 
The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney

By Richard Dorrance

Copyright 2013 Richard Dorrance

Smashwords Edition

This book was written at

the Charleston Library Society

Thank you for downloading this free book. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

# Chapter 1 – No St. Barths Today

It was almost midnight, and Little Jinny Blistov hug over the railing of the sixty foot luxury sailboat puking his guts out. He'd gotten sick back in the cockpit, where the others were sitting, but they had hit him with towels and tote bags, driving him forward towards the bow. Little Jinny was one of the toughest small time Russian gangsters you'll ever want to meet, so they didn't know why he was the only one getting sick on what were only slightly rough seas, but they decided to take advantage of it and give him all the shit they could dish out.

There were six others in the cockpit, all but one of whom had been involved a couple of years earlier, along with Little Jinny, in stealing a load of second class artifacts from warehouses of the Hermitage Museum, in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Just a few days earlier this team had ended production of a world class ballet, which had occupied them for much of the last year. And yesterday morning they had left the port of Charleston for a long awaited trip over to St. Barths, and a much needed vacation. This was the first time the crew of new sailors had taken the boat this far out into the Atlantic and headed for a foreign port. Before this they had ranged up and down the coast off of Charleston, learning to sail and handle the big boat, and had come to view themselves as advanced beginners with a modicum of sea toughness. They all thought that with this time on the water they would be immune to seasickness, and here was their toughest member, hanging over the side, feeding the fish.

Gwen and Roger June had their arms around each other, luxuriating in the feel of being free from the responsibilities of managing a major ballet production, which had been their lives for what seemed like a very long time. Slev and Constantine Gromstov were the commanders of the boat, having spent the most time on the water over the last year learning to sail, what to do and what not to do, readying themselves to sail around the world. The remaining two crew were women; one was Jinny's girlfriend, and one a long-time friend of the Junes who they referred to as Gale the Mouth. She was beautiful, a fashionista of the highest order, and gregarious as hell. She was living up to her nickname now, raining verbal abuse down on Jinny without mercy.

"Jinny. We're barely out of the harbor, and here you are, sick as a dog. Jinny, Guignard's never going to kiss you again after watching you puke like this. Jinny, Mr. Toughguy, what are you doing on your knees, when we're all back here eating canapés and drinking champagne? Jinny, don't come back here till you brush your teeth with dishwashing detergent, cause we don't want to smell you like you are now."

Gale would have gone on, but Guignard, his girlfriend, took mercy on him and stuffed a sock in Gale's mouth. She appreciated the humor as much as the others, but had to cut her man a break. Gwen heard the satellite cell phone ring down in the cabin. After a year of acting as impresario of the ballet production, Gwen never wanted to talk on the phone again. Her ear was worn down to a nubbin. She wanted weeks of hanging out at St. Barths with no responsibility, just being with Roger, eating and drinking well. No one else seemed inclined to answer, and she was tempted to let it ring itself to death, but an intuition made her go below and take the receiver from the wall rack.

"Hello."

"Gwen, it's Richard. How are you out there?"

"All of us are good except Jinny. He's sick as a Russian wolfhound. We have a few waves rolling out here, and it's killing him. How are you?" Gwen was on alert, knowing no one would call them this soon after leaving Charleston unless there was a problem.

"Gwen. Something's happened. It's serious."

She could tell that by the sound of Richard's voice, which exuded stress. With a sense of command, Gwen said, "Yes, Richard. Tell me. I'm here."

"They've been kidnapped. Paul and Stella and Anna. They've been kidnapped."

# Chapter 2 – Confluence on King Street

It was a Tuesday night with very few people on the street, and Paul McCartney, his daughter Stella, and her friend Anna walked down King Street about 9pm after having dinner at _La Fourchette_ , a French bistro. The restaurant cooks their chicken in tomato sauce recipe for ten hours, and it is delicious, especially when paired with a 100% grenache based Chateauneuf du Pape with a few years of age on it. That's what Paul had had, and he was a happy man. They were heading back to the Charleston Place Hotel, just two blocks away, where he and his daughter were staying after attending the final performance of _Stravinsky's Lost Ballet_.

Two separate groups approached the McCartneys, one coming towards them from ahead, and another encroaching from behind. The group facing them consisted of a woman and a man, the woman good looking, well dressed, about fifty-five years old. The man was tall and dressed in a light gray suit made of 80% three season wool and 20% silk. No tie. The other group behind the McCartneys consisted of three men, all dressed in black clothes, with the exception of a pair of white sneakers on one of them, which rendered a discordant blotch on that group. The two groups noticed each other as they converged on the McCartneys, cursing the bad luck. Five minutes ago hardly anyone was on the street, and now both groups would have to deal with other people interfering in their business.

The leader of the men dressed in black was aggressive, and instantly decided to go ahead with his plan despite the presence of the other group. As he came up behind the McCartneys he took out a gun, stuck it in Anna's back, and said, "Hey babe, easy does it. Let's stop right here for a minute, let these other folks go by." Stella and her father didn't pick up on what was happening, but Anna felt the gun, sized up the man holding it, his two friends, and knew it was a bad situation.

When Anna stopped walking, Stella said, "What's up?"

Anna said, "Hold on a minute."

The group of six stood on the sidewalk under a shop awning, with four of them knowing the score, and the other two starting to wonder. As the other group approached them, the man with the gun smiled a tight smile. The man in the gray suit, seeing the three men in black stop at the McCartneys rather than walk past, didn't smile, sensing a kink in his mission. He looked at the six people in front of him, deciding that three of them were harmless, and three of them were harmful. The woman with him was a step behind in terms of understanding the situation, but then she saw it. Instead of passing by, as the three men in black hoped, they stopped about ten feet away and looked from the three innocents to the three not so innocents.

Anna wondered too, understanding she and her friends were being accosted at gunpoint, but not quite sure why these other two people had stopped. The man and the woman weren't acting normally, like passersby on the street, but seemed to have a reason for stopping. Why were these two groups interested in them at the same time? Eating dinner with Paul McCartney had been interesting, and now things were getting more than interesting. Despite knowing Gwen and Roger were on a boat sailing to St. Barths, Anna looked around, expecting to see them, because they had a way of causing weird things like this to happen.

The man in the gray suit said, "Evening, Paul. How's it going?"

Paul said, "Nice. The wine was good, and if you like great chicken stew, stop in at _La Fourchette_ , down the block."

The man's partner asked Paul, "Who're your friends?" She didn't mean Stella and Anna.

"Don't know. They're new friends. We just met."

The aggression minded man with the gun was as confused as anyone, but he said, "We're just having a little chat."

Noticing the man had his hand behind Anna's back, and kept it there, the well dressed woman said, with an edge to her voice, "The five of us were just walking back to the hotel. Y'all ready?"

Anna sorted out the situation. The three guys were bracing her for some reason, and the other two were interceding on her behalf. The three groups were strangers to each other, and the interactive dynamic was heating up. So far there was only one gun out, but she bet the guy in black's friends were heeled, and she knew she was, which, as always, was a comforting feeling. She turned her internal scanning device on the man in the gray suit, and it bonged _gun gun_. So, eight people and five guns. Paul had a harmonica in his pocket.

One of the other guys dressed in black said to his boss, "What the fuck is this? We ain't got all night. There she is. Let's go." As he said 'there she is' he gestured towards Anna.

This new information caused the man in the suit and his companion to recompute. So the men in black were bracing Anna, not Paul. The boss man in black said, "Easy does it. No need to rush. Nice evening out here." He looked at Paul and Stella, and again found them uninteresting. He looked again at the man in the suit and the well dressed woman, and found something compelling about them, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He said to the woman, "You may have to go on alone to the hotel. We have some business with this young lady. Or you can take these other two with you. Anna here, she'll be down there with you shortly."

Anna waited calmly, knowing she could pull her gun on these clowns in a heartbeat, but she wanted to see if this would sort itself out without her having to do that.

Stella said, "But she's with us. We're going home. What do you want with her?"

"Like I said, just a little business. She'll be back with you soon."

The second guy dressed in black snorted at this statement and said, "Yeah, soon."

Paul looked at Anna but didn't say anything. The man in the suit and the woman were sizing things up. They both knew there was a gun in play, and it seemed the three guys were interested in Anna, not Paul and Stella. They, of course, were interested in Paul, not Anna and Stella. Stella, it appeared, was unwanted by anyone at the present time. The group of three men looked at the McCartneys and Anna, and man and the woman looked at the McCartneys and Anna, and then they looked at each other. What had promised for both groups to be a simple little kidnapping had turned into an awkward night out on the town.

The second guy dressed in black said again, "C'mon, boss. Grab the bitch and let's get out of here."

The boss man in black looked at his partner, feeling some irritation, which caused him to drop the hand holding his gun away from Anna's back and towards the ground. When the man in the suit saw this, he acted instinctively, sweeping the right hand panel of his suit coat aside and drawing a gun from the holster just to the rear of his hip. With one part of her mind Anna watched the smooth draw with admiration, while another part of her mind directed her right hand to brush aside her silk jacket and draw her own gun from its holster to the rear of her right hip. The draws were almost simultaneous, and the result was two guns pointed at the head of the boss man in black. The well dressed woman wasn't surprised to see this action of her companion, but she was surprised to see a similar action and result by Anna. The three guys were very surprised by both actions, and dismayed at the results. Paul and Stella, being artists, were surprised by just about everything that had happened since the three groups converged on the King Street sidewalk under the shop awning.

The woman acted first to sort things out, stepping forward and taking the gun from the hand of the boss man. Knowing where the threat lay, she motioned the three guys back against the shop window, and motioned for everyone else to take a few steps away from them. She said, "Look, we can't stand out here forever, someone is going to come along and see us waving guns around, and then where will we be. Let's get this done and get out of here." She handed the gun she was holding to the man in the suit, and pointed to the boss man in black. "What are you doing here?"

"Like I said, we have some business with the lady."

She looked at Anna and said, "You know these guys?"

Anna shook her head, no.

She looked at Paul and Stella, wordlessly asking the same question. They shook their heads, no. She looked at her companion. "You said this would be easy." He didn't answer in words or through body language, but remained passively alert and calm, holding his gun on its target. Looking back at the boss man she said, "So you're not interested in him or her," pointing to Paul and Stella. He shook his head, no.

He said, "What are you doing here?"

She said, "We have some business with the gentleman."

He looked at Paul and said, "You know these two?"

Paul shook his head, no.

He looked at Anna and Stella, wordlessly asking the same question. They shook their heads, no. His two companions said to the boss man, "You said this would be easy." He didn't answer in words or though body language, but said to the woman, "So you're not interested in either of them," pointing to Anna and Stella. She shook her head, no. He said, "Well, shit."

The woman was too refined to say the same thing, but she thought it.

The eight people, two of whom held guns in their hands, stood around waiting for someone to figure things out. The man in the suit, being a butler by trade, waited for his boss to do this. Paul, being a songwriter, was writing lyrics in his head, trying to find a word that rhymed with _kidnap_. Stella, being a fashion designer, stood looking at the white sneakers on the feet of one of the guys, wondering how his friends had let him out of the house wearing them. The three guys in black all wondered if this unforeseen occurrence was going to cost them their three million in ransom money.

The three innocent people and the two refined kidnappers instinctively felt an affinity with each other, and against the three unrefined kidnappers. Taking advantage of this, the man in the suit lowered his gun and looked at Anna. Feeling a sense of trust with him, Anna lowered her gun, at which point the man in the suit, with a hint of smile on his face, snapped his gun into firing position, pointing at Anna's face.

Anna said, "You little shit."

The dressy woman smiled, walked the few steps to Anna, and took the gun from her. She returned to her position, noting her escort had repositioned his gun towards the three guys in black. She said, "Ok, let's get this done, we can't stand here on the street all night." She asked the three guys, "You know who this is?" pointing towards Paul. The boss shook his head, no. "He's Paul McCartney."

The three guys looked at Paul. The boss started humming _Hey Jude_ , another hummed _Back in the USSR_ , and the third guy hummed _Yellow Submarine_. He was the dumbest of the three. "No shit. Paul fucking McCartney. A Beatle. He looks kinda old."

The woman said, "Well, he is old, but he's still writing songs, rock n rollin. That's why I want him."

"I thought you were friends of his. Them."

"Not exactly. But we're going to become friends. Aren't we, Paul?"

McCartney said, "I'm just in town for the ballet performance. And to visit with my daughter. I'm leaving tomorrow, back to London. Got a gig playing for the Queen's birthday."

"Sorry to tell you this, but you're going to miss that gig. Maybe you can call up Ringo, ask him to fill in for you at the party. You're going to be working another gig for a while. For me."

Paul looked at the woman, not understanding. Neither did Stella, but Anna did, and so did the boss man in black clothes, who said, "You're kidnapping Paul McCartney? That's kinda what we're doing here, only not him, her," pointing at Anna.

Everyone looked at her, and the butler said, "Who's she?"

"She's the granddaughter of someone we don't like."

The butler looked at the woman he was escorting, and said, "What do we do now?"

The woman looked up and down the street, and saw a couple a block down on the other side, walking towards them. "We gotta get out of here, so let's recapitulate the situation. We came to kidnap Paul, and don't care about the other two. These guys came to kidnap this woman, not knowing she was with Paul McCartney and his daughter, and not caring about them. We all came together at the same damn time, and we all have guns." Which made her think, and ask her escort, "Did you check the other two?"

He had not, which was quite an oversight for a bodyguard, even if his principle duties were butlering. He handed her his gun, went up to the other two guys in black, the dumb one still humming _Yellow Submarine_ , and frisked them. He found two more guns and handed them to the woman, who now had three of them on her person, and took back his own gun, which he again pointed at the guys. He said to his boss, "Sorry."

The woman looked at Paul and said, "This is your daughter? Which one?"

"Stella. The oldest." And he smiled at her.

"Stella McCartney, the fashion designer. Well, well. What are we going to do with you?" Now she looked at Anna. "Who is it these gentlemen don't like? Your grandfather or grandmother?"

"Must be Granddad."

"Why don't they like him?"

"No idea. But there are quite a few people who don't. I've never seen these guys before."

The butler lowered his gun because the couple on the other side of the street was getting close. The boss man in black thought of making a dash for it, but decided he wanted to know how this was going to play out. He said to the woman, "Well?"

"Well, I think we got lucky. Not only are we going to have someone writing music for our opera, we're going to have someone designing costumes. Two for one kidnapping. Our lucky night."

"What about her?" nodding at Anna.

"She can go."

The butler said, "These guys came to kidnap her. What if they mess with her after we leave?"

The woman thought for a second, said, "We let her go first. Then they can go."

Anna thought this was one interesting night. First she has dinner and wine with Paul McCartney, now she's in the middle of, not one, but two attempted kidnappings, one of them her own. Again she looked around to see if the Junes were going to show up, because this was just like something they would be involved in. When she didn't see them, she decided to deal with things. The inconsequential people were the three guys in black. If the man and the woman hadn't gotten involved, she would have aborted her kidnapping, and possibly issued a penalty to the unsuccessful kidnappers in the form of shooting one or all of them in the legs. The consequential people were her two friends, and the two people who, evidently, were intent on procuring Paul's and Stella's professional services. There wasn't much thinking to be done.

She said to the woman, "I'm not leaving. I'm going with you."

The butler looked at the woman, who looked at Anna. The three guys also looked at Anna, who appeared to be volunteering to be kidnapped along with Paul and Stella. The woman said, "Honey, we don't want you. We got two people here we do want. You run along home."

The boss man in black said, "Wait a minute. We came to kidnap her. If you don't want her, we do. She's worth a lot of money to us, and other stuff too."

The woman said to Anna, "If you want to be kidnapped tonight, there's your chance. Go with them. Or, you can leave now and go home, and we'll see these boys don't follow you."

Anna said, "Obviously, I'm not going with these idiots. And I am going with you. That's the deal."

The man with the gun pointed it at Anna, and said, "We don't want you. Get lost."

"Look, you said Paul is going to write music for you, and Stella is going to design costumes. I can help with that. I'm a pianist, and I've written half of a score for a ballet. If you're doing a production, I can help."

The woman said, derisively, "That's like writing half a book. What good is it?"

"I got interrupted with the music thing. Got an offer I couldn't refuse. I'll finish the score soon."

The butler asked, "What was the offer?"

"Movie. Act in a Spielberg movie."

"What movie?"

"Not out yet. We just finished filming, in France. That's where I met her," nodding at Stella.

He asked Stella, "What did you do?"

"What do you think? Costumes."

He looked at the well dressed woman, who looked first at Paul, then Stella, then Anna, and then at the three thugs in black. She said, "What a night! We come to kidnap Paul McCartney, we interrupt another kidnapping, and now we're going home with three people. When it rains, it pours."

# Chapter 3 – Getting Home

The three thugs were sent on their way down King Street, minus their intended victim, their guns, and a portion of their self-esteem. The other five walked up King in the other direction, the woman leaning to one side because that's where she carried her Gucci purse, which now bulged with five handguns: her own, Anna's, and the three guy's in black. She was thankful for the quality of the purse materials and strong stitching of the seams. After a block of walking, everyone had decompressed a little. The man in the suit kept his gun down near his thigh, mostly out of sight. Anna said, "Well, that was fun. Now what?"

The woman said, "Now we go home. Have a drink. Get to know each other."

"Why should we do that? You're not real kidnappers. You're not going to shoot us, here on the street, if we refuse to go with you. Who are you trying to kid?"

The woman, who'd had a blocks worth of walking to figure things out, said, "In a way, we got lucky tonight, because we have her," pointing to Stella. "If you hadn't been with Paul, and we hadn't run into those idiots, we would have intimidated Paul into coming with us. Easy. He's an artist. But, now we have her, too," nodding at Stella, "and her, we can handle, right, Jools?" He nodded.

Anna said, "Why do you say you could intimidate Paul just because he's an artist? What about, say, Micky Spillane?"

"He was a writer, not an artist." Then she said, "You seem to be a tough cookie. Not a lot of beautiful women walk around packing heat. What's up with that, anyway?" Anna shrugged. "So, you're right, partially. We're not going to shoot all three of you here if you refuse to come with us, but what Jools will do is to pick Stella up under his very strong arm. Anyone makes a noise, a fuss, and Jools will drop her on her pretty head. If that's what you want, Paul, say so now. We'll get on with the unpleasantries."

Paul said, "That's not what I want. I'll come with you, no fuss."

Anna said, "Ok."

The group geared up again and continued down the street. Anna still was pissed at Jools for playing the trick on her, getting her to drop her guard and then getting the drop on her with his gun. She looked for payback as they walked, but didn't want anything to happen to Stella, who still wasn't sure what was going on. They turned right at the next corner and stopped halfway down the block at a dark blue BMW sedan. It was a slick looking car, and did nothing to make one doubt the veracity of the slogan _the ultimate driving machine_. But, it was on the small side, not being one of those behemoths that rule the Autobahn in Germany. All five people stood looking at it, basically thinking the same thing. Anna bent down and peered through the window at the back seat, which was big enough for two children. Even BMW had had to bow to the pressure of environmental political correctness. She didn't say anything, but did let a hint of derision appear at the corner of her mouth.

Both the well dressed woman and the man in the 80% three season wool suit without a tie could see the problem. She said to him, "You said this was going to be easy. Now what do we do?"

The butler figured he wasn't being paid to perform this type of mental labor. His jobs were bodyguard, strong arm kidnapping assistant, and serving wine at the correct temperature, so he remained mute. The woman gave him a disgusted look, and then looked back at her car, which would have functioned fine if they only had one kidnapping victim; but they had three. She looked at Paul, then Stella, then Anna, then at the backseat. Said, "The three of you are just going to have to squeeze in."

Paul and Stella looked through the window, then at the woman. Paul said, "Lassie, you're joking. I wouldn't get in there if I was sandwiched between Scarlett Johansen and Alicia Keys, and both of them were naked." He looked at Stella, said, "Sorry, dear."

The woman looked at Jools and said, "You take the two girls home, lock them up, then come back."

"It's a twenty minute ride home. You want to wait here on the street, hanging out with Paul McCartney, for an hour and a half? We only had one set of chains set out for him. I'll have to dig two more sets out of the attic for the women; get them all hooked up to the wall, and that will take some time. You sure about this?"

Anna said to Jools, "Why don't you take the two of them home. I'll stay here with her," nodding at the woman. "We'll shoot the shit. You come back, pick us up." The others could discern Anna licking her chops at this proposal, Paul wondering what kind of woman his daughter had made friends with in France on the set of the Spielberg movie. A woman who carried a gun, just going out to dinner on a slow Tuesday night in Charleston.

The woman said, "I think not. We'll call a taxi, come back tomorrow morning for the car."

She nodded at Jools, who said to her, "You going to grab Stella, drop her on her head if they all make a break for it while I'm dialing a phone? I only have so many hands." The McCartneys and Anna wondered at the tone of the butler's voice, which showed hints of impatience and even insolence, them not knowing much about the butler's code but thinking butlers were supposed to be paragons of propriety and subservience. The woman nodded understanding and opened her purse to find her cell phone. She had to hold the purse with two hands due to the weight of five guns, which sat on top of the phone. She took one gun out and put it under her left armpit, stuck the second one in the alligator belt that separated the top half of her linen suit from the bottom half; tucked the third gun, a Sig Sauer nine millimeter, under her chin, set the fourth on the sidewalk at her feet, and held the fifth gun in her left hand. She held the purse, with the cell phone in it, in her right hand. At this point she looked at the others, who were spellbound at the incompetence of her performance. All this just to call a taxi. The woman had a lot of self-confidence, and didn't care what the others, including Jools, thought at this point in time. She handed the purse to Paul, reached inside, and took out the phone. Jools took this opportunity to look up and down the street, wondering who might come along in the next minute or two. Even with a gun tucked under her chin the woman was able to give the taxi company her location and the address of their destination on Sullivan's Island. She buttoned off the phone, stuck it back in her purse, took the gun from under her chin and put it in the purse, then the one under her arm, then the one in her belt, which was digging into her side, and finally bent over to pick up the one on the sidewalk. Her purse again weighted more than a sack of groceries. At this point a police cruiser came down the street and rolled past them. Anna knew she could just run out in the street in front of the car, and the whole thing would be over. She wondered what the police would think when they searched the woman and found the arsenal, she being so good looking and so well dressed and all. But Anna thought this whole thing was interesting, her being the adventuress type, so she stayed where she was.

Two minutes later the taxi arrived and pulled over to the curb. All five of the kidnappers and kidnappees looked at it. On the side, in bold green graphic swatches, they read _The Green Taxi Company, The Environment is Our Business, Too_. It was a Prius, an electric car that could sit three people in addition to the driver, who was Pakistani, just like all the drivers in New York City. The Prius only could hold four small humans because the entire trunk was taken up with 1000 pounds of batteries, all of which had cost significant sums of energy to manufacture in China. Jools, still holding his gun behind his back so the driver couldn't see it, used it to motion Paul, Stella, and Anna across the wide sidewalk and away from the taxi, so that the woman could formulate her next great plan in peace. She stood looking at the electric car, wondering if this whole kidnapping thing was worth the effort.

The driver leaned across the front seat to the passenger door and turned a hand crank that lowered the window, because the Prius didn't produce enough juice to operate power windows. He said, "No problem, lady in linen suit. I take three of you, come right back for other two. No problem."

Across the sidewalk Anna was asking Jools about his H&K 40 cal, knowing it cost three times what her Glock cost, which was in the woman's purse, wondering why people would pay that. Status, that's all.

The woman said, "Would you please call and have them send another taxi? We all need to go at the same time."

"Call who, lady? No one to call. Just me."

"Call your company. Your dispatcher. Ask for another car."

"I'm the company, lady. I'm _The Green Taxi Company_. Just me. My wife doesn't drive. When I earn enough for another Prius, then I teach her to drive."

Anna wondered when the woman, or Jools, was going to remember about the BMW. That they now had two cars.

The woman said to the green man, "Stay here." She went over to the others, said, "This is a nightmare. We gotta get home. I need a drink." To Jools she said, "You take Paul and her," motioning to Anna, "in the taxi. Don't let her try anything. I don't trust her. I'll take the other one with me. Where's the duct tape?"

"In the car."

The woman went over to the BMW, set her purse on the ground, removed the five handguns, not bothering to look around and see if there were any more cops or other Tuesday evening diners around, found the car remote, put the guns back in the purse, and unlocked the car. She looked on the floor, then in the back seat. "Where is it?"

Jools said, "Where you put it."

"Me? I didn't get it. You were supposed to get it. You're the butler. That's what you do."

He looked from Paul to Stella to Anna, then said, "Yes, you're right, I should have gotten the duct tape. That's what I do, fetch and use the tools of the trade, the little silver tasting cup on the chain around my neck, to taste the wine before serving it to you, heating up the clothes steamer, getting the wrinkles out of your silk blouses, bringing the duct tape to tie up the kidnapping victims; yes, those are my jobs, I should have brought the tape with us. Sorry."

The woman said, "How am I supposed to drive us home with her sitting next to me, not tied up with tape? She might grab the wheel, veer us into the other lane, crash head on into a bus."

Stella looked at the woman, then at her father, and did the _she's crazy_ gesture with her hand up near her ear. Looking back at the woman she said, "Look, if it'll make you feel better, and get us off the street, I'll drive. You can cover me with one of your five guns. You know how to use a gun, right? Safely? Not going to squeeze the trigger accidentally if we hit a pothole? Right?"

"I'll be careful. Now c'mon, let's go. I need that drink."

Paul squeezed into the front seat with the driver, and Jools squeezed into the back seat with Anna. The driver looked at Paul, put the car in gear, and started humming _A Hard Day's Night_. The other two got in the BMW and followed.

# Chapter 4 – The Kidnapper's Place

The twenty minute ride out to Sullivan's Island was uneventful. Paul took the harmonica out of his pocket and played along with the humming of the Pakistani, who performed a respectable medley of Beatles songs. Jools and Anna debated whether his ownership of the H&K was a matter of it being a status symbol, which was her position, or a superior piece of ordnance technology, which was his position. In the literally colored blue car following the symbolically colored green car, Stella told the woman a little bit about the Spielberg movie she and Anna just had completed. This was the first full length Spielberg movie Anna had starred in, though previously she'd had a small part in a Spielberg documentary about the history and culture of champagne, which had starred Catherine Deneuve. The movie had filmed in the Pyrenees, and was Spielberg's remake of _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ , with Anna playing the Ingrid Bergman part. Stella told the woman Spielberg had asked her father to do the score for the movie, and when that didn't work out, he had asked Stella to do the costumes, which did work out.

Twenty minutes later the cars pulled into the driveway of the woman's house. The woman lugged her purse over to the green taxi and said, "Pay him, please, Jools."

"Me? Pay him? With what? I didn't bring any money." Everyone looked at him, thinking, Jesus, not again. Then he said, "Kidding," extracted himself from the rear seat of the taxi, tucked his gun under his arm, and took his billfold out of the inner pocket of his suit coat. It was one of those long leather wallets that held bills unfolded, very aristocratic. The Pakistani looked askance at the gun and greedily at the billfold. It only had taken one look at the woman's three story house to tell him these folks had money, so he hoped for a big tip. After all, he had serenaded them with song during the trip, hadn't he, performing with the guy with the harmonica? Jools handed him two twenties, which was fair enough.

He said to Jools, "You have gun because you're afraid I might steal your money during the trip? Usually, with taxi drivers, it is other way around. We are afraid of passengers."

The other four watched to see how Jools was going to deal with this. He said, "I'm, umm, a CIA agent. I was just showing Agent Anna here the special features of this gun. It has a built-in GPS targeting device that calculates the exact location of the target to within two centimeters, and transmits that information via satellite to the person holding the gun, who then interprets that information, and fires."

The Pakistani said, "Oh, yes, very nice. Very high tech. CIA, yes, very nice, we have many of you now in our country, can hardly walk around without stepping on one of you. We feel very safe with you helping us the way you do. Thank you, sir, and thank you for showing me your gun with its special features. Thank you all for patronizing _The Green Taxi Company_. I will tell my wife about this fare tonight, yes. Good night, good night. If you need special ops taxi driving service, you call me, yes. Maybe I get to see how gun works with its GPS targeting technology. Very nice, good night, good night."

While she watched this weird scene play out, Anna had found three ways she could get away from the kidnapping attempt, but that meant leaving Paul and Stella. She knew she could get away and call the FBI, and they would show up and do their thing, but her intuition told her no, don't go that route. Stay with the McCartneys and let this thing go down the road a bit. When the taxi pulled out of the long driveway, Jools waved his gun at them, shooing them towards the house, which was elevated, with the ground level being the carport. They entered the carport and climbed a wooden staircase that led into the kitchen. The woman set her purse down on the granite counter with a loud thump, one gun poking the end of its barrel out the opening. Jools motioned to the other three to sit on the counter stools. Anna sat in the middle, right in front of the woman's purse that contained five guns, including hers. She looked at Jools, who got the message, picked up the purse, and took it out of the room. In the meantime the woman got a bottle of cognac out of a cupboard, and a large bottle of club soda out of another. She lined five rocks glasses up on the counter, filled one with ice cubes, and poured herself a stiff one. She said, "Help yourself."

Paul said, "Don't mind if I do," and filled another glass with ice, cognac, and soda. Stella and Anna watched him sip, and decided to join him. So did Jools.

Stella watched Jools take a long pull on his drink, and said, "As I understand it, in the old days, butlers didn't drink with their masters."

The woman said, "It's a bad habit, I admit, and I'm to blame. Permissiveness never pays off. It's like that first time you feed the dog a scrap at the table; that's the end. It's all downhill from there. The dog owns you." Jools knew she was joking, and didn't take offense. He actually liked her sense of humor, dry and a little quirky. She went on, "Ok, you're in our house, its official now, this is a kidnapping. Three times. That means three life sentences without parole, if we get caught."

Jools stopped slurping his drink and looked at her. "You never told me that. Life sentence, without parole. Are you crazy? I never would have gotten involved if you had told me that. You said if we got caught, your lawyer would get us out on bail. Pay a fine."

"That was for one kidnapping. When you snatch three people, the penalty goes up." The woman, in turn, liked Jools' sense of humor, which was why they had been together for so many years. "So, we're all in this together now, for real."

Anna said, "For real, what? What do you mean by that? I could've gotten away from you three times so far this evening. Once on King Street and twice here. You set a bag of guns right in front of me. How real is that?"

Stella said, "You could've gotten us away? How come you didn't?"

Jools said, "She didn't say she could've gotten all three of you away, she said herself. We know that."

The woman said, "How come you didn't leave, if you could have?"

Anna thought for a moment and said, "I had an intuition. Told me not too."

"Ahh," said the woman. "Intuition."

"I could have, though," said Anna. "I could've gotten away."

"Yes, but that would have been abandoning these two, and you would've gone to the FBI, and they would have come here with SWAT teams, and how much fun would that be? Your intuition told you not to do that. And now here we are."

Paul said, "Are we really kidnapped, then? As in, can't leave?"

"Well, yes. You can't leave. In a few minutes Jools is going to show you your new quarters. They're out back. That's where you'll be staying for a while."

Paul looked at Anna and said, "Maybe you should've left when you had the chance." He looked at the woman, "So how come? How come us, here? What's the story?"

The woman said, "Let me tell you."

# Chapter 5 – She Explains

The woman led the group into the living room which was furnished in art deco style. There were three circular mirrors on one wall with chrome frames, a free standing screen in one corner with chevron designs, two matching black and red leather armchairs with big round sides like wheels, a sofa with zebra pattern upholstery, and a desk with a complex geometric arrangement of inlaid woods. The five of them sat down, with Jools pouring second drinks for everyone. He kept his gun under one arm while doing the mixing, which Anna and Stella thought incongruous. This incongruity continued when he sat down, drink in one hand, gun in the other. Anna noticed the drink was in his right hand and the gun in his left. She knew from the time spent with him on King Street earlier in the evening, when he tricked her into lowering the gun she had pointed at his chest, and then snapped his gun up into firing position, pointing it at her chest, that he was right-handed. She wondered how good a shot he was holding his gun with his left hand.

The woman took a pull on her cognac, settled into her chair, and told her story. Stella interrupted her by saying, "Wait, what's your name? We know he's Jools, and you know us, but he never said your name the whole evening. I keep thinking of you as 'the woman'."

"Well, let's think this through. I've kidnapped the three of you, and will have demands, and kidnapping is a serious crime, so I have to decide if it's smart to tell you my name. Usually kidnappers don't do that; tell their victims their name. Unless, of course, the kidnapper knows he or she is going to kill their victim in the end, regardless of whether their demands are met. For that reason, an astute person, a victim, probably would not want to know the name of their kidnapper. Might mean their fate was sealed. You sure you want to know?"

Jools said, "Wait a minute. You gave them my name, and now you might not tell them your name, on account of it might lead to you being identified and captured by the FBI in the future? What about me? What about my future, when this is over?"

"I didn't give them your last name. Don't worry so much. It's not becoming of a butler."

"Jools. You told them my name is Jools. How many Jools are there walking around in Charleston? How hard is it going to be for the FBI to find a Jools? If we were in The Netherlands, that might be different. Lots of Jools over there, but not here."

"Dear, you just told them where you're from. If you're so worried about getting caught, you shouldn't give them information about yourself."

Anna said, "They have butlers in The Netherlands? I thought there only were butlers in England. I didn't know there was class distinction in The Netherlands."

The woman cut this off, saying, "Look, you want to know my name, or not? I don't really mind, because when this is over, I'm outta here. I got plans, so I don't mind telling you. It's Scotilly. Scotilly Verve."

Paul said, "Scotilly. Scotilly. Nice, I like it. Never heard that name before. Have you?" he said, looking at the others. They nodded, no. "Scotilly. I could write a song about a girl named Scotilly, accent on the first syllable, Scot." And he sang a new melody.

Scotilly in a butterscotch dress,

Drinking a cognac, reducing her stress.

The kidnapping behind her,

The demands ahead of her,

Scotilly in a butterscotch dress.

Scotilly set her drink on the gold and black enamel coffee table, stood up, flounced over to where Paul sat, leaned over him, and planted a big kiss on his cheek. She said, "That's my boy, that's my songwriter." She stood up, looked at the group, and said, "That's why you're here. Well, that's why he's here. You're here because you were with him, and we," looking at Jools, "couldn't get rid of you. He's here to do something for me."

Paul said, "What, luv? What am I going to do?"

Jools looked at Stella and Anna and said, "Here we go."

"You're going to write songs, Paul. You're going to write a bunch of songs."

"How many is a bunch, luv? I can write a couple of ditties right now, and we can get out of here by midnight. I got part of one in the can already. You heard the first stanza."

Scotilly sat down, polished off her second drink, kicked off her shoes, and put her feet up on the table. "Not ditties, Paul. Big songs. Great songs. Deep songs. Beautiful songs. The best you've ever written. The best anyone's ever written. And enough of them to fill an opera. A rock opera. The greatest rock opera ever produced. That's how many, luv. A lot."

Anna cocked her head sideways, thought for a few seconds, and said, "You kidnapped Paul McCartney so he can write a rock opera? For you?"

She nodded, and said, "That's half the reason. That's the good part. The fun part."

"And the other reason? The not so fun part?"

"The other part is prosaic. Not interesting, or artistic, or culturally oriented. But it's important." They waited politely. "Well, what do you think? Money. I need some money."

Stella looked around at the living room, with its beautifully designed décor. She said to Anna, "House is three stories. On the beach. Really nice furniture. BMW. And a butler. Not many people have their own butler." She looked at the woman. "You don't have enough money? Looks like you do. You need money so badly you kidnap three people for it?"

"Look, I didn't start out to kidnap three people. Just one. That's all. And that's only half the reason I kidnapped him. The other half is for artistic reasons. I'm going to contribute to American culture, so it's not as bad as you make it sound."

Anna said, "Money. The root of all evil."

The woman got up and headed to the kitchen for another drink. She looked at Jools and said, "You tell them."

He said, "You ever hear of the 2008 economic downturn? She got clobbered. Bad. She's got the house now, and that's about all. She grew up loaded, inherited a ton, then lost it. I've been with her for a long time; we're both the same age. My father was her parent's butler a long time ago in England. Her father was English and her mother American. They made a deal. They would live in England until they had children, and then move to the States, which they did, in the 60s. My father died, then her parents died, and I ended up staying with her. We get along." Stella looked at him, made the intimate relationship gesture. He nodded no, said, "Never." He went on, "She's been wealthy her whole life. Till a couple years ago. Hates not being wealthy, and I don't care much for it, either."

Stella said, "That's happened to a lot of people the last few years. Not all of them go out and kidnap three people on account of it."

"Must you harp on the number three? One. We went out to kidnap one person. That's all. You two are not legitimate kidnappees. You are collateral damage. We offered to let you go back on the street."

"Can we go now?"

"Well, no, not exactly. Not now that you know where we live."

"So we are kidnappees."

"No, no, I can't accept that label. You are, you are....guests of a special kind."

"Huh?"

Anna said, "Let's not split hairs. We're here. What else should we know about our benefactor?"

Jools said, "Basically she told you the deal. She needs money, and is going to ask Paul to provide it. So we can live as we like. Well, she. As she likes. She's the boss. I'm along for the ride. But the money thing really is only half the motivation for the snatch....er, the abduction. The one thing she hasn't mentioned is that she plays piano. Not great, but decent. Has played her whole life. When she was younger she wanted to be a performer. Her piano playing is ok, but her singing is better. Nice voice, and loves to listen to great singers like Renee Fleming and Dusty Springfield. Ray Charles, the greatest ever. And loves The Beatles songs. Loves you, Paul. She thinks the greatest piece of rock music ever written is _Quadrophenia_ , the rock opera by _The Who_." Scotilly came back into the living room with her third cognac and soda, and sat down. Jools continued, "So over the last month everything came together. Some people in town recently did a huge production of a lost ballet, by Stravinsky. It was incredible. We saw three out of the nine performances. Somehow they got Pete Townshend of _The Who_ to transcribe the Stravinsky music from orchestra to synthesizer, and to perform it live. The dancing was mind-blowing. We saw you," looking at Paul, "at the premier, and the newspaper said you were coming back for the final performance." Now looking at Scotilly, he said, "She put it all together. Kidnap Paul McCartney, get him to write music even greater than _Quadrophenia_ , play a little music with him, sing with him, produce the rock opera here in Charleston, just like these other folks did with the ballet, get a ransom, and then...."

"Ok, Jools, you don't have to tell them what happens then. We need to keep a few secrets." She looked at the three houseguests. "You got the picture? Understand? You're the guest of honor, Paul. You ok with all this? Any questions?"

"Can I have another drink, and, where's the piano?"

# Chapter 6 – The Bunker

Jools made Paul another drink, and said to all of them, sounding very butlerish, "Allow me to show you to your quarters." He led them outside to a deck at the corner of the house, away from the ocean. He pointed to the side, back away from the beach. In the darkness they saw the massive form of a structure, partially hidden in encroaching vegetation. He said, "That's where you'll be staying."

Anna said, "What is it?"

Stella said, "Its dark. And big."

Paul sipped his drink, taking it all in. Jools waved his gun towards it. "It's a bunker. A huge concrete bunker built in 1944. It came with the vacant lot when her parents built their first house here, in the early 60s. That house was destroyed in Hurricane Hugo in 1989, along with hundreds of others. They built this house after that. You need to go down there. It's your new digs."

Anna held up a hand and said, "Wait a second. Let's take five here. We've heard your story, we've had a couple of drinks, and now you're going on with this? What if we just walk down the drive and out on the street? Wait till someone comes along? Who says this kidnapping thing has to go on?"

Jools thought things were going a little too smoothly. He should have known. But his answer was simple, and he addressed it to Paul rather than to Anna. "Look, the deal hasn't changed since we were downtown on King Street. No, I'm not going to shoot the three of you. But, orders are orders, I'm in this with her. It's my future, too. If you two want to walk down the drive to the street and stick your thumbs out, go ahead. But Stella, she stays. I can, and will, pick her up and drop her on her head. It's as simple as that. Scotilly is serious about that, and so am I. Is that what you want, Paul?"

Paul, exuding equanimity, looked at his daughter, then at Jools. "Let's see this bunker place."

Anna thought she had a 75% probability of being able to take Jools' gun away from him, but those odds weren't good enough. Not with Paul acting the way he was about Stella. So they followed Jools back into the house, down the stairs to ground level, and over to the massive dark single story structure. Jools took keys out of his pocket and fitted one into a padlock on the door. The door was a massive steel plate, eight feet from top to bottom, six feet from side to side, and it screeched when he pulled it open. "Now that the artist is in residence, I'll oil those hinges." Inside he flipped a light switch which bathed a long corridor in a soft white light. He flipped another switch, and somewhere in the bowels of the concrete mass a heating, ventilating, and air conditioning unit started to hum. A minute later they felt a soft breeze against their faces.

Jools said, "The tour starts here. This was built in 1944 as part of the national coastal defense system. These same bunkers exist today around all our important port cities, like Boston, New York, Mobile, Seattle, and San Francisco. Before these there was an earlier defense system, called the Endicott batteries, which were built in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Pretty much wherever there was an Endicott battery, they built more batteries during World War II. There are four Endicott batteries and three WWII batteries here on Sullivan's Island, and before the Endicotts, there was Fort Moultrie, going all the way back to the Revolutionary War period. Charleston has been an important port for a long time." He walked down the white washed corridor, and Anna thought of clocking him across the back of the neck with a rabbit punch she had learned from her grandfather. But she was enjoying the history lesson, having no idea these things were over here on Sullivan's. This grandfather was the person the three other King Street kidnappers had said they didn't like.

Jools said, "Scotilly's parents built the first house in 1963, just after she was born. That was the height of the Cold War, with old Khrushchev saying he was going to bury our asses. Well, your American asses. Paul, you remember that."

Paul thought for a second, said, "By 1963 I was a bit of a pot smoker. Don't remember a lot of politics from that time. We were all about the music. Who was Khrushchev?"

Jools let that pass and turned into a room off the corridor. It was large, painted a neutral gray, and had a thin layer of wall to wall carpeting over the concrete floor. The overhead lights were florescent, and arranged around the perimeter was a collection of simple, rather Spartan furniture: two sofas, three armchairs, a large table with four chairs, and a three or four small end tables. Against each of the four walls was a large bookshelf that held paperbacks, box games, decks of cards, and cardboard boxes. He said, "Living room, just like they left it in '69. Don't worry, now that we know you're here, we'll update everything for you. Let's go down the hall." He went back into the corridor and walked away from the huge steel entry door. On the left was a door that led into a large storage room which contained metal shelves on all the walls and sturdy tables in the center. The corridor came to a T and went in opposite directions. Jools turned right and led the way into a smaller room that was the kitchen, and then into a bathroom that had four showerheads protruding from one wall, with a large drain in the center of the concrete floor. There were no partitions separating the showers from each other or from the rest of the bathroom. Three toilets and three urinals also lacked partitions. Very military.

Stella said, "Our own little Buckingham Palace."

Jools led the way back down the corridor to the T intersection, and kept going straight. "Right after Scoty's parents finished building the house, they had the same contractor fix up this place as a bomb shelter. People all around the country did that, built bomb shelters in their basements. Stocked up on Campbell's Tomato Soup. They seriously thought there might be a nuclear war with Russia. Most people didn't have a WWII bunker in their back yard to turn into a shelter, but Scoty's parents did. And here we are in it, forty five years later." Three doorways on the left opened into medium sized rooms, one with a bed in it, and a doorway on the right opened into a very large empty room. He went into the large room and said, "This was the command center for the Army guys that ran the military facility. We have a few photos from WWII that show the inside of the bunker. This was a radio station room with big map tables, and a bunch of desks and chairs. We figured this is where you would want to do the music thing. Write the songs."

Paul looked around and said, "Nice. No windows, lots of bare concrete walls, smells a little musty, but nice. No windows, no distractions."

Stella was not as enamored of the bunker as her father. She looked at Jools and said, "Let me get this straight. You were going to kidnap my father, lock him up in here, alone, steal millions of dollars from him, and make him write songs for you?"

"Well, not all alone. Scotilly was planning on spending time with him in here, singing with him. And I would help out with things, press his clothes, fix a meal here and there. But see how great things have turned out. Now he's not alone. He's got you two for company."

She went on, "You were going to lock him in a musty, concrete WWII army bunker, alone, for months? No windows. Extort music from him. And then what? After he writes the music, then what?"

"Then we do the show, here, in Charleston. The rock opera. Like the ballet some people did here. Smashing success, that."

Anna took up the slugfest, said, "Where's the piano? How are we going to record the music? Where the recording studio? Who's going to produce the show?"

"We didn't know what instrument he was going to want to write the songs. Piano or bass. We figured he'd tell us, and we would go get one. Same with the recording thingy. Figured he would tell us."

"You don't compose music on a bass guitar. He plays that, but he doesn't write songs on it, do you?"

Paul said, "Not normally, no. But in an emergency I probably could."

Anna said, looking at Jools, "What about the show? Producing the show? Who's going to do that? You? And when? You going to keep us here during the whole production cycle? All the planning, the pre-production, the rehearsals? You know how long that takes? It takes a year. That's how long they worked on the ballet. A year."

Jools said, "How do you know?"

"Because I know those people. Who, by the way, are going to be pissed when they find out you snatched us. You're going to have Gwenny and Roger June on your ass, to say nothing of my grandfather. You're going to need this bunker, brother." Anna was venting a little.

"Look, I'm just the butler. Scoty is the brains, talk to her. Who's this Gwenny and Roger?"

"They're the ones who produced the ballet you went to."

"And I'm supposed to be scared of people who do ballet?"

"You got a family plot picked out, Jools? Got a place in the ground next to someone special? Where is it, The Netherlands, England, here? Is it paid for? You better look into that. That's who the Junes are. They're, ah, protective of their friends, and we're their friends. And, like I said, there's my grandfather, the guy the three idiots on King Street don't like. If the Junes don't get you...."

Jools remained nonplussed, said, "Let's continue the tour. This is the biggest room. You tell us what you need, and we'll get it for you. Across the passageway is the bedroom. We have it all set up for Paul. And guess what, there are two other rooms, too. We'll get beds and stuff in those. So you've got a living room, work room, store rooms, everything you need."

Paul said, "We need a Steinway. Grand. They cost $140,000. You got one of those around? You got recording equipment? I don't need fancy, but even simple stuff is going to run $100,000. Some guitars and a synthesizer."

Stella said, "You going to do this? You going to do what he says? Stay here months, in this place?"

"I don't want him dropping you on your head. I love you. Besides, writing music is what I do. I'm seventy. How much more productive time do I have? Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I'll sit here and write, my last hurrah. And maybe they're right about this rock opera thing. Could be really cool. Could be great. I loved doing _Oceans Kingdom_ for the New York City Ballet. Follow that up with an opera. And the ballet here was great. The Junes did an incredible job. We could do just like he says, produce the opera right here."

"But you have all the other things going on around the world."

"That's all performance. Special events. Concerts and parties and appearances for this and that. It's not creative. It's not writing. I love all that stuff, great fun, keeps me going, but it's not writing music. I gotta ask myself what's more important? Parties, or writing?" He paused, then looked at Jools. "If I do this, cooperate, can they go?"

Jools said, "Well, that's up to the boss. But my guess is no, cause they might go to the FBI, who would come knocking on our door here. Even if they said they wouldn't do that, we couldn't trust them. Neither of us want to spend our golden years in prison."

Anna said, "You mean locked up in a bunker, like this?"

Jools didn't answer, but led the way back to the living room. "So that's the place. The kitchen is stocked, though for one person. I'll have to get more food in there right away. I'm going to talk with Scotilly, tell her everything here is set. Tell her all the stuff you need. That's a lot of money, and I don't think she's got it lying around, but we'll figure something out. She'll come see you soon. I'll get sheets and blankets for the other two beds. Bring that right back."

Anna said, "Jools, there aren't any beds in the other two rooms. Just the one room."

Jools looked surprised, then pained. "Oh, yeah, I fixed up one bedroom, for him. Didn't expect you two. Well, I'll work on that." He turned to go.

Anna said, "Jools, baby." He looked back at her. "When this is over, you and I are gonna have words."

# Chapter 7 – Gone Missing

It was after 11pm, and Richard sat in the lobby of the Charleston Place Hotel. He was supposed to meet Anna around 9pm, after she'd had dinner with Paul and Stella, and he'd started calling her about 10pm, and tried again now.

At the same time, Jools was rummaging around the linen closet in the big house, looking for sheets and pillows for the other two bedrooms in the bunker. He had no solution for the fact that there were no beds in the rooms, but when he did figure that out, he wanted to be ready with nice, clean, ironed sheets. His father had trained him well. Out in the hall he heard a cell phone ring, and because of his father's impeccable training, he pulled it out of Anna's purse and answered it. "Good evening. Jools here. May I help you?"

"Ah, I'm calling Anna. Who are you?"

"Jools here. May I help you?"

"Anna. I'm calling Anna on her cell. Who is Jools?"

Jools thought the voice on the other end sounded surprised at first, and then slightly accusatory. It wanted Anna, who a few minutes earlier had said in a menacing voice, "Jools, baby, when this is over, you and I are gonna have words." He wondered how such a sense of menace could come from such a pretty face. And now, here was another person who sounded displeased with his performance. He wondered if this was going to be the rule during this whole kidnapping thing.

"I'm sorry, Anna is not available right now. May I convey a message?"

"What? Who are you? Where's Anna?

"Jools here. Anna is indisposed. May I convey a message?"

"Look Jools, tell her to call Richard. Right away."

"May I take it that you are Richard, sir?"

"Yes. This is Richard. Her BOYFRIEND."

"Yes, Mr. Richard. I'll convey the message. Good evening."

Jools went back in the linen closet, knowing he had to find two more beds, and pronto. All the spare beds in the big house were kings, so he knew he wasn't moving any of those. Maybe take the cushions off the sofas, take them over to the bunker. The two women could sleep on them. Plus, now he had to deal with the boyfriend. What was his name? Maybe he'd better alert Scotilly to this new development. And he had to get more food over there, food for three instead of just one. It was closing in on midnight, and a butler's job was never done. Scotilly had better get enough cash out of this deal to make it all worthwhile. He wondered how much she was going to ask. One million? Two million? Five million? Now you're talking. Bahamas, here I come.

He carried the linens and the two women's purses into the living room, and removed the eight cushions from the wraparound sofa. Scotilly came in and said, "What are you doing?"

"Going to take the cushions over to the bunker. The two women don't have beds. We only put one bed in there, for him. Now we have three people to feed and board, and they need lots of stuff. Paul told me all the music stuff he needs, like a grand piano, and a whole recording studio, all that equipment, and guitars and something called a synthesizer. And they need food. We only put food in the kitchen for one person. So I got a lot to do, still, before bed." Just then Anna's cell phone rang again.

Scotilly said, "What's that?"

"Probably Richard."

"Who's Richard?"

"The boyfriend."

"Who's boyfriend?"

"Anna's."

"How do you know?"

"I talked with him a few minutes ago. He called her cell, in her purse. It rang, so I answered."

"You know they can track the location of cell phones?"

"Who?"

"What do you mean, who? The FBI. The fucking FBI. They're the ones who investigate kidnappings. They're on our asses now, or will be."

"Oh. I thought the Junes were the ones on our asses."

"Who are the Junes?"

Jools said, "The Junes are the ones that Anna said she is friends with, and who she said are very protective of their friends. And then she said something about her grandfather. Said if the Junes don't get us, he will."

"Yeah, I remember now. I'm more worried about the FBI." The phone still was ringing in the purse, so Scotilly answered, even though she had not been trained to do so as a butler. Butlerette. "Hello."

"Who's this? Where's Jools?"

"Jools is busy. Is this Richard, the boyfriend?"

"Yes. Who are you? Where's Anna?"

"I'm, ah, a friend. Anna's busy."

"What's going on? I wanna talk to her. Now."

"Sorry, no can do. Maybe later. She's ok, just busy. Bye."

Jools said, "The boyfriend?"

Scotilly nodded, said, "As if we don't have enough to worry about with the FBI, these June people, and the grandfather. You really going to take the sofa cushions?"

"Unless you want them to sleep on the concrete floor, which hardly is hospitable and up to our standards."

"Ok. Look, I know it's late, but we gotta figure out how we announce the kidnapping. You have any ideas?"

"People announce when they kidnap someone? I thought they wanted to keep that fact quiet?"

"We have to get the ransom, so someone has to know we kidnapped McCartney. And if he wants a piano and recording equipment, it sounds as if he's going along with us, and will do the opera. So we have to start preparing to do the opera production. You got any ideas about that?"

Jools sat down on the sofa springs, since he'd taken the cushions off and piled them near the door to the living room. He thought, first, about how to announce a kidnapping, and second, how to produce a rock opera written by Paul McCartney. Being a butler he had only minimal experience with these types of endeavors. He was a good butler, though, quite smart, and he answered, "Maybe we can use the boyfriend. We have his number. We call him, say we snatched McCartney and his daughter, and his girlfriend, Anna. Say if our demands aren't met, we're going chop their head offs, like the Taliban do. CHOP!"

Scotilly looked at Jools. In all their years together, she'd never heard him talk about chopping off someone's head. "Where'd you get that? Really."

"Look, if we're leaving town after the performance, for good, we're gonna need a lot of cash. We need the ransom people to think we're serious. Ergo, the head chopping bit."

"Ok, makes sense. I'll have to practice my serious and violent persona. What about the opera thing?"

"I'll have to work on that."

"So, should we put the first phase in play, the ransom demand?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the boss. I'm the butler. This whole thing was your idea."

Scotilly had to admit that. She pantomimed chopping off someone's head with a sword, and then picked up Anna's cell, hitting the button that dialed the last call received. Richard answered. "Hi! Anna, are you alright?"

"This isn't Anna. We talked a few minutes ago."

"Where's Anna?"

"She's ok, for now, but not for long, if you don't do exactly what I say. Understand?"

"No. What's happening? What do you mean?"

Scotilly had adopted a deep voice after she dialed the phone, a full actave lower than her regular voice, and somehow had added a raspy quality to it. Jools was impressed. Very Talibanish, except it was in English. "Anna's been kidnapped. Along with the other two. They're all ok for now, but we have a ransom demand."

"What other two? You mean Paul and Stella?"

"No, I mean Miney and Moe. Of course, Paul and Stella. We've kidnapped Paul McCartney, and are demanding a huge ransom. Anna and Stella are part of that, and you're going to be the ransom conduit. Paul will call you at this number tomorrow and give you the demands. Understand?"

Richard said, "Are you crazy? You've kidnapped one of the most famous people in the world, and you think you're going to get away with this? And my girlfriend, the woman I love. And Stella McCartney, one of the most famous fashion designers in the world? Are you crazy?"

"Yes, we're crazy. We were trained by the Taliban, and we're serious about this. If our demands are not met, fully and completely, we're going to chop off all three of their heads. Chop, chop, chop! Got that? And don't tell anyone about this. Not the FBI, not the police, not _People Magazine_." Her voice had risen from a low raspy growl to a shriek. Jools was scared, and wondered if his boss had gone a little crazy. Money does strange things to the best of us. "Tomorrow. You'll get a call tomorrow from McCartney. We might cut off one of his fingers tonight, to show we're serious." And she ended the call.

