The Maya 1.34
Previously On The Maya...
George Kirkegaard continues to talk with Amara Barclay on the bench by the lake. They talk more about Tuscon Sutton II, the man who founded the Isle of Use and who may have turned back time. Amara doesn't think someone could create such a thriving society as the Isle of Use and be a criminal.
Kirkegaard's loaner cell phone rings. It's his friend Jim Layton ready to leave work and pick him up. Amara offers to give him a ride to the Layton's instead. Kirkegaard tells Layton about Paloma and his plans to see her later. Kirkegaard worries that Amara might take offense, though he really doesn't know her intentions. She shows no sign of being upset.
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.
"Well, this is it," Kirkegaard said. Specifically, he referred to Layton's house, where Amara's limousine had just pulled up. By extension, Kirkegaard was also acknowledging his belief this would be the last time the two would see each other.
If she got both references, Amara chose to ignore the latter. "It's nice. Nice neighborhood, too." She wasn't trying to be condescending. It just came out that way. Kirkegaard tried to take her comment at face value.
"I'd say so. Has family written all over it."
Amara leaned away from him. "Is that a dig at them, or a dig at me?"
"Neither," Kirkegaard said. "I better go so you can get your friend." During the ride, the limo driver had informed him Stavros was ready to be picked up. The jog over to the Laytons added an extra ten minutes to the trip, along with each minute he lingered.
"He's used to waiting."
Before Kirkegaard fully realized what was happening, Amara had his face in her hands and kissed him. Full, warm lips, held his for a good long time. She smelled of baby powder and tasted of lemon. When they separated, Kirkegaard saw her gazing up into his eyes.
"Wasn't expecting that," he said, somewhat dazed. He tried to smile, but it showed up like surprise on his face.
"Don't get any ideas." Amara's smile surpassed his. "It's a thank you for keeping me company. I still owe you three islanders." She then leaned in and kissed him again.
"So, that was...?" Kirkegaard asked, when she withdrew. He couldn't even finish the question.
"For luck." When Kirkegaard looked confused, Amara added, "With tonight. You know. Paloma?"
Amara's proximity and her kisses made what he was going to do the rest of the evening fly right out of his head. Kirkegaard thought he could be excused for forgetting. It was odd behavior from a woman he really didn't know, wishing him well with another woman.
"Thanks. I'm not sure there's anything to wish me luck for, but..." Kirkegaard stopped. He didn't need to go into his non-existent relationship with Paloma. Savor the moment, he thought. "I hope you enjoy, the rest of your time on the island."
"I will," Amara said, "Take care, George."
"You, too."
Kirkegaard got out of the limo and shut the door behind him. He waved as the vehicle left the curb, but all he saw in return was the reflection of him waving back.
He watched the limo turn onto the next street, and then stood there a little longer, staring into space. As he thought about it, the whole afternoon had been rather strange. Being kissed by Amara seemed like as fitting an odd ending as any.
"So, that was your ride?"
Kirkegaard turned to the house to see Layton on the front porch. Marie was standing in the doorway. Her amused look matched her husband. He felt his face go red, thinking they'd watched the entire interlude, but then he realized that was impossible. The windows in the back of the limo were tinted.
"Yeah," Kirkegaard finally said. "You guys are like my parents, waiting for me to come home from a date."
"And you look and sound like a guilty teenager," Marie said, firing back. She left the doorway, gathering up Winthrop who was clinging to her leg.
"She's got a point," Layton said, as Kirkegaard neared.
"I wish I could say I had something to do with this," Kirkegaard said, rubbing his neck, "but I don't. You're more to blame than I am."
Layton laughed. "Ah, come on. We're just teasing."
"I know," Kirkegaard said. That didn't help him sort out what just happened though. Where he came from, what he was used to, kisses weren't handed out by virtual strangers for companionship and luck. Maybe he was living in the wrong place?
"Besides, you've got a bigger problem to solve."
Kirkegaard didn't immediately get what Layton was talking about. "You mean, Paloma?"
"No," Layton said. "One thing at a time."
"Oh. Agent Smith." Kirkegaard, once deciding he wouldn't call, had completely forgotten about the IPB Man.
"Yeah. I can guess you don't want to, but I'd also guess, if Smith is involved, that the woman you met on the plane is under surveillance. Which means, you were, too."
Kirkegaard sighed. He'd already drawn that conclusion. The question was, what to do about it.
"Her name is Amara Barclay."
