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Another one dredged up out of the past (again 20 years or so ago....you can tell by the plot)but never published...so this year as copyright.

Roast Loin Of Lamb
© 2008 John Voorpostel

Roast Loin of Lamb

As Rene prepared his restaurant for what he hoped would be a busy day, he didn't yet care why Konrad Moler had come to Dupris. Oh he'd come to care all right, but not for what really happened.

Rene's only present concern was that his son Nicolas had not arranged the terrace tables properly, the way he'd been taught. His way, three outside tables blocked efficient servicing of the long side of the terrace, the busiest. The side most popular with patrons because it faced the main square.

Things happened in the main square and Rene made a good living off it thank you very much. His main goal was to provide a decent place for his patrons to spend some idle time and happily spend their money. He finished writing the daily special on the board and went inside to look for Nicolas.

Konrad wasn't in Dupris to spend time idly or otherwise. In fact he hadn't even been aware of its existence until he found it on the railway map. He chose it for its proximity to the Spanish border and its surrounding mountainous terrain, enabling him to get some needed breathing time. Isolated enough to provide at least temporary safety and large enough to hide in the crowd. Konrad was on the run from a spider, one he'd thought long ago lost interest in ensnaring him in its web.

For the past five years Konrad had sold stolen goods on Amsterdam's Damrak. Made a decent living off it. Lived cheap too. With a group of squatters in a derelict building by the Artis. It was an anonymous enough place and it yielded an almost endless supply of goods to sell.

It also provided a cover. To his housemates he was just another link in the local petty crime chain, providing a necessary market for sellers and those buyers who wanted decent goods cheap. At least he wasn't involved in the drug trade on the Zeedijk. To survive there you had to carry a gun. That would have made the other squatters nervous. So he had lived in peace among them. Until two days ago.

He was returning from the Bijekorf with household cleaning stuff. It was always cheaper there than anywhere else. He bought more than he'd planned because they'd had a sale. Loaded down with parcels, he had placed them down in front of his door and searched his pockets for his keys.

It was voices and they reminded him of fear and pain from the past. He'd realized they were in apartment and the voices where looking for something he knew was safely hidden away some blocks away in the wall of a canal. He'd stopped expecting this. It had been five years.

Turning quickly, he ran down the hallway to the stairs, taking them down steps at a time. Suddenly a face had stared up at him and eyes made contact with a purpose all too clear. In a time that seemed to last forever, he jumped out and down and into the face. The gun went off just as his heel snapped the head back. The guy must have been trying to protect himself because the bullet had gone up into the ceiling.

Without stopping to look at the damage he had inflicted on the face, he ran down the stairs and out into the street. Like some panic blinded animal in a death chase, he ran through the streets, not caring where he went as long as it was somewhere and as long as it was safe.



II
He calmed down somewhat and stopped running about the same time. He didn't know where he was. He'd run into the nearest bar, taking a booth at the back and sitting so he could face the door. A waiter came by and he ordered an Amstel. As soon as the waiter left to fill his order, he checked the back. Past the washrooms was a door marked "ingang verboden". It was locked. Past it was another door. This led into a corridor to a back door opening on an alley. It had two exits. Satisfied and relieved, he had gone back to the booth and gulped down half the pint of beer waiting for him there.

He'd needed a cigarette so asked the waiter to bring him a package of Caballeros, not being able to wait to draw in that lungful of smoke he knew would have a calming effect on his nerves. The waiter had returned with the wrong package but still his fingers had fumbled with the cellophane wrapper as his mind urged them on even faster. [naughty word removed], how had they found him?

Five years earlier, he'd opened letter sent to him by his best friend from dienst, Armand de Tijl. They'd made a great pair. Carousing and drinking and loudly proclaiming themselves to be the best ever, they dared anyone to say different. Great fun for a couple of nineteen year olds from 'den Bosch. But Armand had stayed in the army; recruited for his "special" talents he'd said. Personally, Konrad thought he was still boasting but he didn't care. If Armand had to glorify his reason for staying he'd believe him. They were friends.