Jools said, "How's he going to play piano and compose songs if we cut off one of his fingers?"

She didn't answer, just yawned and said, "Been a long day. I'm going to bed. Make sure they're locked up tight. See you tomorrow. I'll have tea instead of coffee in the morning, and oatmeal with blueberries." Jools watched her leave the living room, thought about the multiple voices she used on the phone call, picked up four of the eight big sofa pillows, and carried them out to the bunker.

# Chapter 8 – The Junes Head Home

It was at this point that Richard dialed the number of the satellite phone on the sailboat.

He said, "They've been kidnapped. Anna and Paul and Stella. They've been kidnapped."

Gwen thought, damn! Halfway to St. Barths, and this happens. She said, "When, how?"

"Tonight. I'm not sure when, but earlier tonight. When they were out to dinner. I was supposed to meet Anna later, but she didn't show up. Just now I got a call from her cell phone, some crazy sounding lady said she'd kidnapped them, and would kill them if we didn't meet her demands. Said something about the Taliban. She's with some guy named Jools, who sounded the opposite of crazy. Really polite. Strange accent, very English."

"What else? Did they say anything else? Is this a joke, or is this real?"

"I think it's real. They didn't say anything else, just that they would call again tomorrow. They have my cell number now, because I called Anna's number. Said I was the ransom conduit. What should I do?"

"Richard, take it easy. We will help. We'll turn around now, be back in Charleston tomorrow afternoon. Take it easy tonight, make sure to charge your phone for tomorrow, and don't contact anyone else. Don't call the police."

"Ok. Please help. It's Anna."

"We'll call you as soon as we get back to the marina. Take it easy. Bye, Richard." Gwen put the phone back in the instrument rack next to the radio array, and sat down on a bench. Someone had kidnapped Paul McCartney, here in Charleston. Jesus. And now they had to help. Over the last few days she had done everything she could to put the whole ballet production out of her mind, but now she recreated a synopsis of it. They had found a score for a ballet by Igor Stravinsky that had been lost for over a hundred years. They had persuaded Pete Townshend of _The Who_ to transcribe and perform the music, and part of the persuasion had taken the form of creating the illusion of a competition between him and Paul McCartney, who just a year earlier had written the score for a ballet performed by the New York City Ballet. Townshend was friends with McCartney, and had persuaded him to attend the premier of the Stravinsky Charleston production. McCartney had loved the performance, and had returned three weeks later for the last two performances, with this daughter, Stella. And now, and now, he had been kidnapped. Him and Stella and Anna. Shit. No St. Barths today.

Gwen climbed out of the cabin and into the cockpit with a grim look on her face the others noticed immediately. Roger said, "What's up, babe?"

Gwen looked at Constantine and said, "Put 'er into the wind. We gotta talk." Constantine looked up at the wind vane on the mast, and spun the wheel clockwise. The big boat came around until its bow pointed directly into the wind, and it slowed almost to a stop. Without the sounds of wind and water rushing down the hull, it was easier to talk. Jinny immediately felt better, though long ago he had emptied his stomach. He sat down in the cockpit next to Gale, who, because he smelled like puke, ungraciously pushed him away.

"Jinny, you stink."

He found a bottle of water, washed out his mouth, and color came back into his face.

Gwen said, "We gotta problem. That was Richard. You're never gonna believe this, but Paul and Stella and Anna have been kidnapped. Earlier tonight. Richard just got the ransom call, and he thinks it's real." She looked at each person, shaking her head.

Gale said, "Shit. No St. Barths today."

"We going back, babe?" said Roger.

"Yes, we have to. Richard's very worried, I could tell by his voice. We can't take a chance that it's some kind of prank or joke. Does everyone agree?"

Slev said, "What about the police? Why not tell them and let them handle it?"

Roger knew why they weren't going to do that. Jinny recovered enough to be able to think again, and he also knew why, because he and the Junes lived on the same wavelength. Guignard, Gale, and Constantine half knew. They had an idea why Gwen was not going to go to the police. Slev knew too, but thought she had to ask the question.

Gwen took a moment to think, and then said, "It's our responsibility. We're the ones who got Paul here in the first place, for the ballet. And Anna's one of us, so we gotta take care of her."

Everyone knew that was only part of the reason Gwen was going to lead them into the fray. The real reason was that Gwenny June wasn't like most women. She did things her way, and the others loved her for it, especially her husband. She was a self-reliant libertarian, took care of her business herself, and her friends were a big part of her business. There was one other reason, as well. Gwenny June liked excitement. What could be more exciting than going after kidnappers who were fucking with her friends?

Constantine charted a course for home, and as the boat heeled over under the force of the wind, Jinny crawled back up towards the bow.

# Chapter 9 – The Three Men in Black Clothes

The three men who had braced Anna on King Street sat in a motel room just off the interstate outside Charleston. It was one of the nicer motels that advertised suites, so each guy had a living room, bedroom, and kitchenette. The one guy had taken off his white sneakers, almost like he had picked up on the psychological distain Stella had directed his way during their encounter, and felt ashamed of them. The other two guys wished he had waited until he returned to his own room to take them off. He was drinking a cold Samuel Adams, which said he had better taste in beer than in footwear. Contrary to its intended effect, the beers were fueling their feelings of dissatisfaction. Not only had they not accomplished their mission of kidnapping Anna, but each of them had had their gun taken away from them by a butler. A fucking butler. And them Nazis, or neo-nazies.

The boss NN sat on the sofa with a pad of paper on his lap, doodling swastikas. He wasn't the rabid, tattooed, smelly kind of NN that periodically gets their photo splashed across the newspaper or TV for doing something stupid somewhere around the world. His involvement in the brotherhood was more historical and philosophical, though in his younger days he had been known to stomp some ass on occasion. Still, every once in a while he liked to touch base with the past, and sometimes he did this by doodling swastikas. They are a powerful symbol that captures just about everyone's attention when you see one. The three guys weren't talking much, just sitting and thinking about what to do next. Two of them were thinking, the third one, with the sneakers, still was humming _Yellow Submarine_ , off and on. He was on his third beer while the other two were on their second.

The boss man had been very confident that his plan to snatch Anna would work. Grab her off the street, bring her back to the motel, contact her grandfather, and demand the five million dollar ransom. Knowing how wealthy her grandfather was, and how much he loves her, the boss figured five million was a reasonable amount, and his pals thought that amount sounded more than adequate. The one with the sneakers had calculated his one third share to be a cool two million, a figure he could live on for quite a while. You can see why he was not the boss.

On the pad under a couple of swastika symbols the guy had written 100 to 1. This was the odds that he and his pals would meet another group, intent on kidnapping Anna's friends, at the exact same time and place they had intended to kidnap her. He scratched out the 100 to 1 figure and wrote 1,000 to 1, which amazed and infuriated him. 1,000 to 1, and it had happened. Now what? How was he going to get to Anna so he could accomplish his two part mission: 1. Cause as much pain to her grandfather as he could, and 2. Score five million dollars to fund his NN cause? Where the hell was she now, and who were the two foo foos who had snatched her as collateral to snatching Paul McCartney, the Beatle guy? The guy with the gun had an English accent and stood very straight, and the woman was really good looking and was wearing a nice suit of clothes. Both very foo foo. Who the hell were they? He scratched out 1,000 to 1 and wrote 10,000 to 1, which made him even madder.

He took another slug of Sam Adams and wished it would do more to calm him down. Anna. He thought back to King Street and how surprised he had been when she pulled a gun from under her jacket. Jesus, carrying a gun, and from the way she drew, he could tell she knew how to use it. He thought of how the English guy had tricked her into lowering it when she had it pointed at him, which made him a little happier. Still, Anna was a very interesting woman. A very interesting and beautiful woman. This little hint of sunshine in his thoughts was eclipsed when he thought of her grandfather, Pmirhs Stirg. Stirg, the man who had killed his grandfather in Argentina in 1975. Stirg the Nazi hunter. Stirg the billionaire Charlestonian. Stirg, the man he wanted to hurt. Kidnap Anna, and get a two-fer: ransom and revenge. He had been so close, and then the 10,000 to 1 thing had happened. The intense animosity he felt towards Stirg now was directed towards the well-dressed couple who had fucked up his kidnapping. He now had four targets: Stirg, Anna, the English guy, and the woman. So be it.

He looked over at his two buddies and said, "I got some thinking to do. See you tomorrow in the coffee shop at nine."

# Chapter 10 – Living in a Bunker

It was after 1am, but Jools still was consumed with performing his duties. He was like a pack mule, hauling stuff from the big house to the bunker, which was made more onerous because he had to keep up the front that he was a heavy dude, intimidating the three people he just had kidnapped. First he set whatever it was he was carrying on the ground outside the bunker door, then he unlocked it, carried the stuff inside, relocked the door, took the stuff down the hallway to one of the rooms, unloaded, went back to the main door and unlocked it, went outside and relocked it, etc. He made about twenty trips into the bunker, carrying everything he could think of to make his guests, er, victims, comfortable: food, books, magazines, clock radios, lamps, cushions, toothpaste, dish detergent, throw rugs, a wall calendar, an orchid that was in bloom, and a cutting board with a Swedish knife set. He could only carry one armload of stuff at a time because he had to carry his gun in one hand, and wave it around as part of his intimidation act. Anna realized she could take the gun away from him, just as she could have done back on King Street, but she was taking her cues from Paul, who seemed ok with what was happening. She figured he was serious about using this unexpected and forced opportunity to focus himself on writing music, and didn't care that much about all the commitments he had around the world over the next few months, including the Queen's birthday gig. Anna wasn't too keen on this whole deal, being locked in a concrete bunker with no windows, but she decided she'd let this escapade go down the tracks for a while and see what happened. Being shacked up with Paul McCartney might prove interesting.

She said to Stella as they put the food away in the cupboards, "So what do you think? I can get us out of this, you know."

"You can? How?"

"I think I can take his gun away from him. He's not a dufus; he's had some training with it. But I think I could take him."

This gave Stella the opportunity to ask Anna the question she'd been wanting to ask. She said, "What's up with carrying a gun? Out to dinner? Since when do you do that?"

"I had a reason for carrying a gun here in Charleston before I went to France for the movie. When I got back here a couple weeks ago for the ballet, I didn't really have that reason anymore, but I found myself wanting to get back in the swing of things, like before, so I've been packing now and then. Carrying a gun is not something to do lightly. It's all about training and psychology. You have to condition your mind to gun safety and intelligence. So that's what I've been doing; reconditioning myself. It's a special skill, and you have to work at it." She paused and looked thoughtful. "I guess I'm not really back with it yet. Jools tricked me out on the street, the little shit. Very sneaky. I owe him one."

"You've been carrying that around with you since we got back here?"

Anna nodded.

"I guess you can't tell a book by its cover."

Anna repeated her question, "Do you want me to try to get us out of here?"

Stella sat down in a kitchen chair. She knew Jools would be back in a few minutes with the next load of stuff. "No, not yet. That is, if you can stand to be in here. You don't have to do what my dad wants, you know. But I want to do what he wants, and he seems to want to stay. He seems serious about using this as an opportunity to write. His explanation was simple and I believe it. He can spend his time performing, partying he calls it, or spend it writing songs. He doesn't have forever, and he knows that. He knows he has a few more good years, and he seems to like this idea of a rock opera. He loved writing the score for the ballet, and now these people have given him a new challenge. It's a little odd that he doesn't seem to care about his commitments, but when you're seventy, you do what you feel like doing, not necessarily what you should do." She put her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands. "Now me, I'm not worth half a billion dollars like him. I have commitments that mean money to me. But, I want to do what I can to help him. Scotilly said she wants me to do the costumes for this thing, and I assume she was serious. We'll find out. It's going to screw up some of my stuff back in London, but working on a project with my dad, that would be great. I can go with the flow of this for a while, I guess."

Anna didn't have any big projects in the works. She'd attended the last performances of the ballet, and was hanging out with Stella for a few days, but had planned on flying over to St. Barths and spending time with the Junes. Anyone who stars in a Spielberg movie gets other offers, and lots of them, but nothing had captured her attention yet. So she, too, could go with the flow of this thing for a while. And like Stella, the idea of hanging around Paul, maybe even working with him, was exciting. Working with Paul McCartney in a World War II bunker for the odd couple of Jools and Scotilly, how weird.

She heard the heavy steel door open and close, and Jools came into the living room with another orchid. He said, "Don't over water this one, and it should bloom in a couple months. I see a little bloom stalk starting to grow." Stella and Anna looked at each other: a couple of months? "That's the last load for tonight. It's almost 2am. I'll bring more stuff tomorrow, and Scotilly will come visit. Tell you what she wants."

"Is there internet connection?" asked Stella.

"Where's the TV?" asked Anna.

"Where's the piano?" asked Paul.

Jools was worn out with all this non-butlering stuff. Kidnapping three people off the street; fighting off other kidnappers in hand to hand combat; trying hard to make his guests, er, victims, comfortable in their new accommodations, er, cells. It had been a trying day, and his gun was getting heavy. "Look, I'm doing the best I can. I hadn't planned on THREE people. I'll get the other stuff you want tomorrow. If I can. The piano will take some doing. Can't you start writing songs on a guitar?" he asked Paul.

"I don't have a guitar. Normally I don't take one out to dinner with me, even when I plan on getting kidnapped. No piano, no guitar. How do you expect me to write songs?"

Jools said, "Oh."

Stella said, "You have a harmonica. You played it in the taxi with the Pakistani driver."

He reached into the handkerchief pocket of his coat and pulled out the harmonica. "Oh, yeah, I do, don't I. This'll work until the other instruments arrive. I can work on the opera with this." He sat down on the sofa and started writing a song.

Jools said, "You need anything, just ring. I'll see you in the morning. How do you like your eggs?" And he walked down the long corridor with concrete walls and ceiling. After a minute they heard the steel door slam shut, the sound echoing back to them.

So there they were, kidnapped and locked in an old bunker on Sullivan's Island, Paul playing harmonica and seemingly content, with the prospect of being served eggs to order the next morning by an English butler. And this was only the beginning.

# Chapter 11 – The Other Kidnappers

The other kidnappers, the wantabee kidnappers, sat in the coffee shop the next morning. The boss man in black clothes (BMIBC) was eating scrambled eggs and bacon, the middling smart man in black clothes (MSMIBC) was eating fried eggs and potatoes, and the not so smart man in black clothes (NSSMIBC) was eating his second stack of pancakes. He asked the smarter guys, "What do we do now?"

The MSMIBC said, "We can't let those fucks get away with this. Not when we were so close to snatching the bitch. She was right there. Right where we wanted her. Five million dollars."

The BMIBC ate some more eggs. He was just as pissed as the others, but couldn't let it show, because he was the leader of the team and had to maintain his composure. "Five million dollars is right. It was in our hands, and those fucks took it. The guy acted almost like a butler, with a rod up his ass. And the woman. A genteel priss. Jesus. The Stirg bitch was something, though, wasn't she? Fucking carrying a gun. You see the way she pulled it? Smooth. Whadya know about that? And then the butler gets the draw on her with that trick. That was smooth, too. Fucking butler. I bet she's pissed at him for that. Can you believe the prissy woman walked off with five guns in her purse. Our guns." And he stuffed more eggs into his mouth. This was his idea of maintaining a cool leadership persona in front of his troops.

The NSSMIBC said again, "How you know the prissy woman isn't a Jew? And what do we do now?"

The MSMIBC said, "Genteel, you idiot. Not gentile. Don't you know the difference? He used it as a tautology."

"No, I used it as a pleonasm. Don't you know the difference?" said the boss.

"What?" said the NSSMIBC. "What?"

"Forget it. I just meant that the woman who walked off with all our guns is stuck up. Anyone who has a butler is stuck up."

The MSMIBC said, "She may be stuck up, but one of the five guns she had in her purse when they left was hers. She brought it to the show. How many stuck up people pack heat. And, she's a kidnapper. How many genteel women do that?"

The boss was sorry he'd constructed the tautology in the first place. Er, the pleonasm. "I don't care about her, except I want my gun back. We know the Stirg bitch isn't a gentile, and she's the one we're after. They got away from us last night, but that doesn't mean they've gotten away for good. I bet they're in town, and that they're doing their kidnapping thing here. Kidnap Paul McCartney, though, that's something to talk about. He's worth some bucks. Lennon was the ballsy writer of the two. McCartney's a priss. I mean, _Strawberry Fields_ , gimme a break. That's why she kidnapped him. He's a prissy songwriter. Takes one to know one," and he stuffed two strips of bacon in his mouth. With his mouth full he said, "Revolution. That's what Lennon wrote about. Like us, revolution against the Zionists that run the Federal Reserve. And the World Bank. Run the country. Hollywood, especially. Fuckers. Maybe we should have Lennon be our mascot."

The NSSMIBC said, "You can have a person be your mascot? I thought mascots were animals, like dogs. Like pitbulls. We should have a pitbull be our mascot. What kind of dog did Hitler have?"

"What nationality was Hitler?" asked the MSMIBC. "What was he?"

"German, course."

"And what kind of dogs come from Germany? Badass dogs?"

"Oh, yeah, ok. But that doesn't mean we couldn't have a pitbull for a mascot."

The boss had finished with his breakfast, finished with tautologies, and finished with mascots. He looked at his boys and said, "I want my gun back....I want Anna Stirg....and if we happen to run into the prissy songwriter who's worth a bundle, I'll take him, too. Five mill for the bitch, and another five for McCartney."

The NSSMIBC attempted to figure out his one-third cut of ten million dollars, but being that ten is not divisible by three without dealing with fractions, he gave it up.

# Chapter 12 – The Junes are Back

It was 5pm the day after the kidnapping when Slev brought the boat into the marina, kissed the dock with the port side of the boat, and cut the engine. Jinny jumped onto the dock and tied the bow line to a cleat, while Guignard did the same with the stern line. Jinny'd never felt better, until he remembered why he'd felt so bad out on the water, and that reminded him of the humiliation Gale the Mouth had heaped on him while he was puking over the side. But Jinny was not one to live in the past, nor one to carry grudges, so he helped Gale out of the cockpit and gave her a smile. She said, "You know I was teasing you, right, toughguy?" He knew, and leaned forward to give Gale a double kiss on the cheek, European style. She pushed him away, saying, "You still stink. Get cleaned up and try it again."

Gwen and Roger left the boat duties to the others and walked up the long dock towards the marina restaurant. They sat down on a bench and dialed Richard's number. "Richard, it's Gwen. And Roger. What's happening?"

"Thank god you're back. When you told me not to call the cops, that left me doing nothing. It's been torture. They have Anna, and they're going to kill her."

"Easy. We're here. Where are you?"

"At Anna's condo. Can you come here?"

"We're on our way. As soon as we get the boat tied up, the whole team will be on its way. We'll see you in half an hour. Easy now."

She said to Roger, "Go tell them to come to Anna's condo. I'll call cabs."

Roger hoofed in back to the boat and told the others to hurry, there would be a cab at the restaurant to take them to Anna's. He and Gwen got in the first cab to show up, and gave the driver the address. Ten minutes later the others were waiting at the front of the restaurant when the second cab pulled up. On the side, in bold green graphic swatches, they read _The Green Taxi Company, The Environment is Our Business, Too_. The five sailors bent down and saw room for three passengers. The driver said, "Come on, friends, come on. It's bigger than it looks. If you all squeeze in, think of the reduction in carbon footprint you will contribute to by not taking two cabs. Very good karma, very good."

Constantine said, "You three take it. We'll go get the Rolls, see you at Anna's. Tell Richard we're on our way."

The Pakistani driver smiled at Little Jinny Blistov who, some years back while attempting to hijack a small tanker on the White Sea filled with crude oil, had been forced to run it aground on a pristine arctic shoreline so as to elude a special forces team that had been dropped on the tanker's deck from a combat helicopter. Only luck had kept the hull of the tanker from cracking open like an egg. Jinny wondered what _The Green Taxi Company_ would think about that escapade. The driver said, "Ooo, Roller, very nice car. Very nice. No so nice for environment, but very nice for image." Jinny smiled back. Then the driver covered Jinny with a look of concern, saying, "Sir, are you ill? Can I help? Shall we stop at urgent care facility?"

Gale giggled and said, "Jinny, I'm not the only one who thinks you stink. When we get to Anna's, you gotta take a shower. First thing."

Jinny wasn't offended by the driver's concern, and asked him how many miles per gallon the green machine gets. "150 miles per gallon. Easy. You want to go on a long trip, you hire me. Very cheap. Good conversation, too." He thought but didn't say, "After you shower."

Fifteen minutes after they arrived at Anna's, so did the Gromstovs. Guignard bundled Jinny into the shower while the rest sat with Richard in the living room. Gale yelled at him, "Soap in the mouth, Jinny, soap in the mouth."

"What do you know?" Gwen asked Richard.

"They called about 2pm. First it was the guy with the English accent, then it was the crazy woman, who screamed at me, then it was Paul. They wouldn't let me talk to Anna. But I think they're ok. Paul was fine. He sounded very calm, even with the woman yelling in the background."

Roger said, "Is this real? Were they really kidnapped, not some joke?"

"As far as I can tell, it's real. Paul said it is, and I believe him. He said they're all ok, and we should do what the woman says."

Slev asked, "What do they want?"

"Two things: five million in cash." The others nodded. "And, you're not going to believe this." Richard had a strange look on his face, which made the others look at each other. He repeated himself. "You're not going to believe this. The screaming woman kept saying, if we don't do what they want, they're going to chop off all their heads. She kept repeating 'chop, chop, chop' in a very strange voice. Then the English guy got on again, who sounded ok, and he told me what they want. They want the money, and then he said Paul is staying with them, and he's going to write a rock opera, and you," looking at the Junes, "have to produce it here, in Charleston, just like you produced the ballet. A major production. He said when the performances are over, they'll let them go."

Gale said, "A Paul McCartney rock opera. Here in Charleston. Wow!"

The others looked at her sternly, and she closed her big mouth. Her very sexy big mouth.

Gwen said, "And you're sure they're serious about this?"

"Based on how Paul sounded, yes. I think they're serious. There was nothing in his voice or words that made me think this was all some kind of weird joke. He sounded kind of business like."

Constantine, who only had been living in Charleston for about a year, and who had moved here from St. Petersburg, Russia, where he was a high level political gangster, asked, "What is a rock opera?"

No one answered, while they thought about the situation. The ransom demand was expected; even the amount seemed reasonable. But to kidnap someone so they would write music for you, and then demand that the kidnappee's associates put on a major production of the music? How strange was that? The Junes were puzzled. The four Russians were neutral, figuring they didn't know all that much about American culture, and maybe this was normal. Gale the Mouth, though, wasn't puzzled. She looked at the Junes and said, "This isn't Paul's fault, and it's not Anna's fault, or Stella's. It's your fault. You're the Junes. You get us into this shit all the time." She paused. "Good job."

# Chapter 13 – The Music Begins

The three bunker mates finally got to bed around 4am the night they were snatched, with Stella and Anna sleeping on sofa cushions. The next morning about 10am they sat in the not so swanky living room, sipping cups of instant coffee. Stella was going to demand a decent coffee maker, or no costumes by her. Anna was going to demand a case of French wine, and Paul was going to reiterate his demand for a Steinway. He was going to tell Jools it didn't have to be a nine foot concert grand, that a seven footer would do. So between the $40 coffee maker, $300 for wine, and $110,000 for the piano, Jools had his work cut out for him. Instinctively, Anna and Stella knew they should defer, as much as possible, to Paul. Now, after a few hours sleep, if he really wanted to go through with this opera thing, they would too. If he had changed his mind, Anna would go about taking Jools' gun away from him.

Stella said, "How you feeling, dad?"

"Lovely, luv. May need a nap this afternoon, but feeling good right now. Weird gig, huh?" He would have to ask Jools for some tea.

"Yeah, very. I thought some of the sets for Spielberg's movie were weird, but this is weirder. Are you sure you want to go through with this opera thing? You could just pay the ransom, and we'd be outta here. You still could make the Queen's party."

Anna said, "Or I could just slap Jools and take his gun. Same outcome."

Stella and Paul looked at Anna, then at each other. Paul said, "You got cool friends, dear. I think she really means it. She do this kind of thing in France?"

"As far as I know, she didn't pack heat on the movie set, but then she had a gun last night at _La Fourchette_ , and I never knew it. Were you packing, in France?"

"No. I don't know anything about gun laws over there. I was clean."

Stella said, "One day she did get pissed at Steven, after he made her do the twentieth take of a boring scene. She told him he looked like a dork, keeping his stupid baseball cap on whenever he was indoors. She asked him if Kate let him wear it in bed. Not too many actors tell Steven he looks like a dork."

Paul said again, "Cool."

"Well? Are you? Are you going through with this, stay here and write? Then do the production with the Junes?"

He sipped coffee and looked around at the concrete walls. "Yes, I think I am. This could be a blessing in disguise. Like I said, what I have lined up over the next few months amounts to partying. Performing. Is that fun? You bet. But it's not pure creativity; it's not writing music, and that's what I should be doing. I can write a lot of stuff here in two months. Nothing else to do. Write, sing, play, write some more. And at the end, a rock opera. A whole, cohesive work. It took me two years to write _Oceans Kingdom_. Know why? Because I was doing other stuff at the same time. Jetting around the world, performing here, performing there. Partying. Hanging out. Writing a rock opera sounds great. Yes, here, writing day in, day out. Now. Yes." He looked at the two women. "Will you help? It could be great. You play piano," he said, looking at Anna. "And you could do the costumes, just like Scotilly suggested," he said, looking at Stella. "And you could work on the production. The set design. Have you ever done that?"

Stella shook her head no, and got a pensive look on her face. Set design. Costume design. A rock opera by her father. Two months of intense work. And then, the world premiere, here in Charleston, following on the heels of the world premiere of Stravinsky's lost ballet. She said, "I'll help. I'll do it. Anna?"

Anna said, "Sounds like fun, but do you really want to spend two months in here? I'm already sensing mold lurking in hidden spaces. And what do we do the rest of the day? You can't write music sixteen hours a day. And I miss Richard. And I was going to St. Barths to hang out for two weeks. And what are we going to eat? I can't cook."

Paul said, "Stella told me you were working on a ballet score yourself when Spielberg's offer came. You had to shelve it when you went to France. Is that right?"

"Richard and I were working on it together. And it was more classical, not rock or pop. Maybe some jazz in it."

Paul's intuition told him he had to get Anna to buy into this to make it work. Three would be better than two. He said, "Listen. What if we also worked on your composition? We come out of here with two full pieces, an opera and a ballet. After we do the opera production, we work to get the ballet produced? That wouldn't look too bad on your resume. Actor in Spielberg movies; composer of operas and ballets."

Stella looked at her father, said, "Writing an entire opera in two months isn't enough of a challenge? You want to do an opera and a ballet?"

He said, "We got sixteen hours a day to fill. Gotta do something. I'm not getting any younger. May be my last hurrah."

She shook her head, said, "Jesus."

# Chapter 14 – Jools, Baby

At 11am they heard an echo come down the concrete corridor from the opening of the heavy steel doors. Then they heard them slam shut, and two sets of footsteps approached. Scotilly and Jools entered the living room, Scotilly carrying a cardboard container from Starbucks, and Jools carrying his gun in one hand and a third orchid in the other. Anna said, "Jools, baby, I want a few more bottles of wine in here and a few less flowers."

"You don't like orchids? But they're the king of flowers. The most beautiful of all plants. I thought this would brighten your day."

"Is it day, Jools? How can I tell, being that I'm locked up in a fucking bunker with no windows. Maybe it's night outside, Jools. Raccoons wandering around. Do you see any sunlight in here? I don't. I see florescent lights and gray concrete walls. Are a couple plants going to make that better?"

Everyone looked at Anna, whose facial expressions weren't as pained as her words might suggest. They could see she was just busting his balls, which, given the circumstance of being a recent kidnapping victim, was understandable. Jools said, "Get up on the wrong side this morning, dear?"

"Yes, Jools, I did get up on the wrong side of the cushions I slept on, the cushions being on a concrete floor, the sheets being domestic 700 count percale crap. And then I've been enjoying this instant coffee, just like they serve at the Ritz. The day is off to a wonderful start."

Scotilly looked at Jools and said, "You gave them the 700 count sheets? You know those are for the dog's bed."

Sulkily, he said, "I thought they were the 1400 count. Sorry, I'll change them."

She handed Anna the Starbucks carton, and took one of the cups for herself. After sipping she said to Stella and Paul, "So how are you two? Better than she, I hope?" Paul and Stella opened their new coffees, didn't answer. "I know you haven't been here long, but I was hoping to get a feel for what you think of my proposition. The rock opera thing."

Stella said, "So it's a proposition? Not a demand? We have a choice as to whether to accept it or not?"

"You're not from the south, are you, dear? No, you don't have a choice. I was just being polite. That's how we are here in the south. Polite."

Anna said, "Politest kidnappers in the world, right here in Charleston."

Scotilly and Jools waited.

Paul opened the bag that was in the Starbucks carton, took out a blueberry scone, bit off a large piece, and chewed thoughtfully. When he was done he looked at Scotilly and said, "I'm game, luv, under one condition. You give us everything we ask for. You don't have the cash to get it, I'll buy it. But you get it. Right?"

"Done."

"And, Jools stops waving that gun around?"

"How can I agree to that? You three jump him, and you're out of here."

"We promise, don't we, girls, not to jump him. We promise to stay here, as long as you treat us right."

"Done."

Jools said, "Thank god."

Anna said, "I won't jump you, Jools, but I still owe you one from out on the street. That comes later."

Scotilly said, "You're an aggressive little thing, aren't you?"

"I'm not the one doing the kidnapping around here, am I?"

"So you agree to stay here and write the opera, and when it's done, you agree to produce it at full scale here in Charleston?"

Paul said, "I don't know anything about producing a rock opera in Charleston. I'm agreeing to write it. That's all."

Scotilly looked at Jools. "So how do we get it produced?"

"The Junes. Get them to do it."

"You want me to kidnap two more people?"

Anna said, "Good luck with that. Gwenny will eat your lunch."

"Ok, so we have a deal. We'll work on the production thing later. No more guns, but the bunker stays locked, with you inside."

Paul shrugged.

"You don't have to stayed locked in here for two months. You can come up to the house now and then, if you promise to play nice. Not hit us on the head with a lamp."

He shrugged again. Anna bit her lip. Stella hoped her dad knew what he was getting into. It had been awhile since he'd roughed it.

Scotilly said, "Now, what about the money? The five mill ransom. You got a problem with that?"

Jools said, "Is that five mill for all three, or five mill a piece? Five was the figure for him, when we cooked this up. Are we charging extra for them?"

"I hadn't thought about that."

Anna had been thinking about it. What was she worth? Her grandfather was much richer than Paul, if you can believe that. The three guys in black clothes had been after her for ransom, not him. What were they going to ask for her?

Paul said, "Let's talk about the money tomorrow. Shouldn't be a problem. But now, you gotta get me the equipment. The piano, the recording stuff, guitars, wine for Anna, all that. How you doing, Jools?"

"First thing is 1400 count sheets. And better coffee. Then I'll work on the harder stuff." He wondered how much of the five million (or fifteen million) he was going to get for lugging all this stuff into the bunker? And he thought he needed an assistant butler to work under him. Maybe two assistants, the way these three were making demands. How was he going to get a piano in here?

# Chapter 15 – The Boys Want Action

The BMIBC remembered his father telling him, "Your grandfather got a raw deal. All he was doing down there was growing tomatoes. That's it, that's all he did. Didn't bother anyone. Played with the plants, sat down and drank a glass of malbec, played with the plants some more, drank some more wine, asked his neighbors how many tomatoes they wanted tomorrow, and went to bed. That's it. Then, they shot him."

The BMIBC had heard this story ten times when he was growing up. It always sounded like a really boring life, just growing tomatoes all day. Except the last part; the getting shot part. That didn't sound boring. His father always emphasized that part, and always told it graphically. Not always the same way, but always graphically. Sometimes it was two assassins with handguns that jumped over the stone wall surrounding the garden, and sometimes it was three assassins that came around the side of the house with submachine guns. He had learned not to care too much about how the details varied, because the ending always was the same, and that was the important part. His grandfather always got shot multiple times, his blood, before it flowed into the dirt, matching the deep red color of the tomatoes on the vines, just a few feet away. Sometimes his father said the assassins picked a few tomatoes and took them with them, the way the guys in _The Godfather_ took the cannolis after killing the snitch in the car, and sometimes his father said they ate the tomatoes right there, like apples, looking at the dead ex-nazi commander upon whom they had exacted vengeance. One time he told the story he said one of the assassins went into the house, came out with a salt shaker, and sprinkled salt on the tomatoes he ate like apples while watching the nazi die. Sometimes his father called the killers Jew bastards, and sometimes he just called them assassins. Whichever way he told the story, he told it dramatically, and it always made a big impression on the young BMIBC, though at those times, nine years old, eleven years old, thirteen years old, invariably he was wearing brightly colored kids clothes. Nothing black. He graduated to black clothes when he got out of the army, some twenty-five years ago, and had worn them ever since. Black, and only black. The color seemed to fit his personality.

The three guys were standing under the awning of the shop on King Street where the kidnapping had taken place two days previously. Where two kidnappings had been attempted, actually, with one being successful, and theirs being a failure. The boss had brought them back to the scene of the crime, the attempted crime, because he couldn't think of anything else to do. He figured visiting the place might inspire his thought process. So far, it hadn't, which was why the NSSMIBC said, "Maybe we should go to the cops and tell them we witnessed a kidnapping. Tell them we were targets, along with the others, but we escaped."

"How's that going to help us?" asked the BMIBC.

"Because then we're part of the crime. And being victims, the cops will tell us about their investigation, and we will know who the butler and the prissy woman are, and then we can go and kidnap the bitch from them. And maybe the Beatle guy."

"You want us to go to the cops, tell them who we are? Have you forgotten the little gig we did up in Boise? The smashup. You think THOSE cops have forgotten about that? Have stopped looking for the smashers? Us?"

"Well, maybe. It wasn't that big of a smashup. Coupla heads. How long do they keep looking for people?"

Two College of Charleston students walked by, smelling like pot. The MSMIBC said, "We've been here a week and I haven't seen a single student with pierced body parts. What's with these kids? Every place else we've been to where they got a college, there's kids with nice piercings. Artistic. But not here."

"Charleston and Boise are different. Lots of us up in Idaho. Not so many here. In fact, we may be the only NNs in Charleston. This here's a woosey town. They put mint in their whiskey here. Mint and sugar. Listen, we're gonna get our money, get our revenge, and head back up to the northwest. Back to the bars. Back to where the girls got real tats, black ones, not little roses on their butts, like here. Yellow roses."

The MSMIBC said, "How bout we go to Stirg. Tell him his granddaughter got snatched. He knows this town, knows the people. Maybe he can get her back; then we snatch her from him. Get our money, and you get revenge."

The boss looked at his right hand man and said, "You don't think the butler and the priss are going to contact Stirg? Tell him they got his grandkid? If they want ransom for McCartney, you think they're not going to demand ransom from Stirg too?" The MSMIBC turned his attention from the problem to his lunch. What kind of burger to have? The boss said, "Let's take a walk. I gotta figure this out."

# Chapter 16 – Everyone's Thinking

It was 8am on the second day after the kidnapping and the entire team sat in the kitchen of the June's house on Church Street. It was a three story brick house built in 1831, and a remodel had resulted in a big kitchen. The Junes and the Gromstovs sat around the kitchen table, while Jinny, Guignard, Gale, and Richard sat around the island. Jinny was the only one eating. He had offered to cook everyone breakfast, but the others were satisfied with coffee for the time being. He had arrived at the Junes about 7am and let himself in the back door, picking the deadbolt just to keep in practice. In no time he had a pot of shrimp and grits on the stove, and the smell got Roger and Gwen out of bed. They had known Jinny for longer than Slev, Constantine, and Guignard, long enough to know that he probably would eat three different versions of breakfast before noon. Then he would start in on lunch. The shrimp and grits was the first dose of nutrition Jinny would consume over the course of the day required to sustain his five foot four inch, two hundred and five pound body that resembled one of the anti-terrorist concrete bollards surrounding the White House, just outside the ornamental iron fence. Those are the things meant to stop a tank from rumbling across the lawn.

One time he had walked up to one of the horse-drawn carriages that take tourists around the historic district, thinking it would be nice to pet the horse, an animal he had no experience with growing up near the docks in Saint Petersburg. He didn't know that some horses don't like to be approached unexpectedly from behind. The carriage driver was talking with a customer in front of the horse, and didn't notice Jinny do just that, sticking out his hand and touching the horse's butt. _THUD_ came the sound of the horse's hoof making direct contact with Jinny's chest, dead center. Remember, he's only five foot four, which puts his chest right in the strike zone for a surprised horse delivering an instinctive kick. Guignard watched him land on his back ten feet away from the horse, lay there for a count of eight, place both hands on his chest and feel around, then jump up and run around to the front of the horse, where he cocked his right arm back in preparation for throwing a right cross to the horse's jawbone. Just as the horse had kicked instinctively, the driver instinctively stepped between Jinny and his horse to protect his livelihood, which is the only thing that kept the horse from getting knocked out there on Market Street. This would have been the real life version of the scene in the comedy movie _Blazing Saddles_ , in which the director had staged a scene with a huge ex-football guy playing a cowboy, who gets ticked off at a horse, and knocks it out with a punch to the head. Anyway, it takes a lot of shrimp and grits to keep Jinny's bod in fighting trim, so he worked on his second bowl while Gwen led the discussion.

"Let's go over what we know. Paul, Stella, and Anna left the hotel and went out for dinner. They were supposed to come back to the hotel around 9pm and meet Richard. Right, Richard?" He nodded. "The next thing we know for sure is that Richard has three phone calls, starting about 11pm, with a polite guy that has an English accent, and a woman that sounds crazy and threatens to chop off our friend's heads. Is that right?" He nodded again. "The next afternoon he gets a call, with the English guy being polite, and the woman sounding crazy, and Paul sounding businesslike. Paul gives Richard the demands, which are money and," Gwen shook her head, "that Paul write a rock opera, and we produce it here in Charleston. Do I have that right?" Everyone nodded except Jinny who was serving himself a third bowl from the pot on the stove. "Ok, so that was yesterday afternoon, and then we got back to the marina and went to Anna's place, and that's where we are now, in terms of information. And no one's called the cops, so we're the only ones who know about the kidnapping. The question is, what do we do now?"

Slev said, "We're the only ones now, but that's not going to last long. Anna didn't have any big plans, she was going to hang out with us in St. Barths. But Stella and Paul are famous, and they both were heading back to London, or someplace, right away. Somebody is going to notice them missing, and soon. Like tomorrow. And they're going to call the cops. Right?"

Roger said, "Right, but, we have the advantage over the cops, because we got the ransom demand, not them. As long as we keep that to ourselves, we'll keep that advantage during the hunt, which is what we start today. We hunt the kidnappers."

Gale said, "How do we do that? All we know is that one is polite and has an English accent, and one is a crazy women who wants to chop off their heads, like the Taliban do. And Paul seems to be ok. That's all we know."

The team sat around thinking and drinking coffee. And they weren't the only ones. Scotilly was eating oatmeal with blueberries on it, staring across the breakfast table at Jools, and wondering when the FBI was going to get on their trail. Jools was thinking about five million dollars, or fifteen million, whichever it was going to be, and wondering what life without Scotilly might be like. The three guys in black were back in the motel coffee shop, also trying to figure out where to look for their wealthy victims. Paul was thinking of the main themes of the opera, while his daughter and her friend thought about being cooped up in a bunker, sans boyfriends, for two months. Working on music with Paul seemed very cool, but extended celibacy did not. The Pakistani cab driver sat across the table from his wife, sipping green tea, and thinking about who the guy was in his cab the day before, playing his harmonica like a dream.

Something interrupted Jools thoughts of money. Lots of money, and retirement in the Bahamas. The negative thought that interrupted such lovely positive thoughts was the mental picture that had formed in his mind of the turban covered head of the driver and principle owner of _The Green Taxi Company,_ whose motto is _The Environment is Our Business, Too_. Was he going to be a problem? Would the kidnapping be kept in house, meaning just with this Richard the boyfriend guy, or would the FBI get involved, and blab about the kidnapping to the news media, which would be seen by the cab driver. If that happened, would he be a problem? He looked across the table at his master, who was just finishing up the last blueberry.

# Chapter 17 – Stirg the Grandfather

Pmirsh Stirg picked up the phone and dialed Anna's number. She didn't answer, just like yesterday when he called. He knew she wasn't happy with him, but she never had avoided his calls. She'd answer, and he'd try to be friendly, invite her over for dinner, and either she would be polite but distant, or she'd tell him she had plans. But she always answered. He hoped she'd let go her animosity and come back to being his granddaughter, like it was before. His only family.

Before meant before he had gotten crossways with the Junes, which had happened twice in the last couple of years. The first time was over some historical artifacts they had stolen from the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg, which he considered part of Russia's heritage, and secondly during the production of the Stravinsky ballet in Charleston. At some point in all that activity Anna had switched sides, from being close to him to being close to the Junes. He knew she liked them better than him, but she was all he had in the way of family, and he needed her.

He didn't know it yet, but now he had lots bigger problems than the disaffection of Anna and his gripes with the Junes. Now he had three NNs in town who were looking to stick it to him. Most kidnappings are about one thing: money. But Scotilly wanted two things out of her kidnapping, and so did the guys in black clothes. The three of them wanted money, but the BMIBC also wanted something else. He wanted revenge against Stirg for killing his grandfather in Argentina many years ago. They say things often skip a generation, and in this case, the BMIBC had a greater affinity for his grandfather than for his father. He had lived with this grandfather for a few of his formative years, had bonded with him, and had grown to love him. After his father had taken him from Argentina to Idaho, he had maintained a strong affection for his grandfather, which was why his father's accounts of the assassination had had such a profound effect on him. He had decided that now, at age fifty-five, was the time for revenge. Revenge against the Stirg, the Nazi hunter. Stirg, the killer of his grandfather.

The BMIBC's motives weren't so very different than those that influenced Stirg a generation earlier. Stirg had grown up as a Jew in Saint Petersburg just after World War II. He had grown up alone because his parents were killed by the Germans during the war. He kicked around jobs for a while, but had a chance to go to Israel, where he joined the army, and then the security agencies. By his late twenties he was working for one of the agencies whose mission was finding and monitoring ex-Nazis. Soon he transferred to another agency which had a different mission: bring certain ex-Nazis to justice. The definition of justice oscillated depending on which political party was in power, and the type of person running the agency. Basically there were three different definitions: 1. capture the Nazi and take him to the international court at The Hague. 2. capture the Nazi and take him to Israel, where a variety of fates awaited him, again depending on who was running things at the time, but none of them pleasant. 3. kill him, then and there.

Stirg became very skilled at his job, and was the one who found the infamous colony of high level expatriate Nazis in Argentina, one of whom was the BMIBC's grandfather. Stirg's team found the tomato grower, and they assassinated him. None of the BMIBC's father's accounts of the assassination were entirely accurate. The assassins did shoot him, but they didn't stand and eat tomatoes off the vine while they watched the guy's blood flow into the dirt. What they did do after shooting him was to prop him in a sitting position on the ground of the garden, take a wooden stake that was one inch wide by one inch thick by four feet long from one of the tomato plants, with a point on the end that went into the soil, tilt the Nazi's head back, put the pointed end in his mouth, and drive the stake down his throat, through his stomach and intestinal track, out his asshole, and into the grass on which he sat. This sent a message to other members of the colony. Stirg wasn't present, but he certainly was involved.

At the end of a long tenure with that security agency, he was rewarded with business opportunities that he pursued with equal vigor and success. He parlayed them into many millions of dollars, got a law degree, and ended his active working life as a lawyer representing wealthy clients from around the world in the arena of international business law. His millions grew into a billion. His son died young, and he took responsibility for his young granddaughter, who he came to love dearly. When she told him she wanted to play tennis on the College of Charleston tennis team, he visited Charleston, and decided it was just the kind of quaint historical backwater that he wanted to retire to. Which he did. And now he faced a blast from the past in the form of the BMIBC and his commitment to revenge. Funny how things work out.

He stood looking at the phone, wondering about Anna.

# Chapter 18 – Setting Up the Music

Jools had not anticipated McCartney's demand for a Steinway grand piano. The fact that Paul had said it didn't have to be a nine footer, that it could be a seven footer, hadn't made the challenge much easier. Jools had figured he would buy a cheap guitar at Wal-Mart for McCartney to compose his songs on, and that would be good enough. What more do you need for _Yellow Submarine_? But no. Mr. Sophisticate, Mr. Serious Composer, Mr. _Oceans Kingdom_ , had to have a Steinway grand to write his ditties on. How was he supposed to get one of those into the bunker? The first thing he did was call up a rental place and ask what kind of pianos they had. The guy said he had a very nice seven foot Yamaha that he could rent to Jools for $400 a month. Jools went out to the bunker with the news, whereupon Paul told him you get what you pay for. If Scotilly wanted more _Yellow Submarine_ level stuff, then by all means bring in the Yamaha.

Jools was pretty sure that's not what his boss wanted, so he got a rental place in Atlanta on the phone, which said they had a Bosendorfer six footer they could rent out at $1000 a month, plus transport to Charleston and back. Into the bunker he went with this proposal, and out he came after Paul explained to him that a Bosendorfer would get him a very nice little musical collage on the order of some of the _Wings_ portfolio. Jools was equally sure that this level of composition was not what Scotilly had in mind, so he called the Steinway factory in Queens, NY, which said they had lots of seven footers available, at a rate of $3000 a month, plus transport. He told them to get one on the road to Charleston, pronto. He was pretty sure a concert grand would fit through the huge steel doors of the bunker, and he was equally sure the delivery guys would think the bunker was weirdest place they ever had delivered a piano to. It was not exactly Carnegie Hall.

After that he worked on the recording equipment, which was not as much of a problem because there were versions of that stuff that were made to go on tour. A local entertainment company said they could put a package together and delivery it in two days. Then at a local guitar shop he asked if they had a Hofner bass guitar for sale or rent. The owner, a guy in his sixties, joked, "Who would that be for? Paul McCartney?" Jools got a Rickenbacker 4003 bass for $1700 and got out of there. When he opened the case back in the bunker and showed the beautiful scarlet red instrument to Paul, Paul said, "Black, my man, black. We're doing serious music here." So back to the shop, and then back to the bunker, where Paul said, "Nice. Nice. Ready to go now." As Jools got ready to leave the bunker he said, "The piano will be here in two days. Coming all the way from New York, right from the factory." Paul nodded and began to tune the bass, so Jools headed towards the big doors.

"Yo, Joolsee, what about us?" said Stella. "What about our stuff, our needs? What am I supposed to make costumes out of?"

Then Anna said, "What about my piano? How am I supposed to work with Paul on the music? On my ballet score? I'm not Paul McCartney. I don't play ten different instruments. I'm not a musical genius. I just play piano."

"What ballet? Since when are you working on a ballet score? You're here to work on the opera. What ballet?"

Anna had let the cat out of the bag. "Paul offered to work on my ballet score if I helped him with the opera. Said we'd come out of this with two complete compositions."

"Does Scotilly know this? About the ballet? And what choice do you have, anyway? Since when are you and Paul deciding what goes on around here? You've been kidnapped. By us, the kidnappers. You do what we say. You don't make up the rules."

Anna stared down the long concrete corridor to where Jools was standing near the steel doors. "Jools, remember. When this is over."

Jools sniffed a butlerian sniff and left. Up in the house Scotilly asked him, "When do I get my sofa cushions back?"

Jools, ever the calm and collected manservant said, "When the beds come, which should be tomorrow. Then I'll bring the cushions back. The beds and the piano and the recording equipment all are coming in the next two days. That should be most of the stuff they want."

"Great. Is he composing yet? How many songs does he have in the can?"

"I doubt very many considering he's just tuning his bass right now. Don't be so demanding."

She looked at the travel magazine in her hands for a minute, then said, "You know, we have another task we need to start pretty quick. The production. I want the production scheduled for right after he finishes writing the songs. Boom, boom, boom, three performances, and then we're out of here. For good. We're gone, and we let them go. So, we gotta get in touch with these June people, and cut our deal with them. They have to start now, even though the music isn't going yet. Capisce?"

"How are we going to pull that off? Have these three work with the Junes, and at the same time keep them as captives? Kidnappees."

"I don't know. I haven't figured that out, yet. What's for dinner?"

# Chapter 19 – The Junes Agree

Jinny knew if he had a fourth bowl of shrimp and grits, someone in the room would give him shit. Gale, probably, who had a fashionista figure that would make Sharon Stone cry. But it sure was tempting. The team had been sitting around the kitchen for an hour now, trying to figure out how to chase the kidnappers. Some people think best in the shower, and some while they're walking, but Jinny thought best, or thought he thought best, while eating, so he went over to the stove with his empty bowl. He wanted to make a contribution to the group thinking effort. Just then the cell phone in Richard's pocket buzzed. "Hello."

A woman's voice on the other end said, "Richard, you sniveling little shit. Have you ever opened a FEDEX box and found a head in it? A human head? Blood in the bottom of the box? Bad smell?"

"Um, no."

Now the voice shrieked, "Well, that's what's going to happen if the Junes don't cooperate." And she disconnected.

Richard looked at the phone, then at Gwen. Then at the rest of the team. Gwen said, "Was that Anna's phone?" He nodded. "Was that them?" He nodded. "What did they say?"

"They said if the Junes don't cooperate, they'll send us a head in a box."

That statement would put most people off their appetite, but not Little Jinny Blistov. Using the phone call as a distraction, he ladled a fourth helping of shrimp and grits into his bowl, sat down at the table, and tried to eat inconspicuously. Gwen asked, "Did it sound like a joke? Someone joking?"

Richard hadn't had a lot of experience with people joking about head chopping, so he said, "I don't think so. She sounded crazy."

Roger was going to ask a question when the phone buzzed again. He said, "Answer, but put it on speaker."

"Hello."

"Good morning. Jools here. That you, Richard?"

"Yes."

"Anyone else with you, sir?"

"Yes. Some friends. Some friends of Anna."

"Oh, wonderful, just what I'd hoped. Would you be so kind as to make introductions? As we'll all be working together, we should get to know one another, even if superficially."

With his mouth full, spewing grits on Gale's lemon colored jump suit, Jinny said, "You and me, asshole, we get together, not going to be anything superficial about it. You fuck with Anna, you and me gonna be intimate. A deep relationship. Understand?"

"Oh, my, who is that speaking so forcefully, and so early in the day? Richard, please, an introduction."

"That's Jinny. Little Jinny."

"You exude such a forceful personality, Mr. Jinny. May I call you Jinn Jinn?"

The others looked around. Only Gale dared call him Jinn Jinn.

"You can call me anything you like, Joolies, but remember what I said about Anna. That crazy woman with you touches one hair on her beautiful head, we'll be after your asses like a pack of fucking Russian wolfhounds."

Gale was less interested in Jinny's ethnographic description than she was in how he was spitting food on her. She had the courtesy to let him finish threatening Jools, and then whomped him across the head with her cloth napkin. In the June's house, cloth napkins were used at breakfast, as well as at all other meals.

Gwen cut this off, saying, "What do you want, Jools?"

"We must get down to business, mustn't we. Very well, but first, who does that melodic voice belong to, laced with that divinely sexy Charleston accent. I must know."

"This is Gwen. Gwen June."

"Oh, Ms. June, the great impresario, so nice to meet you. We saw the ballet three times. Fantastic. After the third performance, Scotilly said, 'we must make the opera thing happen, and these people must produce it'. She was even more impressed than I. What a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. And to think we now are collaborators. Fantastic."

Gwen said, "Who's Scotilly?"

There was a pause on the other end of the phone call, where Jools was saying to himself, "Oh, shit." Then out loud, "Never mind who Scotilly is, to business, if you please."

"Is Scotilly the crazy woman? The head chopper?"

"Well, yes, if you must know."

"Scotilly. That doesn't sound very Talibanish to me. Sounds more cute than terroristic. You sure she was trained in head chopping by the Taliban?"

"Never you mind, Ms. June. Let's talk about the production. That's the purpose of this call. Now, our target date for completion of the opera, the date we have issued to Mr. McCartney, and to which he has agreed, is two months from now. This is all very fast track. We figure it's a lot of work putting on a production like a ballet or an opera, world class, so we want you to get started now. Do your impresariation thing. Ok?"

Gwen said, "We didn't agree to do the production."

"Come now, Gwenny, you know you'll do it. You know the consequence of not doing it: chop, chop, chop."

Gwen looked around at the others, then at the phone. This guy was calling her Gwenny? "Jools, only my friends call me Gwenny, and you're not one of my friends. Got it?"

"Oh, my, you're right. Such a liberty; what was I thinking. I do apologize, Ms. June. It's just that Gwenny is such a sexy name, and it goes with your voice so nicely." He paused and sighed. "Still, it's true, isn't it? You will do the production. Right?"

"Call back in half an hour." And she hung up. Gwen looked around at the seven friends in her kitchen and said, "Well?"

Gale the Mouth spoke up first; no surprise. "What about St. Barths? We were half way there; half way to paradise; half way to a vacation after working on the ballet for a year; half way to me meeting rich, handsome men, by the dozen, in paradise. And now this. A crazy Taliban woman and a polite English guy who talks like a butler. I gotta stop hanging around with you guys."

Jinny knew he'd had his say, and besides, he didn't want to risk spitting any more food on Gale's clothes, so he kept quiet. Constantine, who spoke softly and infrequently, but carried a big stick with the group, gave a thumbs up. His wife, Slev, did the same. Gwen didn't bother looking at Richard. She knew he wanted her and Roger on his side, doing anything to get back his girl. So she looked at Jinny's girlfriend, Guignard. Two years earlier, Guignard had been head grounds-keeper at the Hermitage Museum, in Saint Petersburg, which is where she'd met the Junes. When they and Jinny had left the museum grounds in the middle of the night, with a tactical security force on their tails, Guignard had bugged out with them. She and Jinny had lived in Charleston for a while; a time that included a battle with Stirg. Then she and Jinny had disappeared for year, returning to Charleston just in time to see a performance of the ballet. They acted as if they'd never been away, and immediately had weaseled their way into the trip to St. Barths. She said, "We missed the ballet production, and don't know these two McCartney people, but we do know Anna, and like Jinny said, these people better not hurt her. So I'm in with going after them, and if that means doing this opera thing, we'll help with that, too. Right, Jinny?"

Jinny, in a faux attempt pretending to clean the grits off her pants with his napkin, had been trying to cop a feel of Gale's thigh, under the table. In a good natured, brotherly kind of way, of course. Gale didn't really mind, knowing he was devoted to Guignard, and that if his playing around ever amounted to anything other than a brotherly kind of way, any of the other people in the room, including Guignard, gladly would break his arm, if she asked them to. He looked up from where he was playing around under the table and said, "I was working in a hotel in Moscow in 2003 when _Wings_ played in Red Square. They were great, and big tippers. Really big tippers. I wouldn't mind playing around with McCartney here. I can be his bodyguard, fend off all the women that want to rip off his clothes."

