The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney

by Richard Dorrance

  “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 r
ock 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.”