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Jim and Nick relied on Mickey for instant parties at odd hours, though Mickey had a bad habit of waving a loaded. His job was to watch the satellite links and the $30,000 machine that taped every call to the bookie's round-the-clock reps. Now Mickey was an overseer on the EPZ cyberplantation.

He'd been working for an offshore sports book in Venezuela when his boss decided the new presidente was a Commie and moved the company to Belize. Pink-faced and keg-bellied, Mickey was a middle-aged refugee from Key West. Jim in his prepwear, bald Nick in straw hat and sandals, they sat across from each other at the homemade table and listened to Roger snore away the afternoons.įor the first few days they laughed about it, and repeated, mockingly, the mantra of the Caribbean: 'Soon come.' They took showers and wasted the evenings in the tin-roofed blockhouse next door, the home of their new friend Mickey. There was no phone, and no link to the Net, though the transponder control room was only a few feet away.

The plywood crate full of Nick's belongings, shipped from Miami via freighter, had disappeared down some bureaucratic black hole. The water and septic tank hadn't been connected. The skeeters buzzed, lizards ran in the brush, and three inches of rain leaked through the shoddy walls of their prison, and still their servers didn't arrive. By Wednesday the 10th, Jim, Nick, their lawyer Roger, and their hired-gun hardware whiz Roland had spent nearly a week perched in camp chairs on their bare concrete floor, stomping the spiders that crawled under the shoddy wooden office door, and waiting. They'd flown down from DC in the first few days of May. By the time he reached the Puerto Plata airport, everything to his left was a blur.īut they hadn't factored enough mañana into the equation. Unfortunately, they picked a polluted river, and water laced with human shit splashed in Nick's eye, touching off a nasty infection that wouldn't go away. Actual names (Glenn Godfrey, Craig Williamson) are rendered in full.īack when Jim and his old friend Nick first started researching possible locales for their new offshore gambling business, they took a weekend rafting trip in the Dominican Republic to relax and sort out their options. Jim, Nick, Mickey, and Neville the Fixer are pseudonyms. Too bad nobody mentioned the bugs.īecause of the murky legal status of offshore gambling, the US-based founders of Belize Computer Solutions - and several of their colleagues in the Central American country - agreed to tell their story on the condition that they remain anonymous. The inside story of two yankees who dodged the law, flew to Belize's Export Processing Zone, and flipped the switch on a get-rich-quick Internet casino.

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