Black Knife

By David Tappenden

‘Black Knife’ is a compelling, fast-paced thriller that is gripping from the very first page and will absorb you in an alternative world that could so easily have happened...



October 1940… a meeting between the US Under Secretary and a German general changes the course of World War Two and the future lives of millions.



January 1985… the German Republic rules northern Europe, productively, successfully, except for one man, the Black Knife. He strikes from the shadows, a trio of political figures slain every five years. No one knows how he does it. No one knows why. When two more bodies are found, former agent John Graham must once again step into the realm of the world’s most notorious killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Conrad Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781839781506

Book preview

Dad

PROLOGUE

Carentan, France, 19th October 1940

The United States Under Secretary cowed beneath the splintered barn porch. The rain and mist that had followed them from Le Rozel made it almost impossible to spot the farm truck they drove here in, now parked a few metres away under a bare oak tree. Despite the poor visibility, he knew it was a miracle they hadn’t been stopped on the drive in from the coast.

‘Rough night, sir.’

‘It’s no Alabama evening, that’s for damn sure.’

Sumner Welles glanced at the Lieutenant, haloed by the hang of his warm breath. Welles had chatted little with the troops assigned to protect him. Unnecessary noise wasn’t a luxury they could afford. Still, he had managed to pinpoint the Lieutenant’s southern drawl.

‘Reckon this is just gonna be a trip for biscuits sir?

‘I can’t imagine we’ve have been put to this much trouble for nothing Lieutenant.’

They had insisted that as few men accompany Welles to the rendezvous as possible. It was strictly need-to-know at this point and three was all the General was willing to risk. Welles was starting to wonder whether three troops and a local driver was enough though, no matter how experienced they were. It felt like an age since the Captain and the other Lieutenant had crept into the barn to scope out their destination. Just as his nerves started to rise, the door behind them opened.

‘The barns secure sir. No sign of anyone but Erhard.’

‘Are you sure it’s him?’

‘Absolutely. We’ve checked against our records and it’s a positive ID. He’s unarmed and alone. Lieutenant Rolston has him secured up in the hayloft sir.’

‘Okay.’ Welles paused for a moment and looked out into the night. ‘Let’s go see what the General has to say.’

‘Very well sir. Lieutenant, let our driver know we’ve secured the rendezvous and the Under Secretary is proceeding in. Keep a tight watch, eyes on everything. The minute you see something you don’t like, you come running.’

Welles stepped into the barn and climbed the ladder up to the hayloft, its rungs creaking under his weight. Captain Matthews followed behind. When he reached the top he peered into the gloom. His eyes had adjusted to the poor light outside but inside the barn was darker still. He gripped the pistol on his hip until he made out Rolston pointing his Colt square at General Christoph Erhard, at barely two metres distance. The General was sat at a square table, his palms flat on the top and his long black coat on the floor beside him. Rolston didn’t turn his gaze from Erhard for a second, even when Welles approached the table.

‘Mister Under Secretary, thank you for coming.’

‘General Erhard.’ Welles nodded but remained where he stood. ‘I understand your English is a whole lot better than my German.’

‘It certainly is. It is a foolish man who does not learn the language of his enemies. And since the United States has yet to join this, how should we say, disagreement, there is no need for you to learn my native tongue.’

‘Disagreements putting it mildly, don’t you think?’

‘That depends entirely on your perspective.’ Erhard shrugged and smiled. ‘Please, join me.’ Welles stepped slowly forward.

‘May I offer you a drink? Your man here has relinquished me of my bottle and glasses, but just there on the floor you will find one of the finest wines this part of France has to offer.’

For the first time Welles took his eyes from Erhard and met Rolston with an equally nervous look. Neither of them spoke. Erhard laughed.

‘Please gentleman. As you will learn, my intentions here are strictly honourable. There are no men waiting to ambush you, no Panzers hiding in the dark. The wine is not poisoned. Please, I will drink first.’

Erhard motioned forward to the bottle on the floor. Welles nodded to the Lieutenant and he stepped back, allowing the Nazi General to retrieve the bottle and glasses. With slow precision he uncorked the wine, smelt the bouquet and closed his eyes.

‘Ah, c’est magnifique.’ Pouring two glassfuls he held his up to the small slithers of moonlit that cut their way through the barn roof. ‘To Germany and the United States of America.’

