The Maya 1.29
Previously On The Maya...
Mr. Tic overhears a conversation Mr. Snake has while the latter believes the former is asleep. Mr. Tic isn't certain who's on the other end, but with talk about team readiness times he assumes it is with someone in charge of black ops operations. Mr. Snake wants a strike team on the Isle of Use. Mr. Tic is not happy about this, but after narrowly avoiding being seen, he goes back to his cot and waits, before getting up at his appointed time.
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.
And now...the next installment of The Maya.
He found Mr. Snake watching a movie on a VCR and television he'd brought from home.
"You're awake," Mr. Snake said, without looking his direction.
"It's almost time," Mr. Tic answered. "The movie any good?"
Mr. Snake shrugged. "It's okay."
Mr. Tic went over to the telemetry machine, where the detailed drawing of the western part of the island lay. He picked it up, pretending to study it. He'd already poured over it most of the night and earlier that morning, analyzing as much as he could from the data. More information would be coming in this evening.
He put the drawing down. After a moment, he shook his head.
"This isn't going to work, is it?" he said.
"What?" Mr. Snake only half turned his head, eyes still glued to the set.
"The mission. What we have The Maya doing. It's not going to be enough."
That got Mr. Snake's attention. He put the VCR on pause and then turned around in his chair.
"We've gone over this. The Maya..."
"Is the best. Yes. And I believe that."
"So, what's the problem?"
"I've been wargaming, going over our endgame scenario."
"And?"
"Well, we want to discredit Sutton, destroy the trust the island people have in him."
"Yes."
"We're counting on that mistrust to cause a chain reaction throughout their economic system. We've based this on the idea that Sutton is running the show behind the scenes, since we do know he's not officially in charge. There's a federal government and local town councils that make the decisions."
"Yes. And that makes him even more dangerous."
"It would, if that were the only thing happening."
Mr. Snake squinted. The statement confused him, and in turn, that annoyed him. "What? What else is happening?"
"We've already established there's one million plus inhabitants on the island."
"Okay."
"And there's tens of thousands of businesses."
"Yes, yes. Get to the point."
"I don't think one man could control all of that. Not for long. Not for six decades."
"Okay. Seriously? What about Cuba? North Korea? Iraq?"
"None of which have the same kind of economy, governance or phenomenal prosperity as the Isle of Use. For all intents and purposes, it is a mini-United States, founded on similar values. Only, their version might be more close to what our Founding Fathers intended."
"They are not the United States," Mr. Snake said. There was malice in his tone. Mr. Tic had heard it before, knew he was trying Mr. Snake's patience. Usually, he would back off, try to keep the peace for the sake of the greater good, but he could feel his own ire rising. Mr. Snake was taking advantage of him, and he was tired of being treated as the inferior, when he was more critical logistically to the mission than Mr. Snake was.
"Be that as it may, they are kicking our butt," Mr. Tic stated coolly. "Otherwise, we'd have no purpose here." He waved his arms in an exaggerated fashion, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes.
"I need to know what you're driving at."
"Discrediting Sutton isn't going to be enough. Even sending him off to prison or assassinating him wouldn't be enough. He's already set the beast in motion, and it has a life of its own. The island people have bought into the system, or else, they'd repatriate like the thousand others, give or take, the CIA interviewed. They've got as much invested, if not more, collectively, as Sutton does."
Mr. Snake took in Mr. Tic's conclusions. His countenance began to brighten, and he relaxed.
"Okay. Let's say that's true."
"You know it is," Mr. Tic said, "You came to it before we even got this operation started."
Mr. Snake smiled. It was dangerous, borderline evil. "Just what are you proposing?"
"Nothing." Mr. Tic shrugged.
Mr. Snake's face fell. "Nothing?"
"We let The Maya do their magic. See what comes of it. If by some miracle they are able to derail the island's stranglehold on exports, then we walk away, take our victory lap, as it were."
"You just said..." Mr. Snake protested.
"I know what I said. And I told you when we were setting up the mission that I wouldn't be willing to go any further. To do so would require an operation at least one hundred times the scale. You would have to disrupt supply lines. In some countries, you'd go for civil war. In this case, you're talking about an invasion force. If that's what you want, then you're on your own."
Mr. Tic crossed his arms, waited for Mr. Snake's reply.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." There was no hesitancy or doubt in Mr. Tic's voice.
"Then, it's settled." Mr. Snake turned back to the VCR.
"Care to tell me what you mean by that?"
"We follow the plan. If it works, by some miracle, as you put it, great. If it doesn't, and we know it won't, then you walk and I do what I have to do."
"No strings attached. I walk away."
"Yes." With that, Mr. Snake restarted the movie.
Mr. Tic man stared at the back of Mr. Snake's head for several seconds. Then a chill ran up his spine, a feeling that if he didn't take extensive precautions, federal prison would be the least of his worries.
He would end up a dead man, and it would be at Mr. Snake's bidding.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.