"Barclay?" Layton frowned. "As in Andrew Barclay, billionaire industrialist?"
"The name is right. And Amara's adopted. She didn't go into all of what her father owns. Just the media outlets."
"Things in common," Layton said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You tell me. You've covered major politics. I know you have a cynical side. If you were me, what would you be thinking?"
"What dumb luck I have?" Kirkegaard said. "Less than twenty-four hours on the island and I'm keeping company with a billionaire heiress and about to go out with another woman I know and once..."
"What?" Layton asked the question when Kirkegaard left the statement hanging.
"I don't know." Kirkegaard shook his head. "It's probably best I leave it at that. I really don't want to mischaracterize a relationship that doesn't exist."
"You wish it did," Layton said.
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."
"Seems rather apropos."
"Phone call." It was Marie, back in the doorway.
"Coming," Layton said.
"It's not for you," Marie said. She looked over at Kirkegaard. "An Agent Landers Smith."
Kirkegaard sighed. Frustration, a feeling he had more or less left behind on the plane trip to the island, started to bubble up. He'd done nothing wrong, and as far as he knew, neither had Amara. Not with him anyway. And he didn't want to share any intimate details about their conversations, either, since they were mostly centered around each other. Oh, and briefly Tuscon Sutton.
Kirkegaard followed Marie back into the house and picked up the receiver. It was attached to a cord, but he did try to get some privacy by winding it out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
"Hello?"
"Is this George Kirkegaard?"
"Yes it is, Agent Smith. How are you?"
"Can't complain," the agent replied. "I know I jumped the gun by not waiting for a call, but we all know you were just with Miss Barclay for a couple of hours."
"That is true," Kirkegaard said. While annoying, there was something refreshing about Agent Smith's approach. Direct, straight to the point, and not entirely lacking in friendliness.
"What did you talk about?"
"A lot of things," Kirkegaard said. It was the truth, and the question was broad. It deserved a broad answer. "Are you looking for anything specific?"
"Not necessarily. I'd rather not overlook anything when it comes to Miss Barclay."
"This might be easier if you just listened in on the conversation."
"We strictly adhere to probable cause. This is all precautionary."
"And you can't tell me why she's such a person of interest?"
"No," Smith said. He sounded somewhat sorry about that, as if he understood Kirkegaard's predicament. He must know Kirkegaard was an innocent bystander in all of this. "Let's just say, when Amara Barclay is around, things happen."
"What kind of things?"
"Out of the ordinary things. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be asking the questions."
"I'll do my best to answer them," Kirkegaard said. "But in all seriousness, we talked quite a bit about family, future plans, a little bit more about Sutton..."
"She offered more?" For some reason, Smith sounded surprised.
Kirkegaard frowned. What could possibly be wrong about talking about Sutton? As far as he truly knew, Sutton was a ghost. Someone people talked about in past tense.
"No, I asked. She'd said on the flight she knew a little more and I wondered what it was."
"And?"
"Apparently Sutton's around a hundred twenty," Kirkegaard said.
There was silence on the other end, then, "That it?"
"I guess he lives near a lake on a mountain that may or may not be an active volcano."
Again, there was a pause. "Did she say anything regarding plans to see Mr. Sutton in the near future?"
"No. She did mention an annual dinner he throws. She did not say whether or not she was attending."
"Anything else stand out?"
She kissed me? Twice? Outloud, Kirkegaard said, "There really isn't."
"Any plans to see her again?"
"Not that I know of. I wasn't planning to see her this time, either. Or the first time."
"I understand. I'll repeat the same caution I did at the airport. I don't know if she has any plans here, or if she intends to use you in said plans. I can only make you aware she is more than what she seems."
That's saying something, Kirkegaard thought. "Thanks, again, for the warning."
"My pleasure. Have a good evening."
"And to you."
Kirkegaard went back to the kitchen to hang up the phone. He found Layton waiting for him.
"This wasn't what I had in mind when I invited you to come here," he said. He looked and sounded apologetic. It made Kirkegaard smile.
"The way my luck has been running lately, I shouldn't be at all surprised. I am feeling better about things, though, which you did intend to happen, and I really can't complain about walking around downtown with Amara, either."
"Or running into Paloma," Layton said. He seemed cheered by those turn of events.
"Nope. This place is full of surprises."
"Dinner's ready," Marie said, turning away from the stove with a steaming bowl of spaghetti. Layton followed her into the dining room with the homemade meatballs and sauce.
"Sorry you'll be missing this," he said.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.