Welles cautiously took his glass and waited for Erhard to swallow a large mouthful of wine. Tentatively he took a sip as well.

‘A beautiful wine, would you not agree?’

‘Let’s cut to the chase General. Small talk isn’t one of my specialties. Add to that the fact I’ve just spent the best part of a day keeping my stomach in check on the Channel and in the back of a vegetable truck that’s as ripe as an old grease-joint, you’ll forgive me if my patience is a little thin. We took a hell of risk coming here, and no one’s told me why. You mind telling me what’s so damn important you couldn’t send a coded telegram?’

Erhard’s expression became steely as he took another sip of wine. Welles sat down opposite and lent forward trying to get the measure of the man.

‘I have no doubt that you took a great risk coming here. Certainly, this is no place for a group of American soldiers.’ Erhard looked over at Rolston; the Lieutenant raised his Colt slightly in return. ‘But whatever your risk I guarantee you, for what I’m about to discuss my own risk is infinitely higher. For that reason alone it could not be communicated by telegram. Face-to-face, away from prying eyes and ears was the only way.’

‘I sincerely hope you’re right about that.’

‘I will be blunt.’ Erhard took a long breath, preparing himself. ‘America has no place in this war. This is our war and we will fight it against our enemies… and we will win. We do not consider the United States an enemy. As such, I am here to convince you not to get involved.’ Both men sat silent for a few moments.

‘If you’re as smart as we think you are, you’ll know that it’s going to take a hell of a lot of convincing at this point.’

‘And if you are as smart as I believe you to be Mister Welles you will know that it is not as simple as that. America has done very nicely so far, from the war. The arms and resources you’ve been loaning to Britain should keep your country financed for a long time to come. The German subsidiaries of your Ford Motor Company, General Motors and others have also done well providing us with support. And your banks have served to keep our financial heart, how would you say it, tickety boo?’

Welles’ expression soured. He knew all this to be true, but wasn’t happy admitting it. It was news to the two Army officers in the barn with him though and he could feel their stares.

‘And because of this you expect us to just stand by and watch you take over mainland Europe?’

‘We are merely taking back what was taken from us after the Great War and offering those nations that wish to join our new Republic the opportunity. But I’m not here to debate this with you. I’m here to convince you of what is best for your country.’

‘Continue.’ Welles doused his bubbling anger with a sip of wine.

‘You have been quite busy in the East discussing matters with our Japanese friends. As a show of good faith I can confirm that they are toying with you and your President. They are quite trusting of us as their Axis partners and we have been privy to all kinds of information regarding their intentions. I can tell you that America will be far better placed focusing their attention east than they will be involving themselves here.’

‘The Japanese are negotiating with us. I’m involved with the talks myself.’

‘But you are not a Japanese ally. We are and I can tell you they have no plans to settle this by peaceful means. You have your own war coming and you need to be prepared. I am proposing that we use our own relationship with Japan to assist you.’

Welles knew that to be sent to occupied France for a covert meeting with a Nazi General it had to be for something important, but he was still not expecting an offer like this. He did his best to remain composed.

‘Providing we stay out of Europe?’

‘Exactly.’

‘You’d go against the Anti Comintern Pact, provide us with intel on Japan?’

‘Not publicly. That would defeat the purpose. But in secret, yes, we would overturn it to provide you with what you need.’

Welles slumped back in his chair. He had his own doubts about the Japanese and their intentions. He tried voicing these concerns whenever he could get the President’s ear, but the President was too fond of the peaceful solution and had no appetite for another war. Neither did most Americans for that matter. But war was coming to them, Welles suspected. Erhard continued.

‘Of course, this is without mentioning what is happening east of our borders. Our intelligence agencies were exchanging information on this long before we returned Poland to the Reich. You yourself have spoken of your growing concerns regarding this I believe.’

‘I can’t deny that.’ Welles took another large swig of wine.

‘And what do you think will happen to Eastern Europe if we are not allowed to defeat the Soviets? You are a wise man Mister Under Secretary, you know where the future dangers lie. Do you want Communist Russia gaining such a strong foothold on the world map? I can assure you it would be much more advantageous to have Germany as you ally and as the strongest force in Europe.’ Erhard sat back in his chair, satisfied with the hand he had just played.

