Jaron Summers

St. Maarten Jaron Summers

As Robert Durio stepped into the warm Caribbean dusk, the thought came to him that he was going to either win or die.

Perhaps both.

He walked down the ramp of the DC-10 jumbo jet, a flight bag swinging effortlessly from his muscular arm. The acrid odor of jet fuel overwhelmed the delicate star jasmine blossoming in a narrow flowerbed outside the customs office. Runway lights from Queen Juliana Airport swept toward the sea, disappearing into a star-studded night. As the balmy sea air washed away the harsh odors of the jetliner, Robert forgot America, forgot he had been away from the small Caribbean Island of St. Maarten a third of his lifetime.

Win or die...