The Maya 1.23

Previously On The Maya...

Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake are holed up in an abandoned dance studio to run their off-the-books ops with The Maya. It is late and Mr. Tic has taken the first watch while Mr. Snake tries to get some sleep. The latter is apparently unsuccessful as he comes to see if The Maya has reported in yet.

While they are conversing, a machine with a drawing arm starts up, and begins to map a portion of the Isle of Use as part of The Maya's planned reconnaissance. By the end of the ops, the men will have an overview of the entire island. Mr. Tic suspects Mr. Snake wants a full-scale invasion of the island, regardless of the outcome of The Maya's mission. Mr. Tic does not see the need if Tucson Sutton II reputation is ruined.

When the transmission ends, Mr. Snake goes back to band, leaving Mr. Tic to his thoughts and his book.

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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.

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And now...the next installment of The Maya.

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The location was one of three fertilizer plants tucked between farms and ranches in the central part of the island. At fifty-two miles, the plant was the closest to any of the denser residential areas. Hours before dawn, only a skeleton crew was working, cleaning up from the swing shift, prepping for the day shift, and providing an extra layer of security. No production took place during this period.

A worker, one of seventeen, stood back as his supervisor studied a valve and hose connection on a tank where nitric acid and ammonia were mixed to form ammonium nitrate. The hose appeared to be well-worn.

"Nice catch," the supervisor said. "We'll need to get it fixed before morning."

"If I remember right, that's the second hose we've changed on this tank in less than a month," the worker said, "They shouldn't be wearing out so fast."

"I'll check the repair and maintenance log, but you're right, they shouldn't be. We might have a bigger problem somewhere else."

"I probably should inspect the other lines, then, too."

"Good idea. Let's take a pressure reading while we're at it."

The worker nodded and began studying the rest of the hoses. As the supervisor left to get the necessary testing equipment, the mercenary known as The Maya moved from beside some nearby machinery and paused, watching the worker from a few feet away. Moments later, the worker removed their hard hat and scratched their head. They'd just found another questionable hose.

"Something's wrong," he muttered to himself, "but what?"

As he pondered the answer, The Maya turned and headed for an exit on the other side of the building. Even with The Maya nearby, the worker thought he was alone.

Out in the open, The Maya walked by two more workers cleaning out a pipe leading into the main production facility, and then passed a guard post on the way outside the main gate and electrified fence. Human and electronic security were none the wiser.

Prior to beginning reconnaissance, The Maya had applied a quarter-inch thick layer of acrylic all over, except for the head, where a specially prepared helmet was worn. The acrylic was highly reflective and adjusted automatically to whatever light levels were present. In essence, when congealed, the acrylic made the wearer invisible.

After creating and sending the mapping images of the western end of the island, The Maya had proceeded east in search of industrial sites. The idea was to find the best possible place to stage an accident. Maximum effect with minimum effort was the key. The fertilizer plant seemed to fit the bill nicely, as The Maya would not need much to cause a massive explosion. Unfortunately, there were other barriers, like the unusual competency of the workers.

The hoses were The Maya's doing. Using an undetectable chemical compound in vapor form, the hoses had been aged to the point of failure within a matter of seconds. That exercise, in and of itself, might not have led to a catastrophic event, but The Maya wasn't looking to create an accident yet. Instead, this was more of a test to see what could be accomplished. Apparently, it would take more than aged hoses.

There were still a set of oil refineries on the north coast to explore, but they would have to wait. The Maya didn't have enough time to get there, weigh the risks versus the payoff, let alone try anything, and get back to her room before someone noticed her missing. The Maya wasn't concerned in the least. It had been a highly productive five hours, and rest was in order.

First, however, there was a report to be sent.

The client required a highly encrypted summary of each day's events. The Maya was not used to such scrutiny, but given the unknowns involved (which included the location of the island itself) and the hefty payment, some latitude was appropriate.

The Maya followed the gravel drive to a bridge which spanned a wide river. The river flowed down from the eastern mountains and split the island in two, virtually down the middle. Tied to a large fern underneath the bridge was the motorboat The Maya used to quickly survey the western part of the island and then go inland where she discovered the fertilizer plants.

In one of the motorboat's seat compartments was a satellite transmitter, part of the same equipment The Maya used to send the partial island survey. The transmitter had a screen and a foldable keyboard, which The Maya used to thumb in the report.

1st survey made and sent/toured sites/one promising/will continue touring/will also seek way into Sutton compound/possible contact via dinner Wednesday/end transmission.

When the message was sent, the satellite transmitter went back into the compartment and the quiet motor was started. In a little over seventy minutes, The Maya transversed the distance from the bridge to where the river emptied into the ocean. In doing so, The Maya passed through the countryside, a lake, downtown and a few marinas. Turning south, The Maya arrived at the private dock where the boat belonged. Removing the helmet, The Maya tucked it inside a compartment, then slipped into the ocean.

It took a good five minutes of bobbing in warm saltwater for the acrylic coating on The Maya to dissolve into liquid and wash away. It took less time for The Maya to rinse off in an outdoor shower, dry, then pad softly around the building to her room.

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'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

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_{Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.}