The Sacred Cipher by Terry Brennan Page B

Otherwise,
     we should just end our conversation here.”
    Johnson’s eyes had narrowed slightly, his face taking on a pinched look. Once again,
     Bohannon could see distrust in Johnson’s face. He allowed the silence to hang in the
     air and waited for Johnson to process what had to be an unexpected request.
    “You have my word, Tom. I will protect anything we say and do here today. It will
     be held in strictest confidence.”
    “Thank you,” he said. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to address you except as Dr.
     Johnson.” Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, Bohannon pulled out the same
     folded sheet of paper they had shared with Sammy Rizzo and handed it to the scholar.
     “Dr. Johnson, do you know what this is?”
    Warily, Johnson unfolded the paper while keeping his eyes fixed on Bohannon. As he
     switched his attention to the sheet in front of him, Johnson rapidly skimmed the symbols
     on the paper. Arrested, he sat forward on the sofa and carefully examined the columns
     of symbols. He shot a quick, questioning glance in Bohannon’s direction, then got
     to his feet and crossed to the drafting table, Bohannon on his heels.
    Sitting on only half of a high, wooden chair, Johnson leaned into the table. With
     deft, trained movements, he inserted the sheet of paper into one of the holders, an
     adjustable, flat surface with clips to hold stamps in place, while with his other
     hand he switched on the powerful lamp and pulled the magnifying glass into position.
     For several silent minutes, Johnson poured over the columns of symbols before him.
     He turned the page upside down. He held it up to the light and inspected the symbols
     from the back of the page.
    At one point, Johnson got up from his perch and, without a word, walked over to the
     windows looking out over 35th Street. He stood there for a few moments, gazing into
     the sunshine, then, as silently, returned to the table and began running his fingers
     up and down each row of symbols.
    “You haven’t brought all of it to me, have you?” he asked without turning around.
    “Well, I—”
    “Never mind,” Johnson interrupted. “The more important question is, where did you
     get this?”
    “For now, let me just say that it was recently found.”
    Johnson half turned to face Bohannon, a sly smirk on his face. “Still not ready to
     bet the ranch, eh? Very well, I understand. So tell me, what do you want from me?”
    Momentarily stunned, Bohannon just looked at Johnson. He had expected, if they could
     settle their feud, that he would hand Dr. Johnson the sheet of paper and the scholar
     would immediately explain to him not only what the symbols in this Demotic language
     said, but also what the document meant, some clue to Spurgeon’s fear and Klopsch’s
     safekeeping of the scroll.
    “Well, I’d like to know if you could tell us what these symbols say, what it all means.”
    “Us, eh?” said Johnson. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask yet.” Twisting the chair away from
     the table, he fixed Bohannon in his questioning glare. “Do you know what this is?”
    Bohannon nodded. “To an extent. We’re pretty sure the language is Demotic. Beyond
     that, we’re lost.”
    Johnson rocked back and forth in the chair. “Not only is it Demotic, but even this
     portion, which is clearly part of some larger document, even this portion would be
     one of the largest single discoveries of Demotic writing outside the Rosetta Stone.
     This is historic, remarkable, an astonishing discovery.
    “At the same time, I need to disappoint you,” he said somberly. “I can’t promise you
     that we will ever know what these symbols mean. Demotic is extinct as a language and
     almost impossible to decipher. I’m intrigued, but I’m not very hopeful. Scholars have
     been struggling to understand and decipher Demotic for centuries. It’s one of the
     biggest unsolved puzzles in linguistics. Do you know that, depending on the reason
     for writing,