Gale said, "You idiot. He's sixty-nine years old. Things aren't like they used to be for him. Those days are past"

He looked at Guignard and said, "When I'm sixty-nine, you're still going to be trying to rip my clothes off, aren't you?"

With a kind and loving smile, Guignard said, "Yes, Jinny, just like now, that's never going to change."

Jinny looked around the kitchen triumphantly and said, "See, sixty-nine's not the end of the world. Must still be girls around who feel the same about him. And even if there aren't, I'll protect him from other kidnappers. Copycat kidnappers. And, we're in, cause of Anna."

That left Roger, and Gwen looked at her husband. "I'm in because Gwen's in. She doesn't like people messing with our friends, and neither do I. St. Barths would have been nice for a week or two, but boring after that. Now, we get to hunt down some crazy kidnappers, rescue Paul McCartney, and work with him on a rock opera, which we will produce, right after producing a world class ballet based on a lost Stravinsky score, which we found in a hidden compartment of an old desk we stole from the Hermitage a couple of years ago. What's not to like? Lead on, babe."

# Chapter 20 – Who Are the Real Kidnappers?

The three guys dressed in black, one still wearing the white sneakers, sat on bench at _Waterfront Park_ and stared at Stirg's house, built halfway out a long concrete dock protruding into Charleston harbor. It was a huge, cubicle three story house of about eight thousand square feet, with a small guest house back where the dock connected to the shore. At the end of the dock was a 120 foot yacht that had a small swimming pool embedded in the rear deck. When Stirg was remodeling the old Navy radar station into his mansion, someone had said, "Incredible location and view, but no place out here for a pool."

Stirg had replied, "I got that covered."

Stirg was not exactly a local celebrity, but, being a billionaire, he did get his name in the papers occasionally, even though his stated aim was to live a quiet, reclusive, and relaxed retirement. It hadn't been hard for the NNs to find information about him, which is how they found out about Anna. They started watching her, and saw an opportunity to snatch her the evening she went to dinner with Paul and Stella. Now they had no idea how to find her kidnappers, and thus her, so they could make another attempt to kidnap her, this time from her kidnappers. This was getting complicated for the BMIMC, to say nothing of his less intelligent comrades. But he had come up with a plan, which he now divulged to his boys. "Look, we don't know who the kidnappers are or where they live, but we do know who the kidnappees are. We're the only ones who know that. The bitch, the Beatle, and the other girl. The kidnappers are going to have to contact someone soon to ask for the ransom, right? They really didn't want the bitch or the other girl, but they got them. When they find out who the bitch is, they'll find out that her grandfather is a billionaire, and they'll demand ransom from him, too. That's what I'd do. So, we wait till they contact Stirg for the ransom, and then we'll know something about them, and we can go find them. Grab the bitch. Maybe grab the Beatle guy." He leaned back against the bench and waited for his boys to tell him how smart he was.

The MSMIBC said, "How we gonna know when they contact Stirg and demand the ransom?"

"Sit here and wait for Stirg to come out of his house. Follow him."

"Boss, why bother with the bitch if it's him you don't like. Why not just hit him here, when he comes out?"

"I don't want to hit him because I want him to suffer. Dying's not really suffering, is it? Kidnapping his granddaughter would do that. And then there's the ransom. We want that too."

"If we hit him here, we could go into his house and steal stuff."

"You think he's got five mill lying around in there? In his mattress? What are you going to steal? His cookies? Let's go find out where he keeps his car. When he comes out, we gotta be ready."

# Chapter 21 – The Alliance with Stirg

Thirty minutes after his phone had rung, it rang again. "Hello."

"Richard, my boy. Jools here. What's the word?"

"Here's Gwen," and he handed the phone to her.

"Ok, Jools, we're in. I don't know how we're going to do it, but we'll work on the production. You have any ideas on how someone composes an opera, and other people work on all the production stuff at the same time? Cause I don't. Two months, are you crazy? It took us eight months to do the ballet, and we had the score for that. I promise nothing other than we'll try."

Oh, my, Gwenny, we'll all have to try hard, won't we, or.... chop, chop, chop. Don't forget that. Use it, Gwen, use it as a motivator. You can do it. Paul is cool as a cucumber here, says no problem with the music. He's even added something to the challenge. A second piece, can you believe that?"

"What second piece?"

"No can do, Gweneth. I'm not authorized to divulge that information. Fun though. He's something; complete confidence in his ability to produce the goods. And that makes us feel good, I can tell you. Bring the same to bear on your challenge, and the three of them will come out of this in one piece. Ta." And he hung up.

She looked at Roger and asked, "When was the last time someone called me Gweneth?" He shook his head. "Jools and I are going to have words when this is over." She looked around at the team. "Ok. Game on. Two months. He said Paul says he can do it; write the whole opera. Says we have to get started on the production stuff now, so that's what we gotta do."

Constantine said, "You mean we're not going to go after them? We're just going to do the production stuff. Sit back and wait?"

She smiled, and it was a smile that brought tears to their eyes. It was a beautiful smile, but with an element of evil in it, which is just what they all loved about Gwenny June. Fun, but with a cutting edge. No fucking around.

"You know we're going after them. But we have to do the other stuff, too. We have two jobs. And the reason we're going forward with the production is that Paul seems to want to do the music. Isn't that what he said?" looking at Richard.

He nodded. "Definitely. He wasn't scared, and he wasn't upset. He was positive and businesslike."

"Ok, then, here's the division of labor. Jinny and Constantine are the hunters. They go after Jools and Scotilly. The rest of us start putting the production together. Roger, Gale and I did the ballet, so we know how to do this. The rest of you can learn, and learn fast. It's going to break our backs, but if Paul can write the opera in two months, we can do the production. Ok?"

Richard stood up from the kitchen stool, agitated, and said, "I'm going with Jinny. I want to find Anna. The hell with the production."

Gwen stood looking lasers at him, her intuition soaking up every vibe coming out of his body. After ten seconds, she looked at Roger, who blinked his eyes, meaning, yes. Then she looked at Slev, who had greater intuition than almost anyone Gwen ever had met, and she, too, telegraphed affirmation to Gwen. Gwen looked back at Richard and said, "Ok. But you do what Jinny and Constantine tell you to do. Nothing else. Ok?" He nodded and sat down.

She went on, "The second thing we gotta do is make contact with Paul, and talk about the music. We have to know something about his ideas and themes. The next time Jools calls, tell him that. Tell him we have to start communicating directly with the three of them, wherever they are."

Gale asked, "What's the first thing?"

"The first thing is Stirg. We tell him about Anna. We have to."

Jinny looked at Guignard, Slev looked at Constantine, Richard looked at Gale, and Roger looked at his wife. All of them knew she was right, they had to tell him. And they all hated the idea. Stirg was their implacable enemy, a man who, one balmy evening out in Charleston harbor, had tried to drive his power yacht through the center of their sailboat. In turn, they'd invaded his mansion, made him sit in a chair and listen to them make demands on him. He'd gotten uppity, and Roger had clocked him in the side of the head with the butt of his gun, an action Stirg had not appreciated. Then, Stirg had stolen from them all the artifacts they had stolen from warehouses of the Hermitage Museum and smuggled back to Charleston. And now, ironically, they had a common enemy, and a common goal: rescue Anna. She was their friend and his granddaughter. How would this work out?

Gwen said, "We'll wait for Jools to call. Tell him we have to talk directly with Paul and Anna. After we get that going, we'll call Stirg and tell him. That'll be fun.

# Chapter 22 – Organizing Things

It now was the third day after the kidnapping, and the bunkerites were roughing it. Stella and Anna had spent two nights sleeping on sofa cushions on the concrete floor, and eating canned soup and crackers. Paul ate the soup too, but had it better, sleeping in the one bed and playing his new bass. Stella and Anna read some of the old books on the shelves and got bored. They watched Paul walk up and down the long concrete corridors that were in a T shape, sometimes muttering to himself, sometimes singing. Stella had seen this before, and said, "It's happening. It's starting. The music's coming. Jools had better get the recording equipment in here fast, or we're gonna lose stuff. He composes while he walks around, then plays something on the piano or guitar, then sits in his home studio, turns on the machines, and sings and plays something. Makes a demo. Then back to walking around. That's the process. It's starting."

Anna didn't have fifty years of writing songs under her belt, but she recognized what Stella described. She and Richard had spent six months together working on the score for a ballet. This was just before the Junes had discovered the Stravinsky score in the hidden compartment of the desk that came from Saint Petersburg, and just before she had been offered the part in the Spielberg film. Those two things had interrupted their composing, but that six months of work had introduced Anna to the creative act. She had played piano for years, and Richard had played synthesizer for years. Neither had composed anything, or played in groups, but during the six months, they had fallen in love, found a creative muse inside themselves, and learned a lot. Anna didn't like being kidnapped, didn't like Jools, and didn't like being cooped up in a big concrete box, but the more she thought about things, about spending two months shoulder to shoulder with Paul McCartney, the more she liked the situation. There were so many variables that would come into play, the first and most important one being the involvement of Gwen and Roger June.

One day several years ago she had decided to help her grandfather, who was in a war with the Junes. She had entered the Junes home at three o'clock in the morning, armed with a Walther PPK handgun, and gotten caught. Gwen and Roger nailed her (thanks to their dog, which had woken them up), duck taped her to a kitchen chair, and interrogated her over the course of a few days, at the end of which she switched allegiance from her grandfather to them. The Junes have that sort of influence over people, and ever since, she had been one of their team. The Junes had introduced her to the French actress Catherine Deneuve, who had introduced her to Spielberg. Now she was back from France, back with Richard, planning on going back to work on the ballet score. That was just before Scotilly had set her own op in motion, and now here she was, watching Paul walk up and down the corridors, singing to himself. It didn't sound like any Beatles song she'd ever heard.

They heard the heavy steel doors open at the end of the corridor, and footsteps approached. Jools entered the living room with a waiter's tray perched on his right shoulder and his gun held in his left hand. Anna looked at this setup and smiled inside. Just how good was Jools at operating his gun with his left hand. Nada. She could have that thing in her possession in the blink of an eye. But her attention was distracted from this by the smells coming from the tray. Delicious. He set the gun on a table and then the tray. On it were three plates of eggs Benedict, home fried potatoes, English muffins, orange juice, and coffee. He said, "Fall to it, girls, before it gets cold. Where's the genius?"

Stella yelled down the hall to the studio, "Dad, breakfast. Come quick."

Paul came into the living room with the Rickenbacker slung over his shoulder. He looked at the tray, unslung the guitar, and said, "Joolies, luv, wonderful. Just what I need. This going to be a regular thing, I hope?"

Anna sat looking from the tray to the gun. Eggs, gun, eggs, gun. Which did she want more? She reached for a plate and a glass of juice.

Jools said, "No can do every day, Paulie. Just trying to make up for these first three days of lack of amenities. Here's the deal. As soon as you finish eating, you're out of here. Up to the big house, with Scotilly. All the rest of the stuff is arriving today: the piano, the synthesizer, the recording equipment, the beds, more canned food, and other stuff. We can't have all those delivery guys walking around in here with you three hanging out. One of 'em might recognize you. When all the stuff is in here, back you come. Ok?"

Stella said, "What's with the gun? I thought we had a deal. We don't try to escape and you lose the gun."

"Dear, it's a matter of trust, isn't it? We don't really know each other yet, though I feel a bond beginning to form between us. Until that is stronger, I'm afraid that when you're out of the bunker, I'm going to have my little friend here at hand. Soon, soon, I hope we can dispense with him."

Anna chomped on her muffin, coated in real, saltless butter, and wondered at his naiveté. She could have that gun stuck in his ear before his could say, "If you'll leave your shoes outside the bunker door before retiring, I'll have them polished by morning." She went back to her food, which was outstanding. Few things better than a great hollandaise. He was a lousy kidnapper and gun handler, but he could cook. Paul put the bass on his lap and played riffs between mouthfuls of eggs and potatoes. He was in a groove, and even the hollandaise couldn't totally distract him. Anna looked at Paul and said, "If I'm not getting my own piano, we're going to have to share. Ok?"

"Course, luv. I think a lot of this stuff is going to happen on the synthe, anyway. I might compose on the piano, but as soon as I get something down on paper, I'll probably take it over to the synthe and do the orchestrations there. I'm probably going to do the same thing for our shows they did for the ballet production; play all the music myself on the synthe. Make it sound half like an orchestra and half like a big rock band. It's going to be the composition and singing that makes or breaks this anyway, not the instrumentals. If I can get great singers for this...." He let the thought drift.

Jools took a tape measure out of his pocket and said, "I gotta measure the door opening, make sure they can get the piano through. He walked back down the long corridor, leaving his gun on the coffee table. Anna and Stella both looked at it, then at each other, shaking their heads. Ten minutes later they finished their coffee and looked at Jools, who said, "Ready? Let's go." He headed down the corridor with them behind him, Paul still riffing on the Rickenbacker. When they got to the big steel doors, he unlocked them, started to open them, and said, "Oh, shit." He turned around and ran back towards the living room. While he did that, the three kidnappees looked at the open doors. It had been almost three days since they had seen the sun. They looked at each other and shrugged. Jools came running back towards them now, skidding to a stop with a chagrined look on his face. Anna pulled the gun from where it was stuck in her belt at the small of her back, and handed it to him. He said, "Oh, thanks," and led the way through the doors and up to the house.

As they entered the big living room, Scotilly said, "When do I get my sofa cushions back? How's the music coming? How're the costumes coming? Who do I contact about the five million dollars? What are we having for lunch?"

Jools looked at them, said, "She's all yours," and walked out.

The two women sat down on the springs of the sofa and looked at Scotilly, trying to figure out which question to answer first. Paul ignored them all, and began to walk back and forth, plucking at the guitar strings and humming something that sounded like Gershwin. What was he up to? Stella said, "You get the cushions back when we get our beds, which supposedly is today."

Anna said, "You can see how the music's coming," and pointed at McCartney.

Stella said, "I have no material, so no costumes. Get it?"

Anna said, "You'll have to ask him about the money, but if you do that, you'll interrupt the music muse. I wouldn't do that. And, we just finished breakfast. What are you worrying about lunch for?"

Scotilly watched McCartney walk up and down, then looked back at Anna and Stella. "Sorry, sorry. It's been a rough three days. My first kidnapping, and I'm not used to it. And this getting up before ten, not used to that, either. So, sorry."

Anna just sat and thought about things. She'd had to give one kidnapper back his gun, and now the other kidnapper was showing signs of stress. She said, "Do you know what's going to happen today?"

Scotilly said, "The FBI. They're going to call, aren't they? They have some electronic tracking thingy that found us."

Anna said, "Girly, the FBI is the least of your worries. You know what's going to happen today? The fucking Junes are going to start the hunt. The hunt for you. Roger and Gwen June. They like me, and you kidnapped me. I'd rather have a squad of Green Berets on my tail than them. It's been three days, and they've been figuring things out. Now, the action begins."

Stella looked at Anna and thought, I met this woman on the set of a movie in France, and she seemed cool, so we made friends. The other day I find out she goes out to dinner packing a gun under her tailored suit coat. Now she tells me she has friends that are tougher than Green Berets and the FBI. Who is she? She looked at her father, who hadn't heard any of this conversation.

Anna paused, then said, "And that's only half of your problem. You know who my grandfather is?" Scotilly shook her head. "You know what my name is?" She shook her head again. "It's Stirg. Anna Stirg. Recognize that?"

Scotilly tried to reduce the stress that was building in her shoulder muscles by leaning her head against the chair back and closing her eyes. Stirg. Stirg. Stirg. The name rang a bell. She opened her eyes and said, "Yes, I do recognize the name. Your grandfather gets his name in the paper once in a while. He's a rich guy, lives down on the waterfront." She closed her eyes again, thought, opened them. "He got in trouble awhile back for hanging around the College of Charleston campus and making solicitous remarks to freshmen girls. Women."

Anna was sorry she'd brought the subject up. She said, deflecting attention from that newsflash, "You know what he was years ago? A long time ago? He was a Nazi hunter. For the Israelis. He hunted them down in South America. You've kidnapped the granddaughter of a former Nazi hunter. So, now you've got the Junes on your ass, plus Pmirgh Stirg the Nazi hunter, and maybe the FBI, if someone manages to squeal to them. How's that feel?"

"I've had better mornings, but, no guts, no glory." She seemed to be snapping out of her stress zone. "What about the production? What about the Junes? How are we going to get them going?"

Stella said, "That's our job to figure out? You're the mastermind of this gig. You're the perpetrator of the crime."

Scotilly pointed at Paul. "Look at him. Look. Happy as a clam. He's not threatening me with Nazi hunters and FBI agents. He's working away, making beautiful music. Writing great songs. What I've done here is present him, and you, with a unique opportunity to execute a creative endeavor. A world class work of art. You should be thanking me."

Stella looked at Anna, telegraphing the message, "Great art is fine, but what about the two months without boyfriends? Is that great? Can that be construed as an ideal living situation? Will that foster a deep and abiding sense of personal contentment?"

Anna said, "We have to establish communication with the Junes. That's the only way they can work on the production angle. They can't do what they have to do unless they know what we're doing here with the composition. Right?"

"Yeah, but you just told me they're after my ass. More tempestuous than a squad of Green Berets. How can we set up a communication system when they'll use that to find me? Us?" she said as Jools came back in the room.

"Us, what?" he said.

Anna answered, "As in your mastermind here didn't figure everything out before embarking on this project. We have to communicate with the Junes to do the production, but I just told her I rather have Green Berets on my ass than the Junes. Now she's worried they're gonna track her down. Which they will. You. Track you down. That's the 'Us' she mentioned. Track you and her down." She leaned against the sofa back and smiled.

Jools looked at Scotilly and said, "We're being tracked?"

Stella said, "Hunted. Not just tracked. Hunted." Looking at Anna she asked, "What was the name of that Russian guy you mentioned to me at dinner? Little somebody? The gangster?"

"Little Jinny Blistov. Close friend of the Junes. Formerly a gangster on the Saint Petersburg waterfront. Very tough. His mother was a fisherman; used to tear the heads off of fish with her bare hands. Didn't bother with a knife. Jinny would do anything for the Junes. He owes them. He loves them. Do anything."

"So he might be the hunter?"

"Likely. Ruthless. And very smart. American gangsters, like Marlon Brando, nothing like Russian gangsters."

Jools said, "Stop trying to scare us. Let's just do it. Call them up and tell them we have to open lines of communication between the artists and the impresarios. We'll worry about this other stuff later. This hunting stuff. The little guy." He reached into his pocket and took out Anna's phone, started to dial. Anna jumped off the sofa and grabbed it from him.

"Give me that." And she punched Richard's speed dial number.

"Hello."

"Richard. It's me."

"Anna. How are you? Are you all right? Where are you? Thank God."

"I'm fine. So's Stella and Paul. We've been kidnapped by some idiots. I guess you know what they want."

"Yes, we know. We've agreed to do the production. We're waiting for instructions"

Scotilly said, "On speaker, please. No tricks."

She hit the speaker button. "Things are ok. Don't call the cops. Or the FBI. We've agreed to do the opera if they don't point their guns at us all the time." She smirked at Jools, having some fun.

"So what do we do?"

"Nothing. We'll call you when we have stuff to share about the music that you need for the production stuff. You can call us when you have questions. Jools will have the phone, so you can ask him, and he'll bring them to us. Ok?"

"You don't sound upset? So everything's ok?"

"Paul's grooving, so that part is good. Stella and I are going to help. Guess what? Paul is going to work on the ballet score with me, too. I wish you were here to work on that with us. I wish you were here for other reasons, too. I miss you."

Jools looked at Scotilly and said, "Three days away from her boyfriend, and she's horny."

Stella said, "What about me?"

Scotilly made gestures to Anna saying, "Cut it off. Enough."

"I gotta go. Love you. Say hi to Little Jinny for me. Tell him I look forward to seeing him soon. Bye." As she punched the disconnect button she looked at Jools. "Little Jinny. I'm sure he's looking forward to meeting you. Soon."

Just then a horn sounded outside the house. Jools said, "They're here," and ran down the steps. He found a truck with the piano, a truck with the recording equipment and the synthesizer, and a truck with beds and a few other pieces of furniture. Over the next hour and a half he managed the unloading of the stuff into the bunker. The piano fit through the massive steel doors and went into the large studio room, along with the synthe and the recording equipment. The furniture went into the bedrooms and the living room. The truck guys from the three rental outfits thought the bunker was the weirdest place they'd ever delivered stuff to. Who the hell would want to live in a place like that? And what was going on with the instruments? When everything was set up Jools shooed them out, tipping each with a $100 bill. He wasn't sure if the money was Scotilly's or McCartney's; he just knew it wasn't his, and he figured the truck guys deserved a little piece of the action. Butlers and truck drivers got to stick together.

When he returned to the house, everyone seemed content. Scotilly had gotten out of her stress zone, helped by a chilled glass of chablis that sat on the coffee table. She had figured it was noon somewhere. Stella and Anna felt good after making their attempts to scare the shit out of Scotilly with stories of various hunters on her trail. Paul said, "Is the piano here? Is it? I need a piano."

"It's down there, in the studio room, with the rest of the stuff. And beds. Two twin beds, very nice."

Stella looked at Jools, said, "What do you mean twin beds? I haven't slept in a twin bed since I was eight. They don't even make twin beds anymore. Where'd you get these, a museum?"

Jools smiled and said, "Just kidding. Got you both nice queens. Very comfy. Too bad you'll be in them alone. Two months. Alone." So he was not above sticking it back to them.

Paul said, "Did the piano guys have a tuner with them?"

"What's a tuner?"

"What do you think a tuner is? A guy who tunes the piano. A tuner."

"Pianos go out of tune?"

"Pianos go out of tune if you look at them wrong. No way that piano came down all the way from New York, and stayed in tune. Get a tuner in there, right away. I need a piano. NOW!" The temperamental artist was making his first appearance. Paul was hot on the trail of new music.

Scotilly downed the last of the wine, and looked around. It seemed to her things were going reasonably smoothly, despite the notification that a Russian gangster was looking for her. They had come to terms with the Junes about the production, communication was open and functional, the genius had everything he wanted except a piano that was in tune, and that deficiency would be fixed soon. Everything pointed to celebrating with a second glass of chablis. As she stood up and headed to the kitchen, she said, "Good work, Jools. Get them back down there working, and get a tuner in there pronto. I'll be ready for lunch about 1pm. How about crab cakes? This wine will be killer with your crab. And bring the cushions back. I may need a little sofa nap later on after all this excitement."

# Chapter 23 – Stirg Gets Involved

The Junes and their associates were not feeling content. It was now almost lunch time, and only Jinny had eaten anything. All of them had heard the conversation between Anna and Richard, and they had spent the last two hours trying to figure out what it meant. The situation was just so odd it was hard for them to get their heads around it. Usually, kidnappings were straightforward. The person is snatched, a ransom is demanded, the police are called, the ransom is paid, and the person is killed. Sometimes the person is released, but not usually.

This kidnapping had been different from the start. Three people were walking down the street, enjoying the evening air, when two separate groups, unbeknownst to each other and at the same time, each tried to snatch one person from the group of three. One group of kidnappers had ended up with all three people, other group with nothing. Subsequently, the kidnappers and the kidnappees had negotiated a gentleman's agreement, with the kidnappers agreeing to not wave guns at the kidnappees, and the kidnappees agreeing to not escape for a period of two months, during which period they would compose a rock opera. They also had agreed to not tell a third group that was involved, the Junes, where they were, knowing that the Junes would seek them out with some kind of goal of liberation. But how do you liberate someone who had agreed to not be liberated. It all was very confusing to those sitting around the June's kitchen, and hence their feelings of discontentment. It was about to get more confusing, as Gwen said, "We gotta tell Stirg. We know the basic setup, weird as it is, and now he has a right to know. Ok?"

"He's gonna go berserk," said Roger. "Call up a Mossad commando squad and go searching door to door for Anna. How are we going to control him?"

"I have no idea, but we have to convince him to do the same thing we are. Cooperate, but hunt for them at the same time. We can't do one without the other."

"So who tells him?"

Six of the eight people in the room had been part of the strike force that had invaded Stirg's mansion in retaliation for his attempt to cut their sailboat into halves one evening out in the harbor, so the two parties knew each other well. For years Stirg had been attended by a bodyguard and assistant named Nev, who also was part of the mix. Now it was time to call Nev and tell him the two teams had to talk. Everyone's gaze rested on Gwen, who got most of the hard jobs, her being the most competent. She sighed, and picked up the phone. "Hello Nev. You know who this is?"

It took Nev a few seconds to process the sexy Charleston accent on the other end, but he said very quickly, "Gwenny June, I believe. Wife of the man who hit my boss hard on the side of the head with a gun butt, which wasn't very nice."

"Can the shit, Nev. It wasn't nice, but it was deserved. You remember what he said that irritated my husband?"

Nev did remember what his boss had said to Gwen, and had to admit it wasn't very nice, and had to admit his boss deserved the hit. He also remembered how Gwen, Slev, Guignard, and another woman had snookered him into letting them into his house that day in the first place. He remembered the women pulling guns from their bikinis and sticking them in his face. One Israeli former Mossad agent now bodyguard, with four guns pointing at him, held by four good looking women. The idea of pulling guns out of bikinis may seem fatuous, but really skilled people can, and did, pull that off, which surprised the shit out of Nev. "Ok, I remember. What do you want?"

"Something's come up. Something important to us, that will be important to Stirg. We need to get together. Right away."

"Tell me now, and I'll go tell him. He's here."

"It's the kind of thing that should be done face to face. After we tell him, we gotta talk about it together. Us and you. We may be working together."

Nev actually took the phone away from his ear and looked at it, almost like a caricature. This woman was suggesting they work together. The Junes and Stirg? Work together? Something strange was up. "Ok, I'll go tell him, call you back."

He walked into the 1500 square foot living room where his boss sat in a leather armchair reading Tolstoy, leaned against the Bosendorfer piano and said, "If I give you ten chances, you'll never guess who wants to meet with us."

Stirg set the thick book on his lap and said, "Vladimir Putin." Nev shook his head. "The Director of Mossad, what's his name?" Another negative head shake. Stirg looked out the huge plate glass windows at the choppy waters of the harbor. When he looked back at Nev he said, "The fucks." The fucks is how Stirg relentlessly had referred to the Junes and their associates during the almost year long period when they were producing the Stravinsky ballet in Charleston and he was trying to steal the ballet from them and have it produced in Saint Petersburg, by the Mariinsky Ballet Theater.

"Hey, pretty good, you guessed it. The fucks. The June bitch just called, said we have to meet them, it's important. Said we may be working together. Something strange is up."

Stirg again looked out the windows, then said, "Well, I guess we better call them." He got up and led the way to the kitchen, where he motioned to Nev to dial the phone. When Gwen answered he said, "What do you want?"

Gwen hit the speaker button so the others could hear, and yelled at Jinny to be quiet. He was the only one to eat anything so far today, yet there he was, over at the stove, banging pots and pans around, getting ready to prepare lunch. Lobster omelets served with the remainder of the shrimp and grits, plus homemade french fries topped with a parmesan arugula aioli. Jinny was into eating good food. Not necessarily healthy food, but good food nonetheless. "Stirg, we need to talk. Face to face; it's important."

"Tell me now, just say it. I'm busy. I gotta get back to Leo. It's a good part."

"You'll want to get together with us. This is special. We may have to deal with this thing together."

"What's so special that we'll need to deal with it together? We got nothing in common. You're the fucks."

"We do, actually, Stirg. We do have something in common. Anna."

Now it was Stirg's turn to take the phone away from his ear. He hit the speaker button so Nev could hear. "What about Anna? What have you done now? What's wrong?"

"We haven't done anything, but that's what we have to talk about. Where do you want to meet?"

"Where are you now?"

"At our house. Church Street."

"Gimme the number. I'm on my way."

"Hope you haven't had lunch yet. We'll set another place at the table. Nev can stand and eat at the counter."

# Chapter 24 – Stirg Meets the Junes

The NSSMIBC was dozing on the park bench, enjoying the sun, when the MSMIBC dug a knuckle into his ribs. "Look. There they are. Stirg and someone else." The lamebrain put on his sunglasses and looked across the marsh towards the long dock stretching out into the harbor. Walking down the dock to the shore were two men. So that was the guy who had killed their boss' grandfather. And now he was a billionaire, and they were going to shake him down for three million dollars, and fuck with him by kidnapping his granddaughter. There he was. The target of their animosity.

"What do we do?"

It was bad luck the BMIBC had chosen this time to walk down the block and get lunches for himself and his boys. The MSMIBC took command and said, "We follow them. Go get the car, pick me up over there." Stirg's place was within walking distance of the Junes place, but Stirg was agitated and told Nev to get out the Mercedes. So that was the procession that came down Church Street, a big Mercedes followed by a Dodge ram pickup truck with fat tires and a swastika bumper sticker that said _White Meat Only_.

When the BMIBC came back to the empty bench with the lunches in a bag, he said, "Shit, where are those morons?"

Nev eased the car into a space down the block from the Junes house, and the two of them climbed the eight brick steps that had fig vine on the risers. Stirg ignored the doorbell and pounded on door. Gale opened it a minute later and said, "Stirgy, come on in. And you must be the bodyguard. Welcome Mr. Nev." Gale, Constantine, and Richard were the only ones on the June team who had not been part of the invasion of the Stirg house, which is why Gwen had sent Gale to greet the guests. No use sticking a thorn in them right out of the chute. The others had moved from the kitchen to the living room, and that's where Gale led them. Stirg and Nev looked around the room, recognizing the three women who had scammed their way into their house, wearing bikinis and pulling guns. At that point during the home invasion Roger and Jinny had made their appearance, and the fun had begun. Gwen pointed to matching Klismos style upholstered chairs made in 1933. She sat on the sofa with Roger and Gale. Guignard and Richard sat on another sofa, and Constantine and his wife sat side by side in Chippendale rockers. Jinny sat alone on the bench of the Steinway piano. He and Nev stared at each other, expressionless.

Gwen said, "Thank you for coming. When you hear what we have to say, you'll understand why we wanted to see you here rather than talk over the phone." Stirg looked from one person to another, around the room, and then back at Gwen, to whom he motioned. She said, "Anna's been kidnapped. She's ok. We didn't have anything to do with it. She was kidnapped with two other people, both famous. Paul McCartney and his daughter, Stella. We have spoken to the kidnappers several times, and to Anna once. We know they're ok. We don't know who the kidnappers are, but we know what they want."

Nev stopped sending vibes of violence towards Jinny, and looked at his boss. He thought, "Great. We get over the whole battle of the ballets (Charleston vs. Saint Petersburg), we have the upper hand on the theft and re-theft of the Hermitage artifacts, things have settled down and we were back to living the life of luxury in the big house. And now, a fucking kidnapping. "

Stirg gripped the arms of the Klismos and said, "Where is she? Is she here in Charleston? Have they taken her away? What do they want?"

Roger said, "You want a drink? A cognac?"

"No, I want to know what they want me to do to get her back. To get her back safe. What?"

Gwen spoke slowly and distinctly. "They want money, but that's not all. They want something else, from one of the others, from Paul McCartney. They want something unusual. This is not a regular kidnapping where all they want is money. These people are odd. We haven't figured them out yet, but it's not a political kidnapping either. It's weird."

"How long have you known about this?"

"Today is the third day. Each day they gave a little more information. Today we had enough to call you and tell you."

"The money is not a problem. What else do they want?"

"We don't know how much money they want. We think they will tell us today or tomorrow. We do know what the other thing is, and it does not have to do with Anna directly. But she's involved indirectly."

"Stop stalling. Tell me."

"They want something from Paul. He is wealthy, and they want money for him, but they want something else from him, too. They want him to compose music. They want him to compose a rock opera, and they want it produced here in Charleston, just like we did the Stravinsky ballet. That's what they want in addition to money."

Stirg sat back in his chair, stared at Gwen for a few seconds, and then looked at Nev, who said to him, "You know who Paul McCartney is. He's one of those guys called the Beatles, from the 60s. He's still famous, and rich, and still plays music."

"Oh. Him." Stirg was a couple of years older than Paul, but growing up poor in Saint Petersburg, The Beatles had not had the impact on him that they had on a lot of other people of the era. "Yeah, I know of him, but what is it with these people? They kidnap this guy and make him compose music? Are they crazy? And what does Anna have to do with it?"

Gwen said, "We don't know exactly, but we know they were together the night they were kidnapped. Anna and Stella knew each other from the movie in France. The three of them had dinner together on King Street, and were supposed to come back to the hotel, but they didn't. All we know is what they want of Paul, and that the three of them are ok, and now we are waiting for more information. The kidnappers demanded that we do the production of the opera here in town, and we agreed to that. We know we will be communicating with them soon. Now, you're here with us, and know as much as we do."

Stirg couldn't believe this any more than could Nev. He had retired to Charleston to live the life of a wealthy recluse, to be with his granddaughter, and now, every time he came around a corner, there were the Junes, and something crazy was happening. He'd have less stress living on the West Bank in Israel, ducking Hamas mortar rounds. He said, "I'll have that cognac."

While Roger went into the kitchen to fix the drink, Gwen motioned her crew into the dining room and kitchen, telling them to set the table and prepare a lunch for ten. She sat down on the sofa and waited for Stirg to say something.

In the meantime, the two NNs sat in the pickup and watched the house. After a half hour the MSMIBC said, "We better call the boss, tell him what's up." Which he did. Twenty minutes later the BMIBC walked up Church Street looking for the right house number. He saw the Dodge Ram and slid in next to his boys. Seeing the paper bags, the one said, "Lunch still hot, boss?"

Being hungry himself, he didn't ask a lot of questions, but handed out the bags and started eating. While they ate they watched the big house and wondered who Stirg was visiting. Two of them wondered who Stirg was visiting; the NSNMIBC wondered what he would have for dinner. Another burger, probably. When the bags had been tossed in the back of the pickup, from which they would blow out onto the interstate when the NNs headed back to their motel with the fancy suite rooms, the BMIBC said, "They're taking their time in there, and I bet it has to do with the kidnapping. If these other people are mixed up with the kidnapping, then they're our enemies, just like Stirg is. 'The friend of my enemy is my enemy'.

The MSMIBC said, "That's good, boss. Who said that?"

"Hitler. Made it famous talking about the Swiss. They were neutral, and he was trying to find a reason to invade them. Said they were friends with the Frenchies. Said they gave the French cheese and the French gave them wine. Friends."

"Who gave them bread, boss?"

"What?"

"Who gave the French and the Swiss bread? You know, wine, cheese, and bread. That's all those people over there eat."

The boss decided not to prolong that conversation, and got out of the pickup. He looked up and down Church Street at the historic million dollar homes. This definitely was not his type of neighborhood. He thought of the type of place he would buy up in Boise with his cut of the ransom. Either it would be a cabin on a lake, with its own dock, or it would be a cabin up in the mountains with twenty acres of land all around it. Lake or land? Lake or land? After a while he decided on the land deal. If he was on a lake he would have trouble shooting his guns when he felt like it. But with all that land around him, his land, which no one would dare fuck with, them knowing he was a badass NN, he could shoot whenever he felt like it. Yeah, that would be the deal. And all he had to do to make that a reality was to wait for Stirg and his friends to lead him to the kidnappers. When that happened, he would have all kinds of people to get ransoms for. The bitch granddaughter, the rich Beatle guy, the stuckup guy with the English accent, the other woman with the fancy clothes, Stirg himself, and maybe these rich folks who lived in the old brick house down the street. That was like, ten people. Ten ransoms. With all that money, he could buy his place up in the hills, and fund an entire NN movement, collaborating with other like-minded individuals of his political and cultural persuasions, of which there were many in the great, soon to be free state of Idaho. He got back in the pickup and said, "All we gotta do is wait and watch. Things are lining up good."

# Chapter 25 – Setting the Stage for Work in the Bunker

Stella spent two hours opening long boxes that contained bolts of material. Some of it was cotton, some wool, a few silk, and a few polyester. There were smaller boxes that held things like scissors and measuring tapes, and there was a sewing machine. She spread this stuff out on the folding tables in one of the smaller concrete spaces that had been an ammunition storage room for the gun battery. Looking at this crap, the enthusiasm that was building for the project was squashed, and she thought of ways to rip into Jools the next time he appeared in the bunker. She went into the large room that was taking shape as a simple recording studio. Her father smiled as she entered, and he asked, "How's your stuff? If you have any extra material, maybe you could bring some of it in here. I think we're going to have to hang stuff on the walls to dampen the sound. This place is rough for a studio, but we can make it work."

She said, "The stuff is crap. You can have it all. I can't make costumes for a rock opera with cotton and polyester. I need leather; lots of leather. And plastic. Black plastic and clear plastic. Jools must think I'm going to design clothes for kids. He did get a good sewing machine though."

Jools picked the exact wrong time to visit, right at the height of Stella's rant. He walked into the studio with a bowl of fresh fruit and said, "How are we today? Feeling fit and proper?"

"No, Jools, we're not feeling fit and proper. We're feeling frustrated because you bought all the wrong stuff for me. You bought kids stuff. I need other stuff; stuff for rock and roll stars. Can you understand that? The difference? I'm not designing for Sears."

He walked over to her and handed her the bowl of fruit as a peace offering. "Sorry, Madame. I do endeavor to please. How can I rectify the situation?"

"You can rectify the situation by bringing all the crap material you bought for me in here and helping me hang it on the walls, for him. Then, I gotta go buy the stuff I need. And it's going to be a lot. So let's get going."

"You want to go shopping?"

"Yes, Jools, I have to get my stuff. All kinds of stuff. Lots of stuff."

"You're a kidnappee, and you want to go shopping?"

"You're a butler Jools, and a sometime bodyguard for Scotilly, and a halfass kidnapper. You are not a rock n roll designer. You don't have a clue. Either we go shopping in town, or you hook me up to the internet and I order the stuff online, which will take days to get here. Your boss set the clock ticking, not us. You think I'm gonna scram with my Dad still here?"

"You might bring the FBI."

"Didn't you hear Anna? You gotta worry about Little Jinny Blistov, and her grandfather, not the FBI. Besides, we have a deal. No guns, and we don't try to escape."

"We are aware of Mr. Blistov and Mr. Stirg, and have taken adequate precautions, I can assure you. Now, about the shopping, I think not. Let's do option B, order over the internet. Come up to the house with me and we'll get online. And no emailing the authorities. Promise?"

Anna came into the studio as they were leaving, and said, "I got all the new food put away and the beds set up. How can I help here?"

"You can help by listening to me describe my ideas for the opera," said Paul. "I've got some of it figured out, some not. Ok?"

She sat down on the piano bench and he sat down on the synthesizer bench. "Let me tell you what it's not going to be about. It not going to be about teenagers or twenty-somethings. It's going to be about mature relationships between men and women. It's going to be about why people fall in love, and fall out of love. Because that's what happens. People come together for a while, and then they split up. That describes love and all its forms. There are good parts about relationships, and bad parts. Some couples make it for a long time, some don't, and people have different ideas about why that happens. I think a lot of the common ideas are wrong. I think I know why some relationships work and some don't, and that's what I'm going to write songs about. You're in your thirties, and Stella's in her forties, and I'm pushing seventy. I want to write for all those ages, because there's experience there. That's the basic idea for the opera, and the next step is to write down three or four or five themes that represent that basic idea of a man and a woman coming together, having good times and bad, and making it for the long haul, or not. What do you think?"

Anna swiveled around on the bench and raised the keyboard cover. She hadn't played at all in France; not since she and Richard worked on the ballet score eight month previously. But she was fearless, and plunged into a famous Gershwin tune, one he had written in Charleston, _Summertime_. She had to quit after a minute because the piano was so out of tune, but in just that brief time she got the juices flowing. The musical juices. She was back. She slammed the cover and said, "If Jools doesn't get that tuned by tomorrow afternoon, I'll clean his clock for him." She walked across the room to where Paul sat, put her hands on his shoulders, and said, "I love your idea. And we're going to have a great time working on this thing together. At the end, the production is going to be fantastic. You saw the Stravinsky. The Junes can put it together if we, you, give them the goods. They'll produce a great piece. Ok?"

He looked up into Anna's eyes and wished he was thirty years younger.

# Chapter 26 – The Money Demand

Back on Church Street Gwen was trying to figure out how to seat ten people at the same table who only a few months earlier had been trying to kill each other. Well, Stirg had tried to do something to the Junes and their friends by smashing their sailboat into little pieces. His action wasn't a definitive killing intent; rather it was something on the order of wrecking mayhem on them. And they defended themselves. And then there was the hitting Stirg in the head with the butt of a gun thing. So maybe that didn't add up to trying to kill each other, but these were not friends sitting down to Sunday brunch, either. Gwen had to keep Roger away from Stirg since it was him who had hit Stirg in the head. And she had to keep Jinny away from Nev because Jinny had given Nev so much shit while sitting in Stirg's house, telling Nev he was a disgrace to the bodyguarding profession for allowing four women in bikinis to invade his boss' house. So she put Roger and herself at the ends of the table and Stirg and Nev across from each other in the center. The table sat fourteen comfortably, so there was some extra personal space available, which was good.

While Gwen worked on facilitating a peaceful lunch, Scotilly sat in her sunroom and thought about the money. The ransom. Should she up the demand, and ask something for Stella and Anna? She now held captive, sort of, a person worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and a person dear to the heart of a billionaire. Should she demand a ransom from Stirg, in return for which she wouldn't chop off Anna's head? More millions would be better, right? The thought of the threat she would make to Stirg reminded her of how much fun she was having playing a crazy, Taliban trained and influenced kidnapper. She'd never realized how much power she had in her voice; she'd not known the range she had, especially going down into the lower registers first, and then escalating her screaming into the upper registers. The look on Jools' face when she did this was priceless. She decided to set aside the thorny question of whether to demand ransom for Anna, and practice her Taliban-like behavior for a few minutes. She went into the living room, hoping an ornamental Ottoman sword had materialized out of thin air, to hang menacingly on one of the walls. It hadn't, so she picked up the iron fireplace poker, raised it over her shoulder to a sword-like posture, and looked around for something not too valuable to smash. On the sofa was a throw pillow, and convincingly she brought the poker down in a savage _THUMP_. She ran crouched across the room and parlayed a deep and mortal thrust into one of the heavy drapes that hung floor to ceiling at the bay window that overlooked the island's marshland. For the finale of her murderous rage, she decided to sacrifice a lamp Jools had given her as a birthday present one year that she never had warmed to. It resided in a corner of the room simply because she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings. Eyeing the lamp the way a Taliban soldier would eye a captive Hollywood producer or Madison Avenue account executive, she commenced her attack vocal with a deep rumble in her chest, and as it climbed through the registers to a sopranoish scream, she raked the sword (poker) through an arc from two o'clock to eight o'clock, smashing it into the shade and through the rather hideous cloisonné body of the lamp, into the sandalwood base. _CRASH_.

Jools and Stella ran into the room from the study where they were ordering bolts of black and scarlet leather online, and saw Scotilly standing over the vanquished body of the infidel, its head cleanly severed and oozing blood into the dirt of the execution ground. Jools said, "What the bloody 'ell? My lamp. My cloisonné lamp. For your birthday. Well, I like that." And he looked at Stella, who shrugged, having seen something very similar to this once in her design studio, when one of her assistants, who'd been working on a men's casual suit for days, lost it because she couldn't get the tail of the silk jacket to hang just right over the hip of the mannequin. She had picked up a long, heavy metal straightedge used to measure fabric, and demolished both the mannequin and the nascent suit very efficiently, using only three slashes.

Though breathing hard, Scotilly had a smile on her face, and said, "Just practicing," and went back into the sunroom to continue her deliberations on the ransom demand.

Back on Church Street, Nev was trying to figure out how, surreptitiously, he could slip a razorblade into Jinny's brie, bacon, and cucumber with shallot aioli on toasted sourdough bread sandwich. Stirg asked for a second cognac and soda, which both Gale and Jinny eyed with envy. They looked at each other, knowing they couldn't get away with ordering the same, but wondering if they might suggest a bottle of Sancerre. An innocent bottle of light bodied, fruity, hardly any alcohol in it Loire wine. Gwen, knowing their capability to slide into lushness in the blink of an eye, warned both of them, telegraphically, to not even bother with such a suggestion. What they didn't need was a little alcohol to fuel the Stirg\June fire.

Stirg had the decency to hold his tongue during lunch, but when he finished his second sandwich, which, he had to admit, was delicious, and which he decided he wanted Nev to learn to make for him, he said, "Now what? What are we waiting for? When are they gonna call? And then what are we gonna do?"

Given their past history, Gwen didn't want Roger or Jinny to speak at this point, and she didn't want Gale the Mouth to get going at this delicate juncture, and she thought she'd done enough talking, so she turned to Slev, who instantly knew what to say. "Pmirhs, we want to propose a two pronged approach. We know they are ok now. We know this is not an ordinary kidnapping, either, just for money, or political. It unusual. These people are unusual. We think we should cooperate with their demand to produce a world class rock opera, here in Charleston. As long as McCartney works on the music, and we work on the production, they will be safe." Slev's voice was melodic and calm. She looked from Stirg to Nev, and back. Her hands caressed them with delicate, reassuring gestures. "Of course, they want money, too, and that is what we are waiting for them to tell us. Hopefully today. We think we should pay the ransom, whatever it is. We will arrange with McCartney's people to do that, when he tells us to. You have to be ready to pay, if they demand something for Anna."

"That's no problem."

Slev sipped a little water. "But, Pmirsh, I said we have a two pronged approach. Paying the ransom is the first"

"And the second?"

"The second is to hunt down the kidnappers, rescue Paul and Anna and Stella, and throw the kidnappers into the ocean with their feet encased in concrete."

Stirg looked around the table and said, "Now you're talking."

# Chapter 27 – The Uneasy Alliance

After polishing off the sandwiches, the group returned to the living room. Gale and Jinny hoped Stirg wouldn't ask for a third cognac and soda because that would be too much to bear, watching him sip that while they sipped coffee. He didn't, and joined the others when Guignard brought around the sterling silver coffee pot. Richard's phone rang, and everyone sat looking at it. "Hello. Richard?"

"Yes. Hi, Jools."

"You recognize my voice. I'm honored."

"We don't know anyone else that talks like you, Jools."

"Is the gang all there?"

"Yes. They're listening. And we have someone new with us. Someone who is very interested in meeting you. He's been telling us how much he wants to meet you."

"That would be Mr. Stirg. Good-day to you, sir."

"Don't give me any shit, you little English prick. How's Anna? I wanna talk with her. And after her I wanna talk to the crazy woman. You got that?"

"Oh, my. 'Little English prick'. How quaint. Such fruity language coming from a person of your distinguished background. I won't take offense, knowing how our endeavor must be affecting you. I'm sure I would feel the same way."

"You do? You know what I feel? You know what's gonna happen if you don't let Anna go immediately? I tell you what. My distinguished background is going to extinguish your background. And your foreground. And all the grounds on which you and the crazy woman walk, it's all gonna be gone. Gone. Hear me?"

"Mr. Stirg. You're scaring me. Gwenny, please do something to ameliorate Mr. Stirg's passions. This is not conducive to proper negotiating."

"Don't call me Gwenny, Jools. My friends call me that. Not you. And not Scotilly."

Stirg said, "Who's Scotilly? Sounds like a dog."

"That's the crazy woman."

"Scotilly? You said she's a Taliban, head-chopping fanatic. And her name is Scotilly?"

Jools said, "Look, let's move on, shall we? I have some news for you. News from Paul and from Scot....er, from the crazy woman. Paul agrees to pay the five million dollar ransom for himself and Stella. Not a penny more. He's given me the name of his solicitor in London, and that is who you should contact. We get the money after opening night of the opera. Then we release them."

Gwen said, "Isn't that backwards? Aren't we supposed to say we'll pay the ransom, but not a penny more?"

"Well, maybe, but we're just trying to be straightforward and honest. And, this isn't exactly a typical kidnapping, is it?" The group was getting used to this, but they still looked around at each other like, what is going on here? Jools went on, "There's more. Mr. Stirg, sir, we request another five million from you. We understand you are interested in the welfare of your granddaughter. A five million dollar donation to our retirement fund would secure her in an undamaged condition."

Stirg looked at Nev. Both of them had been involved in shady and violent circumstances before, including a kidnapping or two, and neither remembered an adversary who presented their demands in such a polite way. Nev said, "Why should we pay you anything? How do we know Anna's in any danger? Maybe we just hunt you down and take Anna back. You don't sound very dangerous."

"Ms. Gwen, you haven't introduced me to the Israeli gentleman. I detect that lisping sound of an Israeli speaking English. American English, that is. Sir, my name is Jools. And you are....?"

"My name is.... Mr. Fucking Death, if Mr. Stirg tells me to get after your ass. That's how you need to think of me. And I repeat, why should we pay you anything?"

"Oh, my. Such rancor. I would so love to avoid rancor. But, I do understand your position, Mr. Death. I only can say that the lady of the house has a different approach to this situation than do I. She is all business. You know, the end justifies the means. All methods are on the table, for her. If you wish it, I can have her get back to you and express herself to you directly. It just seems to me, that would add fuel to the fire. But what has to be, has to be. Please, give our proposition due consideration, and if after that you still want to speak with Ms. Chop Chop, I will arrange it. Now, anything else, Gwenny? The music is happening here, I can tell you that. Or will be when I get the piano tuned. Neither Paul nor Anna is happy about that. We're working out the kinks. Soon, we'll all be one big happy family, working towards a common artistic end. Well, ta."

Richard disconnected, and the June team members waited for Stirg to say what they were pretty sure they knew he would say. And he did. "Who is that guy? Is he kidding? He's kidnapped Anna, and wants five mill from me, and at the same time he says we're going to be a happy family? Can you explain that to me?"

The others were getting used to the situation and to Jools, and they realized it would take time for Stirg to do likewise. So they didn't try to explain anything, but sat quietly and waited. Even Jinny resisted the temptation to say something inflammatory, like, "Stirgy, Nev, if Jools scares you, we'll bring Anna out when we rescue Paul and Stella. She's our friend, and we love her too."

Nev said, "You want me to start the hunt, boss?"

Stirg didn't answer, but looked at Gwen, his nemesis who had stuck it to him several times. "What are you going to do?"

She said, "We told you. We think the three of them are in no danger, and that they are cooperating with Jools and the woman to write the music for the opera. We are going to work with them on the production, so that when the music is done, we are ready to go on the performances. That's their demand. When that is over, and they get the money, the three of them will be released. That's part one. Park two is that while part one is happening, we are hunting for them. We don't like having our friends kidnapped off the street after enjoying a nice French meal with a bottle of wine, even if the kidnappers appear benevolent. You haven't heard the woman yet. She's crazy, and could be dangerous. So, we're going after them at the same time that we're cooperating with them."

Stirg, relaxing now into management mode, said, "What's your division of labor? Who are the hunters and who are the artist types?"

Gwen waited a moment, deciding if she wanted to tell Stirg. Then, "Constantine and Jinny are the hunters. Richard is with them because he and Anna are together, and he wants to find her. The rest of us will work on the production."

Stirg and Nev both looked at Richard, who felt intimidated. He wasn't by nature a tough guy, him and Anna having spent some months together working on the score for a ballet. He liked tutus. Stirg said to him, "What's she mean together? You the guy she was with in France?" Richard nodded. "You like her?" He nodded. "You in love with her?" He nodded. Stirg looked at Nev, "You know about this?" Nev shook his head, no. He looked at Gwen, "You know about this?"

"Yes."

"Anything else I should know about this whole crazy fucking deal? Huh? Anything else?" and he looked around the room. Gale wanted to say, "What about you, Stirgy? You got a girlfriend? You gettin any?" But she didn't. Jinny wanted to say the same thing to Nev, but he also held his tongue.

So Stirg said, "Ok. So how about Nev goes on the hunting team? I wanna find these people and get Anna back. And I'll work on the artsy thing with you all."

Everybody figured this was coming. Great. Constantine and Jinny get to hang out with Nev. And the rest of them get to hang out with Stirg. Wasn't this going to be fun?

# Chapter 28 – The Junes Have a Tail

The front door of the June's house opened and Stirg and Nev came out. The three guys in black clothes figured it was about time; they were getting royally bored sitting shoulder to shoulder in the Ram, getting asked every twenty minutes by tourists walking down the sidewalk where the best seafood restaurant was. The boss said, "You two follow Stirg. I'll stay here and try to find out who these people are. We'll touch base later by phone." He got out of the truck and walked away from the house. He didn't want Stirg to spot him, not that he thought Stirg would know who he was. He'd only seen Stirg a couple of times over the last ten years, which is about how long he had been planning his revenge, and as far as he knew, Stirg didn't know him or know the malicious intentions he harbored towards him.

After he had gotten out of the army he started hanging around some crazies up in Idaho. These weren't NNs per se, just guys, and a few girls, who didn't like authority figures all that much, like the noble employees of the IRS, and Forest Service guys who told them they couldn't go hunting whenever they wanted. And people who told them they had to have a picture ID to get a driver's license. He liked that perspective on _the govs_ , as his friends called them, and found he had a way of getting those goons to do what he wanted, so he became a leader. It was in this role that a NN contacted him one day in a bar, and recruited him and a few of his buddies into that fold. It didn't take much, with him knowing his heritage vis a vis his grandfather, the former real live Nazi living in Argentina, who someone evil had murdered, and left sitting upright in the garden next to his beloved tomato vines. Upright but not moving, and with a tomato stake sticking out of his mouth and his asshole. The MBIBC had joined right up.

Most of the NNs were bona fide idiots, but not all of them. The guy who recruited him introduced him to an older guy, to whom the new recruit recounted the death of his grandfather. The older guy introduced him to other older guys, until one of them said, "I know some people who know about stuff that happened in Argentina a long time ago, and maybe you should talk to them." To make a long story short, the Israelis weren't the only ones who collected intelligence about their foes. The NNs also had intelligence networks, and it was through one of these that Stirg had been identified as the mastermind of the assassination of that particular expatriate Nazi, the best tomato grower in all of Argentina. The name of Pmirhs Stirg came to be burned in his neural network, which in turn fostered the growth of lesions in his brain which resulted in a growing obsession with revenge. Over the last ten years, slowly but surely, he had gathered his own intelligence, which identified Anna and her location, and from which eventually came the plan to kidnap her. And here he was, executing that plan. The fact that it had been sidelined by an English butler and his well-dressed flunky of an aristocratic master, a woman, of all things, was not a deal breaker. In fact, it might just turn out to be a blessing in disguise, because now he might get a double ransom, for the Beatles guy, and what's not to like about that? All he had to do was to be patient and be smart. He could try to be those. Right?

Stirg and Nev walked down the sidewalk to their car, while the BMIBC walked up the other side of the street past the June's house. When they were seated in the car and had pulled out of the parking space, Nev turned his head and said, "Three guys, black clothes, one on the sidewalk and two in a parked truck. Truck's behind us now." Stirg looked at Nev, thought for a minute, pulled out his cell, and dialed Gwenny June's number.