‘You’re overlooking a pretty large hurdle. There’s no way we can come to the table all the while the Fuhrer has his hand on the tiller. You’re right, out intelligence is that good. Don’t think for one minute we don’t know what’s been happening over here. When news of it breaks, and it will, America can’t be seen to align itself with a nation that has genocide as one of its key internal policies.’

Erhard lowered his head and sat in silence for a moment. Reaching for the wine, he topped up both glasses. The rain grew heavier and clacked a steady beat on the thin barn roof. Erhard took his glass and stood, moving to a dusty window. Rolston raised his weapon and focused his aim keenly. With a slight hand gesture Welles calmed the Lieutenant.

Erhard wiped the window with his palm and the hayloft glowed with fresh beams of moonlight. Welles could see Erhard more clearly now. More importantly he could see the General’s eyes. They were not what he was expecting. Within them he saw a mixture of determination and pride, deeply instilled. They also looked overwhelmingly tired.

‘I had a friend when I was young, Amelia. We grew up together in the countryside around Mosbach, playing together in the fields and streams every summer, sharing stories at the fireside of my mother’s kitchen. My father was killed during the Great War and Amelia’s father grew to take his place. He taught me so much about the world. He would share his views so eloquently but more importantly he would always leave me to form my own. But whatever path I took I longed for it to be the right one, the one he would choose himself. Most of the time it was.’

‘What did he do, for work?’

‘He worked in Mannheim as an accountant. He was a very good one to.’

‘It takes a focused mind to be good with numbers. My wife’s brother is an accountant. Very intelligent man.’

‘So was he.’ Erhard turned away from the window and sat back down at the table. ‘He was also a Jew.’

‘And is he still?’ Welles asked, already suspecting the answer.

‘He died… Kristallnacht’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Welles thumbed the bottom of his glass. ‘What became of Amelia?’

‘I don’t know. I have my suspicions but to look for her would place me in a very difficult position.’

‘Very noble.’

‘I did not say others were not looking for her. She will be found, I will see to it.’

‘You understand then why my President will never agree to negotiate with the Fuhrer.’

‘Absolutely, and neither would I. What you don’t understand, and what my Fuhrer’s propaganda machine keeps hidden, are the scores of German people who do not share his views. If a starving man is given a piece of bread, even if the bread is rotten and stale, he will look at the provider as his saviour. The Fuhrer appealed to those Germans who had nothing and gave them everything. They would follow him anywhere, no questions asked. But that is not all Germans, and even those that follow have their limits. Most are too frightened to challenge things now.’

‘And the war? Is that something your people wanted?’

‘We want back what was taken from us and we want to unite our people, including those in neighbouring nations. For years now our country has had no pride, no self-worth. We will fight to get that back, but we will not use the Fuhrer’s methods. He is taking my country down a path I refuse to follow.’

‘So what are you proposing here? A coup, from the inside? Surely there’s no way.’

‘I did not think so but there has been growing support amongst the old Social Democratic Party. I believe within the next month we may be well placed to deal with the Fuhrer.’

Welles gave himself a moment to digest all that Erhard had said. In five short minutes his expectations as to the war and how it was going to unfurl had been turned upside down. If Erhard was telling the truth this could be a very good news day for America. He turned to the troops by his side.

‘Gentleman, could you give us a few minutes please.’ Rolston and Matthews didn’t move, and exchanged a confused glance. ‘I’ll be fine, please… wait for me outside. I shan’t be long.’

Slowly they made their way back down the hayloft ladder. Welles returned to his seat and unclipped his revolver holster, placing the gun on the table in front of him.

‘I’m not a man who trusts folk easily. I have a suspicious streak running right down the centre of me. She’s a strange old girl but she’s served me well over the years and I like to keep her close. You haven’t given me any reason to distrust you yet and that’s a good start, but I’m not entirely sure where we go from here.’

‘I understand.’ Erhard slowly nodded. ‘If I were in your shoes I would be looking for some sort of confirmatory action.’

‘You have something in mind?’

‘Give me to the end of the month. If the Fuhrer is removed from office by then, you will know my offer is genuine.’

There was something about the way Erhard said removed from office that raised the hairs on the back of Welles’ neck.

