Suicide Before Dying

By Stan Miller

WHO IS THE TERRORIST KNOWN AS THE ‘VIPER’ AND WHAT IS HIS TARGET?

The kidnapping of a young archaeologist during a dive in the Red Sea provokes a series of events which baffle Israeli Intelligence.

Adam Stern, a Mossad agent, is summoned to Jerusalem and given the task of finding Tatiana, the girl abducted from her camp site in the Sinai Peninsular, and the reason for her disappearance.

In the process, Adam uncovers a coded message depicting the drawing of an explosion of some kind. It is feared that the ‘Viper’ has selected a prominent target in Jerusalem. What is the target and when is his sinister plot going to take place?

Together with another agent, Rachel Rose, a young professor of ancient Egyptian studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, Adam follows a vague trail which takes them to Cairo, Paris and Istanbul.

Who is this killer they call the ‘Viper’? Where can they find him? Time is of the essence and progress is slow, that is, until they discover the ‘Viper’ has a girlfriend.

About the Author

Stan Miller is a South African. After serving in the South African Air Force, he continued flying privately for a number of years doing his advanced flying course. He worked as an aerial surveyor compiling survey maps for the next twelve years before embarking on a business career.

He holds a B.A. Honours Degree majoring in English and Communication. Enjoying the study of English literature, he developed a passion for writing, and was prone to say “it gives me the opportunity of escaping into my own imagination.”

Stan Miller lives in Sandton with his wife Cherrie, and whenever possible, visit their children and grandchildren in Melbourne and New Jersey.

“Suicide Before Dying” is his fourth novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stan Miller
• Release date: Feb 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463952863

Book preview

Prologue

The Red Sea

The first shudder of the light aircraft was ignored by the two pilots who sat silently wrapped in their own thoughts. Turbulence was a common occurrence even in seemingly perfect conditions. They hadn’t spoken much to each other since take-off because one of them was an Englishman who owned the plane and the other his Arab co-pilot representing the company which had chartered the flight. They had very little in common apart from flying, and the captain was under no illusion that the only reason his fellow airman was sitting in the cockpit next to him was to keep him under strict surveillance. There was no trust between strangers in this part of the world especially when they came from such diverse cultures.

When the aircraft shuddered again the two men turned to look at each other. The eye contact was more out of routine than alarm; the captain, sitting in the left seat, lowered his gaze and scanned the instrument panel, while the co-pilot looked out the starboard window at the sea ten thousand feet below to see if there was any reason for the sudden turbulence.

The third shudder drew a gasp from the pilot as he watched the oil pressure indicator dropping sharply; suddenly the two men were united in panic.

How far to the airfield? the pilot asked, already guessing an answer he didn’t want to hear.

Forty minutes. The coastline was already visible but the airfield was far inland.

Too far to glide; we may have to ditch, the pilot warned his passenger.

The Arab reached behind him and withdrew a metal container from the box resting on the back seat. He placed it in his lap and gripped it tightly with both hands. Safe delivery of the container and whatever was inside was the sole objective of the flight. Don’t let it out of your sight, had been his instruction.

I hope its waterproof, the pilot said. Otherwise you’re wasting your time. Secure it somewhere where it won’t fly around the cockpit and smash our brains out when we ditch.

I have my orders, the Arab said, tightening his grip on the container.

The propeller stopped suddenly and the nose of the aircraft dropped sharply. The glide path was too steep for the aircraft to reach the beach and the sea came up rapidly towards them. The wind was stronger than expected and the swells too high for a gentle belly flop. The nose hit firmly into a high crest and the aircraft flipped onto its back breaking off at the tail assembly unit. The inrush of water was swift and the plane slipped quickly beneath the surface - the beach was only two miles away.

***

Ishmail Agagi listened quietly to what Colonel Bazizi was telling him. His face was masked in rigidity. Normally quick to anger and emotionally proactive, he displayed no overt reaction to the bad news. How he managed to contain the anger he was feeling within himself surprised even him; he nodded as he listened, his knuckles turning white below the desk-top as he squeezed his hands together.

No survivors and you don’t know where the aircraft went down? he asked in a slightly quivering voice.

Bazizi could only nod.

If you don’t know where the plane crashed, how in the name of Allah do you know that Ansub never survived?

We’ve searched all along the coast – nothing at all. Bazizi’s shoulders sagged in despair. There is no sign of any wreckage or the two pilots.