The letter had been inside a sealed envelope, inside the one addressed to him. Also included was a short note asking him to meet at the Cathedral that next evening, and to return the sealed envelope to him then.

Konrad's curiosity over the envelope hadn't yet been aroused. He was more excited by the prospect of seeing Armand again. It had been two years and his life had been boring since then. They would start at "de Panter" and loop around the main square of 'den Bosch to end up at the Schoonhuis, just like the old days when they came home together on leave, full of self importance, and using that to impress the girls. They were good times back and good times were coming back.

The next evening he'd set out in high spirits for the cathedral, envelope in his pocket. He never would have read the contents had he not seen Armand killed before his eyes.

Armand had been dead even before the echo of the shot left the night. It seemed the crowd came from nowhere, drawn together by that same urge that made them stop at the scene of an automobile accident, each secretly hoping to see a dead body. "Well they were going to leave satisfied tonight" he'd thought bitterly, but more with shock.

He'd opened the envelope that night but couldn't understand the significance of the contents. He knew it had to have something to do with Armands death but at first he hadn't an idea how they were related.

Underneath the flap of the envelope, so as to become visible when it was opened, was a spider, its legs attached to a circle surrounding it. A sheaf of bond in the envelope listed ten names with brief biographies.

Six he'd immediately recognized as men of importance. Two were politicians, one from Luxembourg and one from France. The other four were businessmen regularly in the news for one acquisition or the other.

The remaining four were unknown, but brief biographies revealed three more were politicians and one was a British Lord with interests in transportation and oil and gas fields.

Another sheaf had what seemed to be an organization chart, rectangular boxes interconnected with lines. The upper third of the chart contained corporate names he hadn't recognized but the lower two thirds listed the names of some of Europe's largest corporations and institutions.

"It had to be bribery and graft" he'd decided, "it has to be".

He hadn't gone to the police. He'd wanted out of 'den Bosch and away from the drudgery and routine of the trade he'd learned in his army days. He'd wanted out to do the world; in style. He wanted money.

The man on top of the list, a politician from Belgium, was out in Strassbourg on EEC business. He'd been luckier on his second try, although he had to be persistant to get through the layers of functionaries surrounding busy people like Jurgen von Weser und Ogdenburg. After all, he was a major industrialist , the scion of an old German aristocratic family, with interests in plastics, transportation and land development. Jurgen von Weser Whatever would pay him something for the contents of the envelope, he was certain of it.

He'd been wrong. Within an hour he'd been left for dead in an alley, but not before a face had breathed hideous smell and memories into his, demanding the envelope. He 'd given it to him at the same time as he'd evacuated his bowels. The doctors told him that if the knife had been just a little more to the right he'd have been dead. Maybe the guy hadn't expected him to [naughty word removed] his pants.

He'd kept a copy of the documents "to ensure his safety and perhaps try again" he had thought back then. The latter he'd dismissed five years ago and the first reason had proven wrong.

But now they were back. He was unfinished business. Finishing the beer he'd been staring into, he'd quickly paid his bill and hurried into the night. He ducked into a doorway to light a cigarette out of the wind and find his bearings.

Oriented, he'd hurried to the Singel. From a space behind a loose stone he removed his money belt containing a copy of the Spider's organization, a passport and a roll of cash in various denominations and currencies.

He'd taken the Metro to the Bijlmermeer and from there an intercity bus to the Utrecht central station. There he bought a ticket on the next train. It happened to be going to Brussels.

In Brussels he'd eaten and paced incessantly, chain smoking as he waited for business travellers to rise and brought here for the early train to Paris. Finally the train pulled out, arriving in La Gare du Nord about eight in the morning. From there he took the Metro to La Gare de Lyon where he'd bought a ticket and hurried to catch the next train south.