‘What the boys who escorted me here don’t know, and what you need to understand, is that you really don’t have much time to play with. The President has already given word to start war preparations. To him that means coming to Europe. Before tonight I thought that would mean coming to Europe and heading out east. You want to scratch Europe from the list you’re going to have to move fast.’

‘Thank you for your honesty. I will bear this in mind and if we can we will move more quickly. As I am sure you can appreciate this is a delicate situation. Not only must we deal with the Fuhrer but we must undo some of the things he has put in place and make amends where we can. If it does not go to plan all that we discussed tonight, that will be forgotten. The Fuhrer will not make you the same offer.’

‘And we wouldn’t accept such an offer from him. But you remove that part of the puzzle, then we can talk. If you’re true to your word about the Japs I’m sure the folks back home would be very interested in discussing a way forward.’

‘Very well,’ Erhard smiled. ‘I will not keep you here any longer. I have no desire to be found any more than you do. What is the expression you Americans have, one more for the road?’

‘And it’s a long road at that.’ Welles moved his glass forward and motioned for a large glug to be poured.

‘One more thing.’ Erhard reached into his pocket; Welles flinched for a second and glanced down at his revolver. ‘Here ... details of how we can contact each other safely to discuss things further.’

Welles took the envelope and glanced down at it. There was a black and white photo underneath the string that held the package together, a picture of a beautiful looking woman.

‘Why the photograph? Who is it?’

‘That is my Amelia. It is the only photograph of her I have. I am a man of my word and I do not undertake a course of action unless I am absolutely sure I can see it through to the end. I will see you again. Please, keep the photograph safe for me until then.’

Welles, startled into silence, stared down at the picture and glanced back up at Erhard. With a single nod of the head he stood to shake the General’s hand.

‘Safe journey home Mister Welles.’

‘Likewise General.’

CHAPTER ONE

Buffalo, New York, 14th January 1985

John Graham stared out of the window at the snow spinning by on the wind. It never took much to draw his attention away from the classroom when one of his pupils was reading. He was always able to keep half an ear on whichever student it was though, in case he needed to interrupt at any time. He often got the class to read the textbook aloud, each student taking it in turn to read a paragraph. It kept them at least a little bit interested. They didn’t want to be here anymore than he did.

‘Was it meant to be a surprise attack then sir?’ The question stirred John and he focused all of his attention back into the classroom.

‘Sorry Stephen?’

He tried to work out the direction of the question. Fortunately the two Stephens sat together and he guessed it came from one of them.

‘The Battle of Oahu sir.’ Little Stephen, as the class called him, was always too eager to demonstrate his knowledge by asking questions to which he already knew the answer; it grated on John no end.

‘We believe so, yes. American intelligence discovered that the Japanese were planning a surprise attack. We think their main objective was Pearl Harbour. Fortunately our boys were able to beat them to the punch, meet them head on.’ A hand went up in the front row.

‘Sir, my Dad also says they had murder camps in Germany during the war. Did they sir?’

‘Your Dad seems even more interested in the war than you do. Now back to the textbook. Barbara, if you could carry on with the next paragraph.’

John skirted the last question as best he could. Fortunately, the children liked him enough to respect his authority. If he said it was time to do something most of the time they did. Barbara carried on reading and John returned to staring out the window. Three more students had taken their turn when something unusual caught his eye. Through the swirling weather he saw a familiar vehicle pulling up the school’s front drive. He recognised where the car was from before the black-coated men even stepped out into the snow; there was no mistaking the standard CIA saloon, not to him anyway.

As the two men entered the school he counted down the seconds until there was a knock at the classroom door. He had guessed two hundred and forty five seconds; he was only five seconds out. The school secretary opened the door and poked her head in.

‘Mr Graham, could I borrow you for a minute.’

‘Of course. Barbara, as class captain you’re in charge. Any funny business you report it right back to me. Barbara’s watching you guys so you best behave for her.’

John stood to leave. His six foot two inch, wide shouldered frame towered over the class, and he figured it was his size that kept most of them in line; that and something the children had dubbed his bogeyman eyes. They were spot on; his one hundred yard stare was the reason he never wore sunglasses when he was with the Agency.

♦

‘The principal’s not in today so you can use her office. The men didn’t give their names but they said they were here for an appointment with you.’

‘Thanks Tia, we won’t be long.’

