Read Into the Black for Free Online Page B

introduction suggested some prior acquaintance, but Kismet once more drew a blank.  "What can I do for you?"
    The handsome face broke into an odd smile. "You don't remember me?"
    "Frankly, I…" All of a sudden, he did remember and the recollection was not pleasant. "Andrew Harcourt."
    "Most people call me 'Sir Andrew,' nowadays." Harcourt made no attempt to mask his pride.
    "Sir Andrew?  Well...congratulations."  The pieces continued falling into place, triggering one uncomfortable memory after another, but Kismet nevertheless extended his right hand, accepting Harcourt's quick shake.  "Why don't you sit down? You'll be more comfortable."
    "Why thank you. I say, were you expecting someone else?"
    "I had another appointment, but it seems I've been stood up. No matter though. To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Her Majesty's favorite archaeologist?  Digging on our side of the pond again?"
    Harcourt laughed. "Not exactly, but I am in the planning stages of an endeavor which should prove quite...um, earthshaking.  Actually, that's what brings me here today.  I wish to prevail upon you to join me."
    Kismet stared back at the archaeologist.  He rarely made judgments about the academics he frequently encountered, but his one brush with Harcourt had been unpleasant enough that a bad taste lingered.  He tried to conceal his surprise. "I'm touched, but why me?"
    "Given our history, I think it only makes sense for me to bring someone along from the Commission to avoid the perception of impropriety."
    The explanation seemed a little shaky but Kismet decided to play along.  "Why don't you tell me what you have in mind?"
    "I'd rather show you." Harcourt held up a leather attaché case, which he set down on Kismet's desk and opened.  He removed a cloth wrapped parcel and laid it on the desk for Kismet to inspect.  In the center of the cloth was a fragment of metal, broken it appeared from an ancient war helmet of Greek design. The piece seemed to have been, at one time, the right forward quarter of the helmet.  Kismet took note of the straight edges, which ran along the bottom and leading sides, curving into an eyehole, and then dropped down to shield the bridge of the nose.  The breaking points were jagged, as though the helmet had been cut or torn apart, rather than decaying from corrosion.  The metal was scored and dented in several places, suggesting that it had seen use in combat, but the minor defects had since been covered by a thin veneer of bright, flawless metal: gold. 
    Kismet reached for it.  "May I?"
    "Please do."
    The helmet fragment was not solid gold; it was much too lightweight. He felt a faint residue on the surface and noticed a white concentration in some of the cracks, but the artifact had not tarnished at all.  A probing finger wiped the substance away, and when he touched it to his lips, there was only a salty flavor, not the expected tang of copper. He flipped it over and looked inside the helmet.  A tiny patch of gold had been scraped away, revealing darker metal beneath—tarnished bronze.  "You did this?" Kismet asked, pointing to the defect.
    Harcourt nodded.
    "And the overlay is gold?"
    Harcourt pursed his lips. "It's not exactly an overlay.  The metallurgists I've showed it to say it's as if the outer surface of the bronze were transmuted."
    Kismet raised an eyebrow, but did not pursue the matter; he remembered Harcourt's penchant for blending pseudo-science and mysticism with the facts in order to paint a dramatic, if not entirely authentic picture of the past.  He placed the fragment against his face, trying to imagine how it would have looked on the ancient warrior to whom it originally belonged.  "What do you think?"
    "Very becoming."
    The helmet had been fashioned for someone with a smaller head, probably a youth. "Where did you find this?"
    "Unfortunately I didn't find it, but rather purchased it.  If I knew where it had been found, my quest would be far simpler."
    "So it