That's how he happened to get to Dupris, after soldier stepping through several cities and rail lines. And he chose Rene's for the daily special. It had been roast loin of lamb, a winter mix of vegetables, roast potatoes and a half litre of wine. He'd been ecstatic. It was his first stroke of luck in days. It was his absolute favourite.


|||

Konrad was glad to have found a temporary refuge. He ordered the special and lit a cigarette, looking around the square, around the people and for the exits. He found if he moved to the corner of the terrace, he would still have a view of the square, and more importantly, the sightline down two streets that emptied into it. Needing all the advantage forewarning could give him, he'd moved.

He'd been hungry, eating too fast; hardly enjoying what had always been his favourite meal. Now, smoking yet another cigarette, he quietly sipped wine and slipped into thought.

"What do dead men do while waiting to die?" He thought back to the fish tanks he'd had as a boy, how he used to feed live fish to his prize predator. Those fish not immediately eaten had chunks ripped out of their sides and tails every time they came within striking distance of his predator, as if it somehow knew the final attack would then be easier.

One by one the food fish succumbed. He'd had taken great delight in being able to observe this act of nature's power. "The survival of those most able to control their environment", he had told his sister Sinja, in tones as if he alone knew this great secret.

But she didn't care to look. "The odds weren't right" she'd said. His attempts to interest her further went nowhere so he had returned to his study with fascination. The way the food fish became docile, as if resigning their fate; their instinct for food, escape and survival gone. It had all seemed such an important statement to him at the time.

Nature was ruthless along the food chain yet kind enough to its victims to place them in some kind of shock to somehow make the inevitable easier to take. That he would be thinking this now jolted him. Sure he was being chased but he had hope and he had time, and he was a man not one of his food fish. He left sufficient cash on the table to cover his bill and set off to look for a hotel. Finally he found one that suited his budget. He booked the room and settled into fitful sleep.


IV

He was wet. It felt odd to be able to breathe underwater. Odd too because it felt as if he was combining swimming with flying, yet he couldn't control any of his movements. Something like being wrapped in a straight jacket and dropped into a sea.

Sinking down, he tried to escape. He wished he was Houdini. In a frantic effort, he knotted all his muscles for a final release in an attempt to learn which ones would bring him to the surface. Just as he thought he'd found the answer, a large set of tonsils loomed towards him and a large set of barbed teeth closed over his head. He awoke with a start and realized the wet had been sweat.

He'd had a shower to wash away this nightmare. It took a long time for him to feel better. In an attempt to extend that feeling, he took his time dressing. It felt good to be alive.

After breakfast he paid for the next day and left the hotel. At the railway station he rented a car. Although he didn't want to give the rental agent his real name, he had no choice. Giving the man his credit card, he suddenly realized there might never be anyone back in Amsterdam to pay for it.

The morning was spent reconnoitring the area, driving through the surrounding region and looking for escape routes. Several times he turned off a main road onto a local road, but many of these changed into farmers lanes or became dead ends. By the end of the morning he had marked roads , physical formations and obstacles on the map supplied with the car.

Satisfied with his foresight, he drove back to Dupris, parking the car on one of the roads leading into the square near Rene's cafe. He felt lucky to be able to occupy the same table as he had the previous day and, ignoring that day's special, again ordered the lamb. This time with a bottle of Rene's finest wine. He paid by credit card.

After lunch Konrad walked to the station to inform the rental agency of his intent to keep the car for a few more days. He then went to the newspaper kiosk to pick up a Herald Tribune and headed for the park to read it. Old men were playing boulles and every now and again he looked over the newspaper as the men cheered a particularly good play.

He began to read an article on "The Progress To Unity". The European Government had just announced the appointment of an inner council which would oversee the final transition to a unified market and negotiate the integration of various government departments into the European Government. As he read further, his mind raced faster and faster. There were 15 men on that council and ten of them were on the list he was carrying in his money belt!

He didn't notice the old men leave the park, replaced by the children so alive after being couped up in school all day. He didn't even notice the noise. He'd been too busy thinking. The plan was coming into focus. This group wasn't a network of bribed politicians serving the interests of a few industrialists.

