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MEET MELANIE ESCO
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Jason Burke’s focus was split from the scene crowned by Marita Dalit’s magnetic charms over the raucous mobbing by the young female groupies. The trio of friends pressed closely to the American shooting guard’s back in a protective barrier. Shill voices woven with silly giggling from the teenage girls in front failed to shake Jason from his reverie which dealt mainly with a pale image of Alina in Panglao beach. The remote chance that she could have turned up the elusive link to the “Hadron manuscript” weighed with monolithic fervor in his mind.
Fleshy parts became instant writing pads in the carnival mood for an autograph hunt with or without papyrus. It was fun as Jason was pummeled, poked, and pinched and the lookouts in the stands lost sight of his form which got swallowed in the flurry. That made him a hard target, no doubt for a lurking sniper up in the bleacher section. The hawkeyed snoops with their ready mobile phones kept a tight watch but found a measure of relief in Jason’s sinking into the clutch of the crowd.
Mike Arcanghel held on to Lassel forming a safety cordon with Marita Dalit behind the preoccupied Jason Burke. Mike entertained possibilities on how to extricate his friend from the surging fans when a feisty nymphet reached over the heads and snatched away the green bandana from Jason’s top to reveal a close cropped auburn colored marine crew cut. The jostling bunch stalled midway then turned around as if drawn by the suction of a drain that just got unplugged under the flood. The chase for the prized bandana freed Jason of the celebrity crunch as he stood shorn of his head gear and unattended all of a sudden.
“Mike, something came up. I gotta go back to the apartment to take care of a surprise visitor. You guys ride with me to La Salle and I’ll treat you to dinner at that great sushi bar at Ermita Hotel.” Hearing that made Marita Dalit flinch but she strained to regain her composure with an awkward but enchanting smile. Nobuo Abe, the sushi artist chef which gave Ermita Hotel some renown was her spy cell chieftain for the Kempetai, the Japanese cloak and dagger agency. “We don’t want to be in the way of some important or intimate business, we’ll just take a rain check, plus I brought my car and am in no mood to drive clear across town in the traffic.” Marita made sure to sound slightly jealous for effect to cloak her disappointment over the loss of opportunity to come close to the American secret agent.
Jason Burke couldn’t shake off the tug to run to Alina at the condo. Visions of her rolling in the soft sands of Alona Beach in Panglao Island at sunset gave a tightening claw hold in his midsection. The most damning of all was the chance that by some sheer stroke of luck, she could have unearthed a telltale clue from her Swiss patron who worked for the Rockefeller Foundation in New York. Not even Langley, the CIA stronghold felt inclined to develop the lead to the Collider project which spawned underneath the earth’s plate hosting the whole of the city of Geneva. The Abba Krishna fusion of all religion, Spratly’s last reserves of oil, the secretive Hadron quest, and the financial crisis, Jason Burke meant to uncover the trail all by his lonesome if need be.
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