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Enter the Naked Mole Rat	By : kwh Category: Kim Possible > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 18153 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Detective Inspector Foster, late rising star and blue-eyed boy of the Flying Squad, but now shunted into career purgatory with the Art and Antiques Squad after blotting his copybook with the higher, more politically correct, echelons of the Metropolitan Police Service, strolled into the Museum of Military Antiquity in Kensington, flashed his warrant card at the 'woodentop' guarding the doors of the 'Japanese' hall, swaggered past him and surveyed the scene within.
It was a typical museum hall, Foster decided, not that he had been in a museum hall since school trips in his distant youth; that vibe of varnished wood floors, pastel painted half-panelled walls, glass display cases and ridiculously high ceilings had stuck with him, though, even if nothing about the actual content of any of those ubiquitous glass display cases had lingered in his noggin.
Out of 15 years of habit, his fingers dived for his shirt pocket to pull himself out a fag, but as they had for all of the last four years, his fingers found the pack of nicotine chewing gum that he kept there instead, unwrapped a stick of gum for him and popped it into his mouth.
In front of him, a couple of white-coverall clad forensic specialists were dusting a prone manikin and a very shiny Japanese helmet for prints next to a shattered display case, and a photographer was taking pictures of a couple of large areas of damage to the armoured glass inner window of the museum hall. He caught sight of his Detective-Sergeant, Jim Murdoch, who was talking to a very tired looking security guard who had clearly expected to be in bed some time ago. Foster was just going to interrupt them, when his DS flipped his notebook closed, and Foster could just hear him saying "...thank you Mr Jones. Please give all your contact details to that officer over there and then you can go home and get some sleep."
Presently, his DS noticed him and sauntered over. "Morning Guv! Right weird one here!"
"What's the SP, Jim?", Foster asked.
"Well now. Alarm activation at Two Thirty Five this morning. Unfortunately, every other alarm in a two hundred and fifty metre radius also went off at this morning. Freak electrical storm."
"Or a cheeky blagger playing with the wiring in the local telephone junction box, more like...", said Foster, dismissively.
"No, really, Guv. Plenty of witnesses and a bit of CCTV. Proper thunder and lightning and everything. No rain though. And only close to here. And only for 5 minutes." said DS Murdoch.
"So you are saying that whatever happened here was an opportunist job? Somebody passing by saw that alarms were suddenly going off and decided to ignore the bank on one side and the jewellers shop on the other and break in to the museum?" asked Foster, rhetorically.
"I'll come back to that, Guv. But the other possibility is that somebody caused the electrical storm to deliberately to cover the robbery...", postulated the DS.
"Stop right there. We are not looking for exciting new ways to drag the Space Cadets into every single case we get, Sergeant. In fact if I never see another smug arse from Global Justice telling me that my investigation is now their investigation and that I can piss off home and play tiddlywinks for all they care, I'll be a deliriously happy bloke. So can you please stop watching old episodes of the X-Files, stop looking for things that go bump in the night or imaginary evil overlords who live in volcanos and stroke white cats all day behind every little job that comes in and get back to nicking villains as nature intended a copper to do. OK?", said an irate Foster.
"Yes Guv!", said his DS. But his face clearly said a lot more than it would be prudent for his mouth to replicate. To be fair to his boss, given that less than a fortnight earlier, London's skies had briefly been darkened by giant laser-wielding robots under the control of some blue-skinned American fast-food magnate intent on taking over the world, even Foster, whose ingrained hatred of the 'Space Cadets' of Global Justice and all their weird and wonderful activities had been a constant throughout all of his long and eventful career as a detective, had the good grace to look at least a little sheepish after he had rehearsed one of his standard reflex rants about an organisation he regarded as the implacable enemy of 'proper good, old-fashioned coppering' .
"Anyway, carry on, what happened at two-thirty-five this morning?", asked the DI.
"Well, the security guard did a walk around once he was able to clear and reset the alarm, and he saw nothing amiss so had no reason to suspect that anything had been stolen, or indeed that an entry had been made, and the local area car and the duty ARV both converged on this street and drove past that window within 5 minutes of all the alarms going off without noticing anything amiss. But some time last night, presumably at two-thirty-five AM, somebody had it away with this..." said the DS, and pulled a museum cataloguing photograph of an extremely second hand, battered looking, dented and corroded helmet out of his notebook.
"What is that when it is at home?" asked DI Foster.
"A pre-feudal Japanese warrior's helmet, apparently. Priceless because it is so rare. One of only three in the world, and the only one that is complete.", said the DS. "Dug up in Japan, it's been in the museum's collection for over 30 years, and in that display case over there for the last 9 years".
"Looks like my Granny's old coal scuttle, and that only cost two shillings and six in old money.", said Foster. "Also, I don't do 'Priceless'. Lean on the curator and get a realistic value out of him, both for a legal sale and on the black market. If you need to, tell him that if he can't, I'll value it for him at £2.50 and then nick him for wasting police time."
"Still doing your bit for police, community relations, eh, Guv?", Jim Murdoch couldn't help himself saying.
"Bollocks to police community relations. I'm not sending the cavalry charging off to look for a £250 rusty coal scuttle just because some history buff has wet dreams about it! Not until there is nothing else getting half-inched anywhere in London! ", said Foster.