These men intended to be clear winners in the new Europe. The Spider weaving an intricate web. They had the infrastructure, the capital and now the power to shape Europe in the manner that would make them clear winners. In fact, they could go further yet and...if this were so, he reasoned, they were probably too busy to be chasing me. Perhaps he was safe after all.

Perhaps. But he still walked out of the park with the feeling of anticipation and anxiety in his stomach, stopping only to kick the ball back to a child that was chasing it.



V
Konrad slept deeply that night, without dreams. The last few days of running, high emotion and fitful sleep combined to give him the rest he so desperately needed.

The next morning, without stopping for breakfast, Konrad hurried to the railway station news kiosk and bought another Trib. Even before he was back on the street he was scanning headlines and articles. He didn't even stop for soccer scores.

Not finding anything he could tie to The Spider, he started again, more slowly this time, thinking that perhaps, in his haste, he had missed it. Finding nothing, he walked back to the kiosk and scanned other newspapers until the kiosk attendant pointedly told him "Ce n'est pas une biblioteque"

Konrad started to say something but thought the better of creating an incident by which he would be remembered. He muttered "pardon moi" as he folded the Trib under his arm and walked past the man out the door. He headed for Rene's, again being early enough to find his table waiting. Coffee is what he needed now and with it, he read the paper at leisure, noting with satisfaction that Ajax had won 2-1.

After reading the paper, Konrad was ready for lunch. Nicolas took his food order and wondered why, for the third day in a row, Konrad ordered the lamb. Today’s special, the curried mutton was delicious. He'd tried some earlier and again just before he came out. Nicolas suggested the special but Konrad dismissed him with a wave. "Roast Loin Of Lamb is my favourite" he said.

Nicolas became curious. Perhaps Konrad felt familiarity in a strange place came faster if daily patterns repeated themselves. Perhaps Konrad was not a very adventurous person, preferring safe and sure to something new. Perhaps he didn't really like curried mutton.

He quickly dismissed these thoughts, remembering the handsome tips Konrad had begun leaving for him. As long as the tips continue, he can eat or drink anything he wants to", he'd thought. "Too bad though he'd started using a credit card." A credit card allowed his father to see exactly what the tip was, making it more difficult to add to his escape fund. But he would be patient and save. Someday he would be able to do the world, in style. He went inside to get the wine and order the lamb.

Konrad suddenly knew he had the answer. He would call Sinja. She had graduated with a degree in Business Administration and was working for Radio Nederland. Not only would she be able to understand the implications more fully, but she would also be able to generate the kind of publicity that would ensure his safety.

He ate the lamb with great relish and looked around the square with new eyes. Immediately upon finishing he called for the bill. Nicolas saw him complete the credit slip with mixed emotions as Konrad added another generous tip. Konrad signed the slip and gave it to Nicolas, then hurried back to the railway station to place the call.


VI
Sinja seemed strangely relieved to hear from him. They'd spoken last the day after Armand's funeral. His last words had been unkind, but only because she'd had to leave early to meet some people at school. It was more of a social thing, a gathering where it was important to be seen. She was always so ambitious.

She had also known Armand well so her leaving was inappropriate.
"Just the field where you can manipulate your way to the top", he'd said, referring to her business and communication studies; to antagonize her and because he was angry.

At first she'd countered in a humorous way but he wouldn't give up. It had lead to a bitter argument, and she'd angrily left for school. He hadn't seen her since. That's why he was surprised when she suggested joining him.

That afternoon, feeling better than he had in days, Konrad shopped the square. He bought two new linen shirts, a pair of baggy, locally made trousers and, passing on the fedora the sales lady showed him, a felt cap favoured by the locals. He also bought Sinja a beautifully patterned silk scarf made by a local artisan. For a strange reason he didn't fully understand, he paid cash.

The next morning, dressed in his new clothes, Konrad picked Sinja up at the railway station. He gave her the scarf and was glad she liked it, even though she put it into her purse almost immediately. "It doesn't match my dress ", she said.

They made mostly small talk as they made their way to the square; how quaint and different the buildings looked, how great the bakery smelled at this time of day and how nice the square looked, with its flowers and terraces and shops, all more colourful for the sun.