I don’t care about my wife’s cousin. I only care about the container. The group leader began perspiring and his temper showed signs of surfacing. Bazizi, I took you to be a wise man. You’ve certainly proved yourself in battle. But how could you send such an important parcel all that way by light aircraft. I would have commissioned a Boeing just for that."

Bazizi took the rebuke without reply; he merely lowered his eyes to avert the stern stare of his superior: he had no answer. He knew his leader wouldn’t take any action against him - not only were they friends but he was one of the few people Agagi could trust. As Chief of Intelligence one minor misjudgement could hardly constitute drastic punishment. Still, he waited with baited breath. The man was known to be sometimes vengefully impulsive.

Make sure the container doesn’t fall into the wrong hands, Agagi said.

We did take the precaution of coding the information. It will be difficult to decipher.

But not impossible, especially it falls into the hands of the Israelis.

The plane crashed in Egyptian territorial waters; that’s not very likely.

Agagi snorted. I’ll send another dispatch with a reliable courier this time, he said, rising to his feet to terminate the meeting.

Bazizi left the room quietly, wondering why he was feeling responsible for something he did not cause. He switched on his cell phone and punched a speed dial number.

We have a problem. Send the team to the location, he spoke softly, and tell them to find the container at any cost otherwise we’ll both be hauling fishing nets in the Gulf, or worse still, being hauled out of the Gulf ourselves!

Chapter 1

The Red Sea

At a depth of ninety feet, visibility was not good enough to allow the lead swimmer to get too far ahead before losing visual contact and violating diving safety procedure, but something on the sea bed had caught her eye, and she feared that if she did not stop now to have a look, she would risk never finding the spot again. Tatiana was an experienced diver and knew that in unfamiliar waters the primary rule was never to separate yourself from your diving partner. The yellow flippers that Stephen was wearing were only just visible in the distance and she knew that if she didn’t follow swiftly, they would disappear from view and she would lose contact with him. She had seconds to make up her mind and curiosity got the better of her judgment.

Dammit! she mumbled to herself. He also has a responsibility to look back once in a while to see if I’m all right. She lowered her shoulders and kicked furiously towards the sea bed thirty feet below her. Let Stephen panic and come back to look for me, she concluded. Her stubbornness came from her Jewish heritage. Born of Russian parents, she was constantly reminded, while growing up, how difficult life had been for them in Moscow and the money her father and mother had saved had come from hard work and a strong determination to make life better for their little girl. They had succeeded – she had a university degree, a promising career in archaeology, and her parents were now prominent citizens of Israel.

For a brief moment she lost sight of the shiny object that had initially drawn her attention to the sea bed. The incongruity of something so bright against the coral outcrop was too irresistible to ignore, and the urge to explore further prompted an emotional response rather than an intelligent one. She scanned the area until she saw it again. She was so preoccupied with her quest that she failed to see a dark shape circling above her.

Much further on, Stephen was swimming easily through the water. He remained only high enough above the sea bed to give himself a wider field of vision without sacrificing visibility of the bottom. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for – his instruction was to look out for anything alien to the natural surroundings, so he scanned everything that was not coral. The iron lance had been found somewhere in this area by the previous group and it was hoped that Tatiana’s team would likewise be lucky enough to discover something as important and make the university proud.

They were diving in the northern extremity of the Red Sea in the Gulf of Suez in a narrow tributary about three miles wide. The Red Sea is an arm of the Indian Ocean separating the Arabian Peninsula from north east Africa, but this section protruded far into central Egypt. The water itself is often coloured red by a type of algae and even the coral reefs and seaweed were stained red.

Hundreds of coloured fish darted in and out of the coral reef. He caught sight of a blue angelfish with a mustard-yellow band and identified what he thought to be a Saddleback Butterfly fish, although without certainty; he’d confirm it with Tatiana when they returned to the boat - her knowledge of these waters was greater than his.

He had been quite surprised and pleased when she had selected him to join her on this expedition. Her beauty had captured his eye the moment she had arrived in the department, and he had become infatuated over her. He was subtle enough to hide his disappointment that she maintained a professional distance between them and regarded him only as a colleague, keeping their friendship, if any, strictly platonic. So he developed a voyeuristic relationship with her and took satisfaction in watching her move gracefully around the lab and drawing contentment just being in her proximity. He knew it was a harmless preoccupation as long as he didn’t let it become lustful and obsessive – a barrier he felt intelligent enough not to cross. He could picture with his eyes closed the delicate features of her face framed by her long black hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. Her shoulders were a little muscular from all the swimming, but her body tapered into a slim waistline and well defined slender legs. She had full breasts for such a petite figure and, what always attracted his attention to the point of staring, was the deep cleavage which was so definable through the fabric of whatever she was wearing.