"About £100,000 pounds. At auction. I've no idea about the black market, it's really not my field", said a voice from behind him. "Dr Voss, Detective Inspector. This is my exhibit. Or was...".
DS Murdoch visibly cringed, but without skipping a beat, and without further introductions, DI Foster turned around to the eavesdropping academic and said "Thank you Dr Voss. Just a couple more questions… is anything else missing, anything else at all, and what would you say the valuation of the rest of the armour on that mannequin might be, and of that other helmet?"
"Well, Inspector, nothing else is missing, and the armour you see there is a replica made by craftsmen using tradition methods and materials and based on documents, paintings and carvings of the period. We know more than we did about pre-feudal Japanese armour back when it was made, but it's still a pretty good replica. To create something similar now would cost… maybe £20,000? The helmet, though.. I have no idea, I've never seen it before, I'd have tp examine it," said the curator.
Both Detectives did an involuntary double-take when he said he'd never seen the helmet before.. "It's not yours then?", asked the incredulous DI.
"Nope! Nothing to do with us. From here… it looks like a very well crafted replica of the stolen helmet as it was when it was new. Oh yes. Obviously, I need to see it up close to examine the workmanship, check the techniques used to make it for authenticity, see whether it has used the original materials, modern equivalents or just anything handy . From here it could be a plastic moulding for all I know! If it's a real deal top quality replica then there is easily £50,000 in that helmet. £20,000 in fine craftsmanship, and £30,000 in precious metals and stones", said Dr Voss.
"So we have thieves that broke in to this hall under cover of an unpredictable freak weather event that only lasted five minutes , stole a £100,000 original helmet that has got to be worth a lot less than that on the open antiquities black market and left behind a maybe £50,000 replica of the stolen item in its stead?" asked DS Murdoch, rhetorically. "So now I'm thinking… helmet stolen to order. By somebody who felt guilty enough about depriving the museum of the original to gift them a replica. Either that, or I'm thinking something that's going to upset you, Guv."
"Stop that right now. We'll go with the 'stolen to order' angle for now... " said DI Foster, quickly. Then he added, querulously "Hello, is that SOCO pulling up stumps?" .
"That's CSI now Guv.", said DS Murdoch, for at least the hundredth time.
"And that's what's gone wrong with this country right there, Sergeant. American cultural imperialism. They've been Scenes Of Crime Officers for as long as I've been a copper. 2 series of some trashy American TV show about beautiful photogenic people in designer threads playing with Q-tips and test tubes in a branch of Planet Hollywood and suddenly they're having an image do-over and re-branding themselves; it's a bloody disg…" , and then his rant was cut short by a loud clearing of the throat from a tall woman wearing a white coverall and a surgical mask, and carrying a Gladstone bag.
"So, Detective Inspector Foster, what a pleasure to discover this morning that I am working with you again today. Everybody in Metropolitan CSI very much looks forward to those days when we discover that you are going to be the lead investigating officer we are working with", said the tall woman, acidly. "And to answer your questions before you ask them, there are no prints anywhere, on anything that isn't usually accessible to the public, and there is no organic material at all on the helmet there. The glass case was smashed from the inside not the outside, the armoured glass up there was smashed from the inside by a blunt instrument but there is no forensic evidence that anybody has been between the armoured glass and the window glass, no signs of entry, forced or otherwise, no sign that anybody has been up there, in here after closing time yesterday or inside the display case for a very long time. We'll let you know about DNA but the lack of other evidence says we'll come up blank on anything laid more recently than the last time the display case was opened by staff. We have no identified point of entry and no point of egress either, the replica helmet is very heavy, properly worked metal, including a little bit of real gold, definitely no plastic, and even though we think we will be able to show that that helmet is what smashed that armoured glass up there, by hitting it at very high speed in two different places, it has not a dent or a scratch on it. And now, gentlemen, with a heavy heart, I have to bid you adieu! Bye bye!" And then she strode away, followed by the rest of her team.
"She doesn't like you, Guv!", said the DS, redundantly.
"I shall cry myself to sleep tonight!", said Foster, sarcastically. "Meanwhile, either that helmet in the picture magically changed into that helmet down here, in which case we'll be knee deep in Space Cadets by Wednesday, and you'll be in seventh heaven Sergeant, or the key to this case will be finding out who made the damned thing. And since I don't want anything to do with the bastard Space Cadets, I want you to grab that shiny metal hat, and sit down with the good Dr Voss while he tells you everything there is to possibly tell you about it, and then I want you to bring it back to the dream factory and we'll put it into the art fraud lab and let them see if they can tell us who made it. I've got to go and meet one of my snouts now so I'll see you back there later . Alright?"
"Yes Guv! See you later, then…" said Sergeant Murdoch. He knew that 'meeting one of my snouts' was Foster code for 'in the nearest pub, necking a cheeky pint. Or two', but as long as he was in the boozer drinking , he wasn't in the office winning friends, influencing people and generally being a pain in the proverbial so he didn't actually mind.
"Dr Voss…", he shouted. "Come and join me please, I'd like you to have a look at this replica helmet with me…".
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Enter the Naked Mole Rat