The Sacred Cipher by Terry Brennan

among
     scientists for his revolutionary studies on Egyptian history, was about as far from
     the frumpy, poorly dressed academic stereotype as you could find. Johnson was tall,
     lean, crowned by a thick, silvery gray mane swept back from his considerable forehead
     and curling around his ears and shirt collar. His suit was finely tailored and looked
     very expensive, as did his colorful silk tie and gleaming leather shoes. He sat across
     from Bohannon, appearing relaxed and at ease. But his gaze remained alert, riveted
     on his past adversary.
    Bohannon believed that he had only one chance to make this work. So he took the leap.
    “Dr. Johnson,” he said, shifting forward in his chair, “I wouldn’t be sitting here
     if I had any other option. For most of the last fifteen years I’ve hated your guts.
     To be honest, I still do. And you don’t have any reason to listen to me or to listen
     to the request I have.”
    Johnson began to rise. “Well then, Mr. Bohannon—”
    “But if you don’t listen, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
    Bohannon watched Johnson waver, halfway between sitting and standing. A red flush
     had risen from his neck and now engulfed his face, his eyes on fire. Resembling a
     cobra raising its head and spreading its crown before striking, Johnson unfolded himself
     to his full height, pushed back his shoulders, and glared down. Bohannon felt as if
     he were lunch.
    “You, sir,” Dr. Johnson spat at Bohannon, “you murdered my friend. Just as surely
     as if you slit his throat, you murdered a man I had known and revered for twenty years.
     You orphaned his children. You, sir, are a vicious lie-monger and truth-twister, with
     no regard for decent human beings . . . and I despise you. That, sir, is the only
     reason you have been received here. And you can die in that chair for all I care.”
    There was a twitch in the muscle under his left eye. Bohannon slowly elevated himself
     to Johnson’s height, meeting the enemy face-to-face. Unconsciously, he began to size
     up Johnson, calculating how he was going to beat him into submission. Consciously,
     he engaged words as his weapon.
    “You despise me? You quack . . . what an infantile fool you are.” Bohannon took one
     step toward Johnson and was gratified by the fear that flashed across Johnson’s countenance.
    “You nearly destroyed me, my family, and my career defending a man who was a liar
     and a swindler. You engaged in the most vicious public attack I ever experienced.
     And once your revered
friend
, Swinton, was proven to be a liar and a cheat, you proved yourself a coward by retreating
     behind ivy walls without a decent apology.”
    Inadvertently, Bohannon took another step forward, sparking a reaction from Johnson,
     who stepped back. Bohannon noticed Johnson vainly sweeping his hand behind him, trying
     to find the telephone handset.
    “I don’t regret anything I wrote about Randall Swinton. I do regret that he was killed.
     He was your friend, and you defended him. I can understand loyalty, but I can’t understand
     character assassination and blind defense of a liar who took advantage of everyone
     with whom he came in contact. He took advantage of you, too. He took advantage of
     your faith in him. He allowed you to stick your neck way out, even when he knew he
     had been exposed and had no defense. Is that the friend you’re talking about?”
    Bohannon felt his anger deflate.
    “So, no, I don’t regret anything I wrote.” He took a deep breath and flexed his right
     hand, easing the fist. “But I do regret that so many people were hurt. I believe where
     we differed so passionately was in who should bear the responsibility for that pain.”
    Johnson, both fear and loathing now removed from his face, stood his ground, his eyes
     never leaving Bohannon’s.
    “But Randall Swinton and the feud we engaged in are not the reasons I’m here today,”
     Bohannon continued. He turned his back on Johnson,