The Maya 1.30

Previously On The Maya...

Mr. Tic decides to talk endgame with Mr. Snake. He methodically walks through the ops The Maya is running, pointing out that what they're hoping, Sutton to be ruined along with the economy of the Isle of Use, is not going to happen. Well still involved and very well liked, Sutton isn't the reason why the Isle of Use is becoming an international trading powerhouse. It's because of the people and their businesses. Nothing short of a full scale invasion is going to stop that, no matter how discredited Sutton is.

Mr. Snake seems to really like that idea, but Mr. Tic shuts it down. He tells Mr. Snake that regardless of how the mission goes, he will not be party to taking over the island. If Mr. Snake wants to do that, then fine, but he's out. Mr. Snake agrees. The matter-of-fact way he does it makes Mr. Tic know that he is as good as dead for his stance.

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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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"It is you," Paloma said. Her smile faded a bit, but it was due to recognition, not anything else. Like dread or disappointment.

Finding her reaction encouraging, Kirkegaard started to ask her a question. They ended up blurting out the same one together.

"What are you doing here?"

Kirkegaard couldn't help but laugh and Paloma covered her mouth with both hands. "It's been a long time," she said.

"It has," Kirkegaard replied, and immediately felt a twinge of deja vu. His dream! They had exchanged the exact same words! Then, he noticed something else. Under the sandwich shoppe's apron Paloma had on, she wore a white dress with floral print.

"I've got a hundred questions to ask you," Paloma said.

"Me, too."

"But I don't get off work until six."

"Would you like to talk then?"

"Yes, I would," Paloma said. She then looked down at the menu he had all but discarded. "Do you know what you'd like?"

"All of it," Kirkegaard said. Then he grinned, "but I'll settle for a chicken salad sandwich, a bowl of tortilla soup, a side of potato salad and a lemon-lime soda."

"That will be three islanders," Paloma said. Kirkegaard handed over the gold coin. Paloma regarded it with some surprise, which made Kirkegaard smile even wider, then she was gone to turn in the order and make change.

He didn't even think about averting his eyes. He watched her all the way to the tent, then into the building. Mainly, he wanted to make sure she was real, since she'd walked off in his dream and faded away. This wasn't fantasy, though. This, as odd and impossible of a place as the island was, was reality, and Paloma was in it. If she had a hundred questions to ask him, he probably had a thousand.

How did she get here? It was impossible on your own, that much Kirkegaard knew. Like him, she must know someone on the island. Someone who invited her. How long ago did she come here? If she was working, she must have renounced her American citizenship. At least he thought Layton had told him that non-citizens couldn't get work here.

So caught up in his thoughts was he, Kirkegaard failed to hear his name called the first time. He barely caught it the second time, but managed to look toward the sound on the third try.

"Fancy meeting you here," Amara Barclay said, teasingly.

Kirkegaard couldn't help but stare. There she was, just like in his dream, calling his name, saying the exact same things! Then, he realized there were some discrepancies. The locale wasn't the same, she wasn't dripping wet, and she had a few more accessories. But she was tanned, her hands on her hips, wearing a bandeau zebra print bikini top and matching bottoms, a bathing suit he had never seen before outside of his dream. It was all too eerie.

"Amara," he finally managed to get out. He cleared his throat and added, "What a surprise!"

"Small island." Her brilliant smile went up a few kilowatts. "Do you mind?"

Kirkegaard was hit by another wave of deja vu. This time, however, it was from the memory of the plane ride yesterday afternoon. Recovering somewhat, he said, "Yes, by all means."

Amara settled into the chair across from him. "What do you think of the island so far?"

"It's gorgeous."

Kirkegaard grimaced. Again, their words were following to close to his dream, and some of it, he didn't want to repeat. Not here. Not in public. Not with Paloma nearby. The whole idea of Amanda throwing herself at him was absurd, but he decided to try and change things up, anyway. It was already freaking him out. "There's a lot here."

"There is." Amara set her sunglasses on top of her head and squinted at the sudden increase in light. She then leaned in and in a breathy whisper said, "It's exceeded my wildest expectations."

"Wow," Kirkegaard said. He wanted to jump out of his chair and run. He seldom remembered dreams, let alone watched them unfold in real life. It was creepy, and he didn't like the feeling it gave him. It felt inevitable—no matter what he did or said, he couldn't change things. Why? Why was this happening?

"I have been many places," Amara went on saying, "but none compare."

She said it! Kirkegaard stiffened, bracing himself for what came next. Then, he was given a respite. Amara was adjusting in her chair, preparing for something, when Paloma returned with the change. She counted it out, one silver coin with a five on it, and two bronze with a one. Then, without skipping a beat, she turned to Amara.

"Have you had a chance to look at the menu?"

"Oh, let's see," Amara said. After skimming the contents, she looked over at Kirkegaard, then up at Paloma, "I'll have whatever he's having."

"Chicken salad sandwich, tortilla soup, side of potato salad and a lemon-lime soda," Paloma quoted.

"Sounds delicious," Amara said.

"That will be three islanders."

"Oh." Amara went to the pouch on her hip, then stopped. Looking up, her cheeks flushed. "I forgot. I need to exchange some money."

"No worries," Kirkegaard said, "I can take care of it." He held out the silver coin Paloma had just given him. "Go ahead and serve the lady first," he added, as Paloma turned. She nodded and disappeared again.

"I'll make sure to pay you back," Amara said. She genuinely looked troubled. Kirkegaard had to stifle a laugh. He'd felt the same way, earlier, when Layton gave him the lunch money.

"I'm borrowing, too," he finally said. "The friend I'm staying with gave me some local money. I guess they don't accept dollars at the businesses."

"So, I've heard," Amara said. Her chin now rested on her hand, and she was leaning in again. Kirkegaard tried to look away, thought that might be impolite, so concentrated on her eyes instead. That worked for a while.

"You're by yourself."

"Yes," Amara said. She didn't seem to mind he was stating the obvious. "My friend has an all day business meeting, so I'm unleashing myself on the local establishments until he gets back."

Kirkegaard didn't know what she meant by that, so he ignored it. "Have you found anything you like?"

"Everything and nothing." She looked down at the table and began etching something on it's surface with her finger.

"What do you mean?"

Amara described her conversation with the store manager, and how all the clothing, even the intimates, were too conservative for her tastes.

"Too conservative?" Kirkegaard dared to tease. "You? I find that hard to believe."

Amara sat back in her chair and spread her arms out. The gesture beckoned him to look at her. "I know. Right?"

"At least you're taking it in stride," Kirkegaard said.

"It's really hard not to. People I've met so far are too nice and polite. I'm not used to it."

Before he could edit the words, they were out. "Now, that's just a flat out lie."

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

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