The Judas Prophecy

By Alan Trustman

Why would anyone want to kill pregnant women--in New York, Seattle, Rome, Bologna and Istanbul? And why THESE particular pregnant women? And what does it have to do with the Catholic Church?

NYPD detective Sarah Caruso and her former lover,Italian Police Commissioner Marco Salvi, are determined to find out and they do, in a chase through Italy, Israel, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Monaco and ultimately Florida, rekindling an old love in the process.

Action, adventure, ancient history, science and theology in a thriller and love story mix by the screenwriter of THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR and BULLITT.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450093385

Alan Trustman

Mr. Trustman was educated at the Phillips Exeter Academy, Harvard College and Harvard Law School. His movie credits include The Thomas Crown Affair, Bullitt, Lady Ice, and They Call Me Mr. Tibbs. He has written articles for the Atlantic Monthly and The Washington Post, and published novels (Father’s Day, Our Man Ho, Primal Action). He is a longtime member of the American Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and a recipient of the Mystery Writers of America Edgar Allan Poe Award for best screenplay.

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Copyright © 2010 by Alan Trustman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE

ABBY WAS HUMMING as she fast-walked to the subway along the south side of East 77th Street, past Hawaii Sushi, Clarity Lights and Todd Layne Cleaners, mentally humming the tune I love New York in June, how about you?

She did love New York in June. In fact, she loved New York all year round and, what’s more, she loved life, her life and the life to be within her. She passed Alexis Custom Tailors, Cafe Bun Gusto, the Birch Wathen Lower School, and the Housing Works Thrift Shop. How many of the other people in the sidewalk crowds hurrying to work at eight o’clock in the morning were as happy and loved New York as much? Wasn’t she as lucky as it gets, being young, pregnant and pretty?

In front of the North Fork Bank and McCabes Fine Wine and Spirits, she slowed as she passed a beggar with an Iraq veteran sign. Would he drink it up if she gave him money? They were right in front of a liquor store. He might very well take it right inside. What the hell. She took her money clip from her Gucci purse but she had no singles. Again, what the hell. She gave him a fiver.

God bless, he said.

Abby felt good about giving him the money. She has done one good deed already and the day just begun. She crossed Third Avenue and hurried west past HSBC Bank, the Champion Park garage and the other parking garage next door.

Ahuv Alon (as he was later called by Sarah and Marco, whom you have not yet met), looked out of place, but nothing like the stone killer he was. He was wearing a too-heavy dark wool suit, but no tie, as he stalked his quarry from the north side of East 77th street, across the street from Abby. She was young and pretty, but so what? That was too bad. It mattered not. He would do, expertly, what he had to do. His assignment so required it. He had his instructions. The girl would never know what or why, and that was fine, no, more than that, no one would ever know why, it would be best that way. No one ever knowing why was a very important element of this tricky New York assignment.

He passed Lenny’s, the sandwich and salad takeout place, Jo-Ann Pictures, Purrfect Tailor, Shirt King Chinese Laundry, Kelly Cleaners and the apartment house at the corner of Third Avenue. Staying parallel and slightly behind Abby, he crossed Third Avenue.

The subway entrance at 77th and Lex was coming up quickly. The girl would enter on the south side of 77th and he would have to cross the street carefully to stay both unnoticed and behind her.

At this hour of the day, it would be crowded but not all that crowded inside the subway station, so he could play it either way, either mingling with the crowd in the classical manner or vanishing when the deed was done. He would wait and see what it was like when the time came. If no one had noticed him, he would stay. If anyone gave him so much as a glance, he would simply disappear, pouf, and the hell with historical tradition. They had left it up to him. Do it right, they had told him and he would. The aftermath procedure would be his decision.

He passed the garage and 77 Shoe Repair and crossed the street in the middle of the block, ducking through the traffic, which was thankfully light. On the south side of 77th he was now well behind her. He speeded up as she approached the subway entrance.

Abby trotted into the subway entrance in front of the Lenox Hill Hospital and slowed as she went down the stairs. Goodness, already she was feeling heavy, her balance disturbed, and she was still in her second month! That was all! Was that sort of unsteadiness normal? She would have to ask. Taking no chances was part of the deal and a promise was a promise. Abby always honored her promises.

Alon, slightly out of breath, was ten stairs above and ten people behind her.

Abby swiped her 30-day Unlimited Ride MetroCard through the reader and pushed through the turnstile.

Alon followed, using his six-ride Pay-Per-Ride MetroCard and closed the distance between them. He was now the second person behind her.

Unexpectedly, the waiting benches were all full, people were leaning back against the white tile wall reading their morning papers, and too many passengers were waiting on the platform quay, so Abby raised her elbows to protect her tummy and pressed forward through the crowd toward the hard rubber yellow button flooring at the edge of the track, shaking her head at the ugly garish flowers painted on the overhang. Watch the feet. Be careful now. Be sure not to get too close to the edge. People could fall in. People had fallen in, which was just awful. She had read about it in the papers.

Alon slithered closer to her.

