Previously On The Maya...
Mr. Tic hurries back to their headquarters in the rundown dance studio after spending less than a half an hour on his self-preservation preparations. He switched shifts with Mr. Snake to accommodate the needs of his contact, an associate from the same government agency where he works. He hates dragging her into it, but he's not told her anything that would jeopardize the mission.
When he gets back, he finds Mr. Snake is still asleep. He hides his briefcase in a hideyhole than goes over to the couch to force himself to watch a movie. In the process of selecting, he hears the buzzing of Mr. Snake's cell, and after some deliberation, decides to answer it. He ends up talking to the director of the agency Mr. Snake works for. After briefing him on what's to come, Mr. Tic is upset by the implications of the phone call. This has become a sanctioned ops, and no doubt he is now in even more trouble than he thought he was before.
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.
The Island Princess, a small vessel that was part speed, part luxury, sat anchored several miles off shore, nearly straight out from its dock. In piloting the boat to its eventual place of rest, Stavros licked his finger, found the trade wind, and followed it. Feeling they were sufficiently secluded, he killed the motors, dropped anchor, and took up residence in his own reclining chair.
He and Amara barely said ten words since casting off over an hour ago. Both of them were content to sip on tropical fruit punch prepared by the cook, and sizzle in the mid-afternoon sun.
It helped that Stavros' spirits were once again lifted, partly by what he saw during his early morning tour of the newest steel factory, and partly because the contract was renewed, with only a two percent increase in costs. That in and of itself, Stavros claimed, with a wide smile and his arms open wider, was worth a champagne toast, but such libations were not available on the island. At least not away from the hotels, where an enterprising businessman might be willing to part ways, for a steep price, with a bottle of aged Dom Pérignon.
Neither Stavros or Amara had the desire to go back to the hotel zone, so they settled for celebrating with fruit punch in large round glasses shaded by baby blue umbrellas, some finger sandwiches, and bowls of pistachio gelato.
Amara had spent twenty minutes baking the back of her, and was now flipping over to take care of the front. The small, ice blue Brazilian bikini she wore contrasted with her darkening skin, and it felt so good to just lie there, cooking, she almost forgot Stavros was there.
"Don't mind me," Stavros said, with mischief in his otherwise sleepy sounding voice.
"Thank you for reminding me," Amara said, refitting her bikini top.
Another twenty minutes went by, with the sun shining down on the turquoise-colored water. The boat rocked gently, with a slight breeze that touched hair and cooled beaded brow. This was indeed paradise, and in the short while since they had been out there, it was sufficient to carry away all of Amara's cares. That was another point for Stavros' contentment—overnight, Amara no longer seemed obsessed with whether or not Kirkegaard might be a spy. She did not discuss it with him at all, but he was glad to see her over it.
"I like the gown you bought," Stavros said, bending to a sitting position in his chair. There was only so much lying around he could do before he had to be up and about.
"It'll do," Amara said. She was not happy with it, but she finally broke down and bought a black version of the yellow silk dress she admired the day before. This one did not cover her shoulders, and did dip down somewhat in the back. Still, Amara was sure she would suffocate before the night was over. She hoped where they would be sitting, she would be able to get up and get some air.
"Is there anything else you'd like to do?"
"No, this is good." Amara paused for a moment, then asked, "What about you?"
"I thought maybe we could swing around the shore up and back, see what it looks like. Maybe do some house shopping."
"You think they'll let you live here?" Amara said.
"Why not?" Stavros said, his brow wrinkling. "I'm a very upstanding individual. Above reproach."
"You're Greek," Amara said. "You'd have to renounce that."
"Ah, details, details," Stavros said, waving his hand. "Let's not get bogged down in such unpleasantness. Let's enjoy the moment at hand, and worry about the hows and the wherefores tomorrow."
"Well, then. Tally ho," Amara said, swinging her hand forward.
Stavros went to the wheel house and weighed anchor. Presently, the motors fired up, and the boat was moving. "Let's not get too close," Amara said, "I like being alone."
Stavros saluted. "Ay, ay, capitan."
Over the course of the next several minutes, he brought them back to within a half mile, which was enough to see the shoreline and any buildings there, but still far out enough to avoid other boats. Amara thought about feigning interest in what they might see, but she had already taken the boat out two nights ago and didn't feel like pretending to be surprised or delighted by what she saw. It had been well over a month since the last time she'd worked on her tan, and so she was content to lay where she was while Stavros explored.
He took them around the south end first, since it was the closest to their present location. For as long as there was sand, there were properties with large homes. The beach wrapped around for several miles, then gave way to sheer drops. The scenery was breathtaking. Instead of continuing down the south side of the island, Stavros turned them around and returned to the southwest corner, where they headed north.
The homes were very nice. From their vantage, they could see some dark specks dotting the shore, which were residents or their guests sunning themselves or playing in the water. There were water toys, too, but not in great abundance, as many people were still at work. Eventually, Stavros and Amara arrived at a wide inlet where the central river, flowing down out of the mountains, reached its end. Lining either side of the river were boats of all kinds, many of them sailboats and catamaran-style. There were also quite a few luxury yachts, a couple which rivaled, if not dwarfed, the Atlantída. Stavros found himself specifically drawn to one. They were too far to read its name, but the ship was long and sleek, with splashes of orange, blue, red and yellow.
Stavros toyed with the idea of getting closer, but decided there was still plenty of coastline to see, and plenty of afternoon to see it in. Undoubtedly, the yacht would still be there when they came back around.
The farther they moved away from the river and the marinas, the smaller the homes and properties got, until they vanished completely. Instead, it was just beach, which Stavros figured must be for public use. Here, the numbers of dots increased, as did the amount of smaller boats and jet skis. There were some rental places, as well as what looked like parking areas for people to back trailers down to designated landings.
'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.