Although he realized the conversation was superficial, Konrad was glad to speak of trivial matters. He was particularly glad for the hope she brought. He led her onto the terrace at Rene's where he led her to the table he had reserved for the occasion, and tipped Nicolas for holding it for him.

"So you see", said Konrad as he was picking at the last piece of fish on his plate,"they intend on being the new leaders in Europe. They'll profit immensely by it".

Konrad looked down at his salad and deciding he didn't want it, lit a cigarette instead. Nicolas came by to remove his plate and thought it must be the woman's influence. "Why else would he have ordered the Panspechi special instead of his lamb"? He looked at Sinja more closely and decided she would be worth changing a diet for. Undressing her in his mind, he took Sinja's plate, placed it on top of Konrad's unfinished salad and went inside with dreams in his head.

"Games Konrad, games", said Sinja."You were never very good at them were you. We used to play Stratego, remember that? I always captured your flag because you could never think beyond the game and analyse the players.

They were sitting drinking coffee and Sinja had just begun to speak after listening to Konrad tell his story. "Remember your fish tank?" How odd that she would bring that up now. "Didn't you realize the setup was all wrong? "A proper setup would have included more predators and less food ."Then you would have seen real power. "You would have realized that a predator needs competition to stay strong. "A predator without competition and a ready supply of food becomes weak, merely waiting for its next meal, knowing it will be along if it waits long enough.

"A spider", Konrad was startled by the reference, "lays a cunning trap for its prey; and then eats at leisure."

"The human predator is most dangerous. They learn, from history, from nature, from their mistakes, and they have a wide variety of human weakness and strength available to ensure they succeed in their hunt. And the kill, it is only important because it means that the hunt, the strategy, the game, was a success.

Her eyes were flashing now and her voice came in breaths. "If something can prevent success, it is up to all the participants of the game to ensure victory by dealing with it. Do you understand that?"

Konrad said yes and giving her the envelope said, "these men are playing against all for the gameboard that is Europe. The ultimate prize is the power to rule it. Sinja took the envelope and glanced inside as if only to confirm contents."Do you have any copies" she asked? Konrad didn't.

Sinja placed the envelope underneath her elbow so as to prevent it from blowing away and extended her arms to hold his hands in hers.

"You are such a fool " she said softly, as if she was sorry it was so. "These men are so much more subtle than that. For years now they have been spinning a web of people, dedicated to the game and strong enough to ensure victory."

"But many vie for the prize. For years various factions have been competing. Some have fallen, some will fall soon. Nothing, I repeat, nothing, will be allowed to stand in the way". As if to emphasize the second "nothing", Sinja squeezed his palms hard enough to break the skin with her sharp, brightly painted fingernails. The effort caused her to lean forward, her face almost touching his.

The feeling spread from the small points of blood on his palms. He couldn't move. First it was because of the terror. As Sinja bent forward, the pendant on her gold chain, which had been hiding in her cleavage, became visible. It was a spider inside a circle! He couldn't understand why it was he couldn't move after that as he watched her get up and walk away, putting the envelope in her purse.


VII
"It must have been a paralysis drug", he reasoned. "Why else would he be unable to move?" He felt as if he was in a straight jacket. He wished he was Houdini.

Nature was kind. Konrad slipped into a state of shock. Perhaps it was the drug. It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour, Konrad didn't know, but from the vantage point he had so carefully chosen at the corner of the terrace, he saw a car coming slowly down the street.

The window was rolled down and the barrel of a gun emerged almost imperceptably, the angle changing with the forward motion of the car so that the gun continued to point at him.It was like a dream. Although the thought took forever to complete, he now knew that Sinja had read the game, was playing and had earned a prize. And she was being saved. The coroner would say death by gunshot. No one would look for a drug.

Just before the car turned the corner, and just before Rene began to care, a last thought, to be shared later by only Nicolas, struck Konrad. He should have had the lamb. It had been his favourite.