The Number Six train arrived, exploding into the station, blasting past Abby and screeching to a stop, the leading first car four beyond her. The fifth car doors were right in front of her, which was perfect. Right on, Abby. You got it just right. Everyone pressed forward, as usual blocking the exit from the car.

As the doors opened, and a dozen passengers forced their way out, Alon felt Abby’s back with a light thumb, found the exact place, there, between the third and fourth ribs, and stabbed Abby in the back with his wide curved knife. Now, mingle or vanish? Linger here? Or go? He might have jostled the fat woman beside him. She was frowning but not looking at him. But that was enough. Be prudent. He promptly backed away, tucked the knife under his shirt and disappeared into the crowd as Abby collapsed in the subway car doorway.

People scrambled past her into the car, swirling around her, only one or two pausing, trying to help, most not wanting to get involved, this was New York, mind your own business, the girl was probably sick or drunk or drugged on something, and now she was down. Disgusting. Oh, no! What was that? Blood! At the sight of the blood on the platform hard rubber yellow button flooring, several women screamed and backed away.

Everyone now backed away at the sound of the whistles from the approaching transit police.

The train was halted. The transit police surrounded the body. People clustered, but not too close, to look and ask what had happened? Why had the girl collapsed? And why the blood?

Alon had disappeared, long gone, up the stairs and away from the subway station.

The morgue, on the corner of First Avenue and 30th Street, six stories high and built in 1961, was modern in design and actually rather pretty if you liked the style, clean concrete and glass, its windows washed monthly and sparkling clean, the large brass-lettered City of New York Office of Chief Medical Examiner sign under the overhang clearly visible but not exactly discreet. There wasn’t much in the neighborhood other than a parking garage and a small but decent Mexican restaurant.

In the morgue basement, where the rotating file of 120 bodies were kept in their two-high refrigerated drawers, all was faux wood and stainless steel, well lit and air conditioned, with the pervasive and nauseating fresh meat and formaldehyde smell of death. The receiving room was freezing.

Sarah’s heart was freezing.

There were a dozen stainless steel operating tables in the main operating room, with sheet-covered bodies on eight of them. The medical examiner stood by one, holding up the head edge of the sheet. He looked at Sarah for permission.

She nodded. Let’s see it.

He lifted the sheet off the face and upper body.

Sarah was trembling as she stepped up to the gurney. Was it Abby? How could it possibly be? But it was. Oh, no! she said.

Vince put his arm around her, giving her comfort, which she felt, deep. Sarah wanted to snuggle, weep.

Instead, she swallowed, looked again to be sure, nodded. It was Abby. How could it be Abby? But it was. The medical examiner was holding up the sheet. Sarah gestured, for Chrissake drop it.

The medical examiner did. He and Vince looked at Sarah.

Sarah Caruso was 29, attractive, competent, the youngest detective sergeant ever with the NYPD Special Victims Division, normally a bit too cynical for her age, been there, done that and the hell with it, some of it with detective lieutenant Vince Foster, the best-looking of her many former lovers, now with his arm around her. She was very much aware of that now. Comfort is where you can get it, and let’s face it, she wanted it, big time, but no, girl, don’t give in, bad mistake, be careful not to clutch, hug and weep, or even move closer to that body which she knew so well—and which she found herself wanting as she always did when things went wrong, and that was terribly wrong at a time like this—no, steady, Sarah, forget it.

Are you okay? said Vince.

No, she said.

Take a deep breath.

She did.

I thought I remembered hearing the name, he said.

Abby.

Your first cousin?

Sarah shook her head. Yes, of course, but more a sister than a cousin.

Did you know she was pregnant? the medical examiner said.

What?

She was pregnant.

That was a shocker. This was getting worse and worse. Sarah stared at the still form under the sheet. No, she said. And added, Oh, shit. No, I didn’t know.

The medical examiner cleared his throat. First trimester, six weeks, he said.

Sarah said, She never told me.

Damn, that’s odd, isn’t it? Vince said. You were so close. Or at least you once were.

Still, Sarah said. We still were. My little sister. That was just what they were. Big sister, little sister. Close? More than close.

Was she married? the medical examiner asked.

No.

These fucking kids— the medical examiner said, but Sarah interrupted him sharply, Don’t!

I only meant—

I know what you meant and it isn’t funny.

I’m sorry, very sorry, the medical examiner said.

Abby gestured. Please lift the sheet again so she could have one last look.

The medical examiner lifted the sheet.

God, she was pretty. It was like she was asleep. At peace. In death, at peace. How the hell could this ever have happened? But it had. Why? God damn it, why? Oh, Abby, baby, why? Why?

Sarah kissed Abby on the forehead and took her one last look. She gestured again, please cover her up.

The medical examiner covered Abby up.

All done? Was that it? Finished? Jesus Christ!

Sarah said aloud, ’Bye, baby. What a rotten way to go. I promise you, I’ll get him, whoever it is.

Maybe you shouldn’t, said Vince. Not this one.

Hm? What the hell did he mean?

Given the relationship, Vince said.

Sarah looked at him. You and me, or me and her? It was his case, of course, it had happened in his precinct, and he was 19th Precinct, east side homicide. She would have to get herself assigned to it by her Special Victims Division.

Vince was looking at her. "The