Free The Sacred Cipher by Terry Brennan Page B

concentrating on the tantalizing
     breath of early May rolling up Lexington Avenue.
Might as well get it over with
, he thought, wondering whether, when he left the building, he would walk out or get
     tossed out.
    There was only one way to find out. And it appeared that Johnson was one of the few
     men in the world who might be able to help them decipher the meaning of the Demotic
     symbols. He had studied the Rosetta Stone almost exclusively during his many summers
     of service at the British Museum and had written a few scholarly pamphlets about the
     amazing complexities of the Demotic language.
    In this country, he was their best chance at finding an answer.
    Bohannon took a deep breath and walked up the marble steps of the Collector’s Club.
     He had called ahead and made an appointment, noting the quizzical tone to the secretary’s
     voice when she came back to the phone to acknowledge the meeting.
    Bohannon’s trained observation noted the military carriage of the attendant behind
     the desk in the foyer, and the slight bulge under his left armpit as the man reached
     into the small elevator and unlocked access to the top floor. “Go right up, sir. Dr.
     Johnson is expecting you.”
    “There sure must be a lot of money in stamps,” Bohannon mumbled to himself as the
     elevator strained to the top floor. The opening doors revealed an elderly, stooped
     woman wearing a long black dress, her hair tightly pulled into a bun at the nape of
     her neck. “This way, please,” she whispered. A flush of satisfaction warmed Bohannon
     as he walked along the elegant corridor.
Serves him right
, Bohannon thought,
that he’s got an old hag for a secretary
.
    Smiling inwardly, Bohannon stepped through the door the elderly woman opened and came
     face-to-face with a wantonly beautiful blond whose breathtaking curves had been poured
     into a shimmering, electric-blue dress. Before his heart could start beating again,
     there was a voice from his left. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bohannon.”
    Tearing his eyes from the heart attack in blue, Bohannon turned to see Dr. Johnson
     standing in the doorway to his office. “Please come in,” he said, stepping aside as
     he waved with his left arm. That suspicious part of Bohannon’s nature waited for the
     knife thrust under his rib cage as he passed Johnson, but the smile Johnson shared
     was disarming.
    “Beth, no interruptions, please. I want to give Mr. Bohannon my full attention.”
    Surprisingly, Johnson’s office reflected none of the Victorian opulence on view elsewhere
     in the building. There was the obligatory oak wainscoting, hardwood floor covered
     by an Oriental rug, and requisite bookcases. But the space was missing much of what
     Bohannon had expected, those obvious symbols of wealth and power. Johnson’s wooden
     desk was rather small, and there were no massive, matching pieces. Nor was there a
     “wall of fame,” those ubiquitous collections of degrees, awards, and photos of the
     famous that give so many in the corporate world the veneer of importance. No, in Johnson’s
     office, the most prominent item was what looked like a sizable draftsman’s table over
     which hovered a powerful lamp and a thick magnifying glass. Bins and drawers stuck
     out from both sides. Tiny, elaborate mechanisms for securing stamps also hovered on
     curved arms, waiting to be pulled into focus.
    “Please be seated,” Johnson gestured toward a leather chair, and instead of taking
     a position of dominance by sitting behind his desk, he lowered himself into a well-worn
     leather sofa across from Bohannon. “I must say, you are the last person I dreamed
     would be sitting in this office,” Johnson said, his words dripping with acid as his
     body sank deeply into the soft cushions in the corner. “To what do I owe this . .
     . pleasure?” His unflinching stare burned a hole in Bohannon’s brain.
    Dr. Richard Johnson, educated at Oxford, trained by the British Museum, famous