The Beatles

The head policeman turned to the others surrounding the Beatles. "That's them, the boys we're looking for. It's the same British boys that were causing trouble all last month."
Paul was nervous. "Could we just give you our autograph and promise not to do it again?" he tried, lowering his eyelids charmingly and hoping this would help.
At the same time, Ringo's head swivelled from one police officer to the next uncertainly. "But - what about our show...?"
At that point, a new voice broke through from just behind the police officers. "Paul? Have you got him? Is he all right?"
Paul's heart sank. "Not...

Jim McCartney was sitting in his hotel room the next morning, feeling upset and tired. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and neither had the Harrisons. They had been in New York for over a week now, and still no sign of their sons. Jim was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to see Paul again.
The British band he had heard of, the one he'd been so certain would lead him to Paul, had vanished off the radar. Maybe they knew the police were looking for them and had slipped quietly underground. They would have taken Paul and the Harrisons' boy, George, with them, and who knew where they...

The next couple of days passed in a blur of practising what Brian had advised. The boys played their songs in their hotel room, and in between they practised speaking to an imaginary audience the way he had said they should. At first, the foursome all took turns doing this, but Paul loved being the one to speak to the fans so much that he started taking more and more turns, until at last his bandmates decided to just let Paul do all the talking on stage.
On the day after their adventure in the department store, Brian took the boys to get haircuts. He advised them to all pick the same hairstyle:...

Jim McCartney couldn't sleep. All day long, he'd turned what the police had told him about this mysterious British band over in his mind. How they had come to New York from England. How they all seemed to want to be rock musicians. And how one of them was calling himself James.
It was silly, Jim knew. Paul couldn't have gotten all the way to New York on his own! For one thing, the airlines wouldn't have allowed it. But he might not have been travelling alone, Jim remembered. There were three other boys in this band, who would have had to come over from England too. Could Paul have really formed...

Harold Harrison went straight to the police station and waited in line. It was a different officer this time he spoke to, a more personable man than the last one.
"A check of the Liverpool airports? One moment, sir. I'll see what we've turned up." He turned around to some workers behind him and made some inquiries. "All right, let's see what's turned up. I'm sure we'll find your son," he added kindly. "Here we are... teenagers at the airport yesterday... no reports of any teenagers who weren't with their parents... except this one, here."
Mr Harrison raised his head immediately. "Where? Is it...

Back in Liverpool, things with the Harrisons were not going nearly so well. When the plane had taken off without Geo, Mrs Harrison had made her way purposefully to the front and insisted that the plane crew radio down to the New York airport and tell them to find her missing son. The crew had listened to her, but by that time, Geo had already left with Paul, Ringo, and Winston. So when the airplane landed in Liverpool, the Harrisons rushed to the front desk and demanded news of their son. The Liverpool agent got in touch with the New York airport and listened for a minute or two, only to turn...

In a very short time, Paul and Winston - which probably wasn't his real name, but as long as he had to hide his own name, Paul could hardly expect Winston to reveal his - were riding pleasantly along on two bikes borrowed from Aunt Mimi's garage. Winston had left a little note thanking her for them, which Paul hadn't seen, so he didn't know whether Winston had put his real name on it.
"Won't she get mad that you're takin' those bikes?" he'd asked.
"Probably." Winston had grinned broadly. Then, slyly, "How about your folks? They mad about you being here right now?"
Paul had blushed and dropped...

It was late afternoon, and James Paul McCartney was coming home from another fun-filled day in Liverpool. Today, as usual, had been filled with a lively combination of rock-and-roll and girls, and as he made his way home, there were still two curly-haired girls on his arm, a brunette in a purple dress and a blonde in a green dress. The girls were giggling at everything Paul said, while he was still singing some of the songs he'd played on the jukebox, his gorgeous voice standing out even when he used it casually like this. The girls tried to sing along, but couldn't match him; however, they...

Ringo turned round.
The leaves ahead of him were rustling, and he could just hear a sort of snuffling breathing mixed in with the growling he'd heard. What was happening?! The Beast of Bodmin Moor wasn't supposed to be here! The Orb of Protection was! But Ringo could tell the Beast was there.
Ringo didn't stop to think. He turned and ran, trying to push his way through the thick trees. Behind him, he could hear the menacing growl of a Beast ready to pounce. He tried to move faster, but it was difficult to see his way, and his drums slowed him down even more.
Wait - his drums....
It was his only...