Categories > Celebrities > Beatles > Future Imperfect
Sir Paul felt decidedly strange as he sat on the opposite side of the table from the man who, in another time, would have written music with him. John Lennon did not look like any kind of man he would have had anything to do with at any time in his life. He was scruffy, unshaven, and stared back at him with a belligerence that spoke of the class divide that yawned between them - a class divide so deep and wide that it was practically a chasm.
Lennon himself looked as though the last person he wanted to have anything to do with was Sir Paul James McCartney. About that, Sir Paul felt, they were in complete agreement. There was no way known that the two men could possibly have ever known each other.
And yet, Sir Richard had assured him that this was the man who had helped him write so many of those songs that his daughter so dearly loved listening to. He couldn't quite make head or tail of it.
At any rate, Sir Paul wanted to keep track of all the people who were mixed up with those photos. And that meant John Lennon, too. Even though he couldn't quite figure out what he was going to do with the man.
Perhaps the security forces would find him useful - although he wasn't at all sure he wanted Lennon anywhere near anything that would give him and his friends access to the base.
If that scientist of Sir Richard's could succeed in opening that doorway that Sir Richard seemed convinced would actually happen, then it would be easy. A team would be needed to go through the portal, and Lennon would be a useful candidate for that team. Sir Paul wasn't going to be unhappy if Lennon didn't make it back from the wilds of Russia - all he needed to be confident of was that Lennon didn't know anything that could compromise the security of the British Empire.
At any rate, he needed to make sure that Lennon was somewhere safe. His life of crime had been escalating recently, and Sir Paul wanted to keep him out of trouble. There were only two places where he could do that - prison, or the project.
He preferred the project - he'd listened to the interviews of Lennon and the woman, Ono, and had extensive talks with a couple of criminal lawyers. The lawyers had explained that it would be actually quite easy for a good lawyer to get him out of trouble. If he got off, then Sir Paul would probably lose track of Lennon altogether.
"What do you want?" Lennon asked flatly.
"I want to keep you out of trouble," Sir Paul replied, deciding to try using honesty. "I want to keep you somewhere close. And the best way of doing that seems to be to offer you a job."
Lennon looked sceptical. "What sort of job would you need me for?"
"That's restricted information," Sir Paul replied. "All you really need to know about it is that you will be fed, paid, housed, and clothed."
"Why?" Lennon asked bluntly.
"As I said - I want to keep you out of trouble. Your criminal career seems to be going places, and while you might get out of it this time, you might not get out of it next time. Or the time after that."
"Why the hell should you care about what happens to me?"
Sir Paul leaned back in his chair. "That's classified. You would have to accept the job to find out more."
"Why should I take the job?"
"Because if you don't, then I'm going to have to make sure that you stay in prison."
Lennon snorted. "Prison here, or prison with you, is that deal?"
"That's about right," Sir Paul replied calmly. "I think you'll find prison with me a little more...entertaining than you would breaking rocks. Not to mention easier on the back."
Lennon looked distinctly unhappy. He clearly had no doubts in his mind that Sir Paul would make good on his threat. "One law for the rich, eh?" he sneered.
Sir Paul sat back and watched him without saying anything.
"Alright," Lennon replied. "I'll do it."
"Good," Sir Paul said briskly. "You'll hear from me after the trial."
Sir Paul got up, and gestured to the guards stationed outside the interview room. They let him out, and other guards came in and escorted Lennon back to his cell. Time, he decided, to go and tell Richie the good news.
When he got to the project, he found the place in an uproar. Everybody was rushing around and all of them were shouting at the same time. Sir Richard wasn't in his office, and his secretary was nowhere to be seen. He wandered around the place for a while, attempting to get some kind of idea of what it was that had just happened without actually getting in anybody's way. Finally, he arrived outside George's department and wandered in.
Sammi shot him a brief smile as she rushed past, tool belt on, headed for other parts of the complex with several technicians of varying descriptions in tow. George himself was bent over a wiring diagram of the complex, and was giving instructions to the various teams of electricians and other associated personnel. Sir Paul watched them work, deciding that George was probably going to be the best person to explain what had happened, once he'd managed to send the last of his teams out.
Eventually, the last of the teams were gone, and George looked up. "When did you arrive?" he asked, surprised.
"Twenty minutes ago," Sir Paul replied. "What happened?"
"There was an explosion in the laboratories," George replied.
"Where's Sir Richard?"
"In the medical unit. He was caught in the explosion," George replied. "Could you go and hang around there until somebody finds the time to tell you all about it? I'm trying to cut all power off from the labs before any more explosions happen, and I need to concentrate."