‘Everything okay? They look kind of official.’

‘Yeah, everything’s fine. Just a meeting about the football team that’s all.’ Tia smiled weakly; she was unsure. John changed tact. ‘I still owe you lunch by the way. You free tomorrow lunchtime?’

‘I think Wendy mentioned meeting up but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I blow her out, just this once.’

Tia’s smile widened and John gave her a wink in return before heading into the headmistress’s office. One of the men stood in the corner leaning on a filing cabinet. He had knocked over Amanda’s favourite photo of her two sons. John stood it back up as he walked past. A more familiar figure sat at the chair in front of Amanda’s oak desk. John sat on the edge of the desk; he knew the conversation wouldn’t take long.

‘John, you’re looking well.’ Matthew Hubbard extended a hand from where he was sat; John didn’t accept it.

‘Wish I could say the same. Your memory gone south Matt?’

John had always called him Matt, ever since Matthew had insisted on him using his full name some years ago. John was the only one who refused, out of spite more than anything. He put it down to Matthew’s tell-tale little man syndrome. Ever since John had first met him, Matthew took every opportunity to impose his personality on to others to make up for his lack of size. The only thing that had changed since John last saw him was his hair which was now just as thin and wispy as his figure.

‘You’ve lost me already.’ Matthew held his arms out, palms facing the ceiling.

‘Seriously, you’re going to pretend?’ John paused, stony faced. ‘Okay, I’ll play along… last time we saw each other, part of the agreement was that the Agency wouldn’t contact me like this again. No unannounced visits, no turning up out of the blue, and especially not bothering me here.’

‘Teaching history now I hear. How’s that working out for you?’ Matthew lounged back lazily in his chair.

‘Just fine.’

‘The big five-oh this year as well if I remember.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And coaching the high school football team. Trying to relive some of the glory years?’

‘Least I had some glory years.’

‘It’s a young man’s world John. Whatever are you going to do with yourself?’

‘Listen, why don’t you cut the crap and tell me why you’re here so I can get to the part where I tell you to shove it up your ass.’

‘Come on, we were doing fine… some small talk, a few pleasantries. Let’s play nice for a change, leave the old days in the past. We’ll call them history if you like.’

Matthew chuckled to himself. John glanced up at the other agent. He hadn’t shifted from his position against the filing cabinet, arms still folded, expression still neutral. John stood up from the desk and made his way to Amanda’s office chair.

‘Matt, you’re a bastard, and you’ll always be a bastard, at least to me.’ John sat down in the chair and lent forward on the desk. ‘Now either tell me why you’re here or I’ll regale your friend there with a few stories as to why that’s so.’

Matthew met John’s stare with a less enthusiastic look before his trademark grin returned as if it was hiding underneath all along. He held up his hands in mock defeat.

‘I didn’t want to come here anymore than you wanted to see me, but the new Deputy Director asked me personally and she’s not someone you say no to.’

‘She? Let me guess, Sarah?’

‘Been keeping up with the news?’ Matthew ignored the comment.

‘I dip in from time to time.’

‘Then you’ll know your old friend is back at it again.’

‘I did see that. I’ve moved on though.’

‘Except you haven’t.’

‘Like I said before, someone better than me will have to finish the job… I’m done.’

‘They stuck with your name. Media’s even using it now.’

‘Black Knife. Wouldn’t have taken a genius to come up with it.’

‘Even so, it’s a small claim to fame at least.’

‘Not one I asked for.’ John paused and Matthew matched his silence. ‘He still using the same weapon?’

‘Still sure it’s a he?’

Matthew lent forward on the desk, meeting John’s stare with one of his own. John cursed under his breath. He knew he wasn’t finished and he knew Matthew knew the same. It was the only thing he had ever walked away from in his life. Even his wife chose to leave before he did. But the Black Knife was different. John had to call it quits. It was chipping away at his life, taking bigger chunks with each victim.

‘He struck again last night. You know the drill, same as before, three bodies in one month before he’s done. The old Polizei have beefed up security as usual. They’re still at a loss, even after all this time. BKA are crying out for support but there’s not much more we can offer other than what we’ve provided already.’

‘The Foreign Secretary again?’

