fine, or we can go back to an office they have set up for us here."
"This is good," Kirkegaard said, instantly imagining an interrogation room with one-way mirror, a metal desk and two hard chairs.
"Okay. I'll get straight to it," Smith said. He turned his body so he could see Kirkegaard, but maintain an air of relaxed conversation. "I'm aware you just arrived on a chartered business jet which a Japanese businessman arranged for himself and his companion. Also aboard the plane were two others, a Greek shipping magnate named Eugenio Stavros, and a woman who goes by Amara Barclay."
So, that's her last name, George thought, suppressing a smile. "Okay."
"I know you spoke with Miss Barclay. All our flights have onboard security cameras. I'd like to know what you talked about."
Kirkegaard took a deep breath, then relayed to Smith a summary of their conversation. If Smith wanted details, he asked. He was particularly interested that Amara approached him wondering if he was lost or confused.
"To be honest," Kirkegaard said, "I was out of place. This trip was a surprise. But Amara wasn't the only one who thought I didn't belong. I got looks from the Japanese couple and Amara's friend. I thought it was disapproving in someway, but it could have been, now that you bring it up, they just weren't expecting me."
"Most likely, they were not. You were a late addition to the flight manifest." Smith clasped his hands and leaned forward. "After she told you where you were going, she looked ready to go back to her seat. What did you ask her?"
"If she knew anything about the island."
"And?"
"She said no one knew where we were going. I didn't understand that because she also said Stavros had been here before. But she did know something about a Tuscon Sutton. He's apparently the man who discovered this island?"
"Yes, he is," Smith said. "What did she know about that?"
Kirkegaard again gave him a quick summary.
"Interesting," Smith said, leaning back. He began twirling his hat in his hands.
"Did she get something wrong?"
"No, actually. Everything's dead on, as far as I understand it." He paused for a moment, then added, "I'm a relative newcomer myself. Only been on the island for six years. We all learn the island's history to some degree, but, obviously, there are some who have lived here from virtually the beginning, or were born and raised here by those folks. Were taught it in school. In other words, their knowledge would be more extensive and personal."
"So, what's interesting about what she told me?"
"It's not what she told you. It's what she didn't," Smith said. The wan smile that formed under his dark mustache told Kirkegaard the agent was being purposefully vague.
"Is she in trouble?"
Smith got to his feet. "As far as I know, she hasn't done anything illegal. Yet. I would appreciate it, though, if you and Miss Barclay happen to run into each other again, that you give me a call."
"Okay." Kirkegaard shrugged. He didn't see how that would happen, but he didn't mind helping out the law. Even if he thought Amara was a good person, albeit misunderstood.
"I would also advise you to refuse any help she might ask of you." For the first time since they'd met, Smith lowered his voice and hardened his expression. It made his face look like flint. "No matter how small or innocent. You don't want to become an accessory, unwitting or otherwise. Or worse..."
Smith didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, as Jim Layton walked up. Smith saw him and extended a hand. "Jim," he said, "Good to see you. How's business?"
"You know." Layton smiled as they shook vigorously, "Good and slow." He then glanced over at Kirkegaard. "Thanks for keeping George company."
"A pleasure," Smith said, tipping his hat. To Kirkegaard he said, "You've got my number."
Kirkegaard held up the card. Smith gave a half salute and then ambled away toward the exit.
"George."
Layton came over to him and held out his hands, just as Kirkegaard imagined he would. Kirkegaard stood up and embraced his friend.
"It's really good to see you. Everything okay?"
"What specifically? The surprise robot airplane ride? The mystery island we're on? Your buddy, the IPB-guy?"
"Well, regarding the first two, I know you won't believe me," Layton said, grinning, "but since we've been here, I've found it easier just to give people an airfield address than try to explain to them where they're going and how they're going to get here."
"You could have told me," Kirkegaard said, echoing Layton's words to him from a few days ago.
"I didn't know how," Layton echoed back.
'The Maya' now publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the evenings.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.