“If you’ve got a problem, I just wanted to help.”
“How can you help, Joe? You’re not even Caymanian.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t lend a sympathetic ear.”
“What the hell. I might not agree with you, but sometimes it’s good to have another point of view.”
“If you don’t like it, don’t sanction it,” finalized Joe. Privately, he had hoped that Arthur would arrive at this conclusion.
“Don’t apply your simple solutions to a complex issue, Joe. Do you realize how much money the government could obtain for exclusive gaming rights?” Arthur paused. “It’s over one hundred million dollars.”
Joe’s expression changed to one of disbelief. “That’s an awful lot. I had no idea the market was that lucrative?”
“Now you know what I’m up against. I have to decide whether I have the right to make the peoples’ mind up, one way or the other.”
“They wouldn’t have elected you if they didn’t trust your judgment, Arthur. You’ve spent your whole life standing true. Why should this be any different?”
“But I still have to go one way or the other,” reminded Arthur, trying to stamp conviction on his words. “I’ll be meeting with four representatives on Wednesday next week. I suppose it will be the usual PR bullshit, fishing, island tour, you know the routine.”
“Well, at least you’ll enjoy that,” said Joe.
“It sounds like the ladies are getting restless,” Arthur changed the subject. “Let’s eat, Joe. I’m famished.”
After a hearty meal of local fish and imported vegetables, the family entered the sitting room together to enjoy some freshly ground coffee. The aroma wafted gently through the room aided by the rotating ceiling fans and the small talk carried on into the latter part of the evening. Arthur seemed more at ease and he settled down into his more jovial self, throwing his humorous anecdotes around with a skill befitting a politician. With another day beckoning, they parted shortly before midnight.
Chapter Five
A Cayman Airways Boeing 727 lifted off routinely on flight KX247 from the blistering heat of Miami International Airport. It banked to face due south and commenced its ascent to 32,000 feet. The five hundred miles to Grand Cayman would take about an hour depending on the prevailing winds.
At the first opportune moment, the captain turned off the no- smoking sign and, like sprinters hearing the gun, those with cigarettes at the ready lit up in unison, relaxing as the nicotine flowed to their brains. The first class compartment was no exception and three of the four representatives of the Eastern Promise Inc. gaming party followed suit, Luca Telesino being the only exception, but like the dutiful employee, he felt honored to be breathing the same air as his superiors and now he had the added advantage of being able to see it.
Next to him sat Kate Clementier, and a fiery bitch she was too, thought Telesino; he knew that idle talk was out of the question. This woman only opened her lips for business. He quickly turned his head to look out of the window to hide the lecherous smirk that had just crossed his face. A barrage from this super-confident woman was more than he felt able to cope with, so he turned his thoughts to the wife he had left back home. As his devious mind played out scenarios of how she could be cheating on him, it turned him on to think of the brutal beating that she would be letting herself in for if he was to find out. He resisted the temptation to pry as he heard Kate click open the burgundy briefcase she had chosen to match her Chanel outfit. Her profound, expressionless eyes focused through their hazel surround onto a mass of figures that comprised the cash flow projections for the proposed Eastern Promise Casino, Grand Cayman.
She felt at ease with these situations that were purely opportunities to manifest her relentless ambition. She was confident of a successful outcome in any venture that she was involved in. Where there was money, there were always men, and where there were men there were greed and weakness. She despised their simple needs. There was no man that she would ever respect. Her incestuous father had seen to that.
She was now in her early thirties and the success of this business deal would give her total freedom from the men that employed her and whom she secretly hated.
She tossed back her mane of auburn hair. It was a confident gesture and she knew it, as she pretended not to notice the desirous looks that she had just attracted. Contemptuous scum, she thought, reassured by the reaction that would have inspired the Pied Piper of Hamlyn.
Behind these two junior members sat the powerful founders of their profitable and diverse company, Alex Durant and Giovanni Medini. They had met ten years ago at a sales conference for self-help books and cassettes in Las Vegas. Sharing cocktails over a game of roulette, Durant had come up with the devious idea to modify the subliminal self-help messages to encourage gambling. Medini suggested that they find some financing for this idea and with the help of an eager Colombian investment cartel, they acquired the struggling Eastern Promise Hotel and Casino from the receivers for twenty five cents on the dollar.
As well as the pioneers of their subliminal casino, they were part-time money launderers hoping to hit the big-time. This trip would be the final step in their most ambitious plan to set themselves up as money launderers for the cash-heavy drug cartels, most of whom had expressed a desire to back their proposals. They dared not admit it, but this plan to set up in the Cayman Islands would enable them to make the transition from the relative underworld to the pinnacle of respectability and into the corridors of legitimate power, perhaps even controlling the destiny of nations.
Although these two men were both in their fifties, Medini was jealous of the more favorable treatment that Durant had received from the passage of his similar number of years. The only role that Medini felt entirely comfortable with these days was ‘grandfather’. He refused to look in a mirror unless he had time to choose his most flattering angle, a task that was becoming ever harder. Even though his paunch could no longer be disguised by his expensive clothes, and his balding head could not be covered by the ridiculously long strands that grew out from above his right ear, he was still vain, and try as hard as he could, Father Time could not beat this stubbornness out of him.
On the other hand, Durant had developed an air of elegant maturity with his years. His thin face was creased with fine lines that enhanced a rigid bone-structure. His once jet-black shock of hair had now turned almost all silver and this emphasized the devilish glint in his shifty, blue eyes. He was a charming man to meet for the first time. Armed with his designer knowledge of classical music, fine wines and Renaissance art, he would operate as smoothly as oiled butter and consequently a trail of gullible women wallowed in his wide wake.
It was a wonderfully clear day. Even at this altitude, it was possible to make out the Cuban geography which they were now cruising over. Durant and Telesino guarded their views jealously as if they were original masterpieces recently purchased in a charged auction. They were especially surprised at the vast expanses of sand along which their straining eyes could make out none of the tell-tale signs of ‘civilization’, such as sprawling hotels and straight roads leading to them. Perhaps the Cubans were too busy with useful pursuits to be involved in non-productive, western decadence? Or perhaps they were just plain poor?
As the aircraft continued on its course, the light-blue, shallow water around the Cuban coastline deepened into a darker, colder blue that signified a final stretch of open water before they would reach their destination.
As the