Sir Paul nodded, and left the department. He quickly found his way to the medical unit, and went up to the observation deck to watch the proceedings. Below him was yet another scene of chaos, although it was somewhat better controlled than the rest of the complex. He spotted Sir Richard lying in one of the beds. His left arm and leg had been bandaged and immobilised, there was a large bruise on his forehead, and he was unconscious. There were, however, no medical staff hovering around him as there were around some of the other patients, so Sir Paul assumed he was in no immediate danger.
Most of the medical staff were hovering around three beds at one end of the room. Their occupants were well hidden beneath assorted bandages, and they were hooked up to assorted equipment, the purpose of which Sir Paul could not determine. All he knew was that they each went "beep" at regular intervals. As he watched, one beeping sound became irregular, and he realised that it was a heart monitor.
The doctors and nurses hurried over, and one of them applied defibrillators to the patient. The scene brought flashbacks of watching the doctors attempt to revive Linda as she died - a scene which he had watched from her bedside.
"Clear!" somebody shouted, and then let a bolt of electricity jolt through the body.
The heart monitor jumped at the same time as the patient, and then went back to it's irregular beeps.
"Clear!" the person shouted again, and let loose another jolt of electricity.
This time, however, the heart monitor flat-lined. The person with the defibrillators made one last attempt, but it was futile. Sir Paul looked down at his hands, and saw that they were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white. The stark reminder of his wife's death brought back every single moment of her last few minutes into his memory, and he sank to his knees. Fresh tears flowed, and he was glad that he was alone in the observation room.
Or rather, he thought he was alone, until he felt a hand touch his shoulder. Then, gentle hands turned him around and pulled him down into a comforting embrace. The woman did not say anything, but simply let him cry.
Eventually, he managed to pull himself together again. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to cry like that - it was something he had done once, when Linda had died. He had seen his father cry like that, also, when his mother had died. He hadn't understood at the time, but in a way he was glad that he had seen his father cry. Somehow, that had made it alright for him to cry at the death of his own beloved wife.
He looked up at the woman who had found him, and saw a face which was at once hauntingly familiar, while at the same time belonging to a complete stranger. He had never laid eyes on her before, and yet he somehow felt that he had known her.
"Hello," she said, and it seemed to him that her voice was that of an angel, soft and melodic. "I'm Jean Lennon. I'm afraid I'm the cause of all this."
Lennon himself looked as though the last person he wanted to have anything to do with was Sir Paul James McCartney. About that, Sir Paul felt, they were in complete agreement. There was no way known that the two men could possibly have ever known each other.
And yet, Sir Richard had assured him that this was the man who had helped him write so many of those songs that his daughter so dearly loved listening to. He couldn't quite make head or tail of it.
At any rate, Sir Paul wanted to keep track of all the people who were mixed up with those photos. And that meant John Lennon, too. Even though he couldn't quite figure out what he was going to do with the man.
Perhaps the security forces would find him useful - although he wasn't at all sure he wanted Lennon anywhere near anything that would give him and his friends access to the base.
If that scientist of Sir Richard's could succeed in opening that doorway that Sir Richard seemed convinced would actually happen, then it would be easy. A team would be needed to go through the portal, and Lennon would be a useful candidate for that team. Sir Paul wasn't going to be unhappy if Lennon didn't make it back from the wilds of Russia - all he needed to be confident of was that Lennon didn't know anything that could compromise the security of the British Empire.
At any rate, he needed to make sure that Lennon was somewhere safe. His life of crime had been escalating recently, and Sir Paul wanted to keep him out of trouble. There were only two places where he could do that - prison, or the project.
He preferred the project - he'd listened to the interviews of Lennon and the woman, Ono, and had extensive talks with a couple of criminal lawyers. The lawyers had explained that it would be actually quite easy for a good lawyer to get him out of trouble. If he got off, then Sir Paul would probably lose track of Lennon altogether.
"What do you want?" Lennon asked flatly.
"I want to keep you out of trouble," Sir Paul replied, deciding to try using honesty. "I want to keep you somewhere close. And the best way of doing that seems to be to offer you a job."
Lennon looked sceptical. "What sort of job would you need me for?"
"That's restricted information," Sir Paul replied. "All you really need to know about it is that you will be fed, paid, housed, and clothed."
"Why?" Lennon asked bluntly.
"As I said - I want to keep you out of trouble. Your criminal career seems to be going places, and while you might get out of it this time, you might not get out of it next time. Or the time after that."
"Why the hell should you care about what happens to me?"
Sir Paul leaned back in his chair. "That's classified. You would have to accept the job to find out more."
"Why should I take the job?"
"Because if you don't, then I'm going to have to make sure that you stay in prison."
Lennon snorted. "Prison here, or prison with you, is that deal?"
"That's about right," Sir Paul replied calmly. "I think you'll find prison with me a little more...entertaining than you would breaking rocks. Not to mention easier on the back."
Lennon looked distinctly unhappy. He clearly had no doubts in his mind that Sir Paul would make good on his threat. "One law for the rich, eh?" he sneered.
Sir Paul sat back and watched him without saying anything.
"Alright," Lennon replied. "I'll do it."
"Good," Sir Paul said briskly. "You'll hear from me after the trial."
Sir Paul got up, and gestured to the guards stationed outside the interview room. They let him out, and other guards came in and escorted Lennon back to his cell. Time, he decided, to go and tell Richie the good news.
When he got to the project, he found the place in an uproar. Everybody was rushing around and all of them were shouting at the same time. Sir Richard wasn't in his office, and his secretary was nowhere to be seen. He wandered around the place for a while, attempting to get some kind of idea of what it was that had just happened without actually getting in anybody's way. Finally, he arrived outside George's department and wandered in.
Sammi shot him a brief smile as she rushed past, tool belt on, headed for other parts of the complex with several technicians of varying descriptions in tow. George himself was bent over a wiring diagram of the complex, and was giving instructions to the various teams of electricians and other associated personnel. Sir Paul watched them work, deciding that George was probably going to be the best person to explain what had happened, once he'd managed to send the last of his teams out.
Eventually, the last of the teams were gone, and George looked up. "When did you arrive?" he asked, surprised.
"Twenty minutes ago," Sir Paul replied. "What happened?"
"There was an explosion in the laboratories," George replied.
"Where's Sir Richard?"
"In the medical unit. He was caught in the explosion," George replied. "Could you go and hang around there until somebody finds the time to tell you all about it? I'm trying to cut all power off from the labs before any more explosions happen, and I need to concentrate."
Sir Paul nodded, and left the department. He quickly found his way to the medical unit, and went up to the observation deck to watch the proceedings. Below him was yet another scene of chaos, although it was somewhat better controlled than the rest of the complex. He spotted Sir Richard lying in one of the beds. His left arm and leg had been bandaged and immobilised, there was a large bruise on his forehead, and he was unconscious. There were, however, no medical staff hovering around him as there were around some of the other patients, so Sir Paul assumed he was in no immediate danger.
Most of the medical staff were hovering around three beds at one end of the room. Their occupants were well hidden beneath assorted bandages, and they were hooked up to assorted equipment, the purpose of which Sir Paul could not determine. All he knew was that they each went "beep" at regular intervals. As he watched, one beeping sound became irregular, and he realised that it was a heart monitor.
The doctors and nurses hurried over, and one of them applied defibrillators to the patient. The scene brought flashbacks of watching the doctors attempt to revive Linda as she died - a scene which he had watched from her bedside.
"Clear!" somebody shouted, and then let a bolt of electricity jolt through the body.
The heart monitor jumped at the same time as the patient, and then went back to it's irregular beeps.
"Clear!" the person shouted again, and let loose another jolt of electricity.
This time, however, the heart monitor flat-lined. The person with the defibrillators made one last attempt, but it was futile. Sir Paul looked down at his hands, and saw that they were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white. The stark reminder of his wife's death brought back every single moment of her last few minutes into his memory, and he sank to his knees. Fresh tears flowed, and he was glad that he was alone in the observation room.
Or rather, he thought he was alone, until he felt a hand touch his shoulder. Then, gentle hands turned him around and pulled him down into a comforting embrace. The woman did not say anything, but simply let him cry.
Eventually, he managed to pull himself together again. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to cry like that - it was something he had done once, when Linda had died. He had seen his father cry like that, also, when his mother had died. He hadn't understood at the time, but in a way he was glad that he had seen his father cry. Somehow, that had made it alright for him to cry at the death of his own beloved wife.
He looked up at the woman who had found him, and saw a face which was at once hauntingly familiar, while at the same time belonging to a complete stranger. He had never laid eyes on her before, and yet he somehow felt that he had known her.
"Hello," she said, and it seemed to him that her voice was that of an angel, soft and melodic. "I'm Jean Lennon. I'm afraid I'm the cause of all this."
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