"Yes, Stirg."

"We got company. Both of us. Guy in black clothes is hanging out on the sidewalk near your house. We got two on our tail. They aren't tourists."

Gwen looked at the phone for a few seconds, wondering first how her arch enemy had gotten her personal number, and second about his message. Then she said, "Ok, thanks for the tip. If you need any help with your two, I'll send Jinny." And hung up. She couldn't resist the temptation to needle Stirg. Back in the kitchen, Roger, Constantine and Jinny were washing dishes and putting away the food. The four women had started talking about what it would take to create a world class production of a Paul McCartney rock opera. Gwen said, "That was Stirg. Said we have company outside. And he has people following him, so they were waiting outside for him to leave. Why don't you three go have a chat with this guy, see what's up. Stirg said he was dressed in black clothes."

Jinny rinsed the dish detergent off his hands, Roger stacked the last of the dishes in the rosewood cabinets, and Constantine opened the toaster and emptied the crumbs from the catch tray in the bottom. All seven of the other people in the room watched him do this, then looked at each other. Gale, of course, spoke up, "Constantine, I've never seen anyone actually do that before. Empty the crumb tray. Does he do that often," she asked Slev.

Slev rolled her eyes, said, "He does it every time he uses the toaster. Every time."

Gale said, "What's up with that, Constantine? I've never emptied the crumb tray from my toaster in my entire life. Never."

As he fitted the tray back into the toaster he said, "I grew up on the Saint Petersburg waterfront. Somehow the roaches survive our winter up there. We don't have them nine months of the year like here, but the other three months, they're all over. Where I lived as a kid, you had to be clean, or you had them all over. You didn't clean out your toaster, next time you used it, you had toasted roaches."

Gale said, "Sorry I asked."

Roger led the way out of the kitchen into the hallway, and asked Jinny and Constantine if they had their guns. They shook their heads, no. So he took them into the study, unlocked the gun cabinet, and took out three handguns: his own Beretta 40 cal, a Glock nine millimeter, and a Sig Sauer nine, plus magazines."

Jinny teased him saying, "What, you got no Russian guns? You got Italian, Austrian, and Swiss. Where's the Russian gun?"

Roger stuck his gun into a holster and clipped it onto his belt under his shirt. The other two waved away the holsters and stuck theirs in their belts in the small of their backs. He led them back into the kitchen, where Gwen and Slev noticed the new bulges under their clothes, and then out the back door. At the bottom of the steps he said, "We can cut through the neighbor's yard to the other side of the block. Then you two can go around the block one way, and I'll go the other." Looking at Jinny he said, "Try not to look too suspicious to the neighbors. Don't wave the gun around, ok?" The only thing Jinny liked better than being teased by Roger was being teased by Guignard and Gwen.

Seven minutes later Roger came from one direction towards a man dressed in black, and Jinny and Constantine came towards him from the other. The guy had just finished telling the third group of tourists that he had no idea where to get good shrimp and grits, and was wishing he had given this duty to his buddies and that he had followed Stirg. He didn't do well with tourists. He noticed Roger walking towards him, giving off an unusual vibe. Something about the look of intensity on Roger's face; a look of anticipation. Then he noticed the other two guys coming from the other direction, and got a similar feeling from them. One thing he was sure about, and that was that these three guys were not tourists. He knew he wasn't going to have to tell them about restaurants or where to catch the tour boat out to Fort Sumter. As they got closer and the vibes got stronger, he felt angry that Scotilly had walked off that night with his gun in her purse. Five guns in her purse. That was something.

Roger said, "You lost? You looking for the _Daughters of the Confederacy Museum_? I understand they have an exhibit up right now about Civil War soldier's underwear. That what you looking for?"

The BMIBC processed Roger's questions, then looked at Jinny and Constantine. He'd never met any Russians before, but he had a feeling these were some kind of foreigners. And not Germans. Germans were the only kind of foreigners he thought were ok, and, despite his grandfather's heritage, he wasn't crazy about them, either. In Russian Jinny said to Constantine, "This boy is trouble. All these black clothes, and the tattoos. Not the June's type, at all."

The BMIBC wasn't the June's type, that was true, but neither was he a sissy or stupid. He'd learned a little bit of German from his uncle, and now he said in rudimentary German, looking at Jinny, "Fuck you, you short Russian fireplug. You stand there very long, some big dog is gonna come along and piss on your head."

It's quite amazing how much in the way of intent can be conveyed outside of language. None of the three of them understood the German words, but they knew an insult when they heard one. Roger saw he might as well leave off the jokes about underwear and get down to business with this guy. "What's your name?"

"Adolf. Adolf fucking Hitler."

"Ok, Adolf. That suits me. We're not here to make friends. We're here to tell you if we see you again, it's game on. And the end of the game is taking you out in the harbor on a boat and dumping you off the rocks around Fort Sumter. You and your friends. That's all we have to say." He looked up and down the street, then pulled his gun and held in down near his thigh, pointed at the sidewalk. "Frisk him."

Constantine pulled his gun and stepped off the sidewalk into the street, triangulating on the target. Jinny stepped behind him, running his hands up and down the man's body. Finding no weapon, he pulled his wallet from his hip pocket. "Idaho driver's license. Cash. That's it. No credit card. Where's Idaho?"

Roger didn't answer the question, but said, "I'll tell you later. Remember the name on the license." To the man he said, "If I see you again near my house, I'll invite you in, and we'll have a talk. Then, most likely, it'll be out to the fort with you. Understand?"

The guy grabbed his crotch and said, "Piss on all three of you."

Roger and Constantine hid their guns, gave the guy one last look, and walked down the street toward the Junes house. At the foot of the porch steps Roger looked back up the street where he saw the guy leaning casually up against a garden wall, defiance on his face. He said, "Jinny, I agree with you. That guy is trouble."

Jinny said, "Since when do you understand Russian?"

"I don't, but I understand you, my friend, when you say something important."

Jinny smiled.

# Chapter 29 – All the Players are in Place

Stirg and Nev drove the five minutes back to their garage, put away the Mercedes, and walked the fifty yards out the dock to the mansion. Inside, Nev got out binoculars and focused on the two tails who now sat on the same park bench they had sat on earlier in the day. In five minutes Nev had a change of clothes and his own Glock in a waterproof pouch. He went out of the house on the water side, with the house blocking the view of the two guys on the bench. He jumped off the dock, swam two hundred yards up the shoreline where he climbed out of the water, opened the pouch, took out a towel, the clothes and gun, dried off, dressed, stuck the gun in his belt, left his swim suit, towel and pouch on the narrow sand and rock shore, and walked up onto the street. He circled around a block, and in ten minutes stood behind the bench.

He looked up and down the park, then walked around the bench and sat down between the MSMIBC and the NSSMIBC. Nev was a big boy, and took up all the space between the two guys. They both looked at him like he was crazy, and simultaneously said, "What the fuck?"

In a flash, Nev rocked one guy hard with an elbow to face. He pulled his gun and stuck it in the side of the other. He didn't say anything, his actions speaking louder than words. When he knew he commanded the two guys, he stood up and motioned to them to move down the park walkway towards his property. When they were in front of him, he hid the gun under the front of his shirt. None of them spoke, and after a minute the one guy took his hand away from his face, where his lip had begun to swell. They reached the ornamental iron fence that marked Stirg's property and protected against sightseers, where Nev entered a code into the security pad, and the gate opened. He said, "Down the dock," took them around the house to the water side, and into the sunroom, where Stirg waited.

It had been a long time since Stirg had interrogated anyone, but when you learn a specialized skill like that, you don't forget it. An hour later Nev took the guys out the door they had entered through, marched them back down the dock, and again entered the code that buzzed open the electronic lock on the gate. With them through it and the gate back in closed position, he said, "Personally, I hope you don't follow his orders, and I run into you two again." And he turned and walked back out to the house.

While Nev escorted the guests off the property, Stirg again dialed Gwen's number. She was alone with Roger, sitting in the downstairs study, relaxing. The others had gone home to do the same. "Hello."

"It's me. Did you have a talk with the guy out in the street?"

She hit the speaker button, and said, "Yes."

"Did he tell you who he was and what he's doing here in Charleston?"

"Not exactly. Roger just told him if we saw him again, we'd take him out in the harbor, and come back without him."

"I had a different kind of talk with the two that tailed us home. They blabbed right away; I only had to persuade them a little. You're not going to believe this, but they're neo-nazies. At least that's what they call themselves. They're here because of me and Anna. They want to kidnap Anna, to get to me. Said something about some guy I killed a long time ago, and his relative wants revenge. And money, ransom money for Anna."

Roger leaned forward, thinking, then said, "You mean these are the people who kidnapped Paul, Stella, and Anna? But you said they want to kidnap Anna. I don't get it."

"If they were the ones who kidnapped Anna, you think I'd let them go? Here's the second thing you're not going to believe. They're not the ones who kidnapped the others, but they saw the kidnapping. Said they were trying to kidnap Anna, and this man and woman stopped them. Said these two had guns, and walked away with the three of them, the Beatle guy and his daughter and Anna."

"Why'd you let them go?"

"These two were idiots. The third neo-guy is the brains, the one who wants to get Anna to get to me. He's the guy who's related to some guy they think I killed a long time ago. So I let them go to tell the guy if he fucks with Anna, it'll be the last thing he ever does. Those two couldn't kidnap a hamburger at McDonalds. You were the ones who had the neo-leader. The Nazi."

Gwen said, "Are you saying there are two groups in town, both of which have tried to kidnap our friends, and one group succeeded, and the other group failed, but this other group that failed, still wants to kidnap Anna, from the ones that succeeded?"

Stirg hadn't put all that together quite so neatly, but now that Gwen had, he said, "Yeah, I guess so. These neo-nazis are trying to kidnap Anna from the kidnappers. We're trying to rescue her, and they're trying to kidnap her."

Roger said, "And, Paul, Stella, and Anna don't really want to be rescued, because they want to do what their kidnappers want them to do, which is write a great rock opera. And have us produce it. And do all that in two months. And now we have to worry about some neo-nazis, which we just had in our hands, and could have taken the lot of them out into the harbor, but we let them go."

Gwen thought for a minute, then said, "Maybe Gale's right. Maybe we should stop getting involved in stuff like this."

# Chapter 30 – The Musical Concept

Everyone was reasonably comfy in the bunker and the big house. Stella and Anna were sleeping in real beds, and Scotilly had her sofa cushions back, which allowed her to take her usual afternoon nap in peace. The bunker kitchen was well stocked with canned goods, and Jools had promised to bring more fresh fruit, vegetables, books, and magazines. The recording equipment and synthesizer were working, though the studio hardly was fully functional. It was a mess, with wires running across the floor and hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Bolts of Stella's rejected fabrics sat at the bases of the walls, waiting to be hung as sound dampening material. Paul liked seeing his guitars hanging from wall hooks in his studios, but the first time he tried driving a nail into the concrete wall of the bunker, the nail bent like a horseshoe, so he had to be content to set the Rickenbacker on the floor and lean it against a the wall. It would be several days before Stella's new materials arrived via Fedex, so she set up tables with markers and oversized tablets of paper, and began to sketch. This was premature, her not knowing the themes of the opera, but she had to do something, and she had to keep her hand in the drawing game. Her first design would be the clothes her father would wear on opening night at the opera. Her challenge was to do something that befitted his age, that was an ode to the formality of traditional opera, and yet oozed the whole world of rock n roll. Mature rock n roll.

They heard the steel doors open, and hoped it was Jools with a tray of breakfast, say French toast with butter and banana\strawberry puree on top. "Good morning, good morning," came the lilting Cotswold accent. "How are the music makers today? Anything new to report to the boss?" he said looking around cheerily.

"Where's breakfast?" asked Anna.

"Now, dear, the eggs benedict was the exception, not the rule. I told you that. Don't want you to get spoiled, do we? Not good for your karma."

"We're locked in a concrete bunker with no windows, Jools. How are we going to get spoiled? And it's not like we're getting paid for this gig. We're paying you to be here. So cut the crap." Anna was feeling good, was not feeling as ornery as her words seemed to indicate. She just wanted to jibe Jools a bit, keep his perspective real.

"Good news, the piano tuner's coming this morning. Soon sweet melodies will emanate from the Steinway in fine form. So it's up to the house with you when he comes. Give you a chance to chat with Scotilly. There've been developments on the ransom front, and she'll tell you about them."

When he left Paul said, "Can we talk for a few minutes? Until the tuner comes and we have to leave. We're going to be working very hard together on this thing, so you have to buy into my basic idea for the opera. You're not just going to be doing costumes, dear," he said to Stella. "You're going to have to be studio assistant, writing assistant, producer. You too," looking at Anna. "If I was doing this project out in the real world, there would be a cast of hundreds. Well, dozens. We're going to have to do it all. So, you have to believe in what I'm writing, the songs, or it's never going to work. You have to be committed, and believe. This can't be just me. It has to be us. Ok?"

Paul had a serious look on his face, and Anna and Stella felt reality setting it. The reality of writing two dozen songs linked by an overriding concept, and then divided into two or three themes that the listener could grasp and use as guides to understand and follow the meaning of the work. Both of the women felt the same dueling emotions: a sobering seriousness, and a deep thrill at the prospect of being part of an artistic endeavor. "I told you this is going to be about relationships; about why some relationships endure, and why some come and go. I have my opinion about this, and that is what I want to express in the songs. It's a universal and serious subject, but it has to be expressed in music that people will find enjoyable. Otherwise people won't be interested. The music is the vessel for the content, and the music has to carry and sustain the meaning and the ideas. It has to be great music, and it has to be played greatly to capture the feelings of the listeners. Then, maybe, a few of the ideas will seep out and into people. I can hope. We can hope. Another time we can talk about the singers. I can play all the instruments on the synthesizer, and I can sing a lot of the lyrics, but for this to be great opera, I have to have another great singer or two, for the sake of diversity. I have an idea about that, and we'll work on it later. But now, can we talk about my relationship ideas?"

The women sat down, intrigued. "I'll make this short and sweet, but this going to be the basis for the songs, if you buy into it." They both nodded, so he went on, "If you read today about relationships, or listen to TV shows that do that stuff, which are very popular, they all talk about what they call inner qualities. They mean characteristics like honesty and sensitivity to others, and integrity. These talkers refer to them as inner, and there is the implication that this is spiritual stuff. The message to people is that if you match a man's inner stuff to a woman's inner stuff, then the relationship will be happy, and conversely if one of the people is deficient in this inner stuff, then there will be problems in the relationship." Paul stopped and looked at the women, sensing if they understood what he was saying. "This stuff sounds good when someone with skill expounds on it, in a magazine article or on TV; it sounds sort of romantic and sort of mysterious and sort of spiritual. And it's very hard to criticize. Who disagrees that integrity is a good thing? But, when you think about it, it's really a lot of very squishy and slippery stuff. What is integrity? What does the word spiritual mean? Does it mean you actually believe in spirits; non-corporeal beings of some kind that float around in space, invisible, but that actually affect peoples' lives?" He stood up and paced the room. "When people talk about inner qualities, it sounds good, is hard to criticize, and is easy to accept. But these things also are hard to pin down when you want to understand why some love relationships endure and others fall apart. The bottom line is, I don't believe in inner qualities. I believe the opposite. I think relationships depend on outer qualities."

Anna said, "What do you mean?"

"It simple, really. It's so much more simple and real than talk about inner characteristics. I mean that the success of a love relationship depends on physical actions that people do outside themselves, and especially the things they do, or don't do, together. Out there, on the street, in houses, on planes, driving down roads, walking through woods. Physical stuff, not spiritual stuff. Relationships fail more because of what people don't do together, rather than what they do do together. People who love and care for and about each other over many years, have many common shared interests, out in the world. They do stuff together all the time, and they enjoy these things, or at least get some kind of satisfaction from them. The people who drift apart are those who don't have a lot of shared interests. They are the couples in which one person likes to do certain things, and the partner doesn't."

Stella said, "What are common shared interests out in the world? What do you mean by that?"

"Simple. Nothing fancy or mysterious, like the inner spiritualists want to throw at you. Here's a list, off the top of my head, not that all these are things I like to do, but they are very popular: eat out at restaurants, cook nice food at home, go to sports events like cricket or tennis matches, read in bed at night, do church activities together, hike in the woods, camp out, drink good French wine, take kids to playgrounds, travel around the world, grow flowers in the garden, drive around in boats, watch old movies on TV. See? See what I mean? Simple stuff, outside in the world, together. If a couple has lots of these interests in common, their relationship will endure, and it has nothing to do with inner stuff. If the couple doesn't do a lot these types of things together, they can kiss their partnership goodbye. That's the truth, as I see it. That's reality. That's what's important, and what I want to write songs about." Paul sat down and looked at his daughter and her friend. "What do you think?"

Just then they heard the squeal of the iron door hinges, followed by the sound of Jools footsteps coming down the corridor. He came into the living room and opened his mouth to say something, but Anna cut him off. She was stoked from listening to Paul. "Asshole, don't you ever knock at that door? Do you do that at other people's houses, barge in? Do people do that at your house? Do they?" She wasn't screaming, but she was very challenging. Stella and Paul smiled. They really liked this beautiful thirty-something that starred in Spielberg movies and packed a gun when she went out for dinner. Again Paul wished he was thirty years younger.

Jools closed his mouth, not really taking offense. He liked Anna, too. Then he said, "Whose house? This is your house, now, is it? This bunker in which I, we, are holding you captive, serving our wishes. You want me to knock on those big iron doors before I enter? My knuckles wouldn't take that. But, perhaps my manners have been in abeyance, somewhat. Such an unusual situation we have here. Such uncharted waters. Such a road less traveled. What?"

"Cut the shit, Jools. Knock when you come in, like a good butler. What do you want?"

"Piano tuner's here, outside. You have to go up to the house while he works. And Scotilly needs to interrogate you some more. See if you're going to keep your heads, or not. Come along, like good girls and boys."

Paul stood up and said, "Think about what I said just now. That's what I want the songs to be about. I want them to grip people and carry them away with the music, but leave them with the potential to learn these ideas I have. I think they are true and real. If you do too, we can make great music together. The opera will be incredible."

Jools said, "What ideas? If you have ideas, you have to tell me and Scotilly. We command here; this is our opera. We're the patrons? You're just the artists. You do what we say."

Anna stood up, crossed the floor to Jools, and grabbed his left ear with her right hand. She dragged him out the living room door and down the corridor, him squealing, her telling him that if he didn't shut up, she'd serve Scotilly a salad with his nuts in it instead of radishes. Paul and Stella followed behind, smiling at their girl.

# Chapter 31 – Another Kidnapping

The NNs sat in the motel coffee shop trying to figure out how to find the three kidnappees, while at the exact same time the June's hunters (Jinny, Constantine, Richard, Stirg, and Nev) sat on the deck of Stirg's yacht, also trying to figure out how to find the same kidnappees. The NNs were eating hotdogs and drinking Bud light, while the other team was eating foie gras and caviar, and drinking a ten year old white burgundy. The last time the June team had been this close to Stirg's ship was when he had tried to use it to cleave their sailboat into two equal parts, separated by water. They all figured, let bygones be bygones. For now.

Richard said, "So what do we know about these kidnappers?"

Constantine said, "Which one? The actual ones, or the wantabees?"

Jinny said, "We know the wantabees are neo-nazies. And we know they have seen and talked with the actual kidnappers on the street, because they told him that," motioning to Stirg. "We've only talked with the actual ones, who are two people, a crazy woman and an English guy. We don't know where either of these groups is, or how to find them."

Richard said, "What do these groups know?"

Jinny said, "Which groups? There are four, including Paul and Anna and Stella as one, and us."

Constantine said, "Paul, Anna, and Stella know the real kidnappers, and us. They also know about the NNs, from King Street, so they have the whole picture. They know we'll be looking for them, but they may not know the NNs are looking for them. Maybe, but maybe not. The kidnappers know the other three groups, too, but they may not know that the NNs are hunting them. The NNs know all the groups, since they just met us. So there are two hunter groups, us and the NNs, and two prey groups."

Jinny said, "So the kidnappers are a prey group? How's that?"

"They started out as a hunter group, but now they're a prey group. You ever see that cartoon drawing of a little fish that is followed by a bigger fish that is followed by a shark that is followed by an orca? There's always someone bigger than you, after your ass. That's how it is here."

Richard said, "We need a big piece of chart paper to make a diagram of all these groups and who and what they're after. So where's that leave us, as a hunter group? I think we're a hunter group, unless there's someone bigger after us. Right?"

Stirg said, "The NNs are after us, sort of. They're after Anna to get to me. Whether they're gonna come directly after me, I don't know. You ready for them if they do?" he asked, looking at Nev.

"Ready, boss."

When Richard asked, "So what do we do now?" everyone took a sip of their wine, a thimble full of their caviar, and looked up at the sky.

The NNs were progressing no better. They'd each eaten four hotdogs and drunk three light beers, and had been sitting in the coffee shop for an hour and a half. They couldn't go through the same brainstorming process the June team had because, well, because they were a little short on brains. The BMIBC had sorted through the who knows who scenarios, but he wasn't about to try to lead his brothers through that logic. He said, "Either we try to find the Stirg bitch and the kidnappers, and kidnap her from them, or we go after Stirg directly, and forget about the ransom. I kill Stirg, and get my revenge."

The other two guys didn't like the second option very much, the one that included the proviso that there would be no ransom. The MSMIBC tiptoed around the issue by saying, "How are we going to support the movement if we don't get a ransom? Isn't that what we're here for? The movement?"

The NSSMIBC looked at his white sneakers and said, "What movement?"

The boss man said, "Ok, ok. We go after the ransom and the revenge. We go after the bitch and the Beatle guy; when we have them, we go after Stirg. Now, how do we find the bitch?"

The MSMIBC said, "Why don't we try the same thing as before? The way we found her the first time? It was easy to find out where Stirg lives, because he's a celebrity here. We watched his house, saw him meet with his granddaughter and her boyfriend, and we watched them at the boyfriend's house. We followed her from his house to the hotel, and then to the restaurant, and then we tried to snatch her on the street. Right? We know where the boyfriend lives. Let's go talk to him. Maybe he knows where she is."

The BMIBC looked at his buddy, then at his other buddy, and wondered where this had come from, this idea. This good idea. He couldn't figure out where it had come from, so he just said, "Let's go."

Back on the yacht, Nev and Jinny were eyeing each other, wondering who could drink more wine without showing it. Constantine and Stirg were talking about the old days in Saint Petersburg. Richard was worrying about Anna and wondering how he'd gotten himself into this situation. There wasn't a lot of detective work going on. Not much tracking of the prey, hunting down the quarry. Just eating and drinking. Gwen wasn't around to kick their asses, so they were fucking off. Constantine got it together and said, "We don't know where they are, but we have the advantage over the NNs because we're working with Paul and Stella, and they call us and talk with us. They won't tell us where they are, because they have a deal with the crazy woman and the butler to do the opera. But we want to find them anyway. We're not going to sit around for two months until the production is done, because we don't like people kidnapping our friends. Not good for our image or our self-esteem. So what do we do?"

Jinny gave off trying to stare down Nev, and started pacing the deck. He's a very good thinker, and walking usually produces results in that department, but not this time. Maybe the burgundy was in the way. After a while he shrugged his shoulders and looked at Constantine, who said, "Maybe we better try this again tomorrow, without the wine and caviar. Let's get out of here." Looking at Stirg he said, "We'll call you tomorrow."

It was mid-afternoon when the three Junies split up, each heading home: Constantine to rendezvous with Slev, Jinny to meet Guignard, and Richard to his lonely condo. No Anna. He parked in the garage and walked the half block to his building, deep in thought. He didn't see the three guys sitting in the Ram pickup down the block, and wouldn't have cared if he had. They knew him, but he didn't know them. They were taking turns napping, the light beers having gotten the better of their powers of concentration. One would stare down the street while the other two leaned their heads against the rear window. It was the NSSMIBC that saw Richard approach his doorway, and nudged his boss in the ribs. "There he is. There's the boyfriend." The other two woke up and looked where he was pointing. "Let's let him get inside. Then we pay him a visit."

The boss man said, "No, the building will be locked, and we don't know his name to buzz him. We gotta get him now." He hopped out of the truck on one side and the other two got out on the other. They ran down the street and followed Richard through the outer door and into the vestibule, where he had taken out his electronic entry card and was swiping it through the keypad on the inner door. "Not so fast, friend. Can we talk a minute?"

Richard was surprised, and sensed trouble. Three guys in black clothes, smelling of beer. "What do you want?"

"You a friend of the Stirg girl?"

"Who are you guys?"

"Are you a friend of the Stirg bitch?"

Richard didn't answer, and now knew this was real trouble.

"I think you are. I think you know her. Where is she now?"

"I don't know who you're talking about?"

"You sure, boy? Sure you don't know the Stirg girl? Cause we think you do."

Richard didn't say anything.

"You're coming with us. Keep quiet, everybody'll be ok. You mouth off, we hit you in the head, and do the same with your girlfriend when we find her. In the head, _Bam_. Ok?"

He said, "Ok."

And that was that. There had been another kidnapping.

# Chapter 32 – No Time for Reading

Jools led the piano tuner along the trail through the thick vegetation to the bunker. When the guy stood in front of the massive steel doors set in the face of the concrete wall, he said, "What the hell is this? I came to tune a Steinway, not go on a history tour." He had grown up in Charleston and knew about the Spanish American War and WWII bunkers on Sullivan's.

Jools said, "Don't worry, the piano's in here. We have a rock band that has their studio in here, with a Steinway. They're pretty good musicians, and are looking for their first break into success."

"An unknown band playing in a concrete bunker has a $100,000 Steinway?"

"We're their benefactor."

"Oh."

Jools showed the guy the piano and said, "How long is this going to take?"

"Depends on how out of tune it is. Maybe an hour."

Jools went back into the main house, where he found Scotilly talking with Paul, Stella, and Anna. She was saying, "How many songs are done?"

Anna was about to lay into her, ask her why doesn't she try to write original songs for an opera while living in a place with no windows, when Paul answered, calmly. "I have the concept for the opera, and we've been talking it over. They're thinking it through, seeing how they like it and can contribute. If this is to work, it's gotta be a team effort, the three of us."

"Well, that's something, anyway. How about we call up the producers, the impresarios, and you can run the concept by them and me at the same time?"

Paul looked at Anna and Stella, and said, "Fine."

Looking at Jools, Scotilly said, "Dial up the Junes."

"The number we have is the boyfriend's. Richard. I don't know if he's with the Junes all the time, but he's our contact." He pulled out Anna's cell and did the speed dial.

At this exact moment the three NNs and Richard were crammed into the cab, sitting shoulder to shoulder, the engine idling in the parking lot of their motel. They were debating whether the motel was a good place to keep a kidnap victim. When Richard's phone rang, the BMIBC said to the NSSMIBC, "Answer it."

"Yo."

Jools said, "Richard, my boy, is that you? You sound different."

"This ain't no fucking Richard. Who are you?"

"My good man, to my friends and betters, I am Jools. To you, sir, I am Mr. Smythe-Woolmington, III. Where is Richard?"

"He's here, but he can't talk. You can talk to us. Us are the ones who got him. And you're the guy we met on King Street, aren't you. The guy with the accent and the poker up his ass."

The three women and Paul were listening, and it dawned on them who it was. Now what was happening? More shit, that's what. Anna looked around and said, "It's the three idiots that tried to grab me when you were trying to grab Paul. The guys in black clothes."

Stella said, "And one with white sneakers." She shuddered at the thought.

Scotilly said, "Are you the three we met on King Street a few days ago? If you are, I believe we have some property that belongs to you."

The BMIBC said, "Yeah, you do. We'd like the guns back. And we want other stuff too. Cause we have some property that belongs to you. We got Richard, and he's sittin right here with us, ain't you boy?"

Richard said, "I'm here."

Anna said, "Are you ok?"

"Yes."

"Have they kidnapped you?"

"I don't know for sure, but I think so. I don't think they're taking me out to dinner."

The boss man said, "Let me clear that up. Yes, he's kidnapped. And we got demands, big demands. You don't meet the demands, he's the one gonna end up out in the harbor, with no boat back. We'll call you tomorrow," and he motioned to cut the call.

Stella said, "What did he mean 'he's the one that's going to end up in the harbor'?"

The others shrugged. Scotilly said, "A simple little one person kidnapping, that's all we wanted. Paul would write a few songs, we'd do a show, pick up the ransom check, everyone would go home. Us, we'd go find a new home, a nice place to keep all that McCartney money. And now, look at what we got. How many people involved now, Jools?"

"We got us five, and the three idiots in black, and Richard, and the Junes, and a bunch of the June's friends, like that woman who talks all the time, the mouth, and the Stirg guy, her grandfather," pointing at Anna, "and the grandfather's bodyguard the Israeli guy. So, that's like twenty or something."

"And now we have two kidnapping instead of one."

"We have two successful kidnappings, and one attempted but failed kidnapping, the idiots on King Street. So they made amends for that failure."

"When they call tomorrow, they're going to demand that we give them Anna. That's what they wanted the first time. Right?" The other nodded. "And since she's part of the June's group, I guess we better call and tell them."

Jools said, "We don't have the June's number. It's unlisted. We always call Richard, and he calls them."

Anna said, "I know the number. Gimme the phone."

"You know that's not the way we do it. Can't let you give them some secret signal about where you are. Tell us the number, let Scotilly do the talking."

Scotilly said, "You talk, Jools. I gotta keep up my image of the head chopping Taliban lady."

Stella said, "Lady. I like that, a head chopping _lady_."

Anna told him the number, and Jools dialed.

"Hello."

"Gwenny, dear, Jools here. How are you?"

"I told you not to call me Gwenny, you prissy English prick."

"So sorry, Ms. June. But when all this is over, I do hope we can be friends."

"What do you want?"

"There's been a development."

"Did the head-chopper cut off her own thumb accidentally, waving her sword around?"

Anna laughed, Scotilly glared.

"Actually, it's something serious. There's been a kidnapping."

"You mean another kidnapping? Since you committed the first kidnapping."

"Well, yes, technically speaking, there's been _another_ kidnapping. Those three guys in black clothes have snatched Richard."

"Who is there with you?"

"Sir McCartney, Ms. McCartney, and Ms. Stirg."

"Anna, is he bullshitting? Has Richard been kidnapped?

"It's the truth, Gwen. We just talked with them, and we talked with Richard."

"Standby."

Gwen took the phone into the study where Roger was reading a Donald E. Westlake novel. He said, "I love Dortmunder. What a great character. Westlake is so funny."

"It's Anna and Jools on the phone. We have something that's not so funny. The NNs have snatched Richard."

Roger put down the book and said, "When? What do they want?"

"I don't know. What do they want, Jools?"

"They didn't tell us. Said they would call tomorrow."

Roger said, "I didn't think this could get any crazier."

Gwen said, "Tell us where you are, Jools. We'll come over tomorrow when they call, work out a plan."

"Now, Gwenny. Ms. June. No tricks. When they call, we'll let you know what they want. In the meantime, we need to keep working on the opera. Paul has the central concept ready, and maybe we can fill you in on that tomorrow. You need to know. Are you making progress on the pre-production?"

"What we're making progress on is tracking you down. You hear a knock on your door, Jools, it's going to be us. Make sure the head-chopper knows that, ok?"

"My, my, such vehemence in such a lovely voice. Ta, Gwenny."

Gwen looked at her husband and said, "I guess we better let the others know of this complication. How'd the NNs find Richard? How'd they know about him?"

"I don't know, but now we have two teams of kidnappers to find. And these guys aren't like Jools. They may be dangerous." He looked wistfully at his book. No time for reading, now.

# Chapter 33 – The World's Greatest Singer

Anna and Paul sat together on the piano bench, listening to the powerful sound of the Steinway. What a difference an hour with a tuner had made. Paul would play a song, or part of a song, and then Anna would improvise some jazz riffs, and then Paul would play again. There's nothing like the tone of a Steinway grand. While they played, Stella hung her fabric rejects on the walls of the studio. Like Paul, she found that nails wouldn't go into the concrete, and switched to duct tape, which looked uglier than sin, but it worked. By the time she'd worked around the room, the sounds of the piano had mellowed.

Paul left Anna to the piano and went to the Roland Fantom G8 synthesizer. He powered it on, tuned a few dials, flipped a few toggle switches to create a clavichord sound, and played The Band's song _Stage Fright_ , singing like Richard Manuel. After twenty bars and three stanzas, he keep playing the melody, but said, "I love The Band. So did George. He thought they were the best musicians in the world. I think Richard Manuel had one of the most expressive voices I've ever heard. I'm sorry he's gone. I loved hearing him sing,"

See the man with the stage fright,  
Just standin' up there to give it all his might.  
And he got caught in the spotlight,  
But when we get to the end,  
He wants to start all over again.

"I've been thinking about something else, too, not just the central concept of the opera, the relationships thing. I said we need a couple more great singers, people much better than me. I can sing parts of the songs, but we need someone that can carry a hall without amplification. We need a truly great singer, a woman. I know what the songs are going to be about, in general, the main concept and maybe a theme or two, but I don't know the songs yet. They will come over the next month, one by one. I do know, or I feel, that most of the stories in the songs are going to be told from the female point of view. So, we need a great female voice to sing them. And I think I know who." He stopped playing and looked at his daughter and Anna.

Stella said, "Who?"

"Renee Fleming."

Anna said, "The opera star? The classical opera star?" He nodded. She looked at Stella and said, "You know her?"

"I know the name, but no, I don't know her music."

Paul said, "I watched a documentary a year ago about opera. They interviewed Sir George Solti, the conductor. He was eighty years old at the time, and had been one of the heavyweights of classical music for sixty years, and he said that over his whole career, Renee Fleming was one of the two greatest voices he'd ever heard. The other was some Italian singer. It made a real impression on me, and I went out and bought some CDs of hers. You know what? She's made a couple of pop CDs, one is jazzy and one is pure pop. You ever heard them?" The two women shook their heads, no. "The pop CD is titled _Dark Hope_ , and I love it. Really love it. You know, the greatest male pop singer of all time is Ray Charles. He's the best. _Dark Hope_ makes Renee Fleming the greatest female pop singer of all time. She is unbelievable; so effortlessly pure in voice. She sounds like aged bordeaux tastes."

Anna said, "I guess we gotta have Jools get us those CDs. I want to hear her."

Paul played a few more stanzas of _Stage Fright_ , again singing mournfully like Richard Manuel. "Anna, Stella, we have to do more than that. We have to get her to sing for us. Sing our opera. Sing my songs, here in Charleston. She's the best, and she'll make our show the best, the greatest. Can you two do that? Can you get her?"

Anna and Stella looked at each other. How were they going to get one of the worlds most popular and in-demand classical opera singers, to sing a rock opera, in two months. She must be booked years in advance. Stella said, "How are we going to do that? How are we going to get her to agree to work with us on short notice? She might do it, based on your name; who you are. Maybe. But in two months. Christ, we're locked in a concrete bunker with no windows, no internet, not even a phone."

He stopped playing and asked, "How did the Junes get Pete Townshend to do the ballet? To transcribe the Stravinsky music, and then play the entire score for the eight performances? How did they do that? They didn't know him. He didn't owe them a huge favor. But they got him. And he's the greatest rock n roll song writer in the world. Well, after me."

Stella looked at Anna and said, "How did they do that? Get him?"

Anna thought for a moment, and said, "Nothing's impossible for Gwenny June."

# Chapter 34 – Resurrecting The Hall

Roger parked the car on Charlotte Street and they walked the three blocks to The Hall. They hadn't been in the place for two weeks, and they had planned on not being there for several months, at least They had planned on a long vacation on St. Barths, eating seafood and drinking French wines from the Loire Valley, relaxing after working seven days a week for months on end producing the Stravinsky ballet. Here they were, unlocking the doors at the rear of the theater, turning on the lights, thinking about the next production. And about the three kidnappings. It was bad enough having one of their team snatched, along with Paul and Stella McCartney; now another of their friends was in trouble. As they walked down the center aisle towards the stage, their thoughts flowed along the same track: "Should we retire and take it easy? Should we assiduously avoid getting involved in thefts and capers and producing artistic performances? Should we be like other people?" Simultaneously they stopped walking and looked at each other.

Telegraphically, Roger said, "But we are retired. We don't have regular jobs."

Telegraphically, Gwen answered, "We are? How come we just worked every day for eight months on the ballet?"

"That's not work."

"It's not? What was it?"

"I don't know, but it wasn't work. It was...."

"Do you want to be like other people, not get involved in caper stuff?"

"No. But things do get squirrelly sometimes, like now. I don't mind doing another production, but we got two friends kidnapped, one by a group of nuts. We should be over on the island right now, drinking wine with lunch."

Gwen ended the wordless conversation by saying, "And then, what do you think might have happened after that lunch?"

Roger jumped onto the stage, looked down at her, and sang,

Into the bedroom with you my darling,

Into the sack with you.

Under the covers with you my dear,

Rolling like thunder with you.

That's our afternoon together my Gwenny,

That's my proposal to you my dear.

He tried to sing it like Elton John because he knew Gwen loved his songs, but, well, it was the thought that counted. She raised her hand to him and he pulled her up on the stage, where she gave him a kiss. Then she went to the back of the stage and turned on the remainder of the lights and the air conditioner. Roger rolled a few chairs out from the wings, along with the computer on its rolling table.

Gwen flopped into one of the chairs and started dialing numbers: Slev, Jinny, Stirg. Roger dialed up McGradys Restaurant and ordered lunch for eight. McGradys knew what the Junes liked, having catered dozens of lunches and casual dinners at The Hall over the days of the ballet production. In turn, Gwen told her friends (she included Stirg and Nev on this list just as a matter of form) they had to come down to The Hall, there had been a development. They all arrived about the same time as the McGradys delivery, and the food was set up on folding tables. Gwen said, "Let's eat. Then the news."

Slev, Constantine, Jinny, and Guignard had not been involved in the ballet production. Stirg and Nev had. Twice Stirg had sent Nev to The Hall to steal the Stravinsky score so that the world premiere of the ballet could be done in Saint Petersburg rather than Charleston. One attempt had been a strong arm affair, with Nev showing up one morning, waving a gun around, and the other had been surreptitious, with Nev hacking into the computer. The first attempt had failed, the second had been successful. The point is that Stirg and Nev were no strangers to the June's place of work. Here they were now, friends of sorts, breaking bread together, with a common goal. McCradys had brought wine, as usual, but no one was in the mood. After eating, Guignard served coffee, and Gwen said, "We asked you to come to tell you there's been another kidnapping. The NNs grabbed Richard earlier today. They said they have demands, and are going to tell us what they are tomorrow."

Slev said, "Does Anna know?"

"Yes. Jools used Anna's phone to call Richard, and the NNs answered. Then Jools called us. So we have to wait until tomorrow to hear their demands. It doesn't matter what they are. We know it's going to be money and something to do with you," nodding towards Stirg.

He said, "Yeah, money and revenge against me."

Gwen said, "So we have to revise our strategy. We have to hunt two groups of kidnappers. And while we're doing that, the NNs will be hunting for Anna to get to Stirg. And while they're doing that, Jools and the crazy lady will be making Paul write songs, which he will send to us so we can do the production." Everyone looked at everyone around the circle of chairs. Gwen said to her husband, "You want to stay on the production team, or move to the hunter team? We don't have much to produce yet, and now we have to hunt two preys instead of one."

Roger thought for a few seconds and said, "Yeah, maybe I should go hunting. Maybe we should divide up into two teams."

Again everyone looked around the circle, understanding this meant there would be one team with Nev and someone else. Who? Both Roger and Jinny had been part of the invasion of Stirg's mansion. It had been Nev's job to prevent such invasions, so they had made Nev look bad. Constantine had been on the sailboat the evening Stirg and Nev had decided to try to turn it into a hundred small pieces, floating out in the harbor waters, so he didn't exactly view Nev in a brotherly way. The looking around continued. Gwen cut through that immediately, saying, "Roger, you and Jinny look for Jools and the woman. Constantine, you and Nev look for the NNs. As soon as they call tomorrow and tell us what they want for Richard's return, the hunt begins.

# Chapter 35 – What to Do?

During the time the Junes were working on the Stravinsky ballet, Richard had been hanging out with Anna in France. She was acting in the movie, Stella was doing the costumes, and he was doing script rewrites. It was the second time Anna had worked with Spielberg, the first being in a documentary with Catherine Deneuve, about champagne. It was the first time working in movies for Stella and Richard. At the same time, Richard was falling more and more in love with Anna, even though they worked long hours, and Anna was falling for him. This definitely was the most fun Richard ever had had in his entire life. With the movie over, he and Anna had returned to Charleston with plans to live together and get back to work on their own musical score for a ballet. Unless, of course, Anna decided she liked any of the offers she was getting, based on being a Spielberg girl. Richard was worried about that, but what could he do? He was lucky Anna was level headed, and not crazy about fame and fortune. So far, so good. That was, until a few days ago, when she was kidnapped. And now he had been kidnapped, and was sitting in the cab of the Ram pickup truck with no air conditioning, squashed between two smelly and stupid neo-nazi idiots. How fortunes turn, from good to bad in the blink of an eye.

"I don't think we can keep this guy in the motel suites," said the BMIBC. "He might start screaming."

The MSMIBC said, "I like the suites though. Nicest place I've ever stayed at. Nicer than the camper shell on my truck at home. If we can't go back there, where're we gonna go?"

They sat and thought awhile, with Richard thinking about Anna being kidnapped by some other people. He had heard about things happening to those who hung around with the Junes, but he thought maybe you had to take the bad with the good. The NSSMIBC said, "Why'd we snatch this guy?"

"So he'd tell us where the bitch is. She's his girlfriend." said the MSMIBC.

The BMIBC dug his knuckles into Richard's ribs and said, "You know where she is?"

He shook his head, no. "She's been kidnapped. I don't know where she is."

"You know who her kidnappers are? Where they are?"

"You know who they are, you met 'em on King Street. I didn't. I've just talked with them on the phone. The woman kidnapper sounds crazy."

The three other guys lapsed into silence, not seeming to mind the shoulder to shoulder contact. What good was it kidnapping this guy if he didn't know where the girl was? It hadn't really occurred to any of them that kidnapping was a federal felony offense, with a relatively severe penalty attached to it. Like, twenty years in jail. The NSSMIBC said, "Why don't we offer to swap him for her?"

"Why would they do that?" said the MSMIBC. "To do that, you have to offer them more than they have to offer you, like a two-fer. We would give them two people they wanted, and they would give us the girl. Then they might be interested."

"Two-fer? Who's the other person? Now we gotta go out and snatch someone else?"

Everyone looked at the NSSMIBC, and lapsed into silence. After a few minutes of listening to the MSMIBC suck his teeth, the BMIBC started up the big Dodge engine and pulled out into traffic. He headed back into Charleston, down the peninsula and into the historic district. First he cruised past Stirg's mansion, sitting regally out over the water. Then he drove down Church Street past the June's old brick house. He didn't stop, but keep going till he hit The Battery, then past Stirg's house again in the opposite direction, and finally back out of the district and onto the expressway. The NSSMIBC said, "What's up, boss?"

He said, "Maybe your idea wasn't so stupid after all."

"Which one, boss? Which of the stupid ideas wasn't so stupid?"

"The one about snatching someone else. Being able to offer a two-fer, to get the girl, to get to Stirg."

"We're gonna to do another kidnapping?"

"Ya never know."

# Chapter 36 – Hunt Team One

It was late afternoon when Gwen dismissed the team from The Hall. Roger took hold of Jinny's arm and said, "Let's walk." They headed down King Street towards the promenade at The Battery. Just as they were walking past the guest house where Stirg's dock connected to the shore, the Dodge pickup passed by going in the opposite direction. The BMIBC didn't recognize Roger, but Richard did. He saw Roger and Jinny coming towards them, and hope abounded. At the same time he felt the shoulder of one NN against his right shoulder and the elbow of another NN pressed tightly against his left shoulder, and he realized he couldn't call out. The truck was past them in a few seconds, and hope flew away.

At the end of the promenade Roger turned down a street named after a member of the Protestant Reformed Church of France, prominent in the late 1600s. Two blocks down this street Roger stopped at a storefront that said _Pierre's Men's Club_ on the door, and again on the window. He turned to Jinny and said, "You need a shave." _Pierre's_ wasn't a club in the sense of a place to relax and have a drink, chat with like-minded people. It was a salon, with benefits. You could get several different services at _Pierre's_ , if you wanted to pay for them. These included haircuts, manicures, massages, clothes tailoring, financial counseling, a hot lunch, and a dry martini. It was a going concern for Charleston's privileged. Soon after the Junes had met Little Jinny Blistov a year and a half earlier, Gwen not only had introduced him to _Pierre's_ , but had required him to patronize _Pierre's_ on a regular basis as part of his acculturation into Charleston society. Jinny could afford it, and had come to like it. He didn't need to be coaxed into _Pierre's_.

The reason Roger said he needed a shave was because Jinny was, not to put too fine a point on it, a hirsute individual. He had a beard that wrapped around the sides of his neck below his ears that needed constant attention if it were to meet Gwen's standards of male grooming. And Jinny loved, and wanted to meet, these standards. It wasn't uncommon for him to visit _Pierre's_ twice in one day, if there was a special event planned that would include Gwen, so he didn't mind at all being directed into the establishment by Roger. Both of them were greeted by Pierre like royalty and taken to one of the more private alcoves that included leather chairs, an internet connection and a TV, as well as the usual barbering equipment. Roger took one of the leather easy chairs, while Jinny plopped himself down in the swiveling barber's chair, and said, "A shave please, Pierre, and perhaps a cognac and soda in a tall glass. What'll you have, Roger?"

"Same, please." Roger didn't come to _Pierre's_ often, but he enjoyed the weird atmosphere, and he and Jinny came here once in a while when they wanted to talk. Some people go to bars, they came to _Pierre's_. And Pierre knew one thing they required was discretion. So when they visited, he took care of them, personally. When the drinks came and Jinny had downed half of his in one gulp, Pierre wrapped him up in a linen sheet and went to work. Shaving Jinny was like lumbering up in the Pacific northwest. Roger said, "Pierre, if you tell anyone about this private conversation, Jinny will pay you a visit, and it will be him with the straight razor in his hand. Ok?"

"Very well, Mr. June. I capiche."

"Jinny, we're the hunters, right? After the ones who have Anna. But we have no idea where she is or where they are, right? So how do we hunt them?"

Pierre decided right then and there that, short of a gun to his head, he would not be discussing this private conversation with anyone, not even with his dear wife, to whom he divulged all the considerable gossip that transpired in his shop.

Jinny held up his hand to tell Pierre to stop for a minute, knocked back the remainder of his drink, and said, "You're the tracker. You find them. When you do, I kill them. That's the division of labor. Simple." And he motioned to Pierre to continue the raspy hacking going on below his right ear. Now Pierre knew, absolutely, that he wasn't going to say anything to anyone about this gossip. This very unusual gossip.

"Maybe we should think of this as fishing rather than hunting. In hunting, the hunters go after the prey. They flush them out and pursue them. We can't do that because we don't have any idea where they are. Some fisherman do that too. They wade up and down streams, casting here and there, hoping to find where a fish is hiding. Or they row boats far out into the bay, hoping they run into schools of fish passing by. But not all fishermen are like that. Have you ever ice-fished?"

"Never. They do that up in northern Russia, but not in Saint Petersburg where I lived."

"Ice fishermen are a strange breed. They go out on the frozen lake, drill a hole through the ice, set a bucket next to it to sit on, and stay there, starring at the hole for hours and hours, hoping a fish strolls right by their hook. And they drink, of course. They probably get more pleasure out of drinking than out of fishing. A strange breed. Anyway, maybe we should be more like ice fishermen than hunters. Maybe we should set a trap, and wait for the kidnappers to come by our hook."

"And then I get to kill them?"

"Yes, Jinny. Then you get to kill them."

# Chapter 37 – Hunters

Nev thought about inviting Constantine to Stirg's house for lunch as a way to get their hunt operation underway, but then he realized Constantine would see the big yacht out at the end of the dock, and no doubt that would bring back memories of the evening out on the harbor near Fort Sumter, when he, waving a 50 caliber Desert Eagle handgun on the bridge of the boat, and Stirg had tried to send Constantine and his friends to Davey Jones locker. And that might be awkward.

Constantine, on the other hand, thought of inviting Nev to The Hall for a lunch catered by McCradys, but then realized that, no doubt, would bring back memories of the day Nev had entered the theater, holding a gun above his head, and demanded that they give him the Stravinsky ballet score. He would remember how two gay guys, members of the June's team and dancers in the ballet production, had pulled their own guns from the front of their leotards, and gotten the drop on Nev, until Roger stepped in and took Nev's gun away from him, and then took their guns from their shaking hands. How embarrassing would that be for Nev, the former Israeli commando and bodyguard. Two gay dancers, for god's sake. Talk about awkward.

They compromised, and met at a Dunkin Donuts. In the old commando days, Nev never would have defiled his body by eating a donut. But now, well. Nev said, "I wish we hadn't let the two idiots go. Now we have to hunt them. Stirg let them go so they would tell their boss what would happen if they hurt Anna. You got any ideas about how to get to them?"

Constantine really liked the jelly donut he had eaten, and got another one from the clerk, which gave him a couple of minutes to think. When he sat down he said, "You know what truffles are?" Truffles weren't on the menu very often when Nev was on Israeli commando missions, which was his job before he took up body guarding Stirg. He shook his head, no. "Truffles are a little like mushrooms and a little like roots. They grow in the ground, and are used in expensive gourmet cooking. They are hard to find, and rare, and very expensive. Some truffles are like $2000 a pound."

"You ever had truffles?"

"Yeah, a few times. They are unbelievably delicious. I like them shaved on scrambled eggs." Nev wondered about a guy who on the one hand ate crappy jelly donuts, and on the other ate a dollars worth of eggs with $200 worth of shaved roots sprinkled on them. Constantine went on, "You know how they find truffles? In France they train pigs to know the smell of truffles, and they take the pigs out in the woods, and the pigs root around in the dirt till they smell a truffle, and then the pig owner digs it up." Nev wondered where this story was going. Constantine put the last bite of donut in his mouth, sipped some coffee, and said, "Maybe what we need is someone who can sniff out a neo-nazi. Knows what they smell like, what they do, where they hang out. What do you think?"

"What you're saying is, we need a neo-nazi sniffing piglike person. Where do we find one of those?"

"We need someone who knows about racists. Ethnic racists and political racists are sort of the same animal, so they might hang out in the same places. Charleston has its history of racism, and it still exists here, like in most places. Small doses. Maybe Roger and Gwen know someone who knows about that stuff. About where those folks hang out."

"So we get this pig person to sniff 'em out, then grab 'em?"

"I don't know if that will work, but sooner or later, we're going to have a meeting of minds. We have four groups involved here, and they're all linked. The two kidnapper groups, the kidnappees, and us. Like someone said before, that's about twenty people, and we're on a collision course. It may be a violent collision, or it may be more like a tea party, with guns. Either way, I think we'll come together. We all will have our parts in that, but Gwen is the chef. We bring the ingredients to the kitchen, and she's going to mix them together. Any chopping up of ingredients first, that's where we come in."

Nev, having tangled twice with the Junes, and lost both times, helped himself to his second donut, and thought, "That sounds good to me."

# Chapter 38 – Getting the Singer

Roger and Gwen sat in the downstairs study the next morning, waiting for the call from Jools that would tell them what demands the NNs had made for Richard's release. Roger badly wanted to pick up the Donald E. Westlake book sitting on the table in front of him, but he knew Gwen had started work on the opera production: insurance, PR, cost estimates, lighting, sound, instruments, etc. With her working, he figured she might think it bad form on his part to read a funny book; everything about a Dortmunder novel is funny. So he stared at it but didn't pick it up. Gwen's phone rang, and she motioned to him to answer it while she kept scribbling on a yellow legal pad. "Good morning."

"Mr. June, is that you? Jools here."

He hit the speaker button and said, "Yes, hi Jools. Did you get the call from the nitwits?"

"Nitwits, nitwits, not a word normally in the vocabulary of a butler of my stature. Are you referring to the morons?"

"Yes, Jools, the morons."

"No, we haven't received that communication as yet. We are waiting for it, however. Les artists are here with me, and they need to talk with you and Ms. June about the production. Gwenny, dear, are you there?"

"I'm here, Jools. What's up? You there, Paul? Anna?"

Paul said, "We're here, with Stella. We need something. A person. We need you to get a person for the show. Anna will tell you."

"Hi Gwen, hi Roger."

Gwen said, "Hi dear. Everyone ok? Is Jools treating you right? If he isn't, he's clear about the consequences, right?"

"We're ok. Waiting to hear about Richard. He's the one I'm worried about."

"We're working on that. When we hear from the nitwits, that's when the hunt will begin. What's this about a person for the production? What person?"

"Gwenny, this is going to be a really big request, but Paul wants this person, says you gotta get her. Says he needs the best singer in the world to sing the songs."

"Who is she?"

"We weren't around for the ballet production, but we've heard the story about how you got Pete Townshend to transcribe the Stravinsky music, and then perform the whole thing on synthesizer, live. How he lived here for four months, working seven days a week, then blew everyone away with the performance. This request is going to be something like that. That level of person."

Roger sat back against the sofa cushion and looked at Gwen with a self-satisfied expression. She said, "That was Roger's handiwork. He figured out how to get Townshend. Of course, my southern accent had something to do with it, as well as the fact that Catherine had had a fling with Townshend way back in the wild years, and she called him up and asked him to do it. But mostly it was Roger." And she smiled at him.

"We hope he can do the same thing now, work the magic."

"Who is it?"

"Renee Fleming, the opera star."

"Renee Fleming, the classical singer? The world famous singer? Like La Scala famous, Met famous?"

"That's her. Only she doesn't just do classical. She's done two pop CDs, and Paul says one of those makes her the greatest female pop singer of all time. We haven't heard those CDs yet, but Jools is getting them for us."

Gwen felt a little of the devil, and said, "So what's Paul know about pop singing?"

"You're feeling feisty this morning, aren't you, Gwen?"

"Just kidding, Paul. Love _Norwegian Wood_ , love that singing."

Anna said, "So, Roger, can you do it? Can you get Renee Fleming to agree to sing Paul's songs, here, two months from now?"

The devil rubbed off onto Roger, and he said, "Well, not going to be easy. A person like that is booked up years in advance. And I'm not clear on the incentive, here. What happens if I can't? What happens if we don't get the production ready in time? All we've heard is Scotilly's _chop chop_ threat, and we can't take that seriously, no matter how crazy she sounds, now can we?"

Jools said, "Mr. June, Scotilly is very serious. Don't push that button. She's not done with her morning toilette, or I have no doubt she'd express her intentions most vigorously. She spends several minutes every day keeping her sword handling skills honed to razor sharpness."

Gwen said, "Ok, we'll get on it. Roger will. We'll pick up the two CDs and see what this is all about. But we trust Paul's taste, and what he wants and needs is what we all want."

Roger looked at Gwen and said, "What should I do first? Starting working on landing Renee, or keep on the hunt for Jools in his hiding place? Set up the commando raid on it, rescue the kidnappees and kill the kidnappers."

