“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 bec
ause 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?”
The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney Page 10