‘Yup. Found him in the trunk of a stolen car, parked outside a small German war cemetery on the outskirts of Bremen. It’s become a poison chalice. The Fuhrer’s going to struggle to find someone in his Cabinet to fill the post at this rate.’

‘Ain’t he just. That’s five Foreign Secretaries in the last two decades.’

‘Thirteen murders in total. No doubt it’ll be fifteen by the end of January.’

‘Please don’t follow that with an unless’

‘You know more about this case than anyone.’

‘And that still didn’t help. Now don’t embarrass yourself further by trying to blow smoke up my ass. It won’t work, I’m not coming back.’

‘Hey, I couldn’t give a steamy shit whether you come back or not. Cochran asked me to persuade you though. She figured I’d have the best shot as I’ve known you the longest.’

‘She never was that smart.’

‘You know that’s not true. But I see your point. I thought she’d be better off coming up here to work her own charms again in person.’

Matthew grabbed the signed baseball from Amanda’s desk that John had given her last Christmas and tossed it up in the air, catching it with his other hand.

‘Don’t be coy Matt, you’ll show too many of your true colours.’

John hadn’t seen the new Deputy Director of the CIA in some time and judging by how they left things he couldn’t imagine that Sarah would be too keen to see him again, favour to ask or not.

‘You asked why I was here and I’ve told you. They want you back on the Black Knife case. You’ll either do it or you won’t. You want in, call me on this number by tomorrow morning.’

Matthew stood and flicked a card from a local hotel at John. It landed neatly in an empty coffee cup on the desk. Matthew already had his back to John and didn’t see the accuracy of his shot. They were at the door when John stood up from his chair.

‘Wait,’ John snapped. Matthew stopped and turned. ‘What aren’t you telling me? There’s always some sort of angle with you. There’s no way Sarah would’ve sent you all the way up here to get me back if it was just a continuation of what happened before. Three murders in a one month period every five years, the Black Knife is just carrying on the pattern. So what’s changed to get me back?’

‘That’s as much as I know John my man.’

Matthew flashed him one last trademark grin before exiting the room. It was the last carrot he had to dangle and it was a sweet one. He knew John would ask, and he knew John wouldn’t be able to resist getting an answer to his question.

‘Bastard’ John muttered as he watched Matthew and his fellow Agent walk away down the hall.

CHAPTER TWO

Despite the foot of snow outside John refused to put the heating on. Mrs Palmer in the downstairs apartment was the same, never spending a dime unless she had to. Her answer was the same as Johns; if it was cold just put on an extra pullover. As John reached for a chunky woollen cardigan to add to the two layers he was already wearing, he paused for a moment and wondered how he got so hung up on spending money. It wasn’t that he was short of cash or stingy. Years spent working for the CIA had filled his bank account to a more than comfortable level. Even after Annie had walked away with her share he still had plenty left. He put it down to his hatred of pointless waste.

Shivering slightly as the cold cardigan hugged him, he reached into the back of his bedroom wardrobe and felt down into an old pair of running shoes. From the left shoe he pulled out a small key. Pulling back the carpet in the corner of the room he found the security box he had installed in the floor space when he moved in four years ago. He had only opened it twice in all that time, to clean his Glock pistol.

A fog of dust hanging in the air, John eyed the contents; spare passports, a roll of dollar bills, loose foreign currency, his gun, some old photos, the keys to a couple of safe-houses. It was the thick brown file he reached for though. He hadn’t looked at it since it was first filed away in the box. The thought of reading through it after all this time excited and scared him. Maybe this time he would spot something that he had previously missed; but if he did, what then?

John sat on the bed and pulled the quilt over his legs. He laid the file on his lap and took a sip of whisky before sliding his glasses on and undoing the twine that held the file shut. As the cover flopped open a picture slid out, a photo of the very first Black Knife murder scene. John had looked at the picture a thousand times and only needed a cursory glance now before shutting his eyes and recapturing the entire scene in his mind.

It was February 2nd 1965. The then German Foreign Secretary was found on the floor of his living room with twenty different stab wounds to his chest and abdomen. The CIA weren’t contacted until two more bodies had been found a fortnight later, the German Minister of Defence discovered in a Berlin hotel room, and the Fuhrer’s personal aide who turned up in a three separate holdalls in the small coastal town of Wilhelmshaven. When the German BKA asked for help the CIA assigned their two brightest rising stars to help. To John it felt like a long time since he was the brightest anything.