"Art in the morning, dear, leave killing kidnappers for the afternoon."

# Chapter 39 – The Truth About Relationships

Just after Gwen told Roger to think about how to land Renee Fleming as the star performer of the rock opera, Scotilly entered the living room wearing gold flats, white silk pants with sharp creases and pleats, and an emerald gauze blouse with black trim on the collar and sleeves. None of the others had ever seen an actual Taliban, but they were pretty sure this was not what one looked like. If it was, that group was a lot smarter than any of the worlds intelligence agencies knew. And if this was what an extended morning toilette produced, Paul was all for it. She said, "So how are the musicians and designers feeling this morning? How many songs are you going to write today? Costumes?"

Paul was enchanted by the golden slippers she was wearing, and started to answer in a friendly way, but Anna butted in and said, "How many executions today, Scotilly? How many beheadings?" She didn't cut kidnappers, even benevolent ones, much slack.

Jools started to defend his master, but she said, "Honey, I didn't have any planned for today, actually, but it's early, and I've been known to change my mind." She looked at Paul and said, "You have a central concept for the opera. What is it?"

Paul was happy to field the question because he needed an answer from Anna and his daughter: Were they in or out with his basic idea? He said, "It's simple. The songs are going to express my opinions about the relationships between men and women. There will be romance in them, of course, but also pragmatism and reality. One of the main themes will show, or attempt to show, that successful relationships depend on the two people having very strong common outside interests, meaning physical activities they share and do together, and almost nothing to do with so called inner compatibilities."

"You don't believe in things like honesty and compassion and sincerity?"

"I don't believe in them the way most people today believe in them, as if they are things that are _inside_ another person. That's what most of the self-help books say, and what the self-help television scammers say. Their message is, if you find a person who is good inside, who has these wonderful qualities, then you will be compatible with them, because you have these qualities inside you. They say, that is the secret: inner qualities. Integrity in one person matches with integrity in the other. Gentleness matches with gentleness. Consideration matches with consideration. If you search for those qualities and find them in another, your life together will be wonderful. These relationship gurus create this perspective in people; they try desperately, and so altruistically, to influence people to view the world this way, to condition people to search for these inner qualities, and they assure them this is the recipe for happiness. I don't believe any of that for a minute."

Scotilly said, "And you believe the way to success is....?"

"Like I said, it's about outside interests and activities. Doing stuff together. If you have that type of compatibility, and a lot of it, you're can stay together for a long time. If you don't, forget about a long term positive relationship."

"What are outside interests and activities? What do you mean by that?"

"Off the top of my head, and I'm not saying all these are things I'm interested in, but examples are: hiking, going out to dinner at nice restaurants and talking about the food as you eat it, church activities if you are religious, going to sports events together and rooting for a team or an athlete, gardening together and then sitting in the garden with a glass of wine and enjoying the flowers you grew, reading in bed at night, paying attention to politics and supporting political causes. That kind of stuff. Activities that you love to do together, and that you do together again and again over twenty or thirty years. Things you love to do. It's that simple. Or complex, depending on whether you can find someone to do those things with."

Scotilly said, "You're going to be able to write twenty or thirty great songs about that?"

Anna, Stella, and Jools looked at Paul, and waited for the answer.

"I am. It's one of the most important things in life; trying to find someone you can be with, reasonably happy, for the long term. It's what most people want, because it provides some comfort and security in a harsh world. So yes, I can do that. I want to do that. This is the time and place to do it." He looked at Anna and Stella. "But I need help. It's a big job, and time is short. I need support, both moral support and physical support. I need another musician to help with orchestrations and recordings. And I need someone I love and can trust (not looking at Scotilly here) to help me with the physical and emotional demands of creating music out of thin air. I need you two."

Anna and Stella sat next to each other on the eight seat sofa, and looked at each other. Anna leaned over and whispered, "We can do this. I'm all in."

Stella whispered back, "You really want to live in a smelly concrete bunker for two months, with no men? No sex. Two months. Putting up with Jools and Scotilly?"

"You grew up with Paul McCartney as your father. For me, he's like one of the great men in the world. I can live with no sex for two months if it means hanging out and working with him. Writing music, producing an opera."

Still whispering, with the other three watching and trying to hear, Stella said, "Sex isn't totally out of the question. There's Jools. He is a little cute."

They both sat back on the sofa and stared at Jools. Then they put their heads together again, mouths to ears, and giggled. Jools looked at Scotilly. Paul, the intuitive one, figured out what was going on, and smiled. Scotilly also figured it out and said, "Knock it off. Your jobs are in the bunker."

Anna whispered, "It may not be two months. The Junes are hunting for us, and they're hunting the morons who have Richard. I put my money on them. Richard may show up here sooner rather than later. Then I'm ok. What about you?"

Stella said, "Um, well, I guess I'd have to rough it for the two months."

"Not exactly, girl." And they giggled together, again.

Scotilly said, "Ok, let's cut the crap. Are you going to work with him on this idea of relationships? It sounds ok to me, if he can do it. It's serious, and that's what we want. That combination of entertainment and message."

Stella looked at her father and said, "We're going to help you. It's going to be great."

Paul said, "What about being cooped up in that place for two months, just us? That's a long time."

Anna turned towards Scotilly with a defiant look and said, "It's not going to be two months. The Junes are coming."

# Chapter 40 - SYAMF

Little Jinny Blistov stood at the gas range in the June's kitchen, sautéing shrimp, garlic, red peppers and butter, which he was going to serve over rice to the Junes, Nev, and Constantine for their lunch. There still had been no call about what the NNs were demanding for Richard's return. Constantine was explaining to the Junes his analogy of truffle seeking pigs. "The only idea we have for finding the nitwits is that they may go to places here in town where other nitwits of their persuasion hang out. Other racist types. You got any places like that? Most towns do, whether you're in Ireland or Bangladesh or Mexico. There are nitwits and morons everywhere."

Gwen put a forkful of shrimp in her mouth, a signal to Roger that she wasn't going to answer the question. He said, "We haven't been in a while, have we dear, but there's a place up on the interstate just outside of town that has a big sign, and it catches a lot of attention. It's a black and white sign about twenty feet by twenty feet that shows the bottom of a pair of huge boots with tire tread soles. Underneath the boots are the big letters _SYAMF_."

Gwen rolled her eyes, and Jinny asked, "What's that mean?"

"It means _Stomp Your Ass Motherfuckers_." Jinny and Constantine looked at each other, then back at Roger for elucidation. "It's a strange, multi-faceted message. On the one hand it's a warning to the world that some tough guys hang out there. On the other, it's an invitation to people of similar world views to come on in and join the fun. Like I said, strange."

Gwen said, "It's been there for a lot of years, most of the locals know it's there, even if they don't know what it means or what goes on there. Sometimes there's a Confederate battle flag hanging from the bottom of the sign, and sometimes there are a lot of motorcycles out front. I've seen a noose hanging from the sign a couple of times. The cops raid it once or twice a year, but it always stays. It morphs from a bar to a tattoo shop to a private clubhouse to an abandoned building. But there's always something going on." She looked at Roger and said, "It has been awhile since we visited. You're getting soft and boring in your old age."

Jinny finished his second plate of shrimp and rice at the same time the others finished their first. He said, "We need a pig. You know anyone can go up there and sniff around? See if the morons are hanging out?"

Gwen said, "How about you, tough guy?"

Constantine said, "I thought we were hunting the NNs?"

Gwen used an analogy from football, saying, "Sometimes ya gotta change the call at the line."

# Chapter 41 – Richard Does the Possum

It turns out, of course, that the NNs did know about _SYAMF_ , and had been there twice since arriving in Charleston a couple of weeks earlier. The symbol of the bottoms of a pair of big boots was known to them in the pacific northwest, and had caught their attention from the interstate right away. They hadn't solved their immediate problem, which was where to stay now that they had a kidnap victim with them, and were thinking of procuring another. It's risky staying in a motel with a kidnap victim or two, no matter how much you like the suite arrangement. One little scream could ruin your whole day. So after driving around town for an hour or so, squashed shoulder to shoulder in the cab of the truck, the BMIBC headed up the highway to _SYAMF_. He figured, one, they could have a couple of beers while they thought about their problem; two, no one in that joint would squeal on them about having a kidnap victim with them; and three, with any luck they might find someone there that would put them and their victim(s) up, privately, for a few days. _SYAMF_ had seemed to them to be a fraternal sort of place, where like-minded brothers could find succor in time of need. And a beer.

When they entered the building the first thing the clientele noticed was that only three of the four guys had tats. And the guy without any tats did not have a single piece of black clothing adorning his not very muscular body. He was, so to speak, an anomaly, which would bear at least some level of investigation. There wasn't a conventional bar in the place, behind which stood a man or maid wearing a white apron, clean or not, who in exchange for legal tender would serve you a drink. No stools or large mirror on the wall behind the bar into which you could stare at your own sodden and depressing visage, or diagonally and surreptitiously catch a glimpse of someone of the opposite sex at the far end of the bar. This didn't mean you couldn't get a drink. You could, and they did. Beer could be found in any of the half dozen coolers set on the floor around the interconnected rooms, and bottles of hard liquor could be found on a surprisingly large number of bookshelves attached to the walls. What a customer couldn't find anywhere would be a book or a wine glass. No reading going on around here, and no wine served. And don't ask for a chocolate martini, either, which, upon reflexion, demonstrates a subtly high level of sophistication, in and of itself, on the part of the managers. Each room had a barrel on which sat a glass goldfish bowl, into which the customer put whatever amount of money he or she thought commensurate with the value of the drink they drank. Apparently there is honor among morons, at least the ones who patronize _SYAMF_.

Richard was scared to death from the minute he entered the establishment until the minute he left. He clung to the NSSMIBC like a baby possum to its mother, at one point even considering climbing onto his back. This was when a completely bald androgynous woman approached him, ignored the three nitwits standing around him, grabbed his crotch, and said, "If you need momma, I'm right here, little baby." And walked away.

The nitwits each got a beer out of a cooler and tossed a couple of bucks into one of the bowls. They looked around at the crowd, who looked back, the regulars debating whether the approach by the androgynous woman constituted a full and complete vetting of the tatless interloper. None of them felt compelled to issue another challenge, apparently deciding it had, and the nitwits nodded to a few of the regulars they had seen or met in their previous visits. Maybe the regulars thought Richard was some kind of prey the nitwits had captured, or a prize they had won in a poker game, and were going to take back to their lair later for fun and games, or perhaps to devour in some fashion or other. It took the guys about one minute to drink their first beer, at which time, as was customary in the joint, they crushed the cans and threw them into a corner, where it joined a legion of similarly dead soldiers. The NSSMIBC offered Richard a beer when he got a second one out of a cooler, but Richard declined, sensing he could barely swallow his own spit, and likely would have a really tough time downing twelve ounces of sorry quality suds.

There was blue denim and black denim, red confederate flags and red pinwheel swastikas, some black lightning bolts on a red field, and a few white and black stormfront logos. And there weren't any sandals on any of the feet, no Birkenstocks or flipflops. This was not a place for Jimmy Buffet parrotheads. After knocking back the second beers, this time taking two minutes to do so, the BMIBC began to circulate, rubbing elbows, so to speak, with his bros. He bought a bottle of Jack Daniels and filled some glasses, asking the exact significance of the battle flag symbol, and answering questions about Idaho. Was it really true everyone there refused to pay federal income tax, and got away with it? Is there a course at the University of Idaho about the history of the National Socialist Movement? Do you hunt coon with dogs in Idaho? He scored some points when he answered the last question by saying that coons ain't the only thing we hunt with dogs, up in the 'ho. H

While he conducted a cultural exchange with the boys from the low country, the other two nitwits went looking for food. They were given two choices: boiled hotdogs on stale buns with a choice of yellow mustard or brown mustard, and boiled peanuts. This choice kept the culinary demands on the kitchen staff to a manageable level. They used the cooker to do the peanuts in the morning, and then used it (no cleaning required) for the dogs around noon. The dogs they cooked at noon still were available twelve hours later, just as tasty, though perhaps not with same aesthetic allure. Every passing hours added another wrinkle to the skin. The NSSMIBC asked, "What the hell are boiled peanuts?"

The answer, confirmed by three other patrons, was, "They good cause they slimy." The MSMIBC realized his not so smart buddy had made a tactical error in asking the question 'what the hell are boiled peanuts', because now they would have to eat some, not wanting to demonstrate or display any sign of Idahoan weakness to these local boys. So they downed the obligatory handful of peanuts, endeavoring successfully not to puke, and then went on to down half a dozen dogs with gourmet yellow mustard, and another couple of beers. The locals, noticing that Richard didn't eat or drink anything, refrained from commenting on the observation, in the same way they would refrain from commenting to someone who brought in a three legged dog. If Richard indeed was prey or prize, his life was hard enough without enduring ignoble comments from strangers. There was a measure of compassion, as well as honor, among the denizens of _SYAMF_.

Richard endured an hour and a half of terror, during which the BMIBC and his buds killed the bottle of Jack, told a few dirty jokes, told a few racist jokes, and generally had a good time raining abuse on Jews, blacks, and gays without favoritism. The Idahoans made a favorable impression on the local boys, resulting in an invitation by one of these eminent Charlestonians to harbor them at his homestead outside of town for the next week or two. The invitation included Richard, the local boy hoping he might get a piece of the action, whatever that might be.

The homestead consisted of two quonset huts set amidst a barren landscape of dirt, barbed wire, and abandoned farm equipment. One quonset hut was the guy's house, while the other served as his shop in which he worked on his Harley. The front half of the hut was the shop, while the rear half was adorned with Army cots, plastic chairs, particle board bookshelves and dressers, and a propane stove and refrigerator. Richard looked around, hoping to find a bottle of bordeaux somewhere on a shelf, but no such luck. He really had gotten spoiled, hanging around with the Junes. The MSMIBC also looked around, mentally comparing his new living quarters to his former motel suite. His and Richard's sense of disappointment ran neck and neck in the intensity department. The local boy said, "I got some surplus blankets up in my place I'll bring back to ya. Won't nobody bother y'all here, whatever it is y'all might be inclined to want to do. Nearest neighbor is a ways away." He looked at Richard and reiterated, "Whatever y'all might be inclined to do." Richard again felt the need to emulate a baby possum, climbing onto his mother's back for protection, such back belonging to the NSSMIBC.

When the local left to get the blankets, the MSMIBC said, "Boss, this place sucks. We really gonna stay here? All sleep in the same room? Smells like motor oil and exhaust in here."

The BMIBC looked around and said, "It does suck. But we can keep the boyfriend here without him screaming and alerting anyone to his plight."

"His what?"

"Plight. His circumstance. Life situation."

"Oh."

"And his friend."

"What friend?"

"The other person we're gonna kidnap. So we can offer a two-fer for the Stirg bitch."

Both of the other Idaho boys perked up at the prospect of another kidnapping, which temporarily distracted them from the reality of the precipitous social slide from their $100 a night suites to their new digs. The MSMIBC said, "Who's the next person we gonna grab?"

"Don't know yet. I think we're going to have a discussion about that with the boyfriend here. Ask him who might qualify as a candidate? Who his friends might want back bad enough to trade for the bitch? Before that, we're supposed to call them and tell them what we want for his return. Ransom. We gotta do that now."

As the NSSMIBC sat down on one of the folding Army cots, three springs broke simultaneously, and his butt sank through the wire mesh surface and came to within an inch of touching the oil stained concrete floor. Richard, in light of the slightly salacious looks directed his way by the local property owner, and wanting to establish a tight relationship with his possum momma, reached out a hand and helped the NN to extricate himself from the cot.

"God damn. Now I gotta sleep on that thing?"

The BMIBC ignored the incident and the question. Sitting down on one of the plastic chairs, he said, "We want money and we want to hurt Stirg. We hurt Stirg by kidnapping his granddaughter. Violate her some." He looked over at Richard. "Where is she? That's what we grabbed you for, to tell us where she is. So, where is she?"

It was early evening at this point, and Richard had had a hard day. It had started off alright, sitting on Stirg's yacht, eating caviar. Then things had gone downhill, getting grabbed in the vestibule of his condo, riding around in the cab of the pickup, crammed shoulder to shoulder with the NNs, then migrating up to the _SYAMF_ place, where he was viewed either as prey or prize. Now he was in a quonset hut out in the coastal scrublands, being asked by his kidnappers to tell them where his girlfriend was, so they could kidnap and violate her. Eating caviar to the rape of his girlfriend. That was a transition he could do without.

He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, closed them, and tried to relax. He really wanted a glass of bordeaux. When he opened his eyes, he felt better, almost at ease. His thoughts fell into place and his emotions quieted. He looked at the boss man and said, "She's with the Junes. She lives with them."

"Who are the Junes?"

"They're the ones who live on Church Street. You paid them a visit."

"She lives in that house? Now?"

Richard nodded, yes. Despite being stressed out for most of the day, his thinking was clear and certain. He wanted to send these boys towards the Junes. Right into the lion's den.

The BMIBC leaned back in his chair, also trying to relax. It had been a taxing day for him, too, with the kidnapping and all, then the drinking at _SYAMF_ , and their relocation to their present quarters. He said, "Ok. Maybe we go pay these Junes a visit tomorrow. Or maybe we take the day off, get a little R&R right here."

Richard said, "Either way, I have a feeling y'all will meet up. Soon. You can go to them, or just sit tight. In that case, they'll come to you."

The three NNs pondered on that cryptic remark, and a feeling of disquiet descended on the hut.

# Chapter 42 – Jinny and the Locals

Little Jinny Blistov thought the assignment to go to _SYAMF_ and see if he could get a lead on the NNs sounded like fun. Go to a place whose motto was _Stomp Your Ass Motherfuckers_ , a place known to harbor bikers, racists, dimwits, and other unsavory types, and ask the clientele if they knew the whereabouts of three neo-nazi morons from Idaho. Gwen asked him, "Who do you want to go with you?"

The only woman Jinny liked more than Gwen was his girlfriend, Guignard. He thought Gwenny June was just about the hottest woman god ever had placed upon the earth, whether in his hometown of Saint Petersburg, Russia, or his adopted place of residence, Charleston, South Carolina. If Gwenny told him to cross country ski from Saint Petersburg to the North Pole, he'd do it. With Guignard's permission, of course. He looked around the June's kitchen, first at Roger, then at Constantine. He liked them both; they were his pals, and they had had some significant adventures together. But there just was something about this assignment that screamed, solo. So he said, "I'll do this one alone. Think I'll head up there right now. See what this all-American place is like."

Roger said, "You need to go heeled."

He reached to the rear of his right hip and patted the gun under his shirt, saying, "Yo, baby."

Gwen said, "Be careful. That place is full of bad guys. You going to wear those clothes?"

Jinny looked down at himself, then over at Guignard for support. He said, "What's wrong with these? I got this at _Pierre's_. I'm dressed Charleston style." He was wearing lime green linen casual slacks, a white banded bottom pull-over golf shirt, and a pair of five hundred dollar Italian tassel loafers, without socks.

"Those guys up there are going to be dressed in black and covered with tattoos. You don't have a single tat showing. You're not going to fit in."

Jinny smiled, and headed out the back door, whistling. Most of the adventures he had had with the Junes had been profitable, so out in the June's driveway he got into his white Mercedes coupe, drove past The Battery, out of town, and headed up the interstate. Twenty minutes later he saw the _SYAMF_ sign, and took the exit ramp. Those stomping boots were graphic as hell. He drove around a couple of blocks to where he had done a 360 back to the interstate, and entered the parking lot of the establishment he had come to visit. He parked at the far end of the lot, hoping to avoid getting any dings in the sides of his car, and not sure just how this visit was going to culminate. He had an intuition, and it told him to park as far away from the building as possible. He studied the vehicles in the lot, and found three kinds: pickup trucks, 1970s muscle cars, and Harleys. No Mercedes except his. There was a fat guy in a sleeveless Tshirt running a lawn mower over the few hardy weeds that tried to survive amidst the hardpacked dirt and dried pools of motor oil in the lot. The guy first stared at Jinny and then at the Mercedes.

Jinny didn't have many expectations as he entered _SYAMF,_ other than the picture Gwen had painted for him: guys in black clothes with tattoos. He didn't know if this was a bar or a restaurant or a men's salon, like _Pierre's_ , only maybe a little different. So when he saw what he saw, he wasn't really surprised. He found a few neon signs on the walls, with their cords hanging down to an outlet. He saw eight or nine guys sitting in plastic chairs, some at tables and some not at tables. They all had at least one article of black clothing on, though Gwen was wrong in saying they all would be dressed entirely in black. Two had on camouflage pants, and several had on blue jeans, the cheap ones from Wal-Mart with the baggy butt. One even wore a sleeveless Tshirt, like the guy outside who was cutting weeds. Speaking of whom, he had followed Jinny into the building because he didn't want to miss this action. Jinny turned and looked at him, and said, "You left the mower running."

"Whas that?"

"You left the mower running."

"What mower?"

"The one outside. The one you were cutting the weeds with."

The guy turned back towards the door, listened, heard the mower buzzing outside, looked back at Jinny, then back at the door, then just stood looking at Jinny, deciding the mower could stay running, he wasn't going to miss this action.

Jinny saw that most of the guys were drinking beer, so standing in the center of the main room, said to no one in particular, "Can I have one of those?"

No one answered immediately, all their mental computational power being devoted to deciphering this figure among them. Jinny was five foot two inches and two hundred pounds of heavy mass bone and rock hard muscle. As mentioned before, the Secret Service could install him as a bollard at the perimeter of the White House to defend against terrorist attack by armored vehicle. He was not an effeminate man, which all of these guys could relate to, but his clothes, they were a mystery. He could have been wearing a NASA space suit and not appeared any stranger. His shoes were worth more than a couple of the cars out in the parking lot. One guy looked at Jinny's shoes, and then at the hightop dark green canvas boots he had paid $29.99 for at the Army Navy surplus store. Used.

Not getting an immediate answer, Jinny walked towards the back of the building and looked at the two smaller attached rooms, in one of which was a pool table. The other room appeared to be a kind of shrine. One wall was covered with Harley insignia stuff, another was covered with Confederate Army stuff, and the third was covered with neo-nazi stuff. Jinny didn't recognize or understand most of the symbolism on the walls, but he knew a swastika when he saw it. Back in the main club room, the internal processors had completed the computation in a couple of the guys. As Jinny came back in, one of them said, "How ya doing?"

"Ok. But I'd feel better with one of those in my hand."

The guy crushed his beer can, threw it on the stack in the corner, got up and got two cans out of a cooler against the wall, and handed one to Jinny. He sat down and said, "Watcha doin in here?"

Jinny drained half the can, said, "Some friends of mine said this was a hot spot in town. Said the sign outside means _Stomp Your Ass Motherfuckers_. Said I might like the place. So I came up."

A second guy said, "You wear clothes like that, and you think this is your kind of place?"

"We have an old saying in Russia. You can't tell a man by the clothes he wears."

The one guy looked at the other guy, and said, "We got a saying like that too, but I can't remember it. Can you?"

"Something about a newspaper. You can't tell a newspaper by its color. Something like that."

They both looked back at Jinny, and one said, "I ain't never seen green pants before. Those are nice. I may get me a pair of those someday. Someday soon." Jinny heard the first faint echo of malice in those words, which didn't disconcert him one bit, as they would have done with most people.

The other guy said, "Assumin this is your type of place, what you here for? Other than a beer?"

Jinny drained his beer, crushed the can, and tossed it on the pile. He hated beer in cans. On tap was fine, in the bottle was ok, but cans, yuk. Jinny didn't have any of the buttons at the front of his golf shirt buttoned, so his throat and upper chest was exposed. A guy across the room stared at his chest hair. Jinny said, "I'm looking for some guys, friends of mine. They're from Idaho, down here on vacation. I lost their phone number. But they're Adolf types, so I thought they may have stopped in here. I wanna look them up while they're here, have a beer together."

Some of the guys in the room had been there earlier in the day, when the NNs had been in with Richard. They knew one of their bros had offered the NNs a place to stay, and that's where they were now. They remembered how Richard had looked, and now here was second guy dressed funny. None of them could remember anyone dressed this way ever having been in their building, and now there had been two in one day. What was going on?

What was going on was that this was too much too bear. Some of the guys had been drinking for several hours, and the natives got restless all of a sudden. The guy who had commented on Jinny's pants stood up, dropped his almost full can of beer on the floor, and said, "Them green pants got to go."

Jinny looked down at his pants, which he thought were very sporty, because Gwen thought they were very sporty, and said, "You want me to go?"

The guy leered at his buddy, saying, "No, I just want them to go. You can stay if you want, but the pants got to go. In the trash." Several of the guys laughed.

Jinny could feel which way the wind was blowing now. He'd come to find the NNs, and if that took a little ruckus, that was ok with him. He said, "You want these pants off me, huh? Any reason for that? Other than you don't like the color?"

The mental processors turned on again, and after ten seconds, a couple of them had computed accurately, but not the one in the head of the guy issuing the challenge. He just stood there. One of the others saw this and said to him, "The guy's saying you want to suck him off. Get it?"

The guy got it, turned red under his beard, cranked up the motivation, and moved towards Jinny. Jinny could have ended the entire encounter right then and there by pulling his gun, but he wanted to see what these boys brought to the table. The guy was six two, making him a foot taller than Jinny. He closed, telegraphing his right handed haymaker. Jinny ducked a couple of inches, let the swing pass over his head, and came up with a left hook that penetrated deep into the guy's gut; like up to the elbow. Jinny felt some squishy stuff around his hammer-like fist, and wondered which of the vital organs he had displaced. Anatomy was not one of his best subjects. That was the end of that. The guy expelled one breath and one grunt, sank to his knees, and fell over onto his side in fetal position. He remained alive, but non-functional.

Jinny stood up from his crouch and said, "I like these pants. Green is a nice color. And Gwenny likes them."

A few of the others mobilized, and the brawl was on. But not for very long. Jinny dropped two more before one of them got him from behind. The guy joined his hands together in a double fist and rained it down on Jinny's back, which was like hitting the back of a grizzly bear. When this produced no adverse effect, he pounded the back of Jinny's head, Jinny being occupied by two guys in front of him. Jinny saw gray in front of his eyes for a few seconds, standing still. Then the guy behind him grabbed the back of Jinny's pants at the waist, and ripped downward. Jinny's gun, in the holster clipped to his pants, came out from under his shirt and swung sideways as his pants tore open. His vision cleared, he pushed the guy away at his front, and swung around to face the guy behind, who was staring at the gun. Jinny felt the weight of the gun hanging at his side, and saw his torn pants hanging there too, which pissed him off. Enough was enough. He grabbed the holster with his left hand, and pulled the gun out of it with his right. He looked at the guy who had ripped his pants, frozen at the unexpected sight of the gun. Who wears green pants and packs heat? Jinny racked the slide, raised the gun so it was positioned a foot from the guy's face, and said, "My name is Jinny Blistov, and you ripped my pants. Prepare to die." _The Princess Bride_ was one of his favorite movies. And like Ignacio in the movie, he didn't actually kill his opponent. But he sure scared the shit out of him.

That was the end of the brawl. He gathered the clientele into a tight group of chairs in the center of the room and asked them, one at a time, if they knew where the NNs were. One at a time, they shook their heads, no. He wasn't sure he believed some of them, but he had lost some of his own steam, seeing as how he had to hold his pants up with this left hand while he pointed his gun at them with his right. He figured the show was over, and he didn't feel like pursuing the interrogation. Somewhat anticlimactically, he turned and left, exiting the door through which he had entered. Outside, he walked past the mower that still was running, terrorizing the weeds below. He stood looking at it, then over to the shed attached to the building where the mower was kept. Inside the shed the bright red color of two or three five gallon cans of gasoline caught his attention, and his internal steam returned. They had ripped his favorite pants, after all.

Several hours later Gwen and Roger were watching the evening news. The lead story was about a fire outside of town. The reporter had positioned her cameraman near the wire fence that separated the interstate from the adjacent private property, at an angle that provided a shot of the big sign that said _SYAMF_ , and the blackened remains of the building behind it. She was relishing her commentary, in which she said she couldn't say the name of the establishment represented by the acronym on the sign, the name not being suitable for news television. She did say that most locals knew what the acronym stood for, and if you, dear viewer, didn't, just ask around. She then interviewed a county deputy sheriff on scene, whose only comment was, "Good riddance."

Gwen looked at Roger, and Roger looked at Gwen. Simultaneously they said, "That's our boy."

# Chapter 43 – Jinny's Story

Gwen and Roger got up early the next morning and fixed coffee. They had a long standing rule that they started their day with conversation. No newspapers, no phone calls, no daily to do lists, just a little conversation. They were dying to talk about Jinny, but they both knew it would be more fun to discuss his adventure with him and the rest of the crew, so they resisted the temptation to bring it up. Roger said he wanted to take a walk on The Battery and think about Renee Fleming. He loved to think about beautiful women. Gwen said, "You're going to carry, right?" He nodded, and got his Beretta out of the gun cabinet in the study.

When he'd gone, Gwen sat thinking about Richard. The nitwits had said they would call yesterday with their ransom demands, and they hadn't. Nor had Paul and Anna called to provide a status report on their music, without which she couldn't make progress on the production planning. She took the dog out in the back yard and played with him for a while, then decided she needed company. So she called up the crew and asked them come for an early lunch. It wasn't long before Slev and Constantine showed up, and then Guignard and Gale. She asked, "Where's Jinny?"

Guignard said, "He's at _Pierre's_ , getting a shave while they fix his pants."

Slev said, "What happened to his pants?"

"He's coming here when they're done. He'll tell you. He was involved in a little, incident, last night." She paused. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry." This wasn't the first time they had heard those words from Guignard. Slev asked what everyone wanted for lunch, and even though it was only 10am, she got stuff out of the refrigerator and cabinets. It looked more like a brunch shaping up than lunch. She chopped potatoes for homefries, while the others drank coffee, and tried to induce Guignard to tell about Jinny, but she wouldn't. That told them it would be quite a story. An hour later Roger and Jinny entered by the back door, having met out on the street. They were welcomed by the smell of frying onions and potatoes, which always reminded Jinny of his childhood in Saint Petersburg. He had grown up eating potatoes twenty different ways, and half of them included onions, onions being cheap.

When everyone was seated around the kitchen table, Gwen said, "Who goes first?" looking from her husband to Jinny.

Guignard gave the order, looking at Jinny and saying, "Tell 'em."

"I had to have some work done on my pants. Pierre called in the tailor, and he fixed them while I got a shave. Well, two shaves." And he stroked the area below his ears and around the sides of his neck.

Slev asked, "What happened to your pants? And why have a tailor fix them? Why not just buy a new pair? Would have been cheaper." Slev, Constantine, and Gale had not seen the news story TV about the burning down of _SYAMF_.

"They're my favorite pants. The green ones. Gwen picked them out for me, told me not to be afraid to be different. So I just wanted them fixed. Someone did something to them."

"Who did something to them? Why?"

"A boy up at _SYAMF_. He tore them. Last night."

Guignard said again, "Tell them."

"I went up there and asked them if they knew about some NNs from Idaho. Said I was friends with them, and was looking for them. And then stuff happened." They waited, so he went on, "I had a beer with the guys hanging out up there, but some of them had been drinking a lot, and one of them said he didn't like my pants, and that I had to take them off and throw them in the trash. And, he tried to make me." Jinny stuffed more potatoes in his mouth, keeping it shut while he chewed, that being one of the first lessons in high culture Gwen had taught him when they had become friends. They let him swallow his food, but their looks told him to get on with it. "He wasn't able to make me do that, him not being a very good fighter, and when his friends saw him in a fetal position on the floor, then they tried to make me take my pants off." He shook his head, no.

Slev said, "How many guys tried to make you take your pants off?"

"Only three."

Roger said, "Did you pull on them?"

"Naw, not for three. Things would have been ok, except one of them sneaked around behind me. He's the one that tore my pants. Grabbed them in the back and pulled on them. That's when my gun showed itself accidentally, so I had to pull, or the guy might have grabbed it, it flopping around in plain sight. And that was pretty much the end of it."

Gale said, "How many people were in the place?"

"Nine or ten, I think. About that."

Guignard said, "Tell them about the line from the movie."

"Oh, yeah, that was cool. I got to say my favorite line from the movies, from _The Princess Bride_."

Roger said, "You were in a biker bar that doubles as a white supremacy hangout and clubhouse for neo-nazis, and you quoted a line from a romance movie that has a golden haired princess in it?"

"It was the perfect setup. I couldn't resist. I pulled my gun and stuck it in the face of the guy who ripped my pants, and said, 'My name is Jinny Blistov. You tore my pants. Prepare to die'. It was great."

"Then what happened?"

"Then I sat them down and asked them if they knew the NNs, and they all said, no. And I left."

"Did something else happen, then?" Jinny ate another forkful of potatoes.

"A little something, yeah. I went out in the parking lot, and I went to stick my gun back in its holster that was clipped to my belt, and my pants fell down, them being tore up."

"And?"

"And then I remembered about my pants, and the good feeling I had from saying the line from the movie went away, and I got pissed about my pants."

"And?"

"And, what?"

Roger said, "And you burned the place down."

Slev, Constantine, and Gale looked at Roger. Gale said, "What do you mean?"

"If you'd been watching the late news last night, like us, you'd have seen the story that _SYAMF_ burned to the ground last night."

Now the three looked at Jinny. Gale said, "You burned a place down because a guy didn't like the color of your pants?"

"He tore them, the little rat. My favorite pants. And he hit me in the back of the head. And, I didn't burn the place down."

Roger said, "Who did?"

"They did. I convinced them to." Roger motioned 'more' with his hands. "When I first got there, a guy was cutting the weeds in the parking lot with a mower, and he had some gas cans in the shed, and so I got the cans and took them back into the building, and suggested to the guys in there that they, ah, use it there, inside. And because I was the one pointing the gun at them, they became convinced that doing so was in their best interest, in the long run." His recitation lapsed, and he ate some more of his omelet. His third omelet. Three potatoe and onion omelets.

Guignard finished for him. "And that was that."

Just like Roger and Gwen had said the night before, Slev, Constantine, and Gale now said, "That's our boy."

# Chapter 44 – Renee Fleming

After the dishes were cleared, Gwen asked Roger, "What do you have on Renee Fleming?"

The others looked at him expectantly, hoping he had come up with an idea that would work as well as his idea had about getting a superstar for the ballet production. He successfully had gotten Pete Townshend to sign on for that. Now he had to do the same for Paul; get Renee Fleming to sign on. He said, "I do have an idea. It may work, it may not. There are two parts to it, and they both have to do with Paul and Anna. Part One is that they choose two songs from her CD, _Dark Hope_. Those are the songs Paul says make her the greatest of all female pop singers. Paul and Anna choose the two songs, and record their own version of them. Covers. They have a simple recording studio, wherever Jools has them hidden. They said that. So they sing and do the instrumentals, and Paul works his magic. He's one of the great pop singers of all time, right? This becomes a tribute to Fleming. It's Paul McCartney saying, 'I love these songs you did so much, I did my own version of them. For you, Renee.' They record these covers in their studio, and get them on CD. That's Part One."

Gwen closed her eyes and absorbed the idea. One great artist paying tribute to another, hoping to gain influence. Yes! She said, "And Part Two?"

"Part Two is a followup. Paul takes the first two original songs he writes for the opera, and records them with her in mind. Not how he plans to play them for the performance, but for her. Maybe he tries to sing them like her. Not that he has the vocal instrument she does; no one else in the world has that. But he tries, somehow, to show her what it would be like for her to sing his songs, the ones he's writing for the opera. He sings them with a feminine vocal, records them and puts them on the CD with her two songs. Then, he records a letter to her on the CD. A love letter. Paul McCartney writing a love letter to Renee Fleming. He tells her what he's doing, he's writing a rock opera, and he loves _Dark Hope_ , and he wants her to sing the opera. Tells her no else in the world can sing the songs, because he's writing them for her. Tells her he will sing them with her, live in performance, world premiere. He puts all this luvy duvy stuff on the CD, and we send it to her." He sat back and looked around the table. Shrugged his shoulders. "Like I said, it may work, and it may not."

Gwen was so happy he was her husband. She looked around the table, and didn't see a lot of reaction from the four Russians. After all, they hadn't grown up with the Beatles, and were not show business types. So it wasn't fair to expect a lot from them. She looked at Gale, who said, simply, "That'd work on me."

Gwen thought, "It'd work on me, too."

# Chapter 45 – The Junes Make Enemies

About the time Jinny was stuffing his face with omelets, potatoes, and onions, the NNs were heading to the Waffle House for their brunch. They were on the interstate, that being where the House was, and as they drove by the huge sign that said _SYAMF_ , they saw a crowd standing around the sign. This was unexpected, the clientele of that establishment not being known as morning persons. The NSSMIBC yelled, "Holy Shit, the place is a pile of ashes." So the big Dodge pulled off at the next exit and circled around the block to the parking lot. The four of them piled out and walked over to the group that was looking at the ashes.

The BMIBC asked, "What the hell happened?"

One of the owners was there, along with several of the guys who had been persuaded by Jinny to anoint the interior with gasoline and provide a spark of ignition. One of these guys turned at the question, and seeing who had asked it, suddenly became animated. He said, "The hell that happened was because of you guys." He looked at the owner of the place and said, "It was because of these guys. These guys from Idaho. The guy that done this was looking for them. Then he went crazy, waving guns around, shooting, we was all ducking bullets. He had an AK47 and three handguns. And it was cause of these guys."

The other guys who had been present were surprised at first at this description of the event, but they caught on quickly, and nodded their heads towards the owner, saying, "Yeah, lots of guns. Crazy man, crazy."

The owner turned towards the NNs and said, "Who's this guy, says he's a friend of yours? Why'd he do this? What do you have to do with this?" and he waved his arm at the pile of ashes, formerly his primary means of earning a living.

The NNs scrambled into denial mode, them sensing a disturbing trend in the conversation. "We don't know anyone around here. No friends from this hood. We just stopped in for a coupla beers, shot the shit for a while. That's it. We don't know anyone that did this. Who did this?"

One of the boys said, "Guy came in last night, asking for some guys from Idaho. Said he was a friend of yours, asking if we knew where you were. We covered your ass, said we didn't know you, and then he went crazy with the AK. We're lucky we're alive."

The BMIBC thought for a few seconds, looked at his two boys, and then swiveled his head to look at Richard, who once again became terrified and went into possum baby mode, inching over towards the NSSMIBC, ready to hop on his back, if he'd let him. The boss man said, "You know this guy? Know who did this?"

Just like the other guys had done, Richard went into denial mode. Heck no, he didn't know anyone who would do this. Didn't know anyone who owned an AK and three handguns, shoot up establishments and then burn them to the ground. He carried on for a while, under the influence of nervous energy. When he ran down, the BMIBC went over to the pile of ashes, picked up the charred remains of a pool cue, and stood in front of Richard. "I think you do know who did this. And you're going to tell me. Or you're going to eat this stick. Right here, right now." A couple of the other guys pointed fingers at Richard, weighing in as heavies.

Richard looked over at the NSSMIBC, hoping to see a ray of sympathy in his face, and an indication it would be ok for Richard to climb up on his back and bury his face in the guy's shirt collar. What he saw instead was the look of a jackal, an animal waiting for another animal to make the kill, which then would move in for the leftovers. Hope faded, and Richard resigned himself to squealing. He wasn't a tough guy. He was a writer, for god's sake, a wimp, in essence. He wasn't made to stand up to threats and intimidation; so he squealed. "Jinny," he said.

"What?"

"It was Jinny, probably."

"Jinny who?"

"Little Jinny."

"Little Jinny, who?"

"Little Jinny Blistov."

"Who's that? Why'd he do this?"

"He's a Junie."

"A what?"

"A Junie. A friend of the Junes."

The owner of _SYAMF_ , owner of what formerly was _SYAMF_ , said, "Who the fuck are the Junes?" First he looked at Richard, then he looked at the NNs.

The boss man said, "They're some people we have some business with here."

"What kind of business?"

The boss man was not intimidated. He looked the biker owner in the eye and said, "Personal, business."

"Well, now it looks like I got personal business with them, too."

After a few seconds of thinking, the boss man said, "I'll take care of this. I'll deal with the Junes."

Richard, forgetting his possum persona for a second, said, "You and whose army?"

# Chapter 46 – Going After Renee

Blissfully unaware of events and discussions transpiring up the interstate from idyllic Sullivan's Island, Paul, his daughter, and Anna sat in the studio and began writing the opera. Paul sat with the synthesizer on one side and his Rickenbacher on a stand on the other. Stella sat at the control panel of the recording equipment, and Anna sat at the Steinway. Paul said to Stella, "Play _Mad World_ again, will you, hon?" Stella loaded the CD, found the track, hit the play button, and Renee Fleming sang her mournful rendition of the _Tears for Fears_ song. Paul picked up the bass and played a simple line, tuning his mind to her singing and the key. Then he began singing along with her in his normal voice.

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I'm dyin, are the best I've ever had.

He played the bass line and sang with her in unison for the first stanzas, then magically shifted into singing with her in perfect harmony for the remainder. This was Anna's first exposure to musical genius; to recognition of pitch, timber, rhythm, and melodic line. Paul's accompaniment was perfect and effortless.

At the end of the song, he put the bass back on the stand and swiveled to the synthesizer, where he flipped a switch, turned a dial, and placed his hands on the keyboard. He looked over at Stella and nodding, telling her to record. Then he turned to Anna with a look of supporting confidence, telling her to play with him. And he began the song again, instrumentally. The tone he'd set on the synthe was similar to a cello, or rather three cellos playing together. He pushed a toggle pad, then a button, and a bass line started, similar to what he'd just played. The melody flowed through the cello lines, and when it was established, he looked again at Anna, who began a piano line counterpoint. After a dozen uncertain bars, her mind shut down and her intuition kicked in. She stopped thinking and starting feeling. Paul smiled at her, and went back to refining the settings on the synthe. First the bass line, then the tone of the cellos. They played through the song together twice, still just instruments, getting into the groove, adjusting their timing and rhythm as they sensed each other's playing. Stella checked the dials and confirmed the computer was recording through the mikes.

Paul closed his eyes and began to sing again, differently, which caused both Anna and Stella to look at him. He sang like Renee Fleming, sounding remarkably like her in phrasing and color. She is a full lyric soprano, commanding the entire range from soprano to contralto. On _Dark Hope_ she sings almost exclusively in the lower register, her tone rich and throaty, threatening an ensemble attack that never quite comes because her single voice is so powerful and resonant. It was because she sang in the lower register that Paul was able to mimic her so well; for that reason and because of his own formidably versatile vocal instrument. He made it through the lyrics once, and started again at the beginning. Anna looked at Stella and shook her head. Renee Fleming was in the room with them, and it was wonderful. Paul smiled again at Anna, encouraging her, telling her that her playing was ok.

Far down the concrete corridor Anna and Stella heard the boom of the huge iron doors opening, and then footsteps. Anna said, "I'm gonna ring his neck." Paul was oblivious to Jools entry into the studio. Jools started to say, "How is everyone, this beautiful morning," when Anna practically took his head off just with the look of daggers she sent his way. Embedded in the look was the unmistakable message, "Shut up, Jools, or die." He shut it, listened to Paul sing, and entered a state of mesmerization. Paul sang through the song twice, with Anna getting more comfortable on the piano. When he was done he asked Stella to play _Oxygen,_ and he and Anna played through that three times, him singing with his natural voice once and his Renee voice twice. He worked the synthe continuously, adding instruments, changing tones, modulating rhythms. Anna did her best to keep up. Paul refined the orchestrations to where he was playing mostly rhythms, leaving room for her to play lead melodies. She knew she had to keep it simple, and it began to work.

They stopped playing, and Paul smiled. "The girl is unbelievable. What a range. Her voice is so strong and rich and pure, it's like an entire chorus singing perfectly in unison. I've never heard such a great singer. We gotta get her."

Jools looked at Anna for permission to speak, which she granted. "I've never heard you sing like that on any of your records. That was great. You going to use that in the opera?"

"You bet I am. If we get her, it's going to be the greatest singing in the history of rock, her and me together."

"You mean Renee Fleming?"

He nodded.

"I got news about her. From the Junes. Want to hear it?" He was looking at Anna, knowing she was in command.

She said, "Make it quick. We're in a groove here, which you're disturbing."

"Roger and Gwen called. Said they had a plan to get Fleming to sing on the project. They asked if they could come here to tell us about it, but Scotilly said no. Said we were busy burying the heads out in the garden of some other people who tried to trick us. Told the Junes they had to tell us the plan over the phone."

"Cut the crap, Jools, and get on with it."

"Ok. Roger said what you should do is to do covers of two of her songs from _Dark Hope_ , as an homage. Record those onto a CD."

Anna and Stella looked at each other, understanding that is what they just had done.

"Then Roger says you should write your first two original songs for the opera, and record them on the same CD. He said maybe you could try to sing like her a little, to show her what it would sound like with her singing. Said you could sing one track on a song like her, and a second track, a harmony track, with your normal voice."

Paul nodded. Of course.

"The last thing you should do is record some luvy duvy stuff on the CD, like a letter, telling her how great she is, and how you want to sing and perform with her, and how this will be the greatest rock opera ever. Said you should lay it on thick, McCartney and Fleming together, the greatest singing duo in history. Stuff like that. Then we send the CD to her. Roger said it would work on both Gwen and Gale, so maybe it will work on her. Said Gale's a romantic pushover, but not Gwen."

Paul stood up and went to the piano, where he sat next to Anna. He composed a simple melody on the spot, and a stanza of new lyrics:

Lovely Renee, singing like a chorus,

Telling a story, of men and women together,

Another singer, flowing around her vocals,

Crying a melody, of men and women apart.

He looked at Anna, and then at Stella. "That works for me. How about you? Can we do that? Do you think it'll work?"

Anna said, "If that doesn't work, the woman has no soul. And from _Dark Hope_ , we know she's got soul. It'll work." She looked over at Stella.

"He's my dad, so the whole romance thing passes me by. But from what I understand, he, and his songs, have a certain effect on a large segment of the female population of the world. So, maybe it'll work. I'm not a good judge of that stuff when it comes to him."

Jools said, "I know. We should get Scotilly in here, let her hear the stuff, get her opinion."

Anna kept up her relentless ballbusting, never cutting Jools a break. "I thought she's supposed to be a Taliban trained terrorist head chopper. Yet you say we should listen to her opinion when it comes to the effect of romantic music on a certain woman, a great artist?"

Jools scrambled, said, "Well, she's a refined head chopper. And that's not her only skill. She has a soft side, when you get to know her." He paused, scrambling more. "And, after all, she's the one who's behind this whole opera thing. It was her idea, remember. She's a, a, a multifaceted person. A renaissance person. And what about that Japanese guy from a few years ago. He was a head chopper, but he wrote plays, poetry, and directed films, too. A renaissance guy"

Anna and Stella were too young to remember this person, but Paul knew of him. "Yukia Mishima. I remember that from a long time ago. It was a world-wide story, very dramatic and weird."

Jools said, "Yeah, that's the guy."

"You have it backwards, Jools. He wasn't a head chopper. He was a head choppee. He did a strange ritual thing. He was an artist, but also a political activist. He tried to stage a political coup that would restore the Japanese monarchy, the Emperor. When that failed, he had one of his boys chop off his head. Then that guy had another guy chop off his head. So, not exactly the same thing as Scotilly."

Jools said, "Oh."

Anna was glad she'd missed the Mishima thing. Stella said, "Ok, so we have a plan to get Renee. Let's get to work. Get the CD done and send it to her asap."

Anna asked, "Did Roger say anything else? Anything other than about getting Renee?"

"Well, yes, he mentioned one other thing in passing."

"What, Jools?"

"He said they're coming."

"And what do you take that to mean?"

"Not sure."

"Yes you are. You know what he meant."

# Chapter 47 – Gale Gets Got

The NNs, having accepted responsibility for exacting revenge on behalf of the owner and clientele of _SYAMF_ , were feeling the pressure. They'd left Richard tied to one of the folding army cots in the quonset hut, and piled into the Dodge pickup. As they headed down the interstate towards town, they passed by the hulk of _SYAMF_. The BMIBC wondered if he had acted wisely in telling the boys from there that he would take care of the Junes. But the die was cast, and he had to perform.

"What we gonna do, boss?" asked the NSSMIBC, still wearing the white sneakers.

"We're going to follow the plan I thought of the other day. Kidnap a second Junie, then offer the two-fer deal. Them for the Stirg bitch."

If the NSSMIBC had been just ever so slightly smarter, he would have remembered that the two-fer deal was his idea. But he wasn't, and he didn't, so the BMIBC got away with it.

"Who's gonna be the second person?"

"Whoever we can snatch outside their house. The place on Church Street."

The MSMIBC said, "Can it be a girl, boss? We got a guy, and that's no fun. We could have some fun if we snatch a girl."

"That's ok, but we get whoever we can get. If it's a girl, so much the better. I wouldn't mind a little fun, myself, but the goal is to get the Stirg girl, and then Stirg himself."

The truck wound through the historic district, down Church Street, past the June's house, and turned off down a side street, where it parked between a Jag and a BMW. After brunch the Junies sat around brainstorming how to find the four kidnapped friends and the two groups of kidnappers. Their hunter teams had gotten mixed up when Gwen sent Jinny up to _SYAMF_. Originally she had assigned Jinny and Roger to find Jools and Scotilly, and Constantine and Nev to find the NNs and Richard. She had to straighten that out now. She also thought she owed Stirg a courtesy call to tell him the status of things. After all, he was on the executive level of the operation, along with her and Roger. The others were worker bees, which is funny, considering that Constantine and his wife were billionaires, and had conducted business at the highest levels of Russian commercial corruption before deciding to retire to Charleston. But those things happen when you fall into orbit around the June's sun.

She called Stirg's house and invited them to come over to their place for coffee, which they did, their mansion being only a ten minute walk away. Gwen asked Jinny to tell them about his adventure to _SYAMF_ , but, displaying some false modesty, he said he was tired of the whole thing, so Guignard told the story, elaborating a little to make her man shine. When she was done Stirg looked at Nev and said, "Why didn't you think of that?"

They knew that Anna, Stella, and Paul were not in immediate danger, despite Scotilly's attempts to induce a state of terror in them with her screaming about heads rolling. After all, how many bone fide Taliban terrorists would hire an English butler as one of their storm troopers? So they focused on Richard and the NNs. However dramatic and, in a certain undeniable sense, satisfying Jinny's raid on _SYAMF_ had been, he hadn't accomplished his mission of finding out where the NNs were and where they were hiding Richard. Gwen decided to reformulate her troops, telling Constantine, Jinny, and Nev they now were the primary hunter team, and telling Roger he should work the Renee Fleming thing. The others would stick with her, doing what they could on preliminaries for the opera production, and waiting to receive material from the musicians. She told the hunters to report to her the next morning at 8am for instructions. Gale, being unattached at the moment and having no one to go home to and tell about Jinny's bonfire escapade, hung around, playing with the June's dog and waiting for cocktail hour to arrive.

Outside the house the NNs tried not to look conspicuous in their black clothes and tattoos, which wasn't easy given the type of high end and genteel neighborhood the Junes lived in. The BMIBC was sure some nosy neighbor was going to sic the cops on them any minute, but there wasn't any better way to watch the house. He told his boys to walk around the block while he watched, and then one of them stayed watching while the other two walked around the block, and so on, trying to make it seem like they weren't watching. At 3pm the four Junies and two Stirgers opened the front door, came down the steps, and headed down Church Street The BMIBC realized he couldn't attempt a kidnapping from that large group, and didn't know if they would split up or not, thereby providing a target. Should he follow them, or stay put? If he had known that one of the group was the guy who destroyed _SYAMF_ and made a fool out of the clientele, he would have followed them and waited for a chance to exact revenge. But he didn't know, and decided to stay at the June's house, hoping no one would send for the cops.

Inside the house Gale watched the kitchen clock tic around towards 5pm. At ten till, she asked Roger what they would be serving that evening, meaning as cocktails. He looked at Gwen, who said, "I'm worried about Richard. He's the one in danger. I need to think about that, so I have a game plan tomorrow morning to give to the hunters. I think I'll pass."

Roger felt more like Gale than Gwen, but he knew it wouldn't be good form for him to drink while his wife worked, so he looked at Gale apologetically, who said, "If I knew you two would be boring tonight, I'd have left with the others. Good luck." She kissed the dog goodbye and left through the front door. Cast adrift for the evening, she stood at the top of the nine fig vine covered brick steps, wondering how and where to placate her desire for a sidecar on the rocks. She felt retro tonight.

She certainly didn't look retro to the three nitwits hanging out down the block. She stood there on the landing, looking like something out of a TV commercial selling high end cosmetics, maybe a L'Oreal girl. She'd come to the June's house wearing three inch white pumps with green stitching, a satin emerald green skirt, and a silk burgundy blouse with white lapels and collar. Before descending the steps she undid another button on her blouse, hoping that might inform her as to the kind of place at which she would seek her now much desired sidecar. Then down the steps she came, each extension of a leg resulting in not only a full display of skin, but an athletic tensing and bulging of her very shapely calf and thigh muscles. The three nitwits were entranced, along with the judge two houses up the street who was placing his trash in the can for next morning's pickup.

The BMIBC was the first regain his senses, smacking one of his boys across the shoulders, saying, "Her. She's alone. She must be a friend of the Junes. Let's follow." She came down the street towards them, walking like a runway champ at the Milan international fashion show, wondering if she might talk Jinny and Guignard into going over to McCradys for a drink. The boss man, realizing how unusual they looked on the street, saw the trashcans at the house near them, and said, "Pretend we're trash men. Push these around." He took hold of one of the large brown plastic containers and started wheeling it up the street towards the June's house. The other two followed suit, which hardly looked less conspicuous, three guys all dressed in black, no trash truck in sight, wheeling their cans across the cobblestones like UPS men delivering large packages on dollies. Gale didn't notice them, not being in the habit of associating with trash men, and very intent to finding her sidecar on the rocks. None of the three guys were able to keep their gaze straight ahead as she passed by on the other sidewalk, them not being in the habit of associating with fashionistas of a high order, of the high order at which Gale existed, 24\7\365. They gawked. Gale has one very fine ass, whether walking barefoot on the beach in a bikini, or down a city street, magnified and enhanced as it was tonight by three inch pumps, white with green stitching.

The boys left the trashcans in the middle of the street and followed, leaving a trail of Idahoan drool in their wakes. The boss man told the NSSMIBC to get the truck, and find them. Two blocks down, Gale turned into Longitude Lane, a narrow alley that would take her towards McCradys and the first of several expertly made sidecars. The NNs followed, the BMIBC saying to her, "Excuse me ma'am, but we're from Boise, looking for some good shrimp and grits. Can you help us?"

Gale turned around, ready to answer, this being the two hundred and twentieth time she, like all longtime residents, had been asked this same question. And never in the three hundred year history of the city had any of them failed to answer it with the courtesy that Charlestonians are known for, far and wide. Still, with her standard answer ready on her tongue, she was given pause by the shear ugliness of the two guys in front of her. She blurted out, "My god, what's with all the tats?"

