Free Shoot Him if He Runs by Stuart Woods

two minutes. The card is mailed to him within a week, and he can use it anywhere, like any other credit card.
    “The U.S. has arrested a couple of casino operators when they passed through American airports, but as long as they don’t enter the States, they’re safe. The U.S. and St. Marks have no extradition treaty, and negotiations have been bogged down for years.”
    “Is there any local regulation in St. Marks?” Dino asked.
    “A government department has been set up to regulate the casinos, but rumor has it, the only enforced regulation is to pay Sir Winston Sutherland for the privilege of operating.”
    “Sir Winston seems to have a finger in every pie,” Stone said.
    “Indeed he does,” Irene said. “There are rumors that he’s pulling in over a hundred million dollars a year for himself, and he’s established an offshore banking system much like that of the Cayman Islands. He owns his own bank, and his friends own all the others.”
    “So he’s St. Marks’s Papa Doc, then?” Dino asked.
    “Sir Winston is, practically speaking, almost as much a dictator as Papa Doc Duvalier was in Haiti, but he’s smarter and more benign; he spreads the wealth around. The per capita income on the island is said to have doubled within the past few years, and it’s expected to double again. Of course, it was pretty low to begin with, but now there are businesses like car dealerships where there were none before. A few years ago, if you wanted a car, you had to go to a dealer in St. Martin or Guadeloupe or Antigua. Now you can buy a Toyota or a Volkswagen off the lot, and there are rumors that Mercedes and BMW dealerships are on the way.”
    “I can guess who’s going to own those,” Stone said.
    “Sir Winston and his friends, of course,” Irene replied.
    “So who’s getting hurt?” Holly said.
    “The suckers,” Harry replied, “the losers at gambling. The casinos have a slightly lower profit margin than the Las Vegas establishments, so they’re attractive to gamblers, but they still lose, just like in Vegas. The casinos operate without infrastructure—they don’t have to invest in building hotels or producing entertainment. There are rumors that those things are in the offing, though, and that will goose tourist income enormously.”
    A uniformed black woman came into the living room. “Dinner is served, Miss Foster,” she said.
    Irene rose, led them into the dining room and seated them at a beautifully arranged table, while Harry poured a French wine.
    Stone nodded toward the view from the dining room window. “I can see a couple of roofs,” he said.
    “The big one is Sir Winston’s,” Irene replied. “The two smaller ones are the former guesthouse, now owned by the Weatherbys, and another small house, owned by the Pembertons; I haven’t met them, either.”

16
    I t was nearly midnight when they left Irene’s house, after a good dinner and a lot of talk.
    “That must be the driveway to the old guesthouse,” Holly said, as their headlights flashed over a gate. “And then the Pembertons, and this one coming up must be Sir Winston’s place. I wonder why there’s no guard.”
    “Look,” Stone said, pointing, “there’s a guard shack up the driveway, about thirty yards after the gate.”
    “So the big man is not unprotected.”
    “I guess not. This jungle is so thick, there could be a company of infantry hidden in there.”
    “St. Marks doesn’t have an army,” Genevieve said. “I read it on the Internet. The island has a police force, but that’s all.”
    “Well, it’s not a banana republic, is it?” Dino said. “And I haven’t heard anything about a drug problem. If anything, Sir Winston must be guarding against that, if his police are shooting drug smugglers on the beach.”
    “If he allowed the drug lords in,” Stone said, “they’d own him in no time, or they’d kill him and install somebody more cooperative.”
    “I’m beginning to think this guy is very smart,”