The list of potential suspects was longer than any murder case anyone on either side of the Atlantic had dealt with before. Germany still had many enemies across Europe. While Belgium, the Netherlands and Czechoslovakia had been fairly receptive to becoming part of the new German Republic, thanks mostly to the economic benefits, the millions of French exiled to southern France during World War II still harboured great anger towards Germany. Northern France remained one of the world’s most disputed territories until 1960 when it was separated from the Rhineland by a NATO sanctioned neutral zone.

John once again mulled over his first assumption all those years ago, that this new political assassin was a French Resistance fighter trying to stoke the fires of revolution by taking the conflict deep into the heart of Germany’s Parliament. As convinced as he was, at the time this line of enquiry turned up nothing. As he leafed through the notes in the folder John cast his mind back to the other paths his investigation went down.

Poland was equally volatile, an almost perfect divide between those who welcomed Germany’s claim over their land and the prosperity it brought, and those that wanted the new Reich out by any means necessary. It was another long avenue John had to explore in the months following the initial murders. But the investigations didn’t stop there.

Denmark continued to look on nervously, waiting for the German military machine to start marching again. The defeated Soviets were also seen as a threat to German stability, along with those few Germans who had remained loyal to Hitler and the Nazi cause even after he was ousted. They made the list as well. It was a mountain of suspects so daunting John’s mind swam just thinking back to amount of work that lay in front of them during those years.

The murders remained at three, confined to February of that year. Whoever it was at least gave John and his partner plenty of time to investigate. By the time they struck again John was working the case solo in amongst other work for the CIA, but three more murders five years later in January of 1970 brought a flood of new faces on to the case. Another trio of political figures were discovered in various stages of dismemberment.

John leafed through the photos and notes from 1970. A photo of the fourth victim took him right back to a conversation he had with Geld Enke, the German Police Detective who was leading the investigation on home soil. They were drowning the sorrows of another week of fruitless digging when John first coined the phrase the Black Knife. The killer always left one weapon behind, planted in a chosen body part. It was a knife made of black iron, crudely forged but unique in design. Geld liked the name, despite his contempt for the person responsible. Das Schwarzes Messer became an obsession for Geld though, even when he was wasting away with cancer. John recalled Geld’s growing bitterness as the catalyst for his own abandonment of the case some years later; he didn’t want to end up like Geld.

John continued flicking through the file as the memories continued to flow. It was the third round of murders in late January of 1975 that really upped the pressure. Media involvement increased tenfold, running with the notion of a pattern based serial killer who was striking at the highest level of German political office every five years. Geld referred to the Black Knife moniker at a press conference and the world’s journalists lapped it up. Even John became a target for journalistic intrusion as the press pried into every corner of the case. The outcome was still the same; three dead political figures and not one step closer to finding out who was responsible.

The last trio of murders were a political disaster. The Police, BKA and John were primed and ready come the early months of 1980. With the pattern established everyone was waiting for the Black Knife to resurface. The entire German cabinet was put on high alert and security was increased. Somehow it made no difference. The killer waited patiently for those few moments when three cabinet members let down their guards.

John found the last photo he had taken with Geld, sat at his bedside in a Frankfurt hospital as his friend slowly succumbed to his illness. Swallowing another mouthful of liquor, he replayed the last conversation they had together. Geld had choked out a laugh and said how he admired the bastard’s audacity. Years of chasing the Black Knife and all he was left with as he lay dying was a morbid respect for a killer who had defied the odds and struck again despite the overwhelming security and surveillance in place.

John felt a lump catch in his throat, the burning sensation of caught whisky and sorrow. Geld had died a failure in the eyes of his colleagues and his country. John was determined not to end up the same and a month after the twelfth victim was found on the roof of a Berlin theatre he walked away from the case, the CIA, and his career. He remembered the date clearly, 27th February 1980. But he now had to decide whether he wanted back in.

John dropped the thick file of documents on to the quilt and walked over to his bedroom window. He looked out on the featureless road that ran by outside. He heard Mrs Palmer’s television in the room below; despite its volume he figured she was asleep in front of it as usual, some mindless quiz show flickering away in the corner. Like him, she enjoyed a late evening drink or five, though