The MSMIBC said, "This here's our expressiveness showing itself, lady. The values of our brotherhood is ripely defined in each and every design. We is walking works of art, telling the world what we hold to be true and precious with each graceful movement of our arms and our legs. Fer instance, this one here on the side of my neck means...."

The boss man thwapped him in the chest with the back of his hand, saying, "We ain't here for a lesson in tat cosmology. We're here for a kidnapping," now looking at Gale. "You mind coming with us, quiet like? We got a use for you back at our place."

Gale didn't understand right off the bat. Truth be told, she was fascinated by the image of a pair of dark blue hands encircling the MSMIBC neck, the tat the meaning of which he had started to explain to her. She tore her gaze away from it and looked at his friend who had mentioned the word _kidnap_.

"Come again," she said.

"Would you mind coming with us, quietly. We, ah, require your presence." He said this while staring down at her white pumps. He'd never seen any feet that sexy before.

"You want to kidnap me? Here? What for? Oh, you're not kidding. You kidnapped Richard? You those idiots? You the ones Jinny's after, and now the others?" She paused. "You got the Junes after you, and now you want to kidnap me? Are you crazy? Where's the place that would grow anyone so stupid? Where you from, boy?" She looked at the other guy, "Where you from, you little nitwit?"

They took their eyes off Gale's legs and looked at each other, then back at her. "Boy? Nitwit? Little nitwit?" The BMIBC stepped behind her and covered her mouth with a big hand that had the word _Gramps_ tattooed across the back. He motioned to the MSMIBC to grab her legs, which he did gladly, and they carried her back down Longitude Lane to where, miraculously, the Dodge pickup showed up right on time. They threw her into the cab and piled in after her, the one guy weak from the religious experience he'd had when one of his hands accidently slipped high up Gale's thigh. He sure hoped that was a prelude of things to come. With a squeal of knobby tires the pickup headed back to the haven of the quonset hut. After negotiating his way out of the historic district and onto the interstate, the NSSMIBC said, "Well what we got here?"

Gale looked at him and said, "What you got here, moron, is a load of trouble greater than anything that tiny little pea brain of yours ever has imagined.

# Chapter 48 – Hey Renn

The next morning Paul spent an hour creating the instrumentals for the two songs off of _Dark Hope_. He kept the drums simple, and then matched them with a bass line he worked out on the Rickenbacher and transferred to the synthe. The rhythm section was similar to that on _Dark Hope_ , but of course the bass line was better, with him playing it. He played this for Anna over and over, getting her to where the rhythmic groove was subconscious, and she could concentrate on forming a melody line that matched it. He played some riffs on the Steinway, giving her some melodic ideas, and then went back to the synthe. He refined the sound of the multiple cellos, and then added a clarinet to give things a hint of wind. Stella worked the sound board until she had the mix where her father wanted it.

It took them two hours to lay down _Mad World_ , and another hour and a half to cover _In Your Eyes_. Stella had convinced her father that his cover of that song would be more effective at convincing Renee to join the project than _Oxygen_. When these were safely on the CD they took a lunch break. As they were eating soup and crackers in the kitchen, Paul talked about the first two original songs of the opera. "The first song on an album always is tricky. You have to capture the attention of the listener in a big way, same as the first chapter in a good book. But, it can't be the best song, because then there's no place to go but down. It's like a connoisseur serving wine at a gourmet dinner with multiple courses; he or she never serves the best wine first, but saves it for last The first song has to hook the listener, and for something like this opera, has to hint at the main concept that will continue through all the songs. But it can't be heavy. Now the second song, that's the crucial one for the concept. That's the place where I lay down the idea that the opera is about the relationships between mature men and women. That's where we tell them what we're going to tell them through all the songs. Then we tell them through the series of songs, and then at the end, we tell them what we've told them. The big recapitulation. Ok?"

Anna said, "You're the boss, but it sounds good. What about the first and second songs? Are those the ones we're going to do first, and send to Renee?"

"I don't have to write the whole story linearly, with the action in sequence; I can write the parts of the story as they come to me. But I do have to write those two songs first, because they lay out the rest of the story. So yes, those will be the ones we send to her. You guys up for more work this afternoon? We did good this morning, getting down the _Dark Hope_ covers."

Stella said, "I was hoping to get my hair done today, then go for a manicure, but seeing how I'm locked in a windowless, musty, concrete bunker with walls five feet thick, I guess we might as well get on with it."

Anna said, "The sooner we get those songs done, the sooner we get the CD to Renee, and the sooner we know if she's in or out."

"The songs gonna get her, Dad? Gonna be that good?"

He took his bowl to the sink and washed it out, then loaded the expresso machine with the crappy coffee Jools had bought for them. When he turned around from the counter he said, "I've been waiting forty years to write a song as good as _Hey Jude_. Today's the day it's going to happen. By dinnertime we're going to have _Hey Renn_ in the can. Guaranteed. You ready?"

Anna thought, "Holy shit."

# Chapter 49 – Gale Tames the Boys

During the drive up the interstate to the quonset hut the NSSMIBC kept wishing the Dodge had a manual transmission, so he could keep upshifting and then downshifting the knob between Gale's knees. Because there she was in the cab, squashed between him and the MSMIBC, with the BMIBC on the outside. Twice the BMIBC had to tell the NSSMIBC to keep his eyes on the fucking road, because his eyes were on Gale's legs, just like the eyes of a cruising hawk are on that poor mouse down in the grass that's trying to run home to his nest and family of little ones. She felt six beady eyes on her thighs, which was nothing new for her.

When Gale walked down King Street swinging it, the only eyes not on her, male and female, were those of the blind guy panhandling outside the broad ornamental doors of the Charleston Place Hotel. Halfway down the block from the hotel Gale inevitably would reach into her purse, pull a C note, and fold it into her hand. The blind guy didn't know much about her ass and legs, but he knew her _OPIUM_ perfume, which he sensed fifty yards away, and which resulted in a big smile on his face. Another hundred in the can. "Hey there, Ms. Gale. How it swinging today? Things alright?"

"I'm forty, Jonny, and it's starting to sag, but not too bad yet. The boys are still looking." She didn't feel weird about saying that to Jonny, who she'd been supporting for years. He had a great sense of humor, as well as smell. "You think it's time for me to switch perfume? I've been doing the _OPIUM_ thing for six months now. I love it, but don't want to get too predictable. Except for you, of course."

"You switch whenever you want to, honey. I figure out when it's you coming down the street, don't you worry."

Gale couldn't exactly say things were all right now, this being the first time she'd been kidnapped. Well, that's not quite right. This was the first time she'd been kidnapped by neo-nazis; but there was the time a few years back when she'd been quasi kidnapped by a wealthy Italian Ferrari dealership owner. He'd practically run her over one night, tooling his yellow F12 Berlinetta down King at about twice the speed limit. She'd been carrying a big umbrella with a heavy, hand carved wooden knob handle, folded up, and as she barely sashayed her ass out of the way of the right side front fender, she'd rained down a blow with the umbrella on the center of the Ferrari hood, putting a dent in it the size of a cantaloupe. The guy had squealed to a stop, climbed out of the gull wing door that was hinged at the top, looked at the dent in the hood, looked at Gale, forgot about the dent, and, after five minutes of doing the Italian thing on her, persuaded her to get into the car. She then had spent the next two days shacked up with him on his yacht moored at the marina. When cabin fever set in, and without asking her, he had unmoored and set a course for the twenty hour ride to Bermuda. In her mind this constituted kidnapping, which caused her to withhold her provision of sexual favors for eight whole hours. That taught him. However, when they entered Hamilton Harbor and tied up at the dock of the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club, her resolve weakened, as did her perception that she was the victim of a sordid, wicked, and immoral kidnapping. It other words, she issued an unconditional forgiveness.

But this thing that was happening now, turning off the interstate and heading down a back road into the pine scrub, still with the six eyes on her thighs, this was the real kidnapping deal. She remembered how she'd handled the Italian guy, so she figured she could handle these nitwits. She hoped she could, anyway. Fifteen minutes later the pickup turned into the bare dirt yard and stopped in front of the quonset hut. First kidnapping, the Royal Yacht Club; second kidnapping, the squalid compound of a bunch of moronic yahoos. Things had evened out.

They dragged her inside, panting like a pack of hounds. The first thing she saw was the corroding block of a Ford V8 engine that had been sitting in the same spot for twenty years. The second thing she saw, against the far wall, was Richard tied to the folding army cot. She shook them off and went over to him. "You ok?" He nodded. She looked back at the boys and said, "Untie him. Then we'll talk."

The NSSMIBC started jumping up and down, practically screaming, "We ain't gonna be talking, bitch, we ain't gonna be talking. We gonna be playing, yeah, playing games, all day long." And he kept jumping around like a kid at a piñata party.

The BMIBC regained his sense of leadership, if not propriety, and smacked him in the back of the head. "Stand down, fer christ sake. We got her, now we gotta think things through, right? Figure out how to get what we really want."

"What we really want? I KNOW what I really want, and it's right there. Right up that hot little dress of hers. I don't need do any thinkin about nothing."

The boss man looked at the MSMIBC and said, "Sit on him if you have to." He walked over to the cot, took out his buck knife, and cut the ropes that held Richard down. Then he went to the refrigerator and got out three beers. He hoped a beer might cool down his bro who was ready to go off in his pants. By the time the beers were gone, a semblance of equilibrium had established itself. Richard was stretching and standing up. The NSSMIBC had stopped hopping up and down. The other three sat in plastic chairs around the plastic table. There was no way for Gale to cover up those legs that would make Sharon Stone cry, so she didn't try. She was totally calm, realizing what could happen, but setting her mind to work on ways to handle these guys to avoid the worst. She took the initiative, saying, "You goons didn't grab me just for fun and games. You grabbed me for the same reason you grabbed him," nodding at Richard. "What is it? What do you want? You mess with me, you may not get it."

"Goons. She call us goons," the BMIBC said. "I like that. She hardly have any clothes on to start with, and she calls us names." Looking at his boys he said, "She wants to know what we want. Should we tell her? Or just start eating?"

Richard said, "Leave her alone. Jinny and the Junes know you did anything to her, they're going to do more than start a little building fire. Start your asses on fire maybe, after they shoot you."

The NNs looked from Richard to Gale, not quite knowing how to proceed. Both of the Junies were talking big, and they had seen Jinny's handiwork, with Richard now evoking his name. On the other hand, there were those thighs, right there, for the taking. Not in their wildest dreams had any of them expected the reality of this temptation. Richard tried the same tact Gale had tried. He repeated her statements, "You didn't grab either of us for fun and games. You had a reason. What is it? Is it important enough to risk throwing it away. Jinny will track you to your holes in Idaho if you mess with her."

The boss man wasn't scared by what Gale and Richard had said, but it did give him pause. Just how much trouble did he want to take back to Idaho with him. He was committed to exacting revenge on Stirg, the man who had ordered the assassination of his grandfather. And if that meant doing Anna along with her grandfather, then so be it. But Stirg had the Israeli commando bodyguard, who might be a problem, and this Jinny guy had demonstrated a penchant for violence, and then there were these June people. Did he need all that hassle? He went and got three more beers, and passed them around. Looking first at Gale and then at his boys, he said, "Sure is tempting, ain't it? And it's been awhile for all of us, too." He paused, during which time the NSSMIBC and the MSMIBC both got the vibe they really didn't want to feel, which was no fun and games with this slick looking bitch. In unison they drained their second beers and crushed the cans. The boss man continued, "But sometimes you got to sacrifice for the mission." He thought, but didn't say in front of the boys, not wanting to do anything that could be interpreted as weakness, "And sometimes you got to be smart and not stir up any more hornets nests than necessary." He said, "We got our mission here, and we got to stick with it, and not get sidetracked by no nooky. We snatched both these foo foos, and we now we trade 'em for the Stirg bitch. That was the plan. That's what we got to stick with. Sorry boys. When we get back to the 'Ho, we get ourselves some real 'hoes, all we want. I promise." He stood up to reinforce his decision. "Who's got the geek's phone. We need to call that Jewls guy, tell him what we want."

# Chapter 50 – The CD Flies to Renee

Back in the bunker after lunch Paul took over the piano. He said, "Give me an hour or so alone, and I can do this. I'm going to use the _Hey Renn_ tune as the second song, the really important one that spells out the main concept of the opera. Sometimes I write the music first, and sometimes the lyrics. For this it's going to be music first. When I have the melody down, you two can come back in, and we'll record it. Then we'll add a track or two to the piano track, maybe a bass line, maybe a strings section in the background. The primary instrument on the song is going to be piano, not guitar, and not synthe. Then maybe you can work through another piano part, while I do the lyrics," he said, looking at Anna. "After I get the words, we put it all together. It may be rough, but it will get the message across to Renee. It will tell her I love her and want her to sing all the songs, and it will tell her what the concept of the opera is. I hope she likes that. Ok?"

"You love her, Dad?"

"I do. I really think I do. Anyone who sings like her, and looks like her, what's not to love. Music, woman, song, singing, long hair, beauty, soul. Aren't those things to love?"

"I'm pretty sure she's married."

"I'll face that challenge when it presents itself. Right now we got to get to work."

Anna and Stella left the studio and went into the living room, where Stella picked up a _Vogue_ and Anna stared into space, wondering how she was going to help Paul McCartney play his greatest song since _Hey Jude_. Stella closed the magazine to look at the cover, which showed a date of six months earlier. She said, "That little rat, Jools. This is the best he comes up with, a six month old copy. When he comes in again, will you beat him up for me?" She looked at Anna, who was sitting rigid, except for her fingers, which were twitching. Stella sensed an increased heart rate, and said, "Hey, what's the matter?"

"What's the matter? Your father wants me to play a piano part on _Hey Renn_ , which is the most important song in the opera, and I've never even heard the song, and he says it's going to be a great song, and he's Paul McCartney, and...."

"Easy girl. He not a manipulator. If he says you can do it, it's because he knows you can do it, and that's what he said. He has confidence in you, and so do I. You can play. And don't worry, it's his song, he'll do the heavy lifting. What you have to do is to stop thinking and start feeling. That's what it's all about, and that's what he wants from you in your playing. Let it rip from the start, because it's ok to make mistakes. That's the way recording goes. You make a mistake, you do it again. Ok?"

"Ok. Do we have any wine open?"

"No wine now, girl. Wine tonight, when we're listening to the finished demo of _Hey Renn_. We might even invite Scotilly and Jools."

"Just one glass?"

Stella shook her head, and in part to distract Anna, took up bashing Jools again for providing old fashion magazines. She said, "Doesn't he know that the stuff in here is out of fashion by now?"

In the studio Paul played riffs and short snatches of melodies on the piano, then swiveled on the bench and picked up the Rickenbacher and riffed some rhythm lines, then picked up drumsticks and dinged around on a high hat for ten minutes, and then returned to the piano. He began to sing, not words, just sounds, either doubling down on the melody or created a harmony with it. The meaning of the song began to take shape in his mind at the same time that the melody and rhythm took shape. The ideas out of which the lyrics would form were simple but profound: "Renn, my love, we've been together so long, such caring and devotion, and it comes from us having so many common interests outside ourselves, such a rich palette from which to make our lives together. We just enjoy being together and doing these things, some intellectual, some that generate good feelings, some just fun and light. Almost every day we do active things together, and we've been doing the same things together for years and years. That's the key to our long love and relationship, we're compatible on the outside. We do stuff together, all the time, and it never gets old for us."

These were the ideas that roamed Paul's head for the next hour, stimulating the music and stimulating the words that fit with the music. Him and Renee, together for so many years, subject to slings and arrows like everyone, but maintaining a pattern of shared events and activities that allowed them to sit above most pain and discouragement. And as he said it would, the music and the words came together after a while, and the song was written.

When they heard noise in the kitchen, Anna and Stella went in, where they found Paul making another cup of crappy coffee. He said, "Anna, next time Jools comes in, will you beat him up for me so he gets us some decent coffee? Please?"

Stella said, "She has to beat him up for me first so he gets some new magazines. Then she can beat him up for you. How's the song?"

"Done."

"Is it as good as you wanted? Does it say what you wanted it to say?"

"I think it's very nice, the melody. And yes, when I get all the lyrics right, it will tell the basic story of the opera, of the rest of the songs."

Anna hesitated, but remembering Stella telling her to let it rip, she asked, "Is it better than _Hey Jude_?"

He took the first sip of the bad coffee, thought for a few seconds, and said, "Oh yes. Quite."

# Chapter 51 – The News About Gale

The next morning Jools had no idea Anna was going to beat him up on two accounts the minute he entered the bunker, so he was feeling chipper as he hand-washed Scotilly's lingerie in the washroom sink. He'd just finished hanging the last pair of silk panties on the line when Anna's cell phone rang. "Jools here, how may I help you?" It was Anna's cell phone, but by now he had appropriated it as his own, and answered it as he did their household phone.

"That you, Jew...els? You know who this is, don't you?"

This racism was a first for Jools, and he had to gather himself. "This is Jools, yes, and I believe I've had the pleas....I believe we've exchanged words. How is Richard?" Jools recognized the voice, and cell phone caller ID showed Richard's number.

"Before we get down to business, Jewls, I got to know if you's a Jew boy, cause that's what your name sounds like. What kind a name is Jewls?"

"I told you before, sir, my surname is Smythe-Woolmington, III, and I am Church of England. I am not of Semitic ancestry. Jools is a favored Christian name of the Smythe-Woolmingtons going back to Charlemagne. Would you care for me to spell my name for you, sir, to avoid further digressions from the important business at hand?"

This genealogical foray was enough to kill the BMIBC's interest, so he said, "Drop it, Jewls, ok? We got news for you, and you can pass it on to all your crowd. We have another visitor here at our camp; someone to keep the Richard guy company. Not that kind of company; we're doing that, aren't we boys?" He motioned to the others to whoop it up, which they did, but only half-heartedly, them wishing they actually were keeping that kind of carnal company with Gale. "Her name is Gale, and they twos is together, like brother and sister. Anyway, here's our demands. We want the Stirg bitch. The one we met on King Street the night you snatched the Beatle guy. We get her, you get these two back. We don't get her, we start having all kinds a fun with the girl we got here. All three of us. Ok? Got it?"

Jools said, "Hold the line, please, I must get my master." He ran into the kitchen where Scotilly was finishing her scone with marmalade. "It's the kidnappers. The other ones. They've kidnapped someone named Gale, and have her with Richard. They say they want Anna in exchange for them."

Scotilly looked pained, and said, "Can't even have a decent breakfast anymore. We don't have enough trouble, with those ones down in the bunker, and the Junes calling and threatening us. Now we have out of town kidnappers calling us at this ungodly hour, ten in the morning. Can't you handle it? I'm in no mood to play a violent Taliban person. Seems unreasonable, this early."

Jools knew it was his duty to respond to Scotilly's needs, but didn't this constitute an executive decision? He had very limited experience in dealing with kidnappers; none in fact, this being his first foray into this occupational line. He pushed the speaker button on the phone and said, "Would you be so kind as to repeat your demand again, sir?"

"You heard me. The Stirg bitch for these two. And it's gotta happen soon. We kinda getting tired of using her already, if you know what I mean. She got nice legs, but a little skinny for our taste. We like them lumberjack girls where we from. We grow 'em big and thick up in the 'Ho."

"Very well, sir. We understand the demand. We will discuss it and call you back as soon as possible. Good day to you." And he hung up.

"Jesus Christ," said Scotilly. "Who knew all this would happen from our little plan. All we wanted was one kidnapping victim, Paul McCartney, and now there are five. How things snowball. I guess we need to consult with the June people. Maybe they know how to handle this. Last time we talked they exhibited a certain savoir faire. Call them, please."

Jools was thankful he was off the line for dealing with the demand, and dialed Gwen's number. Under the circumstances, he wasn't going to play games by calling her Gwenny. When she answered he said, "Good morning, Ms. June. Jools here, with Scotilly. How are you this fine morning?"

Gwen's intuition was of the highest order, and she sensed trouble in Jools voice. She hit the speaker button so Roger could hear. "We're good. What's the problem?"

"Problem? Who said there's a problem?" He looked at the phone like he was looking at Gwen's face. How did she know?

"Cut the crap, Jools. What's up?"

"Well, there is a new development in our project, though it comes from outside our core group, and therefore cannot in any way be directly attributable to Scotilly or myself."

"Jools."

"The gentlemen who kidnapped Richard have acquired another person of your acquaintance using the same method of procurement and association."

"Where'd you learn to talk like that, Jools?"

"My father, Gwenny, Ms. June, and himself from his father before him, ad infinitum, going back to Charlemagne, as I understand it."

"You got any kids you're going to burden with all that elocution, Jools?"

"Ms. June, if we may return to the plight of your associate, Gale, by name and perhaps by personality."

Roger understood. Gale had been snatched, and here was his wife trying to ding the butler just for doing his job. He said, "How do you know about this? Do you know what they want? Did they make a demand?"

"They did, sir. They have Richard's phone, if you'll remember, and they used it to call Anna's phone, and they told us they have her with Richard, and they implied a certain kind of activity in progress with her, and they told us they want to swap her and Richard for the person they referred to as the Stirg bitch, meaning Anna, I presume."

Gwen said, "What did they mean by a certain kind of activity in progress?"

"Uh, at one point they implied that such activity was in progress now, but at another point they said such activity would commence if their demand was not met soon. I cannot say for certain which is accurate."

"What do you think they meant by that?"

"I think they meant, Ms. June, and not to put too fine a point on it, that they were, or soon would start, participating in intimate relations with Ms. Gale, and you will pardon both my forwardness of description and my usage of the lady's Christian name, but that is the only moniker by which I know her."

Gwen looked at Roger and mouthed the word _moniker_ , then said, "Ok, we get the point, and you're excused for your forwardness, given the circumstances. Anything else you can tell us?"

"Not about the kidnappers, I'm afraid. They know we have Anna, and they want a response to their demand very soon. I told them we had to consult on the matter, and we would get back to them. What should we do?"

"First, Jools, you and your master should feel guilty as sin for starting all this shit by snatching Paul and Anna and Stella. Now you have two more on your conscience, and we hope that weighs heavily on you. If those goons mess with Gale or Richard any more than they have, we hold you responsible. Get it?"

"But, but, all we wanted was the Beatle, Mr. McCartney, and it was in the interest of art and culture that we wanted him. Oh, and a little cash, of course. But, but...."

"Can it. Your ass is on the line now, more than ever. Don't do anything until you hear back from us. How's the music coming?"

"I was about to go down to the bunker and check when the phone call came. I will do that now, and get back to you when I can. Ta, Gwenny."

Gwen hung up, looked at Roger, and said, "Ta, my ass. Now what? A bunch of neo-nazi morons have Gale, and you know what they're going to want. They've probably never seen anything like her in their smarmy little lives. When and how do you think they snatched her?"

Roger looked thoughtful, and said, "She left here last night just after 5pm when we told her we weren't serving cocktails. It's now going on 11am. So they got her last night or early this morning. I'd bet last night, maybe after she left here. Remember, one of them was here a few days ago, hanging around down the street, and his friends were hanging around over at Stirg's. They saw Stirg leave here, so they know we're associated. Maybe they thought if they kidnapped someone we knew, they could get to Stirg through us."

"God almighty, what a mess. What was Gale wearing when she left here?"

"Emerald green skirt, burgundy blouse, white pumps."

"It was a short skirt, wasn't it?"

"It was short like the one Sharon Stone was wearing when the paparazzi snapped the world famous shot of her getting out of the limo. Remember that?"

"You remember stuff like that in vivid detail, don't you, dear." Roger didn't answer that one. "You think that skirt might have some effect on these guys?" He didn't answer that one either, thinking though, that it would unless all of them were eunuchs of the third and highest order, the kind that take care of the King of Saudi Arabia's harem. "We better do something. It was us that got Gale into this."

"Shall I call the team?"

"Call them. And tell them to come packing."

# Chapter 52 – Gale and the Boys

After an uncomfortable though chaste night sleeping on an army cot next to the Ford engine block sitting on the floor in the middle of the quonset hut, Gale was holding her own against the pack of hounds, from which Richard was excluded, not due to lack of libido, the stimulation of which he experienced along with the NNs (any male not eunuchized would be included in this demographic group), but simply out of fondness and respect for Gale as a friend and fellow Junie. The evening before, after eating mac and cheese out of a can along with her captors, she had challenged them to a game of strip poker. She figured she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. If she lost, she really wasn't much worse off than she was, considering the panting of the pack. If she won, and she had reason to think she could prevail, she might avoid the worst case scenario.

By the time the gourmet mac and cheese and white bread with peanut butter on it was consumed, the nitwits all had put away a six pack each. One of the mysteries of mankind, never adequately explained by science, is why some people get energized by alcohol, and some get depressed. Gale had watched the effects of the beer on the guys, and saw that all three of them calmed further down with every beer they drank. Some people get wild and crazy, and others settle into an amiable or boring torpor. Based on this observation Gale proposed the game of cards. That, and the fact that her father had cleaned out just about every high stakes poker game played in the City of Charleston for a period of twenty years, and had schooled her in the game when she was young and impressionable. Gale had, in fact, played for stakes on a par with those on the table this night. The commodities weren't of the same kind, it is true, but a loss then would have been commensurate with a loss now.

Anyway, after she had emptied her plastic bowl a third time of the main course, and had thrown the bowl over into a corner of the hut, she slipped off her pumps and put her feet, and by definition her legs, which also by definition includes her thighs, up on the table. No centerpiece at a White House state dinner or shindig at Buckingham Palace ever has been more admired than her legs on that table at that point in the evening's festivities. Richard, who had not had anything to drink, felt his own libido creep into the red zone. He closed his eyes and thought, "I love Anna. I love Anna," who herself was no slouch in the legs department.

Gale said, "I got a deal for you bozos, now that that lovely dinner is over. How about a little game of poker? You morons from Idaho ever heard of poker?"

The BMIBC corralled his brain power and tried to remember how many different derogatory names this woman had called him in the short time of their acquaintance: nitwit, moron, bozo, idiot. How was she doing that and getting away with it? He was confused, but said, "We play poker good. What you got in mind?" The other two also showed interest.

"What I got in mind is strip poker. Us. I get one of you down to necked, all of you do what I say. Any of you get me that way, I do what all three of you say." And she wriggled her toes while looking each one in the eye.

The MSMIBC said, "What we need to play a game to get that for? They's three of us guys, and one of you?"

"Any of you ever tried to thread a moving needle? Without the game, that's what you face. You win the game, the needle stops moving."

The NSSMIBC said, "Huh?" The meaning of Gale's riddle dawned on the other two slowly, and Richard was awestruck. What was she doing? She looked utterly confident, even winking first and then smiling at him. Was she serious about the poker and the stakes, or was she executing some other plan, even more daring and devious? If it was Gwen who was here, playing this game, he wouldn't be surprised. That's her all over. But now he was finding deep waters in this fashionista. At least he hoped they were deep. What till he told Jinny about this little episode.

When the BMIBC, employing a double entendre which Richard couldn't tell was intentional or lucky, said, "Deal," and that's exactly what she did. Richard played, but only perfunctorily. He watched Gale play not only the cards, but the guys, in ways that would have made her father proud. It took her exactly eleven hands and thirty-eight minutes to peel the NSSMIBC down to his dirty jockeys. When he lost his next hand, the MSMIBC threw his cards at him, screamed, "You idiot," and walked outside. Through the fog of beer the BMIBC dimly created the awareness that he had been played, and not only at the card game. He said, "Fuck it," handcuffed Richard and Gale to their cots, and collapsed onto his own. The next morning he uncuffed them, shook his finger at Gale, told the MSMIBC to watch them, and went outside to think about Anna and her grandfather.

When they were somewhat alone Richard said, "Slick. You took a risk, and it paid off. You were good."

Gale looked at the guy sitting at the far end of the quonset hut, and then at the front door. She said, "I poked the tiger in the eye. That backed him off for a while, but it doesn't mean he's blind."

He smiled at her and said, "When I write my next screenplay for Spielberg, can I use that line?"

# Chapter 53 – The Second Song

When Jools hung up the phone he turned to Scotilly and said, "Should I go tell Anna about Gale, and what they want?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. We don't want to disrupt the artists."

"But don't we owe it to her to tell her the nitwits want her; that they're after her?"

"Normally, I guess we should. But this isn't normal. This is Paul McCartney writing the greatest rock opera ever. So, we have to make sacrifices on the altar of art."

"The what?"

"The alter of art. You heard me. That's what we got going on down there. They are working down there, right?"

"I think so. Let me go check."

"Ok, but don't tell them about Gale. Yet."

Stella had spent the morning doing one last mix of _Hey Renn_ , while Anna and Paul had started on the second song, which was to be the first song of the opera. This time Paul had written out a draft of the lyrics first, which told the story of his alter ego and Renn meeting for the first time. In the story he owned a couple of acres in Napa Valley, and made an expensive but very good cabernet sauvignon. She was a landscape architect writing a book about the history and culture of the valley, which started with Italian and Portuguese immigrants in the 1850s. The man found the woman in his public tasting room one afternoon, sipping the new vintage of his wine, and looking at a 1921 map of the valley that she had brought with her that showed his property. He'd never seen this map, or the photos of the vineyards taken in the same year. She liked his wine, and he liked her blond hair. At dinner that evening on his patio he served her a twenty-two year old bottle of his wine, and that sealed the deal. They found they both liked to cook, and go hiking out at Point Reyes National Seashore, and watching the dancers of the San Francisco Ballet Company, and working in the vineyard, except during harvest time when they had to work sixteen hour days for three weeks, and reading crime novels written by Rex Stout, and watching the documentaries of Ken Burns, especially _Jazz_ , and visiting the burgundy region of France, where they each gained ten pounds from eating the great food and drinking the pinot noir, and looking at golden objects in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, and looking at Chartres Cathedral, which kept their standards of artistic achievement at a high level.

Paul abstracted all these activities into a set of symbols, and wrote the symbols into the simple lyrics of the first song in the opera, which told the listener what the opera was about. It was about a man and a woman who loved doing the same things together again and again, over a period of many years, and how this resulted in a long-term love. When he had eleven stanzas of lyrics written on a yellow legal pad, he said to Anna and Stella, "Let's have lunch. After that we can make up the music." They went into the kitchen, where Stella made a giant salad in a large wooden bowl, and served it with a baguette and unsalted butter. Halfway through the meal Paul got up and went down the corridor to studio, from which the girls heard a jazzy melody issue from the Steinway. Four minutes later Paul sat back down at the table and buttered the end piece of the baguette, his favorite. When he finished chewing he said, "I got the melody down. We're good. I really want Renee to hear the song. And the other song. Maybe we can get this one down and onto the CD before dinner, and get Jools to take it to the Junes to send to her."

Anna didn't remind him that Jools was their captor, and not likely to literally take the CD to the Junes, who without a doubt were trying to find and rescue them, and would like to break Jools on the rack. She didn't want to disturb the McCartney state of creativity with minor details like that. She just nodded, hardly able to wait to get back to the studio and hear what the song would sound like. Again she was afraid of the challenge, and again Stella looked at her with confidence. As they walked down the corridor Stella said, "Stop thinking. Just feel. That's all you have to do."

The afternoon was similar to the previous afternoon, very businesslike, with Paul switching instruments at will, moving from the synthe to the piano to the bass to the drums, talking to Anna and Stella now and then, telling them what to do and play, all in a soft and encouraging voice. Mostly he played the synthe with settings that made it sound like a Lowrey organ being played by Garth Hudson of _The Band_ , on the _Stage Fright_ album. He had Anna play a harmony line on the piano, while he pounded the beat with his foot on the floor. Over three hours he stretched the melody out to fit the lyrics, set down bass and drums tracks on the synthe, coached Stella in making the settings on the mixing board the way he wanted to hear the overall sound, and began creating the vocal phrasings that expressed the content of the lyrics. At 4pm they took a half hour break for expresso, and then were back at it until 7pm, which was when Stella recorded the third version onto the CD that held the first song.

At 11am that morning Jools had unlocked the iron doors of the bunker and walked down the cold corridor, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, being now associated, however remotely, with a fourth kidnapping. He also worried about not being able to tell Anna that a bunch of NNs wanted her ass so badly they separately had kidnapped two Junies, and thus set up a reckoning with Gwen, Roger, Jinny, and the others. He poked his head into the living room first, which was empty, then the kitchen, and finally into the studio. When Anna saw him, having been requested by both Stella and Paul to beat him up, she whirled on the piano bench, picked a handful of drum sticks off the kit, and threw them at him like a knife-thrower in a circus act. _Thwap, blip, thwap_ , the barrage hit him in chest, stomach and face. She screamed louder that Scotilly did when playing the Taliban crazy, "Out, you worm, out, or I'll tie your little pinhead inside the bass drum, and wail on the pedal until you're stone deaf. Out!"

This outburst interrupted both Stella and Paul, who looked at her after Jools retreated out of the bunker in terror. She said, "You asked me to beat him up. What's the matter?" For his part, back in the safety of the big house, Jools sought succor in rewashing Scotilly's lingerie he had washed earlier that morning. There was something comforting about handling the soft silk in the soapy warm water.

At 4pm he screwed up his courage, put his ear just inside the bunker doors, and heard music from far down the corridor. At 7:30pm he tried again, and this time heard voices from much closer, from the living room, and no music. With a high level of trepidation he crept down the corridor and peeked into the doorway. The artists were relaxing, each with a flute of champagne in their hand, which he took to be a good sign. Stella said, "C'mon in, braveheart. Anna won't bite you now."

He inched around the frame of the doorway, watching for an indication that Anna was going to throw her flute at his head. Instead, she smiled and said, "You have work to do, Jools. We have the CD done and ready to send to Renee. You need to get it to the Junes, tonight."

"You mean you have songs done? Already? Songs to send to her to get her to come here and do the opera?"

"That's it. Two songs, and a message from Paul, asking to perform in the opera. Which is what he wants, which means it's what you want. So, there it is, get going," and she pointed at the coffee table.

Jools crept forward like a hyena trying to steal a bone from a carcass under the eye of a lion. When he had the CD in his hand, he backed away, bowed a butler's bow at the doorway, and got his ass out of there. Back in the house he showed Scotilly what he had. She took it and put the CD into a player, and they listened to the songs and the personal message. At the end Scotilly said, "If that doesn't convince that woman to come down here for this gig, she is on the far side of dead and gone. Call the June people, tell them what we have, and get their address. Don't give them ours. Tell them we will have someone deliver it to them tonight. Call a messenger service, tell them we want something delivered, meet the person across the bridge at the supermarket parking lot, and give it to him there, along with their address."

# Chapter 54 – Clues to the Bunker

Little Jinny Blistov opened the front door of the June's house at 9:30pm. Subconsciously the messenger noticed Jinny's arm behind his back, but it didn't register that the reason was Jinny had a gun in his hand. A half hour earlier Gwen had listened to Jools tell her he was sending her the CD by messenger, so she had had time to form a plan, which Jinny now was implementing. He said, "Come in, I'll get you a tip." When the young man with long hair and scruffy beard stepped through the foyer, Jinny grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him into the kitchen, where he found the rest of the team sitting and drinking coffee. They had been doing this for the last four hours, unsuccessfully trying to figure a way to find the NNs and rescue their friends. Gwen knew going after Jools and Scottily was small potatoes compared to that serious need, but something was better than nothing. With his gun, Jinny pointed to an empty chair, and said, "Have a seat, son." When the boy was seated, Jinny pulled his own chair next to him, put his hand without the gun in it on his neck, and gently began to squeeze. He said, "Where did you pick up the package?"

The boy said, "Aah....aah....aah."

Guignard threw a rolled up napkin at Jinny and said, "You're scaring him. How's he supposed to answer?"

Jinny said, "I will lead him through his zone of fear and into the realm of self-expression, from which we will attain that which we seek."

Roger looked at Guignard and said, "What kind of books has he been reading?"

"I'm not sure. He only reads them late at night when he thinks I'm asleep. But I know, it has to stop. I'll find them when we get out of this mess we're in, and burn them."

Again Jinny asked, softly, "Where did you get the package?"

Looking at Guignard like a supplicant looks at a stained glass image of Mary, the boy squeaked out, "At the parking lot. Supermarket parking lot."

"Which parking lot, son?" The pressure from Jinny's hand increased slightly.

"At the bridge. This side of the bridge."

"Which bridge, son. Just tell us that and everything will be ok."

"Bridge over from Sullivan's Island."

Gwen said, "What did the person look like that gave you the package?"

"Guy. White. Real white. Stood like he had a poker up his ass. Wearing cologne. Black and white clothes, real sharp creases. Shoes shined. Manicure."

Jinny looked at Gwen, who nodded. He released the pressure on the boy's neck, but stuck the gun in his side. Roger took a roll from his pocket, peeled off two hundreds, and handed them to the boy. Jinny said, "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"About what?"

And Jinny led him to the door.

Back in the kitchen Gwen had her eyes closed. When Jinny sat down, she opened them and said, "You remember the second to last time we talked with Jools on the phone? When he told us about Gale being snatched? He said something interesting. You remember?" She looked around the table, but had no takers. "He said, 'I was about to go down to the bunker and check when the phone call came. I will do that now, and get back to you when I can. Ta, Gwenny.' He said 'bunker'. What does that mean?" She paused, then said, "Now I know what it means. It means one of the old military bunkers on Sullivan's Island. They built them there around 1900 and again during WWII. Lots of them, like a dozen or so. We have them. We can find where they're holding Paul and Anna and Stella."

Roger said, "Sweet, babe. Good work. But that's not the serious thing, is it? Richard and Gale are the serious thing. We need to find them."

Guignard poured everyone more coffee.

# Chapter 55 – The NNs Make Their Demand

After scaring the shit out of the messenger boy, the Junies listened to the CD, were duly impressed, and packaged it into a FEDEX overnight envelope. Roger was prepared, having gotten the name and office mailing address of Renee Fleming's management firm. He did this by calling Paul's manager, and telling him Paul badly needed to send something to Ms. Fleming. The manager perked up at this, wondering what was going on behind his back, but nevertheless used his industry connections to get the address. He also called Fleming's manager and told her to expect a package from Paul McCartney the day after tomorrow.

They dropped the package at a FEDEX station the next morning, after which Gwen knew it was time to tell Stirg about the demand by the NNs for Anna. Stirg and Nev had not been at the June's house late the night before when they got the CD, Gwen thinking the time wasn't right to tell Stirg about the situation with his granddaughter. Now she called him and asked to come to his house. This was the first time she and Roger had been in his house since they had conducted a home invasion a year earlier, at a time when they were enemies. Sitting in the sunroom with him and Nev, she came right out with it. "Gale has been kidnapped by the same group that has Richard. And they have made their demand. They want to swap them for Anna."

Instantly Stirg stood up. He looked from Gwen to Roger to Nev, and back at Gwen. "The two NNs we had here told us they wanted to kidnap Anna to get to me, who had done something to one of their family a long time ago. But Anna got kidnapped by Jools and Scotilly, for ransom and the opera thing. Now the NNs have kidnapped Gale and Richard, and are demanding Anna in return for them. This is crazy. Scotilly and Jools have Anna, and have demanded a ransom from me, so they don't want to give her up and lose the ransom. You want Gale and Richard back, but you don't want to give up Anna either."

Roger said, "The NNs must think we have influence over Scotilly and Jools, and can make them give up Anna for our friends. But we don't. You're right, they won't want to give up Anna because they are demanding ransom for her from you."

Stirg said, "I'll pay them any amount to not give her up."

Gwen said, "So what we have to do first is to make them think we'll do the swap, but delay that to give us time to find them and rescue Richard and Gale. Right?"

"You promise not to do a deal with Scotilly and Jools to do the swap?"

"We love Anna just as much as we love Richard and Gale. No swap."

"So how do we find them and do the rescue?"

Gwen thought a moment, then said, "When Jinny told us the story about his visit to _SYAMF_ , he said he asked all the boys there if they knew the NNs, and they said no. He said he wasn't sure if he believed all of them, but given the circumstances he didn't pursue it. We have nothing about where to find those guys. When you have nothing, you go back to the beginning and start again. Maybe we should send Jinny back up to _SYAMF_ and see if he can turn something up."

Roger said, "But he burned the place to the ground. There is no _SYAMF_."

"Those rats are somewhere. Jinny's just got to find their new hole."

# Chapter 56 – Renee Says Yes

The admin assistant carried the four FEDEX packages into the office and set them on the desk with the Junes package on top. Renee Fleming's manager had alerted her to the delivery and told her it was important. He said thank you, and looked at the envelope on top, where he saw "The Junes" in the sender box. He set this aside and quickly looked at the other packages. One was from Daniel Barenboim, Musical Director of Teatro Alla Scala in Milan. He knew this contained a contract that, on the day it was signed by Fleming, would result in one point five million dollars being deposited into her personal account. He set this aside for attention later. Another envelope was from The White House, which he knew contained an invitation and request for RSVP to sing at a state dinner for the President of China, whoever that happened to be on the date of the event. He set this aside, also. The third box was from the Board of Trustees of Teatro Amazonas, the national opera of Brazil. It contained a letter offering Renee the Directorship of the opera at a salary of one million dollars a year, and residence in the 17th century Palace building in Manaus. He set this box on top of the other two, thinking he would deal with them in a day or two. The June envelope was addressed to Ms. Renee Fleming, but in care of him, so he opened it, and found inside an unmarked CD, but no cover letter. From the phone conversation with Roger he knew what the CD contained. He didn't know how Renee would react, but for him, this was exciting. He put the CD in his coat pocket, told the assistant he was going to the studio, and walked out of the office. Half an hour later he walked into the Manhattan studio where Renee was listening to the mix of her latest collaboration with Barenboim.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, took her hand, and put the CD into it. He said, "This is from Paul McCartney. He said it's important."

She looked at the CD and then back at her manager. "What is it?" He shrugged, but smiled. She looked at the recording engineer and said, "Stan, can we take a break? Would you mind putting this on?" A minute later Paul's unmistakable voice began singing _Mad World_ from her _Dark Hope_ CD. She said, "My god, he's singing _Mad World_."

The engineer said, "That's Paul McCartney."

The manager said, "He's not just singing _Mad World_ , he's singing _Mad World_ like you sing it. He's imitating your voice. Sort of."

She said, "Jesus, he is singing like me. But with his voice there too. It's unbelievable." Then came _In Your Eyes_ , which had made the manager cry the first time he heard Renee sing it. Literally shed tears. She said, "Same thing, him and me together. I hear my voice and his voice, together."

The manager said, "I hear your voice, Renee. Your style. He knows your style, and he's playing on it. How does he do that? No one in the world can sing like you."

The engineer said, "How can anything that was recorded so poorly sound so beautiful?"

Then came the two new songs from the opera, again with Paul singing like her, both in vocal mimicry and style. Renee said, "What are these songs? Have you ever heard them? God, the second one is called _Hey Renn_. Who is that? Me? Did he write a song for me? About me?" She turned to Stan and said, "Again please." And then, "Again please, Stan."

After the third time Stan said, "There's something else on the CD. Should I play it?" She nodded. And they heard Paul speak his message to her, telling her about the four songs, and about the opera he was working on in Charleston, and asking her to sing with him in four concerts, to be performed in two months. The message was short, but oh so sweet.

The manager said, "One more time please, Stan. All four songs."

They listened to them again, and she said, "I've had weird and wonderful things happen to me in my life, but this is at the top. He can sing like me, and he sings with his voice, and _Hey Renn_ is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, and then the message in that sexy British accent. I'd have to be on the far side of dead and gone to say no to this. Wouldn't I?" she said, looking from her manager to the engineer. The manager said, yes, and the engineer nodded, and she said, "Whatever I have going on over the next two months, cancel it."

"What about the White House gig?"

"Tell them I'll be in Charleston, if they want to come down there."

# Chapter 57 – Back in the Hut

The boys had spent half the day before at the Waffle House, going over their strategy and tactics, and the other half hanging out at the new rathole the former _SYAMF_ owner had set up to serve the needs of his varied clientele. It had been a long and unpleasant day for Richard and Gale, who spent it chained to the Ford engine block in the quonset hut. The boys had padlocked one end of a twenty foot chain around one of their legs, and the other to the block. Within the twenty foot length of the chain, they each had an army cot, a plastic chair, the table with a few old issues of _Guns and Ammo_ on it, a loaf of Wonder bread and a jar of peanut butter. When they had left about noon, the NSSMIBC had leered and said, "Don't do anything we wouldn't do."

They both leafed through the magazines for half an hour, and then did what the boys wished they had done. Several times, despite the discomfort of the springs on the cots, which they had pushed together to form a not very luxurious double bed. They had to do something to kill the boredom and keep up their moral, and in this they were successful.

While this was going on in the hut, and after eating the 'meat lovers special' at the Waffle House, which consisted of deep fried bacon and sausage piled high on a waffle and drenched in butter and syrup, the NNs went over their plan. The BMIBC said, "So we restrain ourselves with the woman because what we really want is the Stirg bitch. When we do the swap and have her, we then demand the five mill from Stirg. While we wait for that, we have all the fun we want with the bitch."

The MSMIBC said, "Why can't we do the bitch we have and then do the other bitch too? This trip down here has not been much fun so far."

"Because we got to give her up to get the second bitch, and she'll squeal on us, and maybe Stirg won't pay all the five mill for his granddaughter, him thinking we can't be trusted. Just wait. We'll get all the good stuff when we get the second one. Remember, we want to piss Stirg off bigtime, so he comes looking for us up in the 'Ho, where we'll use his money to set up our nation and our national defenses, and hope he brings his Jew boys up there, and we get into the little war we all know needs doing, and winning. Right?"

"Right," they both said, though they really wanted the nooky more than the impending war. But they realized they had to make sacrifices. After this high level strategy session and a third helping of the 'special', they felt they had accomplished their work for the day, and headed to the new _SYAMF_ rathole.

At 7pm they dragged their asses into the quonset hut, their libidos thankfully stifled by all the beer they'd drunk in the hole. The MSMIBC dropped a bag on the table in front of Gale that contained four shriveled up hotdogs that had been on the rotisserie since 9am that morning. No buns, no mustard, no onions....just the four dogs, sitting lonely in the bag. Gale looked at them and said, "This how your momma taught you to treat guests? Huh? Y'all are just so sorry. When the Junes come and get us out of this, it's going to be payback time, you know that, don't you?"

"Hey, doughn't get uppity," said the BMIBC. "We could be passing you around the horn like a bowl of peanuts and a bottle of Jack Daniels, eating and drinking our fill. We been regler gentlemens, and you be thankful for it."

"That's how you drink your bourbon? With peanuts? That's disgusting. You drink it with ginger ale, maybe, make it a little softer so it don't burn your pussy throats?" She paused. "Maybe it's not all your fault. Maybe it's the way you were raised there in Idyho, wherever the hell that is. Maybe I can't blame you as much as I would like. See, that's southern genteelism. When the Junes come, maybe I'll be able to do some schoolin on you boys. How about we start right now, with a little game of cards. Not poker. Something else."

"What?"

"How about Hearts. You play Hearts up in the 'Ho?"

The NSSMIBC, pretty blasted but somewhat coherent, said, "We do hearts all right. We eat the hearts of the wolves we kill, like the Aztecs did." The other two NNs looked at him, wondering where this had come from.

"Yeah, ok, killer," Gale said. "This is a friendly game. Civilization, that's where we're heading."

"What we gonna bet for in this Hearts thing?"

"We're going to bet for food and wine. We win, you go get us a steak, baked potato, and salad, with a bottle of cabernet that cost more than twenty bucks. You win, I won't let Jinny kill you on the spot when he and the others come. Deal?"

All three of the NNs thought this June thing a comin joke was getting old. It didn't matter. Two hours later, Gale and Richard were eating steak.

# Chapter 58 – Renee Arrives in Town

Gwen, Roger and Slev went to the airport in the big white Mercedes to pick up Renee Fleming. Constantine had sent the Gulfstream up to La Guardia early that morning, and her flight down to Charleston had been fast and comfortable. An hour after touchdown she was seated in the June's kitchen, petting their dog and sipping a cappuccino. She told the Junes she had come to Charleston in the late '70s at the invitation of Gian Carlo Menotti, who she had met very early in her career in Spoleto, Italy, and had been waiting for an invitation to sing at the Spoleto Festival here ever since.

Roger said, "It sounds like the pretty girl syndrome, where the prettiest girl in the class never gets asked out because all the guys think she would say no."

She said, "Well, maybe something like that. But now I'm here, and where is the man who asked me out? Where's Paul? I want to hear more songs that we're going to sing together."

Gwen, Roger and Slev had been dreading this question, and here is was, five minutes into their friendship with Fleming. They had tried three or four different answers among themselves, but they all rang as false as they were. So Gwen was elected to tell the truth. "Renee, we have an unusual situation here with Paul. Everything he has told you so far is true. He is writing songs for an opera, and it will be performed here in Charleston in less than two months. The songs on the CD we sent you are brand new. He recorded them in the last week, here in Charleston. He is completely focused on and dedicated to the opera, and he will be thrilled when we tell him you are here, and willing to participate." She paused. "It's just that he won't be able to meet you immediately. He's, it's....it's an odd situation."

Renee smiled, a concerted smile, and said, "Tell me. What's up?"

"Paul has been kidnapped, and is being held somewhere here in Charleston, with his daughter Stella, the fashion designer, and another person, a friend of ours named Anna. They're in a place where they have instruments and a recording studio of some kind. That's where he did the two covers of _Dark Hope_ , and where he wrote the two songs for the opera. They're ok, and we don't think they're any danger, even though one of the kidnappers sometimes acts a little strange, and refers to herself as a Taliban trained terrorist She has an English butler, and it's him we communicate with most of the time." Gwen asked Roger, "Anything important I've forgotten?"

He shook his head, and they waited for her to absorb the story. She said, "Can I have another cappuccino?" and played with the dog while she waited for it. She was tempted to ask for a glass of wine, but decided that might look like she was rattled, which she wasn't. She just liked wine. After two sips of the coffee she said, "Anything I can do to spring him loose?"

Gwen looked at Roger, who smiled. He liked frisky women. Gwen said, "We're working on it. But the reality is that he likes it where he is. It seems to focus his attention on something he has wanted to do for a long time, but has gotten distracted from because of his celebrity status. Apparently being confined for a couple months is what it took to get him to write this thing. So, we are looking for him, but at the same time we don't want to upset the applecart, so to speak, as strange an applecart as it is. We hope you can work with this. Paul wants you to. He really wants you to be here as a founding member of the production. And so do we." Gwen usually saved her top of the line persuasiveness for guys, but she was pouring it on now.

Renee finished the coffee, patted the dog again, and said, "First I get these songs from him, and the message he sent on the CD; and now I'm getting these incredible vibes from you, a woman I don't even know. And I'm ready to sell my children to aliens to work with you." She looked at Roger and said, "She's your wife." He nodded. "She do this stuff with you?"

"She used to, but now I know all her tricks. She's lucky now if she can get me to do the dishes."

Renee nodded, said, "Yeah, right. Ok, the cops in on this?" They shook their heads, no. She thought for a second, then said, "Paul McCartney and his daughter are kidnapped, and it's a secret, and he's writing a rock opera that, based on the two songs I've heard, could be greatest composition in the history of rock music, and I'm here to help somehow, but can't sit with him, and it's all scheduled to happen is less than two months. Anything else?"

Roger said, "The third person with them is the granddaughter of an ex-Nazi hunter who now is a billionaire, who undoubtedly has killed people in his life, though none recently, that we know of." He looked at Gwen, wondering if that was enough disclosure.

She, being the type of manager who believes in transparency, said, "There are two other people who also have been kidnapped, friends of ours, and we're trying to find and rescue them, too."

Renee said, "Cops?" Gwen shook her head, no. "You doing all this on your own?"

"Yeah. But we've also got Slev and her husband Constantine, who you'll meet soon. They sent the plane for you. They're from Saint Petersburg. And we have two other friends of ours, Guignard and Jinny, also from Russia. Jinny is one of our hunters, and Guignard is working on the opera. When we get Gale and Richard back, that will be our whole production team. Plus of course the three people in the bunker, Paul and the girls."

"Gale and Richard are the other kidnappees?"

"Right. Gale is, well, Gale. She likes clothes and wine and men. Richard is Anna's boyfriend, and just finished making a movie in France with Steven Spielberg. He and Anna did. She was one of the stars."

"And now she's locked in a bunker with Paul McCartney, writing a rock opera?" They nodded. "What's a bunker? That doesn't sound like the Ritz."

"We're not sure, but we think it's a big concrete structure over on one of our nearby islands built during World War II."

"You think?"

"We're pretty sure, but remember, Paul is happy there, wherever it is, because it's shielding him from all the distractions. So right now we're concentrating on finding Gale and Richard and the neo-nazis."

"You mentioned a Nazi hunter, but not neo-nazis. It's my understanding that most people consider them to be rather unsavory people. Are these people holding your friends, unsavory?"

"They're not too bright, we know that, and we think they may be somewhat unsavory, yes. We want to get Gale back sooner rather than later. Jinny is going after them tomorrow, but right now, we would like to take you to the theater where the opera will be performed. You can meet Guignard and Constantine and Jinny there, and we'll have a bite of dinner."

"What's Jinny going to do if he finds them tomorrow?"

Gwen and Roger looked at each other. Finally Gwen said, "He's a hunter."

"Oh."

# Chapter 59 – Renee Sees the Gun

A little later they took Renee to The Hall, where they introduced her to the other team members, including Little Jinny Blistov. The first thing they did was to play parts of the recording of the Stravinsky ballet they had produced a few months earlier. This was the musical score they had found hidden in a desk, the score never having been seen by anyone other than Stravinsky, and lost since 1914. The orchestral score had been transcribed for synthesizer, and performed during the production by a well-known friend of Paul McCartney, which was what had led McCartney to be in Charleston when he was kidnapped. That and his daughter's friendship with Anna, who lived here and was one of the June's intimates. After listening to Act II of the ballet, they had dinner on the stage, catered by McGradys Restaurant. With coffee, Gwen played the CD Renee had brought back with her over the state of the art sound system, which was the first time the others had heard the four songs Paul had put together, and the first time any of them had heard them in a theater setting. They were a knockout.

Then it was time for business, and Gwen decided to include Renee in it. Her intuition told her Renee wouldn't blab, and it was an opportunity to build the opera production team. She circled the chairs on the stage as she had done so many times during the eight month production schedule of the ballet, and started the council session with a bang, though not literally. She looked across the circle at Jinny and said, "Let's see it." Everyone except the singer knew what she meant, and no one except her was surprised when Jinny reached behind his right hip and pulled a 40 caliber Glock from under his shirt. "Ok, Jinny. It's time to find Gale and Richard, and that is what you're going to do tomorrow. You're going back up the interstate and find those boy's new rathole, and you're going to grab some rats by the neck like a Fox Terrier, and you're going to make them tell you where the NNs are. Got it?"

Jinny thumbed the button that released the magazine from the handle of the gun, checked its contents, and rammed the mag back into the handle with a resounding _SNAP_. He set the gun on the floor, looked back across the circle, and said, "I got it, Gwenny."

