Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

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
- 23
- 24
- 25
As Ron "Saru Chounouryoku" Stoppable was checking himself into one of Lo Pin's reception centres in the nick of time, and as Rufus was slipping ghost-like between the security team's legs to re-join Ron on the other side of the battery of scanners, Detective Inspector Foster of the Metropolitan Police Art & Antiques Squad was sitting in a "greasy spoon" café in Clapham, with a head full of cotton wool and a stomach that was threatening to revolt on him. The old school greasy fry up of bacon, sausage, baked beans, egg, black pudding, fried tomato and mushrooms that he had just eaten had helped a lot, although the fried bread was repeating on him a little, and he really couldn't face the toast.
'Still the best hangover cure in the world, though!', he thought.
He took a swig of hot, sweet tea, and wondered idly why his Sergeant hadn't already phoned him this morning to ask where he was. He fumbled in his pocket and came out with his mobile phone, and then swore when he realised it was switched off. He assumed that the battery must have died, but he pushed the power button anyway, and to his surprise, it sprung readily to life.
And then it went insane; eighteen missed calls, since the small hours of the morning, and nine text messages, most of the calls and text messages apparently from Jim Murdoch, a couple from DI Jack Morgan, a colleague who had spared no effort to make sure that everybody knew that he was not, to say the least, Foster's greatest fan, and it appeared that his voicemail had apparently overflowed.
Foster groaned, and hit the 'Voicemail button.
After listening to the first three "Guv, where the hell are you, call me, it's urgent!" voicemail messages, he stabbed the button to end the call and dialled his Sergeant's mobile number.
The phone was answered at the first ring, and Foster could hear angry shouting in the background, he thought he recognised the Detective Chief Superintendent's voice, and then DS Murdoch said "I'll call you back in a second", in a non-committal tone, before the line went dead.
Clearly, Murdoch didn't want to let on that he had called in in front of whoever he was talking to. Something nasty was happening, and Jim Murdoch wanted to get out of the office and give him some warning. He would probably owe his DS a pint or several in due course, he realised.
Less than a minute later, his phone rang again, his Sergeant's number flashing up on the screen, and he hit the button quickly. "Jim, what's the SP?".
"Where the hell have you been, Guv? And where the hell are you now?" asked a fairly harassed sounding DS Murdoch.
"I'm out on enquiries, Jim", he replied, "...and please don't shout…".
"Out on the lash more like, you dirty stoppout", said Jim Murdoch slightly bitterly.
"Alright, alright… just tell me what the panic is, OK?", said Foster, slightly testily.
"It happened again, Guv! And it's made a right mess...", said DS Murdoch.
"What has happened again? You'd best start at the beginning…", said Foster, his head starting to throb again.
"Well, at 10:36pm last night exactly, there was a freak electrical storm over South West One. Right over the dream factory, in fact".
The dream factory. New Scotland Yard.
"No rain, again, but this storm lasted for an hour and seventeen minutes. It took out the main substation and all the control room systems, and set every alarm in the place off. We've got security camera footage from inside our secure evidence locker that shows that helmet we picked up at the museum the other day suddenly going ballistic and flying round inside the room like a mad thing, bouncing off the walls, the ceiling, the floor. It shredded everything, smashed all the shelving, put a dozen six inch dents in the armoured steel door, took big chunks out of the walls and completely shredded everything else in there. Which used to include two stolen-recovered Matisse watercolours worth half a million quid between them