Knowing that this beautiful woman was swimming in close proximity enhanced his self-esteem; if she would not go out with him for dinner, then this would have to do – a kind of ‘underwater date,’ he mused. He turned to acknowledge her presence.

He almost spat out his mouthpiece in shock when he saw that she wasn’t there. He nearly choked as the demand regulator valve closed to prevent water from entering his mouth, but he held his breath until the exact volume of air began flowing again. He stopped swimming and hung vertically suspended in the water looking around for any sign of her. But there was none; he couldn’t see her anywhere. A quick ascent to the surface was out of the question. At ninety feet, the water pressure was three times greater than at the surface and he was breathing more molecules of air due to the air at this depth being so compressed. If he went up too quickly the air in his lungs would expand and nitrogen bubbles would form in his blood. Better to remain at the current depth and return on a reciprocal course until he found her.

Although the current was pushing slightly from the left there was no point tacking into it because he didn’t know the exact bearing to take. He would swim a zig-zag pattern and take in as wide an area as possible. There was a hurried rhythm to his swimming now; not yet a panic reaction but filled with apprehension nevertheless.

Then he saw it; the shark first – swimming in a tight circle preparing its premeditated attack. He didn’t think sharks were present in these waters and were only prevalent south of the central channel where the sea was two hundred miles wide. He looked directly beneath the shark and saw her. She was kneeling over an object on the sea bed completely oblivious to the danger she was in. He couldn’t call out to warn her – instead, he propelled himself with his flippers to intercept the shark before it could reach her. He knew from experience that sharks don’t usually attack prey on the seabed. They like to get below their victims and attack with an upward thrust. Nevertheless, his only thought was to put himself between Tatiana and the shark.

He changed the underwater camera to his left hand so that it would be on the same side as the shark and removed the charged stun gun from his belt. He was glad that he had included the contraption in his kit although they were not anticipating any trouble. He positioned himself above Tatiana, who had only just turned to see the danger she was in.

The shark’s huge jaw crashed against the camera casing as it tried to take it between its jagged teeth. Stephen reached over with his right hand and pressed the gun against the shark’s snub-nosed snout. The shock-wave recoiled through the brute’s body and it turned away from him in dazed confusion and a moment later, with a powerful flick of its tail which nearly broke Stephen’s shoulder as it crashed against him, swam away from them and disappeared into the opaque distance.

When it was gone, Stephen relaxed and wagged a reprimanding finger at her. She apologized with raised eyebrows and a rueful look in her eyes. She did not waste too much time seeking his forgiveness and turned her attention back to the object in the sand. She had managed to expose part of it and it looked clearly like part of an old wagon wheel. The hub, two spokes and a section of the rim were clearly visible in the sand. Through the grime covering the object could be seen slithers of golden metal, and it was this which had attracted her attention. She was surrounded by a kaleidoscope of marine colours and shapes and yet the only thing which concerned her was the shiny artefact she had partly uncovered.

Stephen was enjoying his ‘water interlude’ which was a welcome break from the mundane activity of archaeological digs where one progressed so slowly with a trowel and a brush, which sometimes took days to uncover a single relic in the dry sand. Here, in the clear waters of the Red Sea, he felt cool and fresh with the added pleasure of seeing Tatiana’s fine figure neatly outlined in her wetsuit. He shifted his focus to the object she was trying to uncover. Suddenly it had taken on a new dimension – the side plate of a carriage with a bottom foot platform was clearly identifiable. He knelt down beside her.

Together, they scraped the sand away from it but, like an iceberg, most of it was still beneath the surface, and it held fast. Stephen pointed to the watch on his wrist to indicate that there was not much time left before their oxygen ran out. To stress the urgency, he pointed upwards with his thumb.

Tatiana nodded and removed a coiled rope from the attachment on her belt. She secured the clip at the one end of the rope to the rim of the exposed wheel, and attached a rubber buoy to the other end. Once locked in place she inflated the buoy and it began rising towards the surface taking with it the rope connected to the embedded wheel. She watched the rope ascend like the magic rope of an Indian snake charmer.