She looked around the circle and said, "When he finds them, he's going to back off and call me, and we're going to meet him, and then we're going to get Gale and Richard." She looked at Jinny again. "You understand about backing off? Calling? Waiting?" He nodded. She looked at Guignard and said, "You need to stay behind and take care of Renee. This won't take long. Then we'll be back and start up on the production. Ok?"

Jinny had been an associate of the Junes for three years, and Guignard for two years, and now was the first time the others saw her act angry. She stood up, looked right at Gwen, and with a fierce voice said, "No. Not staying here. Going with you. Going with Jinny. Jinny is going after those boys, I'm going with you. That's it." And from under her jacket she pulled a compact nine millimeter Sig Sauer, mimicked Jinny checking the magazine, and set it on the floor at her feet. She glared at Gwen.

Renee Fleming had shared the stage with many famous people around the world, in many performances of many kinds, but this was the very first time she had shared a stage with two loaded handguns.

The others looked from Gwen to Guignard and back again, letting the meaning of the encounter settle in, and then, almost on cue, broke into laughter. Roger, Slev, Constantine, and Jinny, all started laughing. Ten seconds after this break, Gwen smiled, and ten seconds after that, Guignard smiled. She and Jinny picked up their pieces, holstered them, and walked over to the table to pour themselves another cup of coffee. Gwen looked at Renee and said, "You may be on your own tomorrow."

# Chapter 60 – Paul's Got a Friend

The next morning, following Gwen's instructions, Jinny and Guignard came to her house for breakfast. Mostly this was to make sure Guignard didn't try to go on the mission with Jinny. Her going with the team was one thing; her going just with Jinny was another. When they arrived at 8am, Jinny said he was ready to go. Gwen said, "You think those boys are morning people? You think they get up early to water their gardens? You'll be lucky if any of 'em are out of their holes by noon. Cool your tool. Take the dog for a long walk." Which he did.

When he left she said to Renee, "We can call the other kidnappers and tell them you're here, and they will tell Paul and Anna and Stella. Ok?"

She nodded and said, "Will I get to talk to Paul? I want to sing _Hey Renn_ with him right away."

"Mostly we don't get to talk directly with our friends, but we have once or twice. Usually we talk with the kidnapper butler whose name is Jools. He's ok, although I always try to scare him, and it usually works. He and Scotilly are kind of like, um, benevolent kidnappers."

"They have three people locked up in a WWII bunker, and are extorting five million dollars from Paul, and they're benevolent?"

"It's complicated. They're also demanding five million from Stirg for Anna. You haven't met him yet, he's the Nazi hunter. Former Nazi hunter. He's retired now."

"He's the one who's killed people? You mean like, Nazis?"

"Let's not go there right now, ok? Let's call Jools and tell them the good news." She dialed Anna's number, with the speaker on.

"Good morning, Jools here, how may I be of service?"

"You know what kind of car I drive, Jools?"

"Good morning, Ms. June. Lovely to hear your voice. What a way to start the day. No, I'm sorry I haven't as yet achieved a level of personal intimacy that would accord me the privilege of riding in your car. But let me guess, would you? A woman of your distinction, kind yet stern, strong yet compassionate, drenched in leadership behaviors yet willing to wait for the slowest and weakest in your troupe, a woman like you could only drive a British made car, that is for certain. And there is only one British made car suitable for your class, your personality, your panache. Ms. June, I think you drive a Jaguar."

Gwen wasn't quite sure where to go. As usual, she had tried to assume the initiative with her opening gambit of asking him about her car. Her intention was to follow up by telling him that any minute now he was going to see her car outside his house, implying that she and her friends had found them and were rescuing Paul and the girls. She loved intimidating this poor little butler. Now he had stolen the initiative from her by grabbing the car ball and running open field with it. And he had scored by guessing correctly. She did drive a Jag. The little runt. Guignard leaned over and whispered this to Renee.

"Ok, Jools, you scored, I gotta give you this one. Just remember what it means when you see that Jag enter your driveway, which is going to happen any day now."

"Ms. June, you're trying to scare me and Scotilly? For shame. A person of your sensitivities."

"We have good news."

"Yes dear?"

"You scored a point, Jools. That doesn't mean we're on intimate terms."

"You can't take my dreams away from me, Ms. June."

"We have Renee Fleming here. She's agreed to sing in the production, on one condition."

"Ms. Fleming, I'm honored, and so shall Scotilly be when I inform her. Your participation will enhance the opera to stratospheric levels, and endow the music with a depth and breadth of quality that no one else could. We welcome you to our team and our artistic endeavor."

Renee said, "That's a kidnapper? A kidnapper talks like that?"

Gwen said, "I guess it happens. Remember how Anthony Hopkins talked in _Hannibal_?"

"Oh god, I do. What a voice. And the man can dress. Remember that white hat. He looked fabulous it in. I'm glad he didn't invite me to dinner, because I'd have gone. The voice, the hat, the cape, the chianti. I love Italian wine."

"Jools, Renee wants to meet Paul right away so she can start learning the songs and collaborating. When can I bring her over?"

"Now, Ms. June, no tricks, though I understand her desire to meet the master. I will consult with my master regarding the intricacies and logistics of the collaboration."

"You know a day of reckoning is near, don't you, when we meet, and accounts are settled. No hiding behind proprieties and a flowery accent then."

"The day we meet will prove that dreams do come true, dear."

"The day we meet will be the day you meet Mr. Sauer."

"Mr. Sauer? Is he an impresario like you? Ballet? Opera? Theater? Symphony? Museum?"

"That would be Dr. Sig Sauer, and he will introduce himself in a direct and prominent way, Jools. I promise you that."

Renee never had heard of an impresario named Sauer, and didn't really understand what was going on, but she did know she wanted to meet, or at least talk to, Paul McCartney. She said, "Can I talk with him, at least? Now. I have to meet him."

"What do you say, Jools? Can you get Paul on the phone with Renee? They have a lot to talk about. Time is short for the production, and her time is valuable. By the way, we're taking her fee off the top of the ransom, and she doesn't come cheap." She smiled over at Renee, and winked.

"Let me go down to the bun....let me see if Mr. McCartney is available, and I'll ring you back promptly. Wonderful to meet your Ms. Fleming. I wish that could happen in person, but I fear that when the production is over, I will be miles and miles away, perhaps on my own private island somewhere, my own master at last, and no one else's."

Gwen said, "You'll meet her, Jools. I'll open up the trunk of the Jag, where you'll be spending time soon, and introduce you."

"Ta, Renee, ta, Gwenny."

Gwen clicked the off button and turned to Renee. "I have an idea, but I'm not sure you'll like it." Renee didn't say anything verbally, but telegraphically told Gwen to go ahead. "First, I think we could find where they're keeping Paul and Anna and Stella if we wanted to. They've let slip a couple of clues. But like I've told you, Paul is ok where he is because it's letting him concentrate on composing the songs with zero distractions, and I don't want to interrupt that. But you want more than him handing you sheets of music, you want to collaborate, and to do that you need to get with him face to face as soon as possible." Renee said, yes, without saying anything. She and Gwen were a pair. "So, what if I proposed to Scotilly that you go to wherever she has them stashed, but blindfolded, so you can't give away the location." She paused. "That would make you a captive, too. And this place is not going to be the Ritz. Can you handle that?"

"You have no idea how much I loved the two songs from the opera he put on the CD and sent to me. _Hey Renn_ is superb, and I think I get his central concept for the whole opera. It's, what makes men women relationships last over the long haul? How important is that? If he's locked up in a warehouse, I'll go."

"There's one more angle to it. I also need you here, to work with us on the production at The Hall. Would you be willing to do that, too?"

"How? How can I be locked up with him and work with you here?"

"It would mean you doing the blindfolded thing several times. Maybe many times over the next weeks. If Scotilly agrees, you would be the go-between them and us. It would not be fun, but it's the best way to make the greatest production."

"Would it be safe?"

"Yes. If it wasn't safe in my judgment, we would have gone all out to find and rescue them."

Renee leaned against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. When she opened them she said, "I've never been this excited about music and singing. I'll do anything for this. Go ahead and make your plan work. I'll have a blast with him, and a blast with you at The Hall.

# Chapter 61 – Rescue Number One

Roger had to lock Guignard in the bathroom to keep her from going on the hunt with Jinny. He told her she couldn't come, and Gwen told her she couldn't go, but she sensed danger to Jinny. He told her he'd see her with the others at the final assault. He used that word, assault, which didn't faze Roger or Gwen, but it did capture Renee Fleming's attention. She hadn't done much assaulting in her international operatic career, other that at the upper and lower points of the sopranic vocal range. Roger asked Jinny if he had a backup piece on his leg, to which he replied, "You're my backup piece. See ya soon."

When he was gone Roger let Guignard out of the bathroom, at which point she gave him a dirty look, but that didn't last long. Gwen didn't know how long it would take Jinny to find the new rathole, induce one or more of the rats to tell him the location of the rat who was harboring the NNs, confine the rats somehow so they couldn't alert or assist anyone, find Richard's and Gale's location, and report to her. But she figured it would be a couple of hours, at least. So she called Constantine and Slev, Stirg and Nev, and told them to meet her at The Hall in three hours. She and Guignard and Roger might as well get some work done on the production in the meantime.

Gwen and Roger went upstairs to dress for the occasion, asking Guignard to pack sandwiches and water. When they came back into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, Guignard said, "My, my, fashion commandos. You guys always dress with style." They wore matching hightop black sneakers, black cargo pants, and black pullover tops. Very unisex. Each carried their gun in a holster behind their right hip, and a fanny pack that contained a second gun, extra magazines, a flashlight, and two M84 stun grenades, available for purchase over the internet. A half hour later they sat on the stage at The Hall, talking about software upgrades for the computerized sound and lighting systems. Four hours later they still were there, having been joined by the other members of the assault team. Everyone was restless.

Jinny, on the other hand, was working. His first stop was, of course, _SYAMF_. He sat in the parking lot, staring at the charred remnants, thinking, "Where would I be today if I was a neo-nazi rat." He headed to the local gun shop, which had an indoor shooting range out back. He walked down the long line of glass display cases, looking at the Glocks and H&Ks and Sig Saucers and Berettas. He asked the clerk if he had any Russian guns.

"Nah, too expensive, and you can't get ammo, and they suck, anyway, all of 'em."

"Jinny decided not to take exception, given the seriousness of his mission, and then asked, "You got any of the white brotherhood boys come in here? Any boys riding bikes? I'm new in town and need to hook up."

The clerk didn't trust Jinny as far as he could throw him, but didn't mind saying he might try the Waffle Hut, down on the interstate. So Jinny headed that way, thinking he could get a bite to eat and do his job at the same time. Inside he looked at the menu and asked, "What's the 'meat lovers special'?" When the waitress told him, even Jinny thought that was gross, and ordered a stack of walnut pancakes with banana puree topping, hold the whipped cream. Now he was really multi-tasking, sustaining his body, getting his daily fruit and vegetable quota, and hunting for his quarry. Halfway through the stack he asked the waitress the same question he had asked the gun shop clerk. She didn't trust Jinny either, but didn't mind saying he might try _Ink Boy's Tattoo Shop_ one exit further on. He left her a twenty dollar tip and went on down the road.

He pulled into the parking lot, and hoped his luck was turning positive when he saw two guys standing next to their Harleys. Out he hopped with a smile on his face and iron in his heart. He walked up, looked at the bikes, and said, "How much do those cost? They are works of art."

They looked at each other, and one said, "Should you tell him or me?"

"You should."

Looking at Jinny he said, "Fuck off."

Jinny absorbed the answer, thought a minute, and said, "It's not me, it's I."

"What? What's I?"

"You said, 'Should you tell him or me?', and you should have said, 'Should you tell him or I'"

The bikers again looked at each other, and then the second one said, "In either case, bro, the main point is 'fuck off'. Get it?"

Jinny got it, and really wasn't perturbed with the rudeness of the answer, him having sustained worse than that from his nanny back in Saint Petersburg. But he was under a certain amount of pressure from Gwenny June to perform, and knowing he had been at this for a few hours with nothing to show for it, he decided that a new tack was called for. So he pulled his piece and showed it to the boys, first pointing it in their direction. For the third time they looked at each other, and then, looking back at Jinny, broke out in laughter. Jinny took this in stride, elevated his opinion of bikers in general, thought a moment, and pointed the gun at the custom made engine block of one of the bikes, that cost forty thousand dollars. The laughter subsided, the bike owner elevated his opinion of this short Russian, built like a concrete bollard, and said, "How can I help you?" Very politely Jinny explained who he was looking for. "The _SYAMF_ boys are building a new place out in the woods, away from the interstate. They get together most days at the Waffle House, bout 4pm, eat something before they go to beering." Jinny looked at his watch, which said 4pm, said thank you, and asked, "How much do those cost?" This time he got a polite answer.

Pulling into the Waffle House parking lot and looking through the windows, he saw at least three guys who had been part of the show the night he convinced them it was in their own best interest to burn their place down. Hallelujah. In he walked, said hello to the waitress, who remembered him because of the nice tip, pulled his gun, walked behind the counter and up to the guy who had tried to remove his classy green pants from behind, grabbed the plate holding the guy's 'meat lovers special' with his left hand, and dumped the whole mass of syrup, butter, and sausage on the guy's head. Then he stuck his gun in the guy's surprised face and said, "Remember me?"

Two minutes later he put the napkin with the little map showing directions to the quonset hut on it in his pocket, herded all the _SYAMF_ boys into the walk-in freezer in back, locked the lock on the outside of the door, politely requested the waitress to not let them out for an hour, subsidized the request with two one hundred dollar bills from his pocket, and started to walk out. The waitress said, "They might freeze in there in an hour."

Jinny said, "That bother you?"

"Not really."

And he left.

# Chapter 62 – Renee and Paul Meet

Back in the big house Scotilly said, "She what?"

"She wants to come here, go into the bunker with the others."

Jools said, "Renee Fleming wants to spend time in a moldy concrete bunker, work on the songs?"

"She said if it's ok with Paul McCartney, it's ok with her."

When Gwen had gotten the call from Jinny that he had found the rathole, she had called Jools and told him what she wanted. Scotilly said, "This is spinning out of control. It started with us wanting to kidnap one person, and now we're going to have four house guests."

"You consider housing people in the bunker to be house guests?"

She ignored the dig and said, "God, it is cool though, isn't it? First Paul McCartney, and now Renee Fleming, in our house, doing our bidding, producing great art. If she wants to, why not. But how are you going to get her here without her knowing where she is?"

"We can do the old hood over the head trick. I'll meet her on the other side of the bridge, hood her up, bring her over."

"You don't think having someone with a hood over their head in the passenger seat might strike someone as odd, driving around Sullivan's Island?"

"She'll be down on the floor. No problem."

And that's what happened. After the Junes left for the assault, Renee called a cab, which arrived showing _The Green Taxi Company_ logo on the front door and _The Environment is Our Business, Too_ on the rear. When the Pakistani driver dropped the beautiful woman off in the parking lot of the supermarket, which he found odd, he looked at the bridge in the distance, and thought he hadn't been over to Sullivan's since taking the guy with the harmonica to the big house. He wondered what had happened with that strange scene, the other guy with a gun, a CIA agent. It was hard to hide a car with all the unusual logos and advertising designs all over it, painted a Day-Glo green, but the driver had an intuition, and decided to hang around. He parked behind a Budweiser delivery truck, where he could see the woman. He had to admit, the Americans produced some very beautiful women, and this one with such a nice voice. His cell phone rang, and his wife gave him the address of a fare, but he told her he was occupied and couldn't take it right then. She asked him what he was occupied with, was he taking a nap, and he countered by saying he was hiding in a parking lot, watching a beautiful American woman. His ploy worked, and she said to call her when he was done with his current fare.

Ten minutes later a car pulled up to the woman and she got in. The car headed back the direction from which it had come, over the bridge and over the Inland Waterway. The cab followed, and the Sullivan's Island weirdness continued when the cab driver saw the woman pull a black hood over her head and then disappear from view. This made him wish he lived on Sullivan's, maybe with the beautiful woman, but if not, then maybe with the CIA agent or the guy who played harmonica so well, instead of in the little apartment he shared with his wife of twenty-five years, whose figure resembled one of the hollow, shellacked gourds that sat as a decoration on top of the kitchen cabinet and held their stock of bulgur. His wife had served him boiled bulgur three times a week for all of those twenty-five years, so he knew it well.

He followed the car down the same side street he had driven carrying the harmonica and CIA guys, and watched it pull into the same driveway that he had pulled into two weeks earlier. He watched the woman reappear, open the door, stand up, remove the hood, and shake out her long chestnut hair. The driver of the car took her by the arm, got her suitcase out of the rear seat, and disappeared with her into the thick vegetation at the side of the big house. The Pakistani guy thought, this place is jumpin'.

Jools unlocked the heavy iron doors of the bunker and led Renee inside. They walked down the dank smelling corridor and turned into the living room. Paul McCartney stood up from the sofa and looked at Renee Fleming. She looked first at Anna and Stella, smiled, and then looked at Paul. The electricity arced between them like the back of a scared cat. The vibration of their melding intuitions filled the room, hardly leaving space for the others to breathe. Paul smiled at her, and she raised a hand at him. He walked across the room to her and said, "Hey Renn."

She said, "Hey Paul. We going to sing a little together?"

"We're going to sing together like no two people have sung before."

"When? When we going to sing?"

And he led her down the corridor.

# Chapter 63 – The Assault

Jinny set the napkin on the seat next to him and put his gun on it to keep it from blowing out the window. He pulled off the interstate two exits down, drove a mile on a two lane road, and watched for the pull off onto a dirt road just past the sign that advertised taxidermy and deer dressing. The map on the napkin indicated a turn off of this road onto another, with the quonset hut at the end. He made the last turn, and found a pull off into the long leaf pine woods. Jinny took a long pull on a bottle of water, retied his shoe laces, and checked the load in his gun, which he returned to his hip. He closed his eyes and conjured up a vision of Gale, which he let sit in his consciousness for ten lovely seconds. With this as motivation, he walked down the center of the road covered with a thin layer of pine needles. Ten minutes later the quonset hut came into view, with the Dodge Ram parked on one side. Jinny watched for ten minutes, but there was no sound or movement. Then the door opened, and out came the man he, Roger, and Constantine had braced on Church Street near the Junes house. It was the guy who told them his name was Adolf Hitler, and had grabbed his crotch and said, "Piss on all three of you." Jinny remembered him pretty well. The guy was dressed in Tshirt and jeans, but no socks or shoes, and he was pissed. He stomped around outside the hut, looking at the ground, trying to light a cigarette, but finally crushing it and throwing into the dirt. He heard the guy say to himself, "How does she do that?" watched him take a deep breath, and go back inside.

That was enough for Jinny, who melted back into the woods and down the road. When Gwen answered her phone he said, "I got them. Or one of them, at least."

"What do you mean 'got them'? They still alive?"

"For now." And he gave her directions.

"Stay good. We're on our way. We're about thirty-five minutes away. Hear me?"

"I hear you. Walk the last quarter mile. It's quiet out here."

Thirty-five minutes later he walked out of the trees in front of Gwen, Roger, Slev, Constantine, Guignard, Stirg, and Nev. The assault force. Gwen took charge and issued orders. Three people to the far side of the clearing, staying in the trees; Roger to cross the clearing and look in a window; the rest to stay in the trees this side of the clearing. Depending on what he saw, Roger was to break a window and toss in a stun grenade. Everyone to come to the front end of the quonset hut to avoid a crossfire, and blow through the door. Jinny goes in first and Nev second. Inside, Gwen to shield Gale, and Constantine to shield Richard. Her orders were simple and direct, especially her last one: shoot first and ask questions later.

It had been twenty years since Stirg had done something like this, and it brought back memories. Jinny looked at Guignard, smiled, and blew her a kiss. In return she blinked her eyes at him, three times. Gwen looked around for questions, saw and heard none, and walked on.

It took four minutes for the team to get into position. When Roger saw this, he nodded at Gwen, and, with gun in hand and fanny back with the M84 in it on his stomach side, sprinted across the open space to the side of the hut, which had two windows on each side. He caught his breath, stilled his nerves, and carefully looked in a window. Directly in front of him he saw five people sitting around a small table, playing cards. Gale was wearing her burgundy blouse, emerald skirt, and white pumps with green stitching. Richard was naked, and sat slouched on his chair, but had a faint smile on his face. Roger saw the chain around his left ankle. One of the other men at the table also was naked and sitting slouched, but he didn't have a smile on his face. A second man had on a pair of boxers and one sock; that was it. He held cards in his hand. The third man, the one who had come outside the hut for a breather and to curse himself, wore a pair of jockeys and two socks; that was it for him. This was the BMNLIBC....the boss man no longer in black clothes.

Roger again looked at Gale, and this time noticed she also had a chain around one ankle, which snaked across the floor to the engine block. He saw no guns. He dropped below the window and stood upright with his back against the corrugated silver metal siding of the hut. Gwen watched him, knowing he was processing what he saw, hoping it was not going to be bad news. After ten seconds Roger looked across the clearing to where he knew Gwen was hidden, and motioned to her to come to him. Without a seconds hesitation she sprinted across the open space, to stand beside him. He nodded at the window, and she carefully looked in. When she too had processed what she saw, she stood and whispered in his ear, "What's going on?"

He smiled, shook his head, and said, "Strip poker. Gale has the goons down to their shorts."

Gwen remembered about Gale and her father, and it made sense. She smiled, and thought, "This is going to work out ok." She said, "No grenades," and Roger nodded. "Did you see any guns?" He nodded, no. She hadn't either. She ducked under the other window and went to the rear of the hut, where she gave the signal to Stirg, Nev, and Guignard to come. Then she did the same on the front side with Constantine and Slev. Lined up at the door of the hut, they looked like army guys going into a mess hall for chow. Quietly and with only a few words she told them the situation inside. No guns in sight, so no shooting by them. No grenades. When everyone nodded, she put Jinny at the door with Nev behind, and mouthed the word, Go.

Ten seconds later the Junies had the poker table surrounded, and Jinny had the barrel of his gun pressed against the back of the BMNLIBC's neck. Gwen covered Gale and Constantine covered Richard. Jinny said, "Remember us? Remember callin' me a short Russian fireplug, and telling me a dog was gonna come along and piss on my head? Remember that?" The guy didn't say anything. Neither did the other two.

Looking at her friends, Gale said, "You couldn't wait another half hour? I would have had all three of these nitwits bareass and humiliated. You had to steal my thunder? My revenge? That was the deal, this time. Not just a steak dinner; they had to let us go if I won. And I would have won. Christ, if this was a real game I'd of owned their pickup, their land deeds in Idaho, their children, illegitimate or not. I'd have owned the tattoos on their fucking arms. Just another half hour, that's all." And she threw her three queens on the table, face up. "These boys would have looked like three freshly plucked chickens, hanging in the kitchen, waiting to be put into the dinner pot, heads, claws and all. Damn!"

Everyone gave this tirade the time it deserved, but then Richard said, "With all due respect, Gale, I'm kind of glad to see them. I'm a little cold."

Roger found the key to the chains, got them off Gale and Richard, and then hooked the NNs up to the engine block. Richard got dressed, Gale went into the bathroom and did her hair as best she could, and Jinny and Constantine looked around the hut, finding absolutely nothing of interest. Stirg sat down at the plastic table and stared at his adversaries, saying nothing. Nev went outside and over to a shed in which he found a shovel. When he came back in, he leaned it up against the table. The three boys from Idaho, even the NSSMNLIBC, understood the symbolism. When everyone was back around the table, Stirg said, "Gale, Richard, you've had a rough time. Maybe you don't want to be around for this next part."

She said, "What next part?" Worried about how bad she smelled after three days in the hut with no shower and the constant threat of being gangbanged, she hadn't noticed the shovel. Slev touched her shoulder and pointed to it. Gale picked up quickly and said, "Oh, the grave digging. No, I'm down with that. Richard?"

Richard, being a writer, and therefore a noodle when it comes to retribution and violence, said, "Um, can't we just call the authorities. Turn them over to them. Let justice take its course?"

Jinny looked at Guignard and said, "Maybe you can take Richard back to the cars. This won't take long. If we can find two more shovels, shouldn't take more than half an hour. Then we'll all be back at The Hall for champagne."

This conversation had the effect of transferring the attention of the NNs from the humiliation of their total or partial nakedness in front of four women, to the continuation of their capability to exist among the living. Jinny's nonchalance at suggesting they soon would be feeding the worms was more than a little disquieting. Stirg still hadn't said anything or taken his gaze off them.

Gwen was happy at not having to shoot anyone, and happy that Gale and Richard soon would be back in the creative fold, so she was feeling more magnanimous than Stirg and Nev. Jinny, she knew, was just playing a game, and she liked his humor. "What do you want to do with them, Gale? You were the one they kidnapped. And you heard Richard say what he wanted."

Now Stirg spoke up. "Wait a minute. It was me these idiots were after. They wanted to swap Gale and Richard for Anna, who they said they wanted to violate to get back at me. I have a say in this, and I say they go in the ground, right now."

Roger said, "He's got a point. These guys were serious about Anna and him. These are not nice men."

Gwen sat down on a chair and looked at the NNs, then at Stirg. "You know why they have a grudge against you?"

"These two said I did something to someone in that one's family a long time ago. That's all I know."

She looked at the BMNLIBC and said, "If you have a story, now's the time."

Wondering if he ever was going to see any more action with any 'hoes up in the 'Ho, he gathered his wits and laid out the pertinent points of his family history. "This guy killed my grandfather in Argentina, when I was a kid. All he was doing was growing tomatoes out in the garden, and this guy killed him. I loved my grandfather, and now it was payback time. That's it. I fucked up," looking daggers at Gale. "There's always a woman behind things getting fucked up."

Gale said, "You're single, right, boy?" When he didn't answer she said, "What you just said, that might be an indication why. I whipped you in poker. I got no grudge."

"Well I got one, against him," looking at Stirg. "All my granddad was doing was growing tomatoes. Big ones." And he shut up.

Looking at Stirg, Gwen said, "That true?"

"I worked in Argentina. That was my job, and I'm proud of it. I didn't personally kill anyone who was growing tomatoes out in his garden, but I was a commander, and I had agents that I sent out on missions. So I can't say. If he was a Nazi expatriate in Argentina in the 70s, then he was my enemy." And he shut up.

Silence settled down in the quonset hut, everyone knowing that Gwen would make the fateful decision. Gale sat down, took off her pumps, and massaged her feet. The last time she'd spent three days in pumps was that time she'd holed up at the Charleston Place Hotel with the Swedish around–the-world sailor she'd met at a party there, and some of that time was spent with them off.

It didn't take Gwen long to decide. "One good kidnapping deserves another. Maybe we can educate these boys some, raise them up from the level of total nitwits to that of just dumb. If that doesn't work, Stirg, you and Nev can do what you want with them. Jinny, take them outside and douse them with the hose. They stink. Then get them dressed, but keep them chained. We can use those later today. Everyone, we're heading back to The Hall. Now that this is over, and Renee's in town, we have opera work to do."

The NN's copious sweating slackened, and they looked at each other. Opera?

# Chapter 64 – Sleeping Arrangements

Listening to the singing coming from the studio, Stella and Anna felt superfluous, like the other rock formations around El Capitan, in Yosemite. First Paul would sing a melody from one of his songs, and Renee would add a harmony; and then she would sing lead from _Dark Hope_ , and he would harmonize with that. When Stella and Anna heard both a bass guitar and the piano playing, they couldn't resist anymore, and walked down to the studio where they found Renee with the Rickenbacher on her knee and Paul on the keys. Now they felt more superfluous. They backed out and down the corridor, passing by the two rooms that used to store artillery shells, and now served as bedrooms. There were two queen beds in the room they shared, and one in Paul's room. Anna stopped and said, "Where's she going to sleep?"

Stella said, "If they keep going like they're starting out, I can guess."

"If you don't mind me asking, your dad's almost seventy, right, and he still wants it?"

"Evidently, though that's not something we talk about. Anthony Quinn the actor produced a child when he was eighty-one. You remember him, the wild man in _Zorba the Greek_. I guess he was a wild man in real life, too. So I guess they want it right up to the end."

Anna said, "Eight-one. Wow. No rest for us weary women, I guess. Good to know what I have to look forward to. Not sure if that's good or bad. How old is she?"

"Renee's fifty-four."

"How'd you like to have a little half brother or sister?"

"Not likely, which is too bad. But they still can have some fun together."

"I guess."

Stella said, "We'll know later today. After they get off the cloud they're on in there, either she's going to ask where she's sleeping, or she won't."

"If she asks, it's going to be too late for Jools to bring in another bed. Then what?"

"Then it's girl's dorm style. Either she gets one queen and we're in the other, or we push the two beds together, and we each get a third."

Anna said, "Either way, that sounds interesting."

# Chapter 65 – More Planning

Normally, someone seeing three guys chained together and entering a building might ask questions, but when the thirty-something couple walking down John Street looked down the alley and saw the NNs going up the stage door entrance steps to The Hall, they just thought, cool, we'll have to watch for the announcement of this play, whatever it is. The entire team followed Jinny and the NNs up the steps and onto the stage, with everyone happy except the NNs and Stirg. Even Nev thought Gwen had made the right call in not putting them in the ground back at the hut. Jinny took the boys down to the seating level and locked the end of the chain around one of the front row seats, saying, "Sit there and learn something, you idiots. If you don't, you heard what Ms. Gwen said. She'll give you up to Mr. Stirg, and you know what that means."

When everyone except Stirg was sitting in a circle on the luxury rolling chairs, Slev said, "Thank god that's over. Two kidnappings solved, and one to go. This calls for dinner from McCradys and some good wine. Ok? Gale and Richard are the guests of honor tonight, so they get to do the ordering." She dialed McCradys and handed Gale her phone. Stirg had rolled his chair over to the edge of the stage, and was staring down at the NNs, which was not an environment conducive to their learning the basics of producing a world class opera performance. Even a rock opera. At least they once again were dressed all in black, even the NSSMIBC. Being almost as much of a fashionista as Stella, Gale had refused to allow him to put on his white sneakers as they left the quonset hut site. She told Jinny to dump them into the fifty-five gallon drum in which the quonset hut owner burned his trash. The NSSMIBC made the trip into town in his black socks, dirty as they were. If Gale had been at the quonset hut site later that day when the owner returned, hoping to get a piece of the Gale and Richard action, whatever that was, she would have seen this guy look around inside, then come outside and look around, then look into the drum, take the ugly white sneakers out, and put them on. She would have heard him say, "Hot damn."

The picnic style (though still gourmet) dinner arrived an hour later, and an hour after that everyone either was still sipping wine or had shifted to coffee. The NNs had shared the food but not the wine. The MSMIBC said, "Rather had a triple Quarterpounder."

Gwen stood in the middle of the circle, swirling her glass of fifteen year old Bordeaux. "Like Slev said, 'thank god that's over'. Now we have to gear up for the production. We have five weeks until opening night, and a hell of a lot of work to do. We're going to have to assume the music is going to be here in time. How we do set design without the music I'm not sure, but we'll figure something out. The other assumption is that Stella will be able to do the costumes based on what is going on in the bunker."

Constantine interrupted, "What's a bunker? Where'd that come from?"

"On one of our phone calls with Jools he let that word slip. And then he almost said it a second time. We have World War II bunkers and other bunkers built about 1900 over on Sullivan's Island. I think that's where they're holding Paul and Anna and Stella. If I thought they were in danger, we'd go hunting for them there, but I think they are ok. A bunker is a huge concrete structure built by the army." Constantine nodded. "I hope Paul and Stella start sending us songs and costume designs so we can build the production around them. But we have lots of things we can do, and have to do: a PR campaign, utilities, stage hands, a website, ticket sales. That's what we hit hard starting tomorrow. It's going to be seven days a week from here on out, twelve hour days. Everyone on board with that?" Everyone nodded, yes.

Roger asked, "Who's going to play the music? When we did the ballet, we had the one guy play the entire score on synthe. He's a master musician, and pulled that off. We don't have him, so who plays Paul's songs?"

Gwen looked around, and her gaze fell on Richard. He said, "When Anna and I were working on our ballet score, she played piano and I play synthe. That's different than what we need now. Like Roger said, the ballet music was played on synthe by a musical genius, which I am not. Anna's good on piano, but not at the level we need. We know Paul will sing, and we can assume he will play some of the music. But that still leaves a huge hole in instrumentation. Either we need an orchestra, or a great rock band, or a master synthe person."

Gwen said, "Ok, that's a fundamental question, and the only person who can answer it is Paul. That will be the first thing we ask him next time we talk. What we can do is start on the things I mentioned. Here's the division of labor. Anyone who has a problem, speak up. Utilities, including sound and lighting, Constantine. Hire anyone you need to. PR, Gale. You have the biggest mouth." She looked at Gale fondly, and Gale knew she was kidding. "Website and tickets, Slev. Stage hands and extras, Roger. Hire everyone you need. Richard, you will manage the musicians and the music, when Paul tells us how that is going to work. That's the basics. Everyone ok?"

"What about me?" Jinny asked.

"You babysit the idiots. Raise their consciousness. Make them better people. Protect them from Stirg. Make them do odd jobs."

Stirg said, "That don't work out for you, Jinny, you can turn them over to me." Looking at Gwen he said, "How long do I have to wait for them? Leopards don't change their spots. I want to take them out in the harbor."

"Give them a chance. It's up to them. If they don't cooperate, then out to the harbor they go. Ok, so that's the plan. Everyone here tomorrow morning at 8am. First thing we do is call Jools and talk to Paul and Anna."

Jinny said, "Where the idiots gonna sleep?"

"If you don't want them in your guest bedroom at home, it'll have to be here. Figure out something. Maybe Nev will stay with them overnight, keep them quiet."

Nev looked at Stirg and said, "I'll keep 'em quiet, all right."

# Chapter 66 – Sleeping Arrangements

Everyone had left The Hall except Jinny, Nev, and the nitwits from Idaho, who still were chained to the front row of seats. Jinny and Nev had rolled their upholstered chairs up to the edge of the stage, and were staring down at them. Nev said, "Did Gwen really fire her gun up at the ceiling?"

Jinny nodded. "She was trying to make a point about security. It worked."

"She's something, huh?"

"Tops."

"Maybe we can fire our guns in here too? Use them as targets? Just their legs?"

Jinny shook his head. "No killing them without her orders. She said we had to try to elevate their sense of decorum and overall emotional intelligence. If they don't cooperate or don't make any progress, then we can kill them."

"Who's to judge if they make progress?"

"Me, I guess."

"They seem intractable to me. Lack all capability for self-improvement. Can't you just judge them to be failures now? I'd get big points with my boss if I told him they were down on the bottom of the harbor out past Fort Sumter. I'll buy you a dinner at the restaurant of your choice, no price limit."

As the NNs sat listening to this conversation, they started sweating again, but less so that back at the hut when they were staring at that shovel with their names on it. Jinny played it out, hesitating before answering Nev, making them squirm a little. "It's been a long day. I'll wait till tomorrow, let you know then. In the meantime, what do we do with them overnight?"

"Leave 'em with me. I'll watch over them."

"You always this blood-thirsty after eating a gourmet meal from McCradys, served with an aged bordeaux?"

"The boss hasn't been all that pleased with my performance lately. I'm kinda looking to redeem myself."

"He's gonna have to wait. Can we just leave them like they are?"

"They might tear the row of seats out of the floor. Walk out down the street carrying it."

"There's a big pipe down in the orchestra pit we can chain them to. But how do we keep them from yelling after we leave?"

Nev said, "Easy, we cut out their tongues."

Jinny looked at the boys, said, "I don't think he's one of your biggest fans. You guys got any ideas how you want to spend the night?"

"The NSSMIBC said, "How bout you put us down in the pit, send down some hoes to keep us entertained. That'll keep us quiet."

Jinny looked at the idiot and said, "I don't think that's what Gwen had in mind. Ya'll better get your minds straightened out by tomorrow, cause she's not kidding when she says she'll turn you over to him." He thought a moment and said, "You got two choices: duct tape or I leave him with you. What'll it be?"

They looked at each other but very quickly said in unison, "Duct tape."

# 

# Chapter 67 – Paul and Renee

When Jools came back into the big house, Scotilly said, "Can you believe it? Paul McCartney and Renee Fleming, in my house. Those gotta be two of the biggest names ever to hit Sullivan's Island."

"You have them locked up in the bunker. You consider that to be VIP hospitality? They're eating food out of cans, for god's sake."

She ignored him and said, "Why don't we invite all of them here for dinner. Can you throw something together?"

"The way they looked at each other when they met, it's my guess they're going to be back in Paul's bedroom before long."

"What?"

"Bedroom. You know, place where two people go in, come out happy."

Scotilly looked shocked, then puzzled, then thoughtful. She said, "How long's it been for you?"

"For what?"

"For, you know."

"Never you mind." After a minute he asked, "How long for you?"

"Not very long."

Jools knew that was a lie. "Should I go down and invite them for dinner?" She nodded.

Down in the bunker he sat with Anna and Stella in the living room. From down the concrete corridor came the echo of angels singing. "Summertime, and the living is easy. The fish are jumping, and the cotton is high." Jools said, "That song was written over on Folly Island, back in the '30s. No wonder they're singing it. I'd like to hear them do a whole album of Gershwin." They listened for a few minutes. "Scotilly wants you up in the big house for dinner. She wants to meet Renee."

Anna still was feeling superfluous, and she jumped down his throat. "Why doesn't she come down here for dinner? We can warm up some _SpaghettiOs_ for her, serve it with white bread and margarine."

"Down girl," he said. "I told her I thought Paul and Renee might, you know, want to feel each other out tonight, and that reminded her she hasn't been getting any lately, and so I think she wants to see what that attraction is like. Maybe she's forgotten."

Anna, the devil, said, aggressively, "What about you, Jools? You getting any lately? Any Sullivan's Island maid servants?"

Jools sniffed and pretended to listen to the singing. "Really, Ms. Anna, such crassness. I'm surprised at you."

The bottom line was that all four of them were horny, and envious of the newly mated lovebirds. Potentially mated. Make that likely to be mated. The singing down the corridor stopped, and the three of them in the living room wondered if maybe the mating had started. Music making, or sex? Music making, or sex? Which was the stronger force of nature in those two musical artists?

Anna said, "Tell Scotilly the geniuses are hard at work. Hard at something. Tell her we'll come up to the house tomorrow for lunch. Think you can fix something to eat that didn't come out of a can?"

"Yes, dear. I'll prepare something special for the geniuses, and both of you of course. See you at 1pm."

An hour later Paul and Renee came into the living room, holding hands. Paul said, "Can you both come down to the studio? We'd like to try a first recording of the third song. Renee can do a bass line, and I can do some saxs on the synthe, if you can play a little piano, and you can run the mixing board." He looked from Anna to Stella.

Stella said, "You have a third song written? When did that happen?"

Renee said, "Just now. He told me the idea for the song, and I started singing some odds and ends, and he played piano, and we tossed around some lyrics, and there it was."

He said, "It's just the skeleton. The melody and the words need work, but putting something on tape always moves it forward for me; sort of adds to the form and structure. Then we build on that. Ok?"

Anna asked, "What's the idea?"

"The two protagonists of the opera, the couple that has been together successfully for many years, are watching a daytime TV show, one of those popular ones with a star interviewer, who brings people on the stage and asks them intrusive personal questions about their relationship, and they're dumb enough to answer them, and all the people talk about their spiritual qualities, and how it's their inner compatibilities, or lack of them, that dictate their happiness together. The whole rigged discussion is about problems, and the star interviewer pretends to analyze things, and tells them how their inner lives are misaligned, and if they listen to him, he can fix them and make them happy forever and ever. He's the chiropractor of relationships. And our couple, watching this garbage on TV, looks at each other, knowing that their success comes simply from liking to do the same things together, things outside themselves, that they have done year after year. Things they both love doing, together. And they shut the TV off and go out to the garden to do a little weeding in the beds."

Stella looked at Renee and said, "So he's told you the whole concept for the opera, and you agree with it, and you've written a song about it together, in one hour?"

Renee shook her head. "No. I learned the concept for the opera in the second song you sent me on the CD. I could see the first song was the catchy thing, the hook, to get people in a musical groove. And I could see the second song was where the serious stuff starts. I listened to it a dozen times, and after the second time I understood the concept. I could see that the rest of the opera, the remaining songs, were going to flesh that out. And I believe he's right about relationships. It's the stuff outside people that they do or don't do together, that makes or breaks it. This song about the goofy TV relationship celebrity was fun. I hate those idiots."

By 10pm that night they had the third song in the can.

# Chapter 68 - The Final Commitment

Gwen and Roger found the NNs the next morning when they heard groaning coming from the orchestra pit. Roger cut them loose, noting the generally gray color of their extremities. He said, "What was your other choice?" The BMIBC tried to say, "Nev," but his mouth wouldn't work from having been taped shut for eight hours. To Gwen, Roger said, "We'd better get these guys some coffee if we expect Jinny to work any miracles on them." He picked up the end of the chain and led them to the bathroom.

Gwen put the phone on speaker and dialed Anna's number. "Good morning, Jools here. How may I help you?"

"How's Renee, Jools?"

"Ms. June, lovely to hear the voice that makes the birds sing. She's fine, I gather. I've not been down to the bun....to their quarters yet this morning. We're having them up to house today for luncheon."

"Get your ass down to the bunker now, Jools, and keep the phone connected. We have to talk to Paul right away if we're going to pull off this production. Hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Gwenny. Hold the line." Five minutes later the four kidnappees and Jools were standing at the door of the bunker, blinking in the bright sunlight. The cell phone signal couldn't penetrate through the eight foot thick concrete walls. "Here's Mr. McCartney and Ms. Fleming, Gwenny." Anna and Stella could see they carried little weight, at this point. Anna decided she'd take this slight out on Jools later, at lunch.

Gwen said, "How are you Renee? How are you, Paul? Is Jools treating you right? He knows the consequences if you say, no."

Paul and Renee were holding hands, looking content. Anna and Stella had slept soundly, each with a queen bed all to themselves. Paul said, "All's well here. Almost like paradise, in a way."

The Junies sitting on the stage looked at each other at this statement. Living in a moldy bunker with no windows hardly seemed to fit the description of paradise. Slev, the most intuitive of the group, smiled and said, "Lucky them. That was fast out of the gate."

Gwen decided to pass by the paradise thing and get down to business. "Paul, we need to start a daily communication between us. We have five weeks to opening night. We're going to have a preliminary PR plan done by tomorrow, and we're going to announce the dates of the performance. This announcement is going out worldwide, over all the media. You ready for that? You going to have the music ready?"

Paul looked at Renee first and then at Stella and Anna. They looked at each other, and then back at him. He said, "Go for it, Gwenny. The music will be ready."

"Who's going to play it? Who's going to play the music in performance? Six performances over three weeks. Friday and Saturday nights."

Paul looked surprised. Renee said, "You don't have a band ready for this? Five weeks away?"

He thought a moment and said, "I can come up with a few musicians, if you can?"

She looked at him and said, "I mostly know classical musicians. People like Yo Yo Ma. I know the guys that did _Dark Hope_. Maybe I can get them."

Paul said, "Gwenny, we'll start calling people today. I don't see a problem. We'll get back to you."

"They need to be here before opening night. They're going to have to learn the music. Say in three weeks. That would give them two weeks for rehearsals. Can you do that?"

"Going to have to."

"You going to have the songs done in three weeks?"

He looked at Renee and said, "If we can stay out of the bedroom."

# Chapter 69 - Going After Ringo

At the same time Jinny was worrying about what to do with the idiots, Paul and Renee were worrying about where to find a great band to play the music. It had to be people who could be in Charleston in three weeks, devote two weeks to rehearsals, and then three more weeks to the six performances, and that was crazy. Anna asked, "Who's paying for this whole thing, anyway? The Junes? You? Scotilly? This is going to cost a million bucks to stage."

Renee said, "You don't even know who's paying for this?"

Looking kindly at his new girlfriend, Paul said, "Roger and Gwen didn't tell you that part of the deal? Didn't tell you you're the financier as well as the singer?"

She whispered something in his ear, which made him laugh. Watching this stuff from a sixty-nine year old man and a fifty-seven year old woman just about made Anna and Stella gag, but what are you going to do. Paul said, "We have two choices: we negotiate with Scotilly that she pays for everything out of her five mill, or I get stuck with the bill."

Renee said, "What five mill?"

Stella said, "The five mill ransom he's going to pay her and Jools."

"Huh?"

"That's the deal he made with them. He writes the world's greatest rock opera, performs it in Charleston, pays them the ransom, and promises not to escape from this luxury accommodation. In return, they don't wave guns around at us."

"Who was waving guns at you?"

"Jools."

"From what I've seen, even I could slap Jools silly and take a gun away from him if he was waving it at me."

"Yeah, but that's the deal he made," Stella said.

Renee looked at her new boyfriend for an explanation. He said, "I like this place. It's just what I needed to do something I've wanted to do for thirty years."

"What's that?"

"Write a great piece of music. A big work. I did _Oceans Kingdom_ , and I like it, but that's for ballet, with no singing. A human voice singing is the greatest of all musical instruments, so I wanted to do a big work with singing. But I let distractions get in the way over the last years. Then this popped up, and it all works. Enforced isolation. Well, sort of enforced. And when it appeared and I got into it, I thought of you singing with me, and that clinched the deal. The five mill ransom, and maybe another mill to finance the production....that's all worth it. Easy. What else am I going to spend my money on?" He looked at his daughter and said, "Don't worry, there will be plenty for you."

Renee looked at him, then at Anna and Stella, then back at him. "Love and art, they ain't for keeping. Let's rock. What about the band?"

Paul sat on the piano stool and diddled the melody from _My Love_. Stella waited a respectable time for him to answer, then said, "What about Ringo?"

Paul stopped playing and said, "What about him?"

"His All Stars. What about asking him to put together a new band of All Stars. Some of them have been pretty good, right? Lay the burden on him. You got enough to do with writing the music."

Paul switched to playing _It Don't Come Easy_ , stopped halfway through, and said, "Why not? Not a bad idea, hon. Why not give it a try. Will you ask him? Tell him what we have going on here?"

"You mean tell him you've been kidnapped?" With emphasis she added, "WE'VE been kidnapped?"

"Whatever it takes, babe. But we promised not to squeal on Scotilly and Jools, ok?" He pulled Renee down onto the bench with him and said, "Fourth song. Let's do it."

Stella and Anna left the lovebirds cum composers to it and went back to the living room. Anna asked, "You have Ringo's number? Email? You know him very well?"

"He's my godfather. Remember I'm the oldest, and Dad gave him that honor when I was born. So we're pretty close. That's why I suggested it. He needs to focus on writing the songs. I figured I had a chance to persuade Ringo to do this. Not sure, but there's a chance."

"You going to tell him we're kidnapped?"

"Maybe. Depends on how he responds. If he's iffy, then I'll play that card. It's an ace, right?"

"I guess telling someone that Paul McCartney has been kidnapped, and you're asking them for help; yeah, I'd call that an ace."

While Stella pulled on the rope that went into a metal vent stack, through the eight feet of concrete, across the fifty yards of vegetation, up to the third floor deck of the big house, and into the kitchen, and served as the signal mechanism to alert Jools that they needed something important (to use Anna's phone), back at The Hall the team commenced their full scale attack on their production tasks. Gale had told Gwen she and Richard needed a week off in Bermuda to recover from their three day strip poker ordeal with the NNs, and Gwen had turned her down flat. "See you here tomorrow morning, 8am sharp. You have work to do."

She showed up on time, though not in the best humor. And when she saw the NNs there, chained to the front row seats, her attitude went downhill. She said to Jinny, "I thought you were my friend. A friend would have taken these boys out past the harbor jetties and offed 'em. Are you a coward?"

"When it comes to doing what Gwen says, yes," was his answer. "But if you want to pull out some of their fingernails, I'll find you a pair of pliers. She didn't say anything about torture."

Gale passed on that and got to work on the PR package, which she had learned how to do while working with a pro on the ballet production. She got on the horn with the people who had done the website for the ballet, and then the lobbyists who would alert a select list of cultural institutions around the world, and then the graphic artists who had done the brochure and the posters, and then the print media specialist, and then the TV media specialist, etc. Forty-eight hours later, people in Helsinki were making reservations to Charleston. It was a call from the poster artist that alerted Gale to a hole in the program, which she took to Roger, being that she still was a little pissed at Gwen for not allowing her to take off for Bermuda. "What's the title of the opera?"

Roger looked at her and said, "The what?"

"The title? The title of Paul's opera? The poster artist needs it for the poster, unless you just want to call it Paul McCartney's untitled rock opera. He'll put whatever we say on the poster and the brochures."

"I haven't heard a title. Go ask Gwen."

"You go ask Gwen. I'm not speaking to her."

Roger asked Gwen, to which she responded, "I haven't heard a title. Go ask Jools."

Which he did, and to which Jools responded, "I haven't heard a title. Want me to ask Anna?"

Which he did, and to which she responded, "I haven't heard a title. Want me to ask Paul?"

Which she did, and to which he responded, "I haven't thought of one yet. Ask Renee."

Which she did, and to which Renee responded, " _Man and Woman in the Outer World_. How's that?"

It sounded good to Anna, who told Jools, who told Roger, who told Gwen, who tried to tell Gale, but Gale wouldn't listen, so Gwen told Roger to tell Gale, which he did, who told the poater artist, who got back to work. When he added _Man and Woman in the Outer World_ to the design, he looked at it and said, "Killer title." And he thought, "Wonder what it means? I thought people lived together in their spiritual worlds. Isn't that how men and women are compatible? That's what the TV self-helpers (self-servers), and the psychobabblers say."

# Chapter 71 – Letter to Ringo

After lunch Stella wrote the following letter to Ringo Starr:

Dear God-daddy Ringo: How's it rockin? All's well with me. The movie thing in France with Spielberg went good, except for all the boring parts where he kept making the actors do take after take after take, and we had to sit around on-call. My new friend Anna, who was one of the stars, got pissed at him one day when he made her do twenty takes of a scene, and told him he looked like a dork, keeping his stupid baseball cap on whenever he was indoors. She asked him if his wife let him wear it in bed. Not too many actors tell Steven he looks like a dork.

Before the movie I had my spring show in Milan, and the critics hated it, which means it was good, so I feel fine about that.

What have you been up to? Are you working on some project or just hanging out with the babes? There's kind of a reason for this email, in addition to saying hello. I'm working on a project with my Dad in Charleston, South Carolina, and it's a weird scene, and strange but good, I think, and Dad needs some help. He needs lots of help, but it's for a good thing, really good, and he asked me to buzz you up and see if you're interested. Like I said before, what are you doing right now? I mean in three weeks? He needs help in three weeks here in Charleston. And the help of some other people too, musicians, like your All Stars. You got any hanging around with nothing to do in three weeks? Charleston is very nice, especially the local food. Much better than in London.

Here's the deal, God-daddy. Dad has been kidnapped by a Taliban woman and an English butler, and locked in a World War II bunker near Charleston somewhere, I don't know exactly. Me too, and Anna, who in addition to starring in Spielberg movies, carries a gun when she goes out to dinner. She's hot, which you would like if you came here, though she has a boyfriend, but then lots of women forget about their husbands and boyfriends when they have the chance to make friends with ex-Beatles, even at your age....no offense, God-daddy.

Dad is writing a big rock opera here in the bunker, really good stuff, and he has a great singer here with us, Renee Fleming, the classical opera star, who did a great pop CD titled _Dark Hope_ , you gotta listen go it if you don't know it. She was not kidnapped, but came willing to help Dad because he says she's the greatest female pop singer ever, and I agree. What a voice, and as I write this note I hear them singing a Stevie Wonder song down the corridor in the studio, _Golden Lady_ , which is how Dad is thinking of Renee right now. She is something.

Anyway, the problem is that we have to do the opera in five weeks, and, you guessed it, he kind of slipped up on the point of arranging for musicians to perform it live. It's not exactly his fault because he didn't know he was going to be kidnapped three weeks ago and agree to write this opera thing and have it all done in eight weeks and then do six live performances here over a three week period. If he knew about the kidnapping and performance commitment I'm sure he would have planned things better.

Anyway, CAN YOU HELP? He needs you. For me, God-daddy? Can you put together your best All Starr Band ever and get their asses here in three weeks for two weeks of rehearsals? Please!

Thank you, your ever loving god-daughter, STELLA. I LOVE you, Ringo.

Stella showed it to Anna, who said, "Nice, and thanks for the compliment, although it sounds like you're promising him something."

"Not really, just having some fun. You can handle him. You don't mind, do you?"

"No. Is he married now?"

"He's married to his harem. Bigger and better than the sheik dudes in Arabia. You wanna join?"

"Depends on who's in the harem."

# Chapter 72 – The NNs Meet Some Charleston Jews

Anna got Jools to call Slev at The Hall, to whom she dictated the letter, and who sent it to Ringo's email address. After sending it, Slev read it to the team, who got a kick out of it, with Roger saying, "Let's hope he responds positively. That really could work well. Not as great as the dream team I put together for the ballet production, but still, I mean, how many people are going to say no to Ringo Starr. We saw that phenomenon in action with Renee. Paul rang, and she was down here in no time."

Gale said, "Depending on who these All Stars are, we could have a problem."

Gwen could guess the answer, but said, "What problem would that be, Gale?"

"Groupies."

"Anyone in mind."

She didn't answer, but leaned her head against the chair back, closed her eyes, and started formulating a list of the world's greatest rock stars, imagining their faces and bodies.

Gwen looked at Roger and said, "Your dream team was one guy."

"Yeah, but what a guy." Gwen had to acknowledge that. Pete Townshend, the greatest songwriter in the history of rock, and a musical genius.

With the hunt for musicians in play, Gwen looked around The Hall for the next challenge, and her gaze fell on the NNs, who sat sullenly in the front row listening to Slev talk about the difference between a lyric soprano and a contralto. She said, "How's it coming down there?"

Slev looked up at the stage and said, "Zip, zero. What we have here are three minds the size of Le Sueur peas."

"Ok, forget about it. I'll get with Jinny and Nev and we'll do Plan B with them." The nitwits didn't like the sound of that one bit, suddenly having their attention, what little there was of it, shifted from trying to understand what is meant by vocal range, to visions of the harbor waters out past Fort Sumter. She asked Roger where Jinny was, and he told her back in the office with Nev, cleaning their guns. She said, "You remember the day you took Nev's gun away from him here on the stage, and sent him home to Stirg without it? And here we are, working together, and us letting him carry around us."

"Very strange, but so far, so good."

Gwen went back to the office and sat down at the table covered in gun parts, oil cans, and rags. "The NNs aren't learning. We have to do something with them."

Nev got a gleam in his eye, and said, "I told you they're intractable. Can we get on with Plan B? I'll take care of that."

