A/N: JWood201 and I were on the sitcomsonline message board and we came up with the idea of an Evil Mary Ann, because only Gilligan, Mr. Howell and Ginger had 'Evil Twin' episodes.
I'm shamelessly obsessed with Spy Gilligan, so he will be in this story too. It won't focus on him, it will be a full complement of castaways and I won't leave anyone out. There will be MAG shipping- a double dose this time, for which I make absolutely no apologies. A nod also to the other Spy Gilligan stories on the board.
Re: the spies' nationality. It was never stated in 'Gilligan v Gilligan' that the spy was specifically Russian. He just said "In my country." I've made him and his colleagues Russian, by which I mean I used Russian websites and **GULP** Google Translator for appropriate words and phrases. If anyone from Russia is reading this and I've made glaring errors, please do PM me and put me straight! Google Translator can be awkward/hilarious when it gets things wrong.
Disclaimer: Absolutely no offense is meant to Russia, America, France or any other country mentioned. Sherwood Schwartz poked gentle fun at capitalism and socialism and greed and complacency, and the overall message of the show was of course that we should all learn to get along together in peace and harmony, no matter what.
All characters property of S. Schwartz- story written for fun, not profit. I'm planning on shortish chapters and frequent updates and I love reviews, especially if you add me to your Alerts or Favorites. Thank you, and on with the story!
The Commandant was not happy. In fact, he was furious. He paced around the small, austere office, stopping every so often to glare at the smaller man in the red shirt and white sailor hat who stood nervously in front of the desk looking down at the threadbare carpet.
"I knew it was a mistake to send you. You are useless!"
Agent 222 raised his eyes sullenly. "You did not think so in France. In France, I did good."
"Who cares about France!" The Commandant looked like he was about to explode. "A baby can make them talk in France!"
Agent 222 pouted and returned his gaze to the floor.
"No, this is not France we are talking about." The Commandant stopped at the window and peered out through the murky glass into the street below. "These are Americans. High intelligence! Capitalists! They do not give up their secrets so easily!"
"But Commandant, I tell you they have no secrets!" The young spy threw his hands in the air, frustration twisting his features. "They are not dangerous!"
The big man scowled. "You did not carry out Phase Four. You disobeyed orders!"
222 muttered under his breath, earning him another look of rage.
"You are failure. As American would say, 'you don't know your arias from your oboe'."
"I am good spy!" 222 protested. "I was willing to go through surgery for this mission!"
The Commandant ran his eyes up and down the skinny man's slight frame and pursed his lips. "Boroda ne delaet filosofom," he shrugged.
A beard does not make a philosopher.
222 looked down at his scruffy sneakers. "You promised me I would get my old face back."
"You do not deserve to get your old face back. Surgery costs money, and in case you do not notice, we have no money until we get results!"
"In that case, return me to the island," the young agent pleaded. "I will do better. I will make them talk. I will carry out Phase Four. I will not fail this time."
The Commandant held up his hand and stopped 222 in his tracks. "No. We will not send you. We have new man for the job."
222's head jerked up. He swallowed past his bobbing Adam's apple- Gilligan's Adam's apple. "You have someone else?" he squeaked.
"Da. You will see." The Commandant pressed a buzzer on the desk and spoke to his secretary. "Olga, please send in Agent 223."
The door to the office slowly opened and Agent 222 swivelled his head to watch his successor come through. His eyes widened when, instead of the big, burly man he was expecting, a small female figure entered the room- a small, perky female figure with thick brown hair and smooth tan skin, wearing a red gingham dress and pigtails.
Agent 222's mouth fell open. "Mary Ann!" he gasped, astonished.
"Correction," the Commandant leered. "Former Agent 222, meet Agent 223."
"Former Agent?" The young man's face fell.
"You are a disgrace to our glorious nation," the petite woman answered, fixing 222 with a cold stare.
"Agent 223 will succeed where you have failed. She will infiltrate the American rebels and find out what they are doing, once and for all!" The Commandant threw his head back and laughed triumphantly, bellowing like a bull.
"You said there was no money for surgery!" 222 whined.
"I said there was no money for your surgery," the Commandant replied. "Look at her- she is a masterpiece, nyet?"
"She is perfect," 222 admitted, for the woman was indeed an exact replica of the Kansas farm girl, Mary Ann Summers. The one castaway on the island that the young spy had felt sorry for. Sure, Gilligan had been harmless enough, but he was a man, and men were expendable. Besides, 222 wasn't going to easily forgive Gilligan for having the kind of face that no-one took seriously. But Mary Ann Summers was just a young girl. Just a sweet, harmless, bright eyed young girl, who made coconut crème pies and listened to stories of doctors on the radio and was always happy and cheerful.
"What are you looking at?" 223 suddenly growled. 222 stepped back in shock.
"You are pathetic." 223 studied 222's rugby shirt and loose fitting denims and her eyes flashed with disgust and loathing.
"YA nikogda ne videl karie glaza vyglyadyat tak kholodno," muttered 222. I have never seen brown eyes look so cold. His heart skipped a beat, and he realised with dismay that Cupid's arrow had struck and he had fallen completely in love.
"Agent 223 is our finest operator," said the Commandant, proudly. "Watch her. Maybe you will learn something."
"Him? He could not learn how to catch the dung from a cow's behind," 223 sneered.
Agent 222's mouth drew down at the corners and he felt himself shrink away to nothing as the Commandant and the new object of his heart's desire laughed and joked at his expense. "When do you leave?" he uttered softly.
"Tonight." Her voice dripped ice. "I will be on their island by sunrise."
"And this time," said the Commandant, rubbing his meaty hands together, "there will be no mistakes."