Satisfied that the site was now marked for a later return, she began slowly ascending towards the surface. Stephen followed her like an obedient anthias on a shark’s flank.

I think we have found some sort of chariot! she exclaimed excitedly as she climbed into the boat.

Don’t let your imagination run away with you just yet, Stephen replied. It could be an old cart or gun carriage lost during the war.

Did you see any sign of rust?

No, but maybe it’s only been down there for a short while.

Let’s change our air tanks and go down again. It was evident that Tatiana was impatient to learn more about the relic she had found.

We need to rest first, Stephen said, looking out across the water and seeing the yellow buoy floating a short distance from the boat. Your ‘chariot’ is not going anywhere.

It took two more dives later in the afternoon to dislodge the ‘chariot’ and attach it to a winch cable. Stephen returned to the surface to help Sean and the captain wind it up while Tatiana remained with her precious cargo and paused to pick up a metal cylinder lying close by. She wasn’t sure if it was a section of the ‘chariot’ but couldn’t resist the temptation to take it with her to the surface. The winch motor on board the boat was winding the hoist at the same rate necessary for Tatiana to decompress as she ascended slowly towards the surface. She was holding on to the attachment as if nursing an injured dolphin that needed her delicate touch. When they set it down on deck, they crowded around it as if waiting for it to come to life.

At last, Tatiana cried, I think we have something of value to show for our perseverance and patience!

Is it Roman? Stephen asked.

I think it’s even older than that, Tatiana replied. Look at the figure etched into the wheel hub – I would say it’s Egyptian. The figure portrayed in the drawing stood facing forward with its head and feet in profile. The man held a spear in one hand and a snake-shaped throw stick in the other. Look at this, she pointed excitedly. There are traces of gold inlays in the metal work. Once we establish how old this relic is and register it with the university, our names will be linked forever with its discovery. I might add it won’t do our careers any harm. She was eager to get it below deck and commence the cleaning process to see if her hunch was right. In her haste to examine the wheel, the cylinder she had salvaged at the same time was placed in the corner and momentarily forgotten.

The rim of the wheel and base plate were encrusted with sand, coral and shells yet some of the golden sections were clearly visible. She was afraid that part of the wheel would disintegrate as the iron inside oxidized. It had been protected all these years beneath the seabed and now that it had been disturbed and exposed to the air, the iron mechanism would probably corrode. Gold, on the other hand, would be impervious to corrosion.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the steps. Stephen peered around the bulkhead.

The captain wants to know must he maintain anchorage or head back to shore? The sun is low on the horizon.

Has he fixed our position?

Yes, it’s been recorded in the logbook.

Okay, tell him to head back to base camp.

She continued cleaning the wheel the moment they set it on her workbench in her tent. The procedure was painstakingly slow – she had to pluck off each barnacle individually. It was like removing fragments of glass from the skin of an accident victim. Her fingers cramped and the tweezers kept slipping from her grip. When the aroma of meat cooking on the open fire drifted into the tent, her resistance crumbled and she put down her tools.

Oh, you’re human after all? Stephen said when she appeared at the fireside. We were wondering how long it would take for your olfactory glands to start working?

Very funny, she hissed. Actually, there’s been an interesting development. The cylinder looks like it hasn’t been exposed to water for very long; I haven’t managed to open it yet – it’s pretty well sealed. I’ll try again after dinner. I want to first finish taking photographs while the whole contraption is in one piece. The cylinder doesn’t seem to be part of what we found.

Most of the meal was eaten in silence. Apart from being tired after a day under water they were all ravenous and content to just focus their attention on devouring the lamb chops and sausages that Sean had so expertly barbecued.

Nightfall had descended over the desert, blotting out everything but the pinpricks of light coming from the night sky. The stars were even more prodigiously displayed than what could be seen within proximity of any city; they virtually filled the entire firmament. The temperature had dropped and Tatiana lowered her eyes from the amazing visage above and entered her tent to put on a sweater. Illumination came from a single kerosene lamp which was not strong enough to allow her to continue with the intricate work of restoration - she would finish that in the morning, but her curiosity of what was in the cylinder was too great to postpone, so she worked on the lock with renewed vigour. Eventually, the lock snapped open and she tentatively opened the lid. Inside was a smaller container which she removed with care. Placing it in her lap she opened it. A scroll of parchment was wrapped in a silk covering. She placed it on the table and carefully unrolled it. She secured each corner with a heavy object to keep the parchment flat and bent closer to examine what was on it.