Gwen had to admit she had said he could have them if the character improvement thing didn't work, but she was feeling magnanimous. She said, "I did say Plan B was to get rid of them, but I want to throw Plan C at you and see what you think." They nodded. "The reason is, they had the opportunity to mess with Gale up at the quonset hut, and they didn't. She was clever and managed them, but still, they resisted a fierce temptation, which was her in that emerald skirt. Ok?" Nev nodded because it wasn't very often that anyone could say no to Gwen. She went on, "They are neo-nazis, which means they are racist and anti-Semitic, right? How about if we stick that in their faces?"

Nev said, "How?"

There are some synagogues in Charleston. How about if we volunteer their services to one of those. Make them do some work that needs doing, maybe cleaning toilets, stuff like that?"

Nev put a drop of oil on the barrel of his gun while he thought. After a minute he said, "Stirg is a member of Brith Sholom Beth Israel, on Rutledge Ave. You know, the big building made out of yellow brick? It's huge. He doesn't go a lot, but he gives them money, and they know him. There are a couple of elders there that came over from Poland after the war, and have families here. They might be interested. Stirg might be interested, although I'm sure his first choice is to dump 'em out in the harbor. Easier."

Gwen said, "Give it a try. If it doesn't work, they're all yours."

Nev called Stirg and asked him to come up to The Hall. They again sat at the edge of the stage, looking down at the three not so feisty blockheads. Stirg said, "I don't mind taking them up there and asking the rabbi and the elders. The problem is security. Who's going to watch them, even if they agree to have them work there?"

Jinny said, "Nev and I can split the duty."

So Stirg called the synagogue office, and was passed on to one of the elders he knew, who had come from Poland. They had a short conversation, half in English and half in Hebrew. Nev translated for Jinny. "The guy says bring the fucking Nazis up there and he'll take care of them for us."

So they unchained the NNs from the theater seats, marched them out the stage door, down the steps, down the alley, and down John Street to Stirg's giant Mercedes which easily held the six of them. Once again no one thought that seeing three guys chained together was too odd, being in the vicinity of The Hall. Kind of like seeing gorillas walking around the MGM lots in Hollywood. A half hour later the six of them were sitting in the synagogue's conference room, with the rabbi and three elders, including the one who had referred to the NNs as fucking Nazis, a description the others didn't seem to mind. Nev told the rabbi what the boys from Idaho were doing in town, that they had kidnapped two of their friends, including a good looking woman, even if she wasn't Jewish, and that they wanted to find Stirg's granddaughter and violate her so as to obtain a measure of revenge against Stirg for some alleged act he had perpetrated in Argentina some forty years ago.

The rabbi said, "So what do you want from us. Why don't you just take them out in the harbor and feed 'em to the fish?"

Nev smiled big and nodded agreement, but Stirg interjected. "We thought maybe there are some jobs around here that you don't want to do, that they could do. Some nasty jobs; the nastier the better. Something that would help you out and stick it to them at the same time."

"We have that big patch of poison ivy growing on the back fence. Never could find anyone to do that job. We could have them pull that out with their bare hands. Maybe have them work naked, and they accidentally get pushed into it."

Jinny liked that idea, but said, "Anything else? Any bigger job?"

The synagogue guys sat thinking until one of them said, "What about the brick? We've wanted to clean the yellow brick for years. The building is sixty-five years old, and the exterior has never been cleaned. It needs it."

The rabbi looked at Stirg and said, "That's a big job that needs doing, and not a fun one. It may be too big for these guys, and take too long. What do you think?"

"These boys are not the masters of their own time. They sacrificed that privilege when they decided to mess with us. If it's a painful job that would help you, let's look at it. They know the alternative, so they should be willing."

The group left the conference room and went outside, where they stood in back, looking up at the handsome structure. There were places where the brick was almost black from environmental staining. Jinny took the end of the chain over to where the poison ivy was growing, and locked it to the fence. The rabbi said, "The brick looks bad, doesn't it. Disgraceful, now that I look at it with fresh eyes. Needs cleaning."

One elder said, "Big job, though. Take a month to do, and requires scaffolding to get up high. And cleaning tools."

Another said, "Who's going to watch them? Can't have them chained together out here for a month. Some members of our congregation might find that objectionable."

Stirg looked at Nev and Jinny. Jinny said, "That's a long time. Even if we split the time, you're talking two weeks, fulltime. That's too much for me. I gotta get back working on the opera."

The rabbi said, "What opera? I love opera."

Jinny said, "Rock opera, by Paul McCartney. Sir Paul McCartney."

"Never heard of him. Doesn't sound Italian, and all great opera is Italian."

Jinny let the subject drop, and the group stood staring at the grimy yellow brick. Then the Polish geezer said, "I hate that black stuff. We gotta get that off, make this place shine again. There may be a way." He looked at the rabbi and said, "What about Moshe and Shalom? Moshe can use the money. We could pay him to sit out here with Shalom and guard these jerks as they work. I got nothing to do, I'll sit out here with them. If the jerks to something, I tell Moshe, and he tells Shalom. End of problem."

Stirg said, "Who are Moshe and Shalom? Sounds like a comedy act."

"Moshe is one of our members. He was a cop until he lost his sight in a car accident. He's retired now. Shalom was his dog on the force. They were a K9 team. Now Shalom is his seeing eye dog. Very smart."

Nev said, "You mean if these guys try to take off, the dog would stop them?"

"The dog will do whatever Moshe orders him to do. Incredible training. Moshe told us stories of what they did as cops. The cops all consider the K9 dogs to be cops, too. They're very sentimental. If a dog gets killed in the line of duty, it gets full ceremonial honors."

The rabbi said, "I like it. Mr. Stirg, would you be willing to pay the costs of having Moshe and Shalom sit out here?"

"Sure."

"Ok, I'll call Moshe and see if he's interested. If he is, can one of you go pick him up? He's close."

Again Stirg said, "Sure."

Five minutes later Nev was in the Mercedes and heading for Moshe's house. Twenty minutes after that, he let the ex-cop and his dog out at the rear of the synagogue. The rabbi, elders, and Stirg came out of the office where they had had tea. Jinny, left on guard, was messing around with the NNs, halfheartedly trying to push them into the poison ivy. The rabbi described the situation to Moshe, who said, "You're kidding? Three neo-nazi idiots came down here from Idaho to get revenge on Mr. Stirg for something he did forty years ago, and kidnapped two people to do it, and this good looking babe tricked them into playing strip poker, with the stakes being that they not rape her, which was their intention, and then they were rescued by their friends, and that's them over there, chained to the fence?"

Stirg said, "That's about it."

"And these friends never told the police about the kidnapping? Kept it to themselves, did the rescue on their own."

"Right."

"That probably was smart. And now we have these guys, and instead of turning them over to the police, we're going to issue a penalty to them ourselves, something that helps the congregation?"

The rabbi said, "That's about the size of it, if you'll help. But there is an alternative if we can't use them here."

"What's that?"

"Mr. Stirg and Nev have offered to take them on a one-way sight-seeing trip out in the harbor, to the deep waters off Fort Sumter."

"I see," Moshe punned. "The morons are clear about their options?"

"Not yet. We haven't made our proposal to them yet. We wanted to see if you and Shalom would assist with the project."

Moshe patted the one hundred and twenty pound female German shepherd on the head and said, "What do you think? Can we help the cause here, clean up the building?" The dog woofed, yes. "You have any objection to tearing the throats out of those guys over there if I tell you to?" The dog woofed, no. He looked at the rabbi and said, "We're in."

"Wonderful. Mr. Stirg has offered to pay you and Shalom a substantial fee. Now, who's going to inform the nitwits about the contribution to the synagogue they so generously have offered to make?"

Stirg said, "That would be me. But I wonder if Moshe and Shalom could offer them a little demonstration of the consequences of causing any trouble during the project. That would go a long way to establishing the necessary ground rules for getting the work done efficiently, effectively, and peacefully."

The Polish elder said, "Who said we want things to go peacefully?"

Stirg led the group over to the fence, introducing the BMIBC as Nitwit #1, the MSMIBC as Nitwit #2, and the NSSMIBC as Nitwit #3. Succinctly he told the NNs the story, describing the work they would be doing over the next few weeks, their roles, and the roles of their three keepers, two human and one dog. He said, "You understand? You understand it's this, or out to the harbor with you?"

Nitwit #3 now made a poor decision, not surprising given his other moniker of NSSMIBC. He said, "Fuck you Jew bastards and your dirty yellow brick."

Instantly Moshe said to Shalom in Hebrew, "Attack and Hold!"

Shalom closed the twenty feet between her and Nitwit #3 in three seconds. At eight feet from her target she leapt and crashed her hundred and twenty pounds into his chest, knocking him back against the chain link fence, his arms pinned under her. She dropped to the ground and went for her primary target, his crotch. Her targeting accuracy was attested to by the high pitched scream that emanated from his mouth. Shalom's training had been precise, and her abilities were formidable. After the scream she slightly reduced the pressure of her jaws on his prick. If he went immobile, she would execute the Hold part of her orders, until she received new orders. If he struggled, if he hit her, if he tried to pry open her jaws, her training would make her execute an unspoken order, 'Tear'.

Instinctively, Nitwit #3 turned to stone, which saved him from a fate worse than death. A truism for most guys, anyway. It was good it was instinct that dictated his actions, because his dearth of cognitive abilities might have led him to another unwise decision. He stood with his eyes grinding shut and his hands spread out to the sides, clutching the wire of the fence. Shalom was almost motionless, maintaining a firm but non-destructive pressure on his crotch, growling gently but authoritatively. No one else moved or spoke. They just watched the demonstration, awestruck.

After thirty seconds, Moshe said, "Heel!" Instantly she let go, turned, went to his side, faced the nitwit, and waited for orders. Moshe petted her in a special way that told her to calm down, and said, "Everything go ok, I gather? Was the demonstration effective?"

Simultaneously, everyone present except Nitwit #3, said, "Very!" And he thought it.

# Chapter 73 – The Nitwits Future

The next day Gale was back to her old gregarious self, giving Jinny shit about his clothes. He thought he looked great since he was wearing stuff he'd bought from a tailor Pierre had brought into the salon. But he realized he had poor taste himself, so when either Gale or Gwen talked about his clothes, he listened. Nev listened to this for awhile, got bored, and asked Gale how she'd whipped the nitwits at poker. She said none of them had even the vaguest notion of what a tell was, and she knew what they had in their hands before they did.

Gwen showed up at The Hall about 10am having spent the morning at their lawyer's office having him update their liability insurance policy for the upcoming production. She went over to the group, silently assessing if any of them had done a lick of work that morning, or not. She looked across the stage at the front row of theater seats, said, "Where are the nitwits?"

Nev let Jinny explain. "They're at the synagogue on Rutledge Ave., cleaning the grime off of the several hundred thousand yellow bricks it's made of, using toothbrushes and little dishes filled with Comet sink cleaner."

Gwen called Roger over from the computer. She wanted him to hear this, and had Jinny repeat himself. Roger said, "Who's watching them?"

"The rabbi is the one who gave the go-ahead. He's the boss up there. But the guards are one of the elders, a Polish guy, and Moshe and Shalom."

Roger looked at Gwen, then asked, "Who are the Polish guy and Moshe and Shalom?"

"The Polish guy was in the war, and came over here in the late '40s. He thought we should just take them out in the harbor and dump them. Moshe is a blind guy, and Shalom is his female sidekick."

Now it was Gwen's turn to look at Roger. She said, "You left three neo-nazis who kidnapped two of our friends, and wanted to kidnap Anna and violate her out of a sense of revenge; you left them guarded by an eighty-something year old man, a blind guy, and a girl named Peace?"

Jinny said, "Sort of. The blind guy is an ex-cop, and Shalom is his dog."

"And that's ok?"

Jinny looked at Nev, and said, "You tell her."

"Shalom is a hundred and twenty pound, highly trained, beautiful, kickass attack German shepherd. She was an anti-terrorist K9, working with Moshe before he was injured and lost his sight. One of the nitwits gave us some shit, and in three seconds, after a command by Moshe, she had him pinned against a fence and his prick in her mouth. If he'd moved muscle it would have been all over for him. Stirg is paying the three of them to guard the nitwits while they do this job, and, believe me, I'd rather be guarded by a Mossad squad."

Roger said, "How long is it going to take them to clean the brick with toothbrushes and Comet?"

Jinny said, "There are one hell of a lot of brick in that synagogue. Gonna take them weeks."

"Then what?"

"Then you decide if we let them go back to Idaho, or take them for a swim, or enroll them in a humanities course at College of Charleston. They're out of our hair for now."

Gwen decided she'd cross that bridge when it appeared.

# Chapter 74 – The Band

Three days after she sent the email to Ringo, Slev's phone rang. "Ms. Slev, please. Ringo here."

"This is Slev."

"Good-day to you, Slev. I have some news for Paul. Can you talk, luv?"

"I can talk, but hold a sec, let me get the boss here." She went out of the office at The Hall, looked around, and saw Gwen in the center aisle, looking up at the lighting gantry, where the new lighting director was repositioning some spots. She said, "Gwen, come up. It's Ringo."

Gwen said, "Ringo who?"

"What do you mean, Ringo who? How many Ringos do you know. Paul's Ringo. The Ringo." There weren't many people who could chastise Gwen with innuendo, but Slev was one of them. When Gwen was sitting on the stage next to her, Slev said, "I have Gwen here now, she's the boss of the opera production. Go ahead."

"Lo, Gwen. Ringo here. Got good news for Paul. Can you put me through?"

Gwen said, "You got Stella's email letter, right? The one that told you Paul has been kidnapped?"

"Got it, Gwenny. Hard to believe. But it said things aren't so bad as with normal kidnappings. Is that right, luv?"

"That's right. He's fine, and Stella's fine. But he's someplace else, so he can't talk with you directly. We can get him a message."

"Is this thing all serious, the way Stella's email said? Is Paul really composing a rock opera, that has to be done in five weeks? Is he really locked up, and needs a band for the gig?"

"Yes, all true. But for him, this is a good thing. He says it's taken away all the distractions, and is letting him focus on songwriting. And he has Renee Fleming with him. She's ok, too."

"I can understand the distractions thing. Well, then, if this is all on the up and up, it sounds really interesting, and he's asked for help, so I'm in. Tell him that."

"We'll tell him. What about a band? Any luck? Time is short, and we need the best. You're one of the best, Ringo."

"Thanks luv. And yes, I've got some blokes interested. They're willing to cancel their engagements, if everything is the way it seems, with Paul writing this thing, and only two weeks of rehearsals, and then six performances over three weeks. And Renee singing. I listened to _Dark Hope_ , and so did the others. Fantastic singing. He may be right, she may be the greatest female pop singer ever. Anyway, we want to do this gig with him and her. Crazy timing, but if you don't help out a friend when he calls, what good are you?"

"Who are the others?"

"The others are some fun people, Gwen, and I hope they work for Paul. I assume he'll play bass, and he'll let me do the drumming. So I think he needs a guitar player, maybe a couple keyboardists, and some backup singers. I don't know what this music will be like, but these people can play anything."

"Who are they, Ringo? I think you're right about him on bass and you on drums, but who else?"

"Well, I all I could find that can do this short schedule thing are three people, but they can do a lot of things."

"Who, Ringo?"

"Good guitar player, very cool. David Gilmour. He says he always loved our albums, and I've always loved his."

Slev didn't recognize the name and looked at Gwen. She said, "He's the guy from Pink Floyd, wrote lots of their material, and plays that incredible lyrical guitar. Giant." Gwen raised her arms, emoting like, unbelievable. "Who else?"

"He's got himself singing, and Renee singing, so I thought we needed two keyboardists, one maybe on piano and one on synthe or clavinet, or maybe organ. And we need some other women. So I got Christine McVie and Alicia Keys. I love their singing and their instrumental work, and I'll bet Paul will love them, too. They will sing great backup to him and Renee. One can play piano and the other can play something else. I hope Paul puts lots of synthe into the songs."

Gwen leaned back against the chair and looked at Slev. Again she mouthed "unbelievable". Slev felt out of it, but trusted Gwen's taste. Gwen said, "Ok, Ringo, you did good. I love McVie's singing on _Bare Trees_ , and I'll get the word to Paul right away. There's still another big problem, now that you've solved this one of the band."

"What's that?"

"How're you going to rehearse. We're in the theater now where the performances will take place, and y'all can practice here. But Paul and Renee are locked up somewhere here in town, so I don't know how that's going to work. But we'll figure it out. Opening night is in four and half weeks. Can you have the band here in two and a half weeks?"

"That was the deal I made with them. We'll be in Charleston on time. How's the songwriting going? Is he ok?"

"I've only heard the two songs, and two covers he did of Fleming songs from _Dark Hope_. Those were all great, and he's happy, so I guess things are ok. We'll get him this great news today. Thank you, Ringo. We'll see you in a little over two weeks. Bye."

"Bye luv, buy Slev. Gonna be fun."

Gwen looked at Slev and said, "Dynamite. He came through, big time." She looked around, and asked, "Where's Jinny?"

Slev said, "He's at _Pierre's_. It's Friday, and he likes looking good for the weekend."

"Would you call him, tell him to go buy _Bare Trees_ and _In the Meantime_ CDs, and Alicia Keys' new CD, and _On An Island_ , by David. You're going to die when you hear him play guitar on that. And McVie's singing."

"You're calling the guy David, and he's a great composer and instrumentalist, and you've never met him?"

Gwen said, "I'm his boss."

Slev said, "Yes, Gwenny, boss."

Gwen affectionately pushed her away and said, "I better call Jools and get the message to the musicians."

She dialed up, and heard, "Jools here, how may I help you?"

"This is Gwen, Jools, and I have news for Paul and Stella and Anna. Put them on."

"You take your bossy pill this morning, Ms. Gwen? I'm up here, and they're down there. You know that. It'll take some time to get them the message. What is it?"

"What it is, Jools baby, is that this thing is coming to a head, four and a half weeks till opening night. And somewhere around there is when you and I are going to meet, and that's when you and I are going to settle matters. You dig?"

"Gwenny, please, why spoil a beautiful morning with such animus. You sound like Anna sometimes. I'm just the butler. If you have issues with my demeanor, please consult with my supervisor. I'm doing the best I can under trying and strenuous circumstances. It's not easy being both butler and kidnapper."

Gwen gave up trying to intimidate him, and said, "Paul, Jools, Paul. When can I talk with him?"

"Let me finish the ironing, and I'll go down and get him on the line. If he's still there. Bye, hon."

A half hour later Gwen's phone rang, and it was Anna. She said, "The love birds don't want to be disturbed. What's up, Gwenny?"

"Hi dear, how are you?"

"Pretty good. They're working well, once we pry them out of the bedroom. Stella has no problem with it, mainly because Renee is so sweet. Now that we have the main concept down, and some of the specific ideas, Stella's started designing the costumes, so she's having fun. Paul asks me to play with them every time he finishes the first draft of a song. We play with it, revise it, and get it into the computer. Then they go back into the bedroom, and then we pry them out again to start on the next song. They seem pretty confident of finishing on time."

"I have news. Ringo called today; he's gotten the band together, and it's killer." She told Anna about David Gilmour and Christine and Alicia. "Ringo said they're all committed, and they'll arrive in a little more than two weeks. It sounds like Paul will have a lot of songs ready for rehearsal. Right?"

"Yes, they will, and that's an incredible lineup. I know you can't wait to do the publicity on them."

"Anna, we still have another big problem. How is half the band going to be here at The Hall, and the other half, you guys, somewhere else? That can't work. I thought before of having Renee be the go-between, doing the hooded person thing, taking material from you to us. But we've got to have the musicians together for rehearsals. You have any ideas on how to do that?"

"Look, if we need to get out of here, I can get us out. Jools and his gun are not a problem. The problem is that Paul agreed to stay here and not escape, and he's sticking to that. He wants the isolation. And now he's got a squeeze here, and she's incredible. He may never leave; stay here and write music the rest if his life; die in a concrete bunker in Charleston. Anyway, the answer is, no, I don't have an idea of how to get the band together." She paused, then said, "There's something else, too. The ransoms. Two of them. Remember, Scotilly is demanding five mill from Paul and five mill from Stirg, for Anna. How does that happen, when we have this production to do, and get everyone together, and still allow Scotilly and Jools to be safe and get away with it all?"

"Gwen said, "Isn't that their problem? Figuring all that out?"

"They're not very good kidnappers. We have to help them."

# Chapter 75 – Who is this Band?

An hour after the conversation with Anna, Jinny entered The Hall from the stage door and laid the CDs down on the table in front of Gwen: _On An Island, In the Meantime_ , and _Girl on Fire_. She said, "Thanks."

"Who are these people?" he asked.

They're some of the greatest talents in pop music, and they're going to be here in two weeks, and you're going to meet them."

He looked at the picture of Alicia Keyes on the front of _Girl on Fire_ and said, "I'm going to meet HER?"

Gwen nodded and waved a hand in front of his face to dispel his trance. "Guignard also is going to meet her."

He realized what he was doing and said, "I hang around you, and Gale, and Anna, and Slev. That's like hanging around a group that could qualify for the Oxford debating team, the Olympic swim team, and a group shot of the cover of Vogue. I figure I can handle being around this babe."

"How are the NNs? What are they doing at the synagogue?"

"The first day we made them erect scaffolding all the way around the building, three storied high. Took them fourteen hours. Then the old Polish guy made them start at the top, way up there. He makes them stay on the scaffolding all the time, work, sleep, eat, everything. Sent them up sleeping bags and pads. They haven't been down in five days. He had a portajohn delivered, and had the guy set it up on the second story of scaffolding. He has breakfast and dinner delivered every day, and sends it up there to them. That's it, two meals a day. Tells them that if they do a good job the first week, he'll give them lunch. Moshe and Shalome hang out down at the bottom, reading books, shooting the shit with the people who come to the synagogue, listen to the stereo. Moshe has lots of books on tape. Stirg is paying him a lot of money, so he's happy doing what he's doing. When people ask him who the workers are, he tells them they're volunteers; want to do penance for past sins and enhance their sense of faith. He's trained the Polish guy to give commands to Shalom, and trained Shalom to take them. Moshe goes home after dinner, and the Polish guy shows up to take over. Then he goes home about 11pm, and when he leaves, he makes sure the nitwits hear him give the command to Shalom to Kill if they come down. Shalom seems to like getting that command. Moshe shows up again about 7am, everybody's happy. Except the nitwits, of course. Nev and Moshe have become buds, and Moshe lets Nev hang out and give them shit. The Polish guy bought a case of toothbrushes, and already they've gone through a quarter of it."

Gwen said, "Dogs are amazing. Let's listen to _On An Island_."

Jinny slipped the disc into the theater's sound system computer, and that great voice and lyric guitar began singing and playing _Castellorizon_. The song mesmerized them. The entire team stopped what they were doing, came to the stage, sat and listened. After Gilmour's songs Jinny loaded Alicia's new CD, which they liked, and then the 1972 album with Christine playing electric piano and singing _Bare Trees_ in that sultry voice of hers. The Russians never had heard any of this music, and they were knocked out. Gale said, "Gilmour's mine. Mine, do you hear? What day does he arrive; I want to pick him up at the airport?"

Jinny said, "No way Gwen's gonna let you pick him up. We won't see either of you for a week."

Roger said, "I volunteer to pick up Alicia. When does she arrive?"

Gwen ignored the banter and said, "They're arriving in a little over two weeks. Ringo said he's bringing Christine on his jet, and the other two will arrive in their jets, all the same day. We'll ALL go to meet them. That way there won't be any deflections or defections away from The Hall. In the meantime, and she glared around the circle of chairs, we have work to do. All of the production tasks have to be done by the time they arrive. Ok?" They nodded. "I have that long to figure out how we're going to get them together with the bunker people, so they all can rehearse together."

# Chapter 76 – Paul Has His Band

Back in the bunker Stella counted eight songs recorded into the computer, all rough cuts. Paul had said he wasn't going to waste time polishing them, and told them a story about Miles Davis. "My favorite music documentary is Ken Burns' _Jazz_. That's a work of art in itself. The year is about 1956, and the film describes the life and contributions of Davis. Burns shows clips of Miles entering the studio at the beginning of the _Kind of Blue_ recording sessions, and tells how he refused to provide the other musicians with any previews of the songs and arrangements he had done. The recording sessions started absolutely cold. He would hand each musician a sheet of paper that had the basic chord progressions and harmonies on it, and then he would start playing the melodies on his trumpet. He expected each musician instantly to understand the song, and be able to compose their parts on the spot. They would play through each song three times, and on the fourth, the tapes would roll. That was it. Those guys were so good they created one of the greatest jazz albums ever, that way." He looked at Anna, Stella, and Renee. "That's what we're going to do, or something like it."

Anna said, "That's putting a lot of pressure on the band, and you don't even know who they are."

"I have faith in Ringo. He'll get the best"

It was at this point that they heard the sound of the massive iron doors opening at the entry to the bunker, and the familiar steps of Jools coming down the corridor to the studio. When he entered he had Anna's cell in his hand, and said, "Annie, it's Gwenny, for you."

Anna looked at Paul and said, "I want you to release me from my promise not to kill him. He called me Annie once before, and I told him that's what would happen if he did it a second time. Ok? Can I do it? I won't do it in here; too hard to clean blood off of concrete. I'll take him outside in the vegetation. No one will find him till he starts to stink in a couple of days."

Paul looked at Renee, and said, "She's kidding, I think."

Anna followed him down the corridor, and stood just outside the iron doors with her phone. Gwen told her the news about the band, which excited her. When she hung up, she clocked Jools on the side of the head with the flat of her hand, and went back into the bunker, where she told the others the news about David Gilmour, Alicia Keys, and Christine McVie. Paul smiled and shook his head. "I told you he'd come through. Damn! David Gilmour. Not only will he play some of the greatest guitar you'll ever hear, but now he plays sax. Perfect. Way to go, Ringo. And two more women, both keyboardists, dynamite. I love McVie's singing. And Keys, I saw a couple of videos of her playing piano. She has the most beautiful hands I've ever seen." He stood up and paced around the studio. "A six person band; that's right on, Ringo." He paced again, and then slipped off his shoes, motioning for Renee and Stella to do the same. He picked up the shoes one by one, and arranged them on the carpet. "This is how we'll be on stage: me standing in the center, in back of a mike stand, with the neck of the Rickenbacher pointed to the right. That way it won't get in Renee's way. You'll be on my left, standing with a mike stand in front of you. Of do you want a handheld mike?"

Renee said, "Mike stand, like you."

He nodded, and then moved one of her shoes to the right of his right shoe and the other of her shoes to the left of his left shoe. "Christine will be with her keyboard setup to my right, looking out to the audience, and Alicia will be with her Steinway grand to your left." Then he picked up a cardboard box holding blank CDs and set it just behind the shoe symbolizing Renee. "That's Ringo, on a three foot stage platform, just off-center on Renee's side. He likes being off-center, for some reason. Always has." He looked at the three women for confirmation.

Anna said, "That's the easy part. You said you wanted thirty songs minimum, and you've got eight in the can. All nice. That leaves twenty-two more to do, and two and a half weeks to go till opening night."

Renee looked at him and said, "Maybe we'll have to cut the screwing sessions down to one a day."

# Chapter 77 – The Band Is Coming

Two weeks later Gwen handed a piece of paper to Gale and Jinny. On it was written: Ringo and Christine, 10:20am from LA; Alicia, 3:47pm from New York; David, 7:14pm from Hong Kong. She said, "I was hoping they all would arrive close together so we all could meet them, but no such luck. They're spread out all over tomorrow, so you two are the meet and greeters." Pointing at Jinny she said, "You keep her in line with David. Keep her OFF of him." Pointing at Gale she said, "You keep him in line. No dirty jokes to Christine and Alicia. Take him to _Pierre's_ early in the morning and have them shave him twice. Pick them up at the private jet gate, and take them to the Charleston Place Hotel; I've booked them all into suites. Tell them we will pick them up at 10am the next day, and that we're all meeting here."

Gale said, "You figured out yet how the whole band is going to rehearse together? And with us, the production team? How are we going to do this?"

Gwen didn't need reminding that she, in fact, had not figured this out. She walked away and sat at the edge of the stage, staring at the sea of seats. After five minutes she knew it was time to call in reinforcements. She dialed Roger's cell and said, "Can you meet me at The Battery, for a walk?"

He said, "Half an hour. See you, love."

Half an hour later they stood together with hands on the railing, looking over the distance at the flags of Fort Sumter snapping in the wind. They began to walk the promenade and she said, "We have to find a way to get the band and Paul and Stella and Anna together. Day after tomorrow."

Roger knew this was what Gwen wanted to talk about, but he waited for her to express her ideas, first. They walked one mile, and Gwen was silent. They walked a second mile, same thing. At the start of the third mile she looked at him and said, "You have any ideas?"

He waited for half a mile to elapse before answering. "Work release."

"Work release?"

"They're in prison, right? And Scotilly's both the judge and the warden. Paul has a deal with her to not escape, and that's the sentence. You act as their lawyer and file an appeal with Scotilly, demanding a work release program that allows them to come to The Hall every day, if they return to the prison every night. In return for the new program, they pay an additional fine to the court. To her. She gets more money, which she wants, and we get the whole team together for rehearsals."

She stopped, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. "Thanks." They continued walking for a few minutes, and she said, "Can you imagine? Paul and Ringo together at The Hall. David Gilmour playing that Pink Floyd style guitar. The two women playing piano and synthesizers. And Renee Fleming singing. Renee Fleming singing new McCartney songs, singing with him. Unbelievable."

Roger walked on, then said, "Can you imagine all that, plus Gale hounding Gilmour for sex. And Little Jinny Blistov hanging out, doing his thing, talking with everyone constantly. The only normal people in the building will be you and me, and Slev and Constantine. And they're billionaire Russians who used to be aristocratic gangsters in Saint Petersburg."

"Constantine was the gangster. Slev was his dutiful wife. And you forgot about Anna and Richard. They'll be here too, and they've been separated for five weeks. No sex. And she will have to stay here during the day as part of the work release program. They'll be screwing in the orchestra pit every morning when Anna gets here."

Roger said, "What about Stirg and Nev? Are we going to let them hang out during the rehearsals?"

"Jesus, an ex-Nazi hunter billionaire and an ex-Mossad commando. Lot of money in here."

"Add a few hundred million each from Paul and Ringo and David, and then some more from Renee and Alicia and an ex-Fleetwood Mac star. That's a couple billion, easy."

Gwen said, "How DO we get mixed up in things like this?"

# Chapter 78 – Putting the Team Together

When they got back to The Hall Roger dialed up Anna's phone and got the usual: "Good morning, Jools here. How may I help you?"

"This is Roger and Gwen. We need to speak to Scotilly."

"Roger, you know she maintains a strict schedule for her toilette, nine to eleven. Call back in half an hour, please."

Gwen grabbed the phone from Roger and screamed into it, doing a credible rendition of Scotilly's Taliban head chopper persona: "Jools you little twerp, get her on the phone right now or so help me god I'll ferret out your nest by the end of the day and both of you can kiss your island paradise idea goodbye for the next twenty years. Get her. Now."

Jools got the picture, and made the right decision in not even answering Gwen, much less giving her any shit. He took the phone into Scotilly's boudoir and said, "You better take this. Miss June's on the warpath. My strong recommendation is do whatever she wants. I have an intuition about this one."

She took the phone, looked at Jools, and said, "Yes, dear, what can I do for you?"

Now it was Gwen's turn to look at Roger, who shrugged. First Scotilly screams about chopping off people's heads, now she talks dear stuff.

"Scotilly, the production is kicking into high gear; we have two weeks till opening night. Other members of the cast are arriving day after tomorrow, and we have to get everyone together to rehearse. You understand?"

"Not really, dear."

"Rehearse. That's when the cast practices together. All of them, together. We need Paul and Anna and Stella here, at The Hall, downtown, to work with the people arriving day after tomorrow. You have to let them out of the bunker."

"Bunker? What bunker?" She looked accusingly at Jools.

"Where you have them. Cut the crap. Over on Sullivan's. I have a proposal for you."

"What do you mean, Sullivan's?"

Again Gwen screamed like an attack Taliban. "Scottily, get real. It's crunch time, you idiot."

Gwen's tone of voice hurt Scotilly's delicate feelings, her own Taliban impersonation not-withstanding. She handed the phone to Jools and said, "You deal with this. I think I need another soak."

Fifteen minutes later Jools and Gwen had reached a deal. Starting the day after tomorrow, the three captives would be hooded each morning and driven by Jools over the bridge to the shopping center parking lot, where Jinny would pick them up and take them to The Hall. Each evening when rehearsals were done, the reverse transportation would occur. In return for Judge Scotilly authorizing the two week work release program, the defendants would pay a supplemental fine to the court in the amount of another million dollars. When Gwen hung up the phone, Roger said, "You just agreed to pay the kidnappers another million dollars. We don't happen to have that laying around, do we? Who's going to pay that?"

"Didn't we just do an accounting of the approximate net worth that was going to be in The Hall the day after tomorrow? Something on the order of two billion dollars, spread over a handful of people. Someone will cough it up. I have other things to worry about, like making this show come together into something memorable."

Over on Sullivan's, Jools thought of going into Scotilly's bathroom and telling her the news that he'd scored them another mill, then thought differently, and headed down to the bunker where he informed the kidnappees of the new deal. Knowing she would be seeing Richard soon, and what that meant, Anna said, "Thank god."

Jools, figuring out what she meant by that, reminded her, "Remember dear, you have to stay in The Hall. No interludes at the condo. No sneaking away to a hotel for a nooner."

"Stay in The Hall? Every second? Who made that deal?"

"Ms. June. Any infringements on it constitutes breach of agreement of that subpart, which constitutes breach of any and all other and original parts, meaning the deal we have with Paul. Correct, Mr. McCartney?"

Paul had his arm around Renee's shoulders, and was humming the melody for song number twenty-nine in her ear. He didn't hear Jools' question. Anna was pissed at the deal, but decided not to make a big thing about it. She had lasted six weeks without any touch, and figured she could go another two. Besides, she realized there were a few nooks and crannies at the The Hall where, maybe, she and Richard could find a few minutes alone together, despite the hive of activity that would surround them. At least she and he would be together again. Which reminded her that Paul had said they would work on the score for the ballet that she and Richard had started before they left for France and the Spielberg film. That hadn't happened, and here they were, two weeks from H-hour. He had two days to go and two songs to write, great songs, so she decided to leave off of that. Maybe later he'd keep his promise. And that way, Richard could join them.

Stella took over for her father, and said, "Yes, Jools, we'll keep to the original deal and this new deal, no escaping, and we'll come back here at night. Satisfied?"

"Thank you, luv. What time shall we leave day after tomorrow? 7am?"

"These are artists, Jools. They don't do early. We may be going to bed every night at 3am. Did you think of that when you made the deal? You may be picking us up at the parking lot every night at 2:30am to bring us back here." She and Anna looked at him with a hint of satisfaction, sensing a little revenge. He looked crestfallen. 2:30am, every night? He was lucky if his Evelyn Waugh book kept him awake till 10pm. Stella went on, "Let's plan on getting to The Hall about 11am. Maybe some of the others will be there by then, though I doubt Ringo will show up before 3pm."

Anna said, "Ringo will show up when Gwen tells him to."

"Oh, yeah, right."

# Chapter 79 – Rehearsals

Ringo was, in fact, at The Hall on time the first day for the simple reason that Gwen and Gale went to the Charleston Place Hotel at 10:30am and pried his ass out of bed. They left the two women that were with him there, sleeping, but got him showered, dressed, and coffeed in due order, then into the Mercedes, and up the stage door steps. He woke fully when he saw Paul standing on the stage, chatting with David Gilmour and Alicia Keys, and sipping a bottle of water. Their embrace was heart-warming to the other twenty people or so who were milling around, and soon they were singing _We All Live in a Yellow Submarine_ together, just like one of the nitwits had done on King Street so many weeks ago, when this caper had started. Who'd have thought it? When Christine arrived a few minutes later, everyone was there. Here is the list: Gwen June, Roger June, Gale the Mouth, Little Jinny Blistov and his girl Guignard, Slev and Constantine Rodstra, Stirg and his granddaughter Anna and his bodyguard Nev the Commando, Paul McCartney and his daughter Stella the fashion designer, Richard the wimpy writer and Anna's squeeze, Ringo Starr, Alicia Keys, Christine McVie, David Gilmour, and the world's greatest singer Renee Fleming.

Roger had had more upholstered chairs on wheels delivered to the stage, and Gwen let everyone socialize for an hour, with Guignard serving coffee. At noon, McCradys delivered and set up a hot buffet lunch. When Gwen had ordered it, specifying no wine, the catering chief had been shocked. This was a first, the Junes ordering a meal without wine. By 2pm everything had been cleared from the stage to make room for the instrument cases, which arrived right then, on schedule. A mass of drum cases, Gilmour's six guitars, Christine's favorite clavinet, Alicia's Rolland Vsynthe XT, and all sorts of miscellaneous cases containing god knows what. Jinny and Nev were humping it for an hour. At 3pm Gwen stood in front of the group, now settled in their chairs and ready for work. She hoped.

There wasn't a person in the room who didn't sense her natural command persona, and bow to it, including Paul, which is saying something. Just watch the video of the 10th Anniversary of the 9\11 Concert in New York City. Watch the last segments with McCartney on stage, first alone, and then joined by the other 100 rock n roll stars who had performed earlier. It is amazing to watch every single one of these superstars defer to him, sitting at the piano, cheerful and upbeat, almost ignoring them, singing and playing _Hey Jude_ , the absolute master. And now here he was, on stage at The Hall, listening to Gwen lay down the law about how the next two weeks were going to work, and how the production was going to happen. She had decided the other musicians, with the exception of Ringo, didn't need to know about the whole weird kidnapping thing, and she had told the core team to keep that secret. Her explanation of the production was so clear and concise that when, after an hour, she asked if there were any questions, no one spoke up.

She sat down and Paul stood up. He nodded at Stella who slipped the _Dark Hope_ CD into the computer and played _Mad World_ over the state of the art theater sound system. Renee blushed. Then he nodded again and Stella played a track from _On an Island_ , with Gilmour's guitar languidly and stylishly filling the air. Then a track each from _In the Meantime_ and _Girl on Fire_ , with Christine's beautiful vocals and Alicia's keyboards. When the music stopped he looked around and said, "Any questions about the band?"

Ringo said, " 'Ey, what am I, chopped liver?"

He walked to Ringo's chair and put his hand on his shoulder. "You put the band together, old friend, and I thank you. We're going to be great in these performances, all of us." From on top of the Steinway he picked up a stack of papers, and handed a copy to each of the musicians, which consisted of thirty pages. "I have thirty songs ready in rough form, thanks to Renee, Stella, and Anna. Here are the lyrics, and we have demos in the computer we've recorded over the last six weeks. I want everyone to know there is lots of room for each of you to add to the songs. We've left a lot of space in both the music and the lyrics for each of you to fill in; lots of room to move. Each day I'm going to pick a couple of songs to work on, and we're going to pick them apart and put them back together, whole and beautiful. Stella will record them when we're comfortable. She's also designed a bunch of clothes, men's and women's, and when we need a break, we can have some fun picking and choosing from those. While we're rehearsing the music, Gwen and her team will be doing all the rest of the production stuff: sound, PR, catering our meals, utilities, tickets, everything. We owe them already, and will owe them more by showtime." He looked around for questions, and there only was one.

"When we going to play?"

"Right now, Ringo, right now."

# Chapter 80 – The Production

The six performances of _Man and Woman in the Outer World_ , spread over three weekends, went off beautifully. The last four had been streamed live and free over the internet, and viewed by millions of people around the world. The days between the performances had been given over to recording the opera, with Paul and David bringing in professional sound engineers and equipment. The performers, all world-famous, had no problem dealing with the media hype. Some media wanted to know about the production itself, the people behind the opera and the performances, but Roger, Gwen, and the rest of the crew were shielded by the formidable phalanx of Jinny and Nev. Jinny spent untold hours bullshitting with magazine reporters, TV crews, PR teams and other media hacks, all wanting to know who the hell the Junes were, and what their relationship with the Paul McCartney, Renee Fleming, and the opera was. Half of what he told them was true and the other half he made up on the spot, out of thin air. He discovered a new talent in himself, talk show improviser and doyen. He was invited onto the Oprah network. A couple of times paparazzi types infiltrated the work area, and then they had to deal with Nev, who invited them backstage for a private interview with one of the band. Once behind the curtains and out of sight of the other hundred people milling about the stage, they found themselves, not face to face with Ringo, as promised, but face to face with Nev's Sig Sauer. He took their cameras away from them, checked them for wires and other recording devices, and then gave them a thumbnail sketch of his personal history as a Mossad commando. He finished his lecture with a description of what would happen if they, or anyone from their organization, again tried to penetrate the inner working of the production team. The success rate of his method was 100%.

The performance of the thirty songs was spread out over two hours and fourteen minutes, with a short intermission for the geezers in the band to catch their breath. The geezers were everyone except Alicia Keys, who stayed on stage and played a few of the songs from _Porgy and Bess_ that George Gershwin had written in Charleston in the 1930s, including a killer rendition of _Summertime_ , written on Folly Beach. Based on dozens of reviews published in newspapers, magazines, TV interviews, and blogs around the world, the concept of the opera came through the songs loud and clear. Men and women who truly want a successful long-term relationship, have to match up based on liking to do the same things together time and again, out in the world; not on supposed inner compatibilities, ie. spiritualities, whatever those are. People loved the new McCartney songs, Renee's stellar singing, the music and performance of the band, but not everyone found the message comforting. There was a lot or resistance to his ideas on the subject, which, considering that he was blowing into the wind, was not unexpected. Paul didn't care; he had expressed his beliefs, and had had fun doing it. Lots of fun with Renee, especially.

One of the thorniest problems for Gwen to solve during the two weeks of rehearsals was how to stick it to Scotilly and Jools. Especially Jools. She had to honor Paul's deal with them, which was to pay the five mill ransom, but not let them get away scot free, pun intended. The ransom was six million, actually, based on the negotiated work release program addendum. Gwen wondered about the deal between the two of them for splitting the money. What was the standard rate for services rendered by a butler to an employer for the kidnapping of Paul McCartney? Was it fifty-fifty? Seventy-five-twenty-five? In any case, six million was nothing to sneeze at for either of them. Gwen had to figure a way to allow that to happen, yet make them pay a price of some kind. Then there was the issue of the other ransom, the five mill Scotilly had demanded from Stirg, the nazi-hunter, for safe release of Anna. Early on in the venture he had said all he wanted was for Anna to be safe and sound, and money didn't matter, especially the paltry sum, to him, of five million dollars. He would pay that to secure her release. But then all the weird stuff started happening, stuff not normally associated with kidnappings, at least not the kind Stirg had been involved in down in Argentina. Stuff like the kidnappees cooperating with the kidnappers by agreeing to not escape, even when Anna discovered she could slab Jools silly, and walk out of the bunker and down the central street on posh Sullivan's Island. What about that ransom?

So first Gwen had to cut a deal with Stirg, and then she had to work with Paul's business manager who controlled his finances, and then she had to devise a way to stick it to Scotilly and Jools. One afternoon she sat out in the back of the theater with Stirg, listening to Paul coach Christine and Alicia about singing backup on a song titled _Sunday Afternoon_ , which was about a husband and wife getting ready for their once a month food and wine bash with friends, an activity they had sponsored at their home for over twenty years. She said, "Paul's manager is here, and yesterday we worked out how and when he is going to pay the six mill to Scotilly. Now it's your turn. You have to pay up, too."

Stirg pointed to Anna who was standing on the stage, chatting it up with Ringo, telling him about making movies with Spielberg. He said, "There she is. Safe and sound. I can have Nev pick her up and take her home right now. Why should I pay these dilettante foo foos anything?"

"You know why. Because a deal's a deal, and Anna agreed to stay with Paul and Stella and help them, even when she knew she could walk out of the place any time." Gwen didn't say, "And she agreed to sacrifice her sex life for six weeks, too." Which reminded her how happy she and Richard looked now, which made her wonder where they were doing their thing in The Hall, with all this crazy activity going on day and night. She would ask Jinny; he would know.

Stirg was grooving on the whole show, feeling good, and said, "Ok. I'll pay one mill."

She thought this over for a minute, and then said again, "A deal's a deal, Stirg. You promised five mill. Jesus, you're worth, how much more than a billion? And Anna's your only living relative, and she's safe and sound, right here in Charleston. Stop being a cheapskate."

He wasn't perturbed, and after a minute said, "Ok, Gwenny, two mill."

Gwen sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, thinking, this is beyond weird, here I am negotiating ON BEHALF OF the kidnappers, one of whom is a nutcase who impersonates a Taliban assassin, and the other is a stuck up little English twerp whose head I'd like to twist off. She badly, badly, wanted to get on the sailboat and head over to St. Barths. In the office she couldn't face calling Jools to tell him the two ransoms were a done deal, eight mill, and asked Roger to do that. He said he would, but asked, "Is that it? They're getting the money and getting away?"

She smiled a smile he recognized and loved, and said, "They're getting the money, yes, and eventually they'll get out of town to whatever paradise they choose, but there's going to be an event here before that happens. We're going to have a little get-together, then they can be on their way."

"Don't forget Anna. She seems to want to get Jools alone in a room, too."

"Yes she does. Me and Anna and Jools. Yes."

# Chapter 81 – Curtin Call

It was intermission of opening night at The Hall, and after playing fifteen songs, the geezers were in the back, wondering what they were doing out on stage, and if they could make it through the next fifteen songs. The audience knew what they were doing on stage: The greatest rock opera ever written. Among the people in the audience who thought this were Scotilly and Jools, sitting to one side in the second aisle, both in disguises.

After Roger had called and confirmed that both ransoms would be paid at the end of the opening night performance, Scotilly and Jools had packed their bags, and Scotilly had told Jools where they were going. At least to start: St. Barths. Jools had started to complain, if they were going to a Caribbean paradise, why go to a fucking French one like St. Barths? Why not a British one, for god's sake. But he didn't push it. He still hadn't decided if he was going to stay with her, or see what life alone was like. The morning of opening night the routine changed in two ways. Every morning for the previous two weeks of rehearsals, at precisely 10:35am, Jools had draped black hoods over the heads of the four kidnappees, and driven them over the bridge to the mainland, where he waited in the shopping center parking lot. Every morning Jinny had picked them up at exactly 10:45am and deposited them at The Hall at 11am. This morning Jools rousted them out of the bunker at 10:15am, took them over the bridge, and left them standing in front of the dry cleaner's shop. He said, "Sorry to leave you like this, but we're on our way to the airport. It's been a pleasure serving you. Ta."

The second way the routine changed was when, instead of the big white Mercedes showing up with Jinny at the wheel, a Prius from _The Green Taxi Company_ with _The Environment is Our Business, Too_ stenciled on the side pulled up, with a friendly Pakistani man at the wheel. Anna and Paul, having been in the taxi once before, looked at each other and shrugged. Renee, who had not been in this taxi eight weeks before, during the first of five Charleston kidnappings her group was associated with, asked, "Which three get to ride in back?"

The driver said, "Come, come, beautiful ladies and man who plays great harmonica, come, plenty of room, we get you where you're going fast, and with minimal damage to our mother planet, Earth." They looked around, still didn't see the Mercedes, and piled in. Go with the flow. During the ride to The Hall, Renee, who was up front and not as squashed as the others, chatted with the driver. He asked her what she did for a living, and she said mostly she sang classical opera. He said opera was very popular in Pakistan, and they had one that was a great praise to Allah, eighteen hours long. He said maybe someday, when the ice thawed between their two countries, she would sing it. She said, maybe. Renee was an environmentalist, and when the taxi arrived at The Hall, and Jinny had been called to grab Paul's arm and extricate him from the backseat, she gave the Pakistani guy a comp ticket to the performance. He said he'd be there, and he asked Paul if he was going to play harmonica, and Paul said, you betcha.

At 7pm that evening the Pakistani guy's wife got a call for a pickup on Sullivan's Island, and he said he just could fit that fare in before going to the performance. He zoomed over the bridge, and discovered the address of the pickup was the same place he had deposited the others, eight weeks earlier, when Jools had pretended to be a CIA agent with a gun that had a built-in GPS targeting device. In fact, it was the same guy who came out now, with a woman, both of them in disguise, but not good disguises. He decided this island and this house were strange places. When Jools told him their destination was The Hall on John Street, he thought, that's where I'm going to the performance. This gets stranger and stranger.

It now was intermission, with Jools and Scotilly in the second row, the Pakistani guy in the balcony, the geezers in the dressing room with oxygen masks over their faces, and Alicia Keys on stage. She finished playing the Gershwin, looked over to the side of the stage where Gwen was standing, and saw her nod. She stood up, walked to stage center, and said, "Paul and the band will be back in just a minute. He's asked me to entertain you for that minute with two of his favorite jokes, about butlers. You see, when he was growing up in a working class neighborhood of Liverpool, he certainly didn't have a butler in his house, and neither did Ringo or the other boys, and they used to tell jokes about rich people and their butlers. So here goes: 'When Albert Einstein was making the rounds of the speakers' circuit, usually he found himself longing to get back to his laboratory work. One night, as they were driving to yet another rubber-chicken dinner, Einstein mentioned to his butler (a man who somewhat resembled Einstein in looks & manner) that he was tired of speech making. "I have an idea, boss," the butler said. "I've heard you give this speech so many times, I'll bet I can give it for you." Einstein laughed and said, "Why not? Let's do it." When they arrived at the dinner, Einstein donned the butler's black jacket and striped pants and sat in the back of the room. The butler gave an excellent rendition of Einstein's speech and even answered a few questions.  Then a pompous professor asked an esoteric question about the theory of relativity, digressing here and there to show how smart he was. Without missing a beat, the butler fixed the professor with a steely stare and said, "Sir, the answer to that question is so simple I'll let my butler, who is sitting in the back, answer it for me."

The joke thing was Gwen's idea, not Paul's. She knew Scotilly and Jools would be in the theater opening night, and they would be in disguise. She needed a way to flush them out, and from all the phone conversations she'd had with Jools over the last eight weeks, she knew he'd be sensitive to any affront to his, and his father's, profession. The idea of using a derogatory joke was her idea, but she had asked Paul if he knew any butler jokes, and he did. Gwen had instructed her team to watch the front rows during Alicia recitation of the jokes. She also had decided to tell a neutral butler joke first, to fully capture Jools attention, and then follow it up with a derogatory joke.

Alicia now said, "Here's another one."

'A wealthy couple had plans to go to a show, so they advised their butler they were giving him the evening off, and they would be out quite late. After an hour and a half at the show the wife told her husband she was bored and wanted to go home. The husband said he had to stay until the end to meet some important people. So the wife went home alone and found the butler laying on the couch watching TV. Standing in front of him she said, "Take off my dress. Now my bra. Now my shoes and stockings, and garter belt and panties." When he had done as she asked, she said, "The next time I catch you wearing my clothes, you're fired."

Gwen had pegged Jools after the first joke, when he nodded his head in appreciation, and whispered something to the strangely dressed woman next to him. He confirmed his identity after the second joke when he stood, gesticulated at the stage, and said, "I protest. What rubbish. Utter and blasphemous nonsense. Tripe."Scotilly stopped the diatribe by pulling him down in his seat, but Gwen knew he was her man.

The second half of the performance went better than the first. The harmonies between Paul and Renee were stunning, David's Pink Floyd style guitar added lyrical beauty to the songs, Ringo happily pounded away up on his riser, smiling non-stop, Christine played some of the finest piano Paul had heard in many years, and Alicia sang a soulful backup that made him smile and nod at her again and again. When the curtain came down, the band stayed on the stage, amazed by what they heard out in the theater. Half the crowd was singing Hey Jude while the other half sang Hey Renn. They'd heard the song once, and already it was burned into their collective musical memory. Paul brought all the Junies out on stage, had the curtain raised, offered a simple thank you to them, all the while listening to the crowd sing and clap. Little Jinny and Nev took a quick bow, and then slipped off stage. They still had a job to do.

# Chapter 82 – The Fifth Kidnapping

The job they had to do, the job they did, was to commit the fifth kidnapping since this whole thing started back on King Street when Paul, Stella, and Anna went out for an after dinner stroll. It didn't take them long. They spotted Scotilly and Jools heading for an exit, got behind them, waited for the crowd to thin a bit, grabbed them in vice-like grips, and herded them backstage to the office. Jinny found Gwen and told her where they were. She said, "Bring Anna there, then you and Nev join the party. This won't take long."

It didn't. She and Anna put the screws to Jools in a very efficient and effective manner. He went into the office a staid, dignified Englishman, proud of his heritage, accomplishments, and culture, and came out shaking like a bowl full of warm shrimp and grits being passed around the table at a family gathering. First Gwen went at him, then Anna. Then Gwen, then Anna. "Remember what you said to me on the phone that time?" asked Gwen. "Remember when you did that in the bunker?" asked Anna. They batted him back and forth like a shuttlecock in a badminton game. Even Scotilly felt sorry for him.

Not wanting to miss the party, they let them go after fifteen minutes of torture. Jinny led them outside to a taxi (not _The Green Taxi Company_ ), where he said, "So what are you going to do with the eight mill?"

Jools said, "Get therapy."

Scotilly said, "Hire a new butler."

# Chapter 83 – St. Barths, Finally

Once again the bow of the sixty foot sailboat cut through the warm waters of the Atlantic, and once more Little Jinny puked over the side, exiled forward to the bow and away from everyone else. Guignard had suggested he just fly over to St. Barths and meet the group there, but he'd insisted he wouldn't get sick again. Gale was making him pay, telling him Guignard was never going to kiss him again, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth.

During the cast party after the sixth and final performance, Roger asked Paul what he was going to do now. He said, "Fly to London. Take care of business that has piled up over the last eight weeks. Check my mail."

"Then what?"

"Then I'll see where Renee and I are."

Later in the evening Roger asked her the same question, and she said, "I've performed all over the world for twenty years, with some of the greatest musicians, in some of the greatest performance halls, in the great cities of the world, and I've never had as much fun as this gig in Charleston. I'm going to re-evaluate my career. See what I want to do and where I want to go, and with whom I want to play. I think I want to set some new goals, and it will take a little while to figure them out." Roger nodded and smiled. "Gwen invited me to come with y'all to St. Barths, and I said, yes. That's all I know about what I'm going to do next."

And there she was, sitting in the cockpit with the others, one arm around Gale's shoulder, the other arm around Slev's shoulder, laughing at all the jokes mounting up around and about Jinny and his puking. She was getting into the spirit of things, telling Jinny his face looked like a prune, when a loud bell sounded from the cabin down the stairs. This was the same bell that had sounded the previous time the boat was headed to the French island, the bell from the satellite phone, the call from Richard saying that Paul McCartney had been kidnapped. Everyone looked at Gwen. There was not a second's hesitation on her part. She headed down the stairs, and ten seconds later the bell stopped ringing. Ten seconds after that, she climbed back into the cockpit, with the phone handset in one hand, a foot of curlicue cord attached, and a large pair of kitchen shears in the other. She flipped the phone overboard, set the shears on the cockpit table, picked up her glass of white burgundy, and said, "St. Barths, finally."

###

Richard Dorrance lives in America's most beautiful town,

Charleston, South Carolina. You can look at other books at his website: richarddorrance.com
