The Cayman Conspiracy. David Ph.D. Shibli
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it did, they merged slowly and deliberately, savoring the moment. Rachael’s hands ran down Joe’s sides. Her touch was electric. Her legs began to quiver and she gripped him tightly with them. He sensed her urgency, moving faster and faster spurred on by her pleading, breathless voice. He felt profound waves swelling from deep within and he could not stop. She did not want him to, and they exploded into mutual climax, dissolving in pure emotion. Satisfied, they lay together, Joe’s head resting on his wife’s pert breasts.
About a half hour later, Joe gingerly eased himself away from Rachael’s lingering embrace and succeeded in leaving her asleep so that she could finish the dream that had left her face so serene. He padded out of their bedroom and treated himself to a shower in the guest bathroom. The strong jet of water massaged his entirety and he opened his mouth to savor the cool flow. He would have stayed longer but his awareness for water preservation in this hot climate got the better of him. He pushed in the shower dial, instantly stopping the flow. The sudden silence was broken by the ringing of the telephone.
“Shit!” Joe chimed in. He padded out over the white tiled floor leaving glistening pools of water behind with each footstep. He managed to intercept the call, his calm voice concealing any inconvenience.
“Joe LeRice.”
“Hello, Joe,” said a voice that Joe recognized immediately as belonging to his father-in-law, Arthur Downing.
“What are you and Rachael doing this evening?” he enquired.
“We hadn’t really thought about it. If there’s nothing exciting going on, we may go to Benjamin’s Roof for dinner.” replied Joe.
“Well, if you haven’t made concrete plans, perhaps you’d like to be my guests at a dinner function tonight?”
“Where?” asked Joe.
“At the Hyatt Regency.”
“Why? What’s happening?” asked Joe, now interested. Dinner at the Hyatt was always a treat.
“Oh, it’s just another boring function. Some travel company is presenting their sales awards. Actually, it’s you I really want to talk to. I need your Western expertise.”
Joe turned around to see Rachael coming over towards him. “Hold on a second,” he said, “Rachael’s here. I’m game, but I’ll ask her what she thinks.”
She nodded her head in answer to Joe’s question before relieving Joe of the ‘phone to have a daughter-to-father chat. Joe left them to it and returned to the bathroom to clean up.
He wondered what Arthur wanted to talk about this time. Arthur Downing was now a respected politician, having run in the last election and won one of the twelve seats in the Legislative Assembly, representing the smaller islands.
In fact, Arthur Downing was an important member of government who was responsible for the regulation of the thriving tourist industry. More importantly to Joe, Rachael’s father and his own had been close friends and Joe respected him for the strong values that were now evident in his beautiful daughter.
After Rachael had hung up, she found Joe and said, “It starts in a couple of hours. Daddy wants us to meet him at the Garden Loggia in an hour and a half.”
Chapter Three
The LeRices arrived at the Hyatt Regency slightly earlier than the arranged eight o’clock. With twenty minutes on their hands, they decided to make a detour to the Britannia, a golf-club bar, rather than fight their way through the hordes of hungry travel agents at the Loggia.
The club’s balcony sat over a man-made lake that rippled with the gentle breeze, causing the moonbeams to dart to and fro like mischievous fairy children having escaped their mother’s watchful eye.
It was being able to appreciate scenes like these that made the years of hard work seem worthwhile and although they remained silent, mutual thoughts of love and deep respect raced between them.
Pulling themselves away from this living landscape was hard, but hand-in-hand they strolled through the colonial surroundings and towards the Loggia for their rendezvous.
Their tranquility was broken as they entered the restaurant, a flustered maitre d’ could only point them in the direction of their seats, too busy to escort them. Maintaining an air of grace during these functions was made difficult by excited people who were behaving as though they were in a fast food joint, rather than a respected, gourmet restaurant.
Joe and Rachael picked out a path through tamed, tropical foliage, past buzzing guests and over to an alcove where portly Arthur Downing and his wife, Elene, were seated.
“Good evening, Joe,” Arthur greeted Joe, before kissing his daughter. “I’d like you to sit next to me that is, if your wife doesn’t mind?”
Rachael and her mother had hardly seen each other since she and Joe had moved into their new home and they were already locked in animated conversation.
“Sure,” agreed Joe, sliding in beside Arthur.
“It’s just that I’ve got a few questions I’d like to bounce off you,” explained the politician.
“As long as it’s nothing too complicated,” laughed Joe. Talking was relegated to the back-burner whilst their glasses were filled with Veuve Cliquot by an attentive waiter, pleased to be away from the unquenchable travel-agents. Lips moistened, the foursome turned their attention to the menu and sifted through the options.
The three Caymanians, brought up on Cajun and Caribbean home cooking, eyed many of the unpronounceable dishes with suspicion but quickly tracked down the seafood section, especially the lobster. In a moment of nostalgia, Joe went European and selected the steak-au-poivre, medium-rare.
The waiter beamed with pride as he assured Arthur and his guests that all dishes were available. The local fisherman had obviously been out that day and there was nothing like Caymanian lobster to serve up a dish of national pride.
After they had ordered, Arthur turned to Joe who was expecting another debate that he and Arthur frequently got into. The two men had never really forged a classic, in-law relationship, but acted amicably towards each other, rather like business colleagues. They respected each other’s backgrounds and occasionally, Arthur would seek Joe’s opinion on subjects that he knew would go no further than the two of them.
“Joe, I know I don’t have to say this, but this discussion finishes with the meal.”
Joe nodded in agreement and braced himself for yet another round of politics.
“What’s your position on legalized gambling?” Arthur commenced.
Knowing that all gambling in the Cayman Islands was illegal since the first constitution had been drawn up, Joe was caught off guard. He bought time with a question of his own.
“From a moral standpoint or a businessman’s?”
“Both,” countered Arthur.
“Are you talking about casinos, such as in Las Vegas and the Bahamas?”
“Probably.” As ever, Arthur was playing the cagey diplomat, thought Joe.
“I’ll start with the easy one first,” said Joe. “From a businessman’s point of view, a casino is said to be a foolproof way of making money.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s the odds. The games that are played are cleverly designed to give the casinos the edge,” explained Joe.
“In what way?” Arthur pressed.
“Take roulette. You’ve got zero to thirty-six, that’s thirty-seven possible outcomes. If you win, you only get paid thirty-five to one. The very second you bet, the odds are against you.”
“You’re pretty knowledgeable on this, aren’t you Joe?” Arthur observed. “Have you gambled before?”
“To