The text she recognized as pictorial Hieroglyphics. Unfortunately she had no knowledge of the ancient script. She took some photographs with her digital camera of the script written on the parchment, taking a series of close-ups which she could recall later when she found someone to help decipher it. She replaced the camera back in her pocket. It was time to show the others the contents of the box and she called them into her tent.

Hieroglyphics, you say, the captain asked. Can you read it?

Oh no, she admitted, but I know someone who can. He is quite an authority on the Rosetta Stone.

The what? the captain asked.

The Rosetta Stone, she answered. It was a most fortunate discovery. It gave scholars the key to deciphering the picture language of the ancient Egyptians.

Oh?

Yes. The stone was found by Napoleon’s soldiers while digging trenches near the Rosetta mouth of the Nile in 1799. It is actually a thick slab of black basalt measuring nearly four feet by two and a half feet. The three parallel texts contained on it are written in Greek, Egyptian and Hieroglyphics. All three passages relate the same story about commemorating the coronation of Ptolemy V in Memphis around 196 BCE. The important thing is that by comparing each letter in the three texts, a Hieroglyphic alphabet was established. Not quite as simple as that, of course, but that’s the theory behind it.

There was a moment’s silence before Stephen spoke. Where do we go from here?

I’d like to do one more dive tomorrow to see if there’s anything else down there, Tatiana replied. Then we can drive back to Cairo and declare our findings to the Cairo Museum in terms of our archaeological contract before being allowed to fly home. The captain can take his boat back to Suez.

Then we’d better get some rest, Stephen said.

Sleep proved difficult for Tatiana - a curious mind is not conducive to slumber. She got out of bed and examined the parchment again. The ancient text mocked her ignorance and she grew impatient to discover its meaning. Finally, out of frustration of never having studied hieroglyphics, she opened her diary and looked up Professor Alec Heyden’s telephone number in Cairo. She had phoned him two months ago while planning her expedition to the Red Sea. She was worried about the legality of a sea expedition. Would anything she found belong to Egypt or the Cambridge University whom she represented?

If you operate within Egyptian territorial waters, Professor Heyden had told her, everything you find must remain in Egypt. Your ‘Permit of Permission’ will clearly explain that while you get the credit, the Egyptian Museum is the recipient of the relics. Of course, if it’s small enough to smuggle…you never heard that from me…then you can take a chance. Already she had decided to keep the ancient scroll. She switched on her cell phone and saw there was no network signal.

Shit! She got up and rushed out of the tent. Stephen, I can’t get a signal.

You won’t get one in this remote locality, especially at sea level, he replied. You may pick up reception once you reach the high ground on the road to Suez.

How far up the road?

About thirty miles. You’re not thinking of going now, are you?

I’m taking the Jeep.

I’ll come with you.

It’s all right, she said. I’ll be fine on my own. Get some rest.

Be careful.

Of whom? she asked, impatiently, there’s no one in these parts.

Nomads.

This far south? I doubt it. See you in the morning. She was about to go straight to where the Jeep was parked when she remembered the scroll and its container. Not that there was any danger of them being stolen in such an isolated place, but precaution often thwarts regret. She went back to her tent and rolled up the parchment and put it back in the container. The other two members of the team and the captain had returned to their tents. She waited a further fifteen minutes for them to settle down before walking a short distance from the encampment looking for an identifiable position to bury the container so that she could retrieve it later. She tacked ninety degrees from the direction of the field latrine until she came upon two boulders embedded in the sand. She knelt beside the smaller of the two and began digging at its base. When the hole was deep enough, she wrapped the container in thick cloth and gingerly placed it in the hole, covering it with sand. She was careful to press the earth flat around the area to obliterate any sign of the ground having been disturbed. Once satisfied that she could easily find the spot again, and certain the container would be safe, she went directly to the Jeep and left camp as quietly as a whisper spoken in an empty room.

She drove along the narrow desert road for about half an hour before it began its ascent towards the plateau. She kept going until the signal on her mobile phone appeared. She stopped the Jeep and dialled the professor’s number. It was nearly midnight; the old man was bound to be home.

***

Professor Alec Heyden looked at his wrist watch. It wasn’t yet midnight so he recorded the current date on the bottom of the page and closed his manuscript.

Finished at last, he breathed triumphantly. "Two and a half years in this God-forsaken place. Now I can go home and revel in the London