The Cayman Conspiracy. David Ph.D. Shibli

Arthur Downing, may just prove to be their ticket to the top. Durant was the only skeptical one for he realized that Downing had not yet given any firm opinion on a single topic one way or the other. It was far too soon to make predictions and until they could sense his leaning, they could not judge which way he would fall.

      Medini admonished Kate about trying to get too familiar too soon. He told her to rely more on her femininity and watch for any possible feedback. She was forced to agree and raged inside for having to take criticism. They separated to freshen up and settle into their rooms which would be their homes over the next few days.

      Arthur paused at the front desk to make a couple of phone calls. The first was to his wife to inform her that he would be making his way home soon to change for dinner. The second was to Ackroyd to tell him that the guests had arrived at the hotel.

      “What are they like?” asked Ackroyd.

      “They seem very business-oriented, highly professional. The woman, Miss Clementier is very attractive...”

      “You devil, Arthur,” interrupted Ackroyd.

      “Hold on, Mike. I’ve been happily married for thirty one years. Besides, I’m far too old for that kind of thing.”

      They both laughed and confirmed their plans for dinner with the visitors. Arthur was secretly relieved that his own wife and Ackroyd would be present. Although he had never met people from the gaming business before, these people were not the rough-around-the-edges people that he had expected. They did appear friendly enough albeit serious, so he decided to tread with caution.

      That evening, dinner was apparently enjoyed by all. As the meal ran its course, the wine fueled the banter and the atmosphere gently transitioned from stiff small talk to informal relaxation. Arthur, his wife and Ackroyd had been treated to enthusiastic conversation on a variety of interesting topics. Durant particularly was on his best form as he charmed the others with his colorful, ironic stories of famous artists who were poor until they died.

      Kate caught Arthur’s eye a couple of times and she reacted with disarming smiles and fake coyness. The more-travelled Ackroyd was somewhat easier with the visitors and he acquitted himself honorably when the conversation turned to American professional sports, having once been a UCLA Bruin himself.

      The following morning, Arthur was to attend his first meeting with them at ten o’clock. If all went well, there would be a fishing trip to Cayman Brac with the possibility of some snorkeling off the Cousteau-acclaimed, Bloody Bay ocean-wall.