United States Smackdown-4

United States Smackdown

Rated: T
Pairings: slight JohnxPaul and GeorgexRingo
Summary: When the Beatles are preparing for their visit in America, they unknowingly begin their adventure in the art of espionage and super secrecy. Unfortunately, the time they have in stopping this alcohol ring is going to be filled with fan girls, interviews, parties and performances. Are the Beatles going to untangle themselves from this mystery?
Notes: This story is inspired due to thanks from deviantartist cherry-blossom-fan. This takes place during the Beatles 1st visit to the United States and is the prequel to "A Hard Day's Fight"
_  _ _ __ __ __  _  _  __ _
Chapter 4-New York Frost

"WE WANT THE BEATLES! WE WANT THE BEATLES!"

A crowd of obsessed and excited fangirls chanted this in the early morning. The Beatles were still asleep, their heads ringing from the cacophny of screaming and the fire of gunshots from the night before. Under their pillows were their new pistols, a reminder of the new life they were leading.

Paul groaned as he felt the gun under his pillow. It was empty, he reminded himself, and the only bullets that were needed were the rubber ones. His silver briefcase of spy gear was still on the ground, and on the side table was his new CLEF ID. In his mind, however, was that memory. Every time he pictured that memory in his mind, it made him feel sick inside...he could've done something to prevent it, but he did nothing in the end.

"Agent McCartney, I hope you're hearing this."

Paul sat up, trying to hear where that message was coming from. It was hard to tell since the screams of fangirls penetrated through the glass windows, but it was still there.

"Agent McCartney, I'm calling through your radio. Pick up, please."

Paul searched for his radio on his side desk and placed it near his ear.

"I'm here...." He told the radio. "Who's that? And how am I speaking to you?"

"I rewired some frequencies to let us talk together," said the voice. "This is Silver Maxwell, head of Bass Clef, at your service."

"This is James Paul McCartney who is having a very bad headache right now."

"I'm bringing someone alongside with me for you and the other Beatles to have breakfast. There we shall talk about your upcoming mission over your trip to America."

"Splendid..." Paul stated sardonically.

"Bring your briefcase with you and prepare your gun with the extra rubber bullets we gave you. Oh, and keep some spares in your pockets; you'll need them soon."

The radio stopped its feedback as Paul placed it down. He stared at the pistol in his hands and felt his finger slightly pull on the trigger.

Then, he sat up and decided to take a shower; he felt like a mess.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Paul met up with the others at the dining room. His hands gripped onto the silver briefcase as he made his way to the table. Brian, John, George and Ringo were seated there, along with two other people. They were dressed in tan overcoats, fedoras and sunglasses, but one was female, the other male. He noticed the woman had a badge pinned to her coat; it looked like a winged G-Clef.

"Ah, Mr. McCartney." said the woman. "Come, sit. We must talk."

Paul slowly nodded his head as he approached the six. It was completely quiet; a contrast to the loud screeches he heard just minutes ago. The tables were topped with white cloth, plates and utensils untouched by anyone this early morning, only added to the eeriness.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Maria Fleur." said the woman as she shook Paul's hand. "The man to my right is my partner Shard Maxim."

Shard stayed quiet, but lowered his glasses to stare into Paul's eyes. Paul gulped when he saw them; they resembled the eyes of a predator.

"These two came for a personal deal," said Brian. "It's something that would change your life forever!"

I think it's already happened almost 12 hours ago...Paul thought to himself. He sat himself down, pouring himself a mug of hot coffee.

"Well, what's this news?" asked George with suspicion.

"You'll see," Maria said with a smile.

Just then, the phone began to ring. Brian approached it and picked it up.

"Hello, Mr. Epstein speaking." He said.

While Brian's back was turned. Maria stood up and removed her coat and cap, soon relacing it to a black blouse with golden buttons and a pencil skirt. A military cap of some sorts rested on her head.

"Hi Lovely Rita," said John. "How's life?"

"Disappointing." Marita replied with some sarcasm. "Now, I think you four heard Maxwell over the radio."

Maxwell nodded his head, but kept his outfit on. He sipped his coffee—which Paul noted was black with no sugar—as he kept an eye on the four recruits.

"We came to explain about Àfengi," said Marita. "They've had some sort of history with America and the Mother Kingdom of England."

"Bet it's because they're estranged relatives," George noted.

"Àfengi was formed around the wake of Adolf Hitler's reign over the Nazis," Marita explained. "Once Hitler shot himself they disappeared. However, we found that six of the remaining members have grouped together to bring back the Nazi regimen into American soil."

"Well what else are they gonna bring back?" John asked. "A bucket full of sweets, joy and joyness?"

"Very funny, Agent Lennon."

"I know."

"We suspect that the second member might attack sometime today," said Maxwell. "Be on guard when you're taking your time here."

"Oh I bet it'll be the same as taking a dump somewhere," said George.

"...Do you boys take anything seriously?" asked Marita.

"We take our coffee with sugar and cream seriously, we take our croissants with hot butter seriously, and we take matters that let us LIVE seriously!" Ringo snapped, slamming his hands on the table. "Got it?!"

Everyone became quiet when the drummer gave that outburst; no one ever expected that Ringo could have quite a temper or short fuse.

"Understood, Agent Starr." said Marita.

Brian returned from his phone call and clasped his hands together. A big grin was on his face.

"Good news, boys!" He said. "We've got a photo shoot today!"

"Shoot me." John stated bitterly.

As if to emphasize his point, he placed a finger gun to his head and pretended to pull the trigger. He then collapsed onto his plate of toast.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0

"Now smile here boys! Give me some over here!"

"Have your arms spread out!"

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

Cameramen were following the Beatles and taking pictures of the Fab Four. The Beatles were dressed in black coats, but their pockets were filled with a pistol and extra rubber bullets.

"Paul," said John. "What were you dreaming about last night?"

"N-nothing in particular. Paul answered back.

"You looked like you saw a ghost."

"It's nothing, John."

"Is it...about her?" asked George.

"We never speak about her!" Paul snapped. "Remember?!"

"Well I was just..."

"Well you were just trying to bring back old wounds, huh?!"

"What are they talking about?" Ringo asked John. John shrugged his shoulders.

"Excuse me, boys." said a voice. "Can I speak to you."

The Beatles turned, seeing a small woman with a camera in her hands. She had long black hair, and small black eyes. She had two gold clips in her hair—one shorter than the other—and her nails were covered in black polish and dotted with two white specks. She was dressed in a coat at least two sizes bigger than she was, and it was tied with a brown cord of fabric.

"I'm Nina Duala," She said. "I want to get a picture of you firing your guns at something. It's for a newspaper article I'm doing; please?"

"Well, it's not as crazy as the other suggestions," said John, pulling out his pistol. "Anyway, everyone will believe these are props."

Photographers soon noticed the Beatles having their guns pulled out of their pockets and took pictures. John was staring straight at Nina, Ringo was on his right, squatting down, Paul was to his left, and George was behind him.

"You were so nice," Nina giggled. "And gullible."

She soon dropped the camera to the ground and untied the coat. She soon opened the coat, revealing two guns, a couple of grenades, and spare bullets. She pulled out two guns and pointed them at the Beatles.

"Hi there," She said. "I'm Nina Duala, second of the six rulers of Àfengi. You're all about to die. Cool huh?"

The Beatles gulped as they saw the guns in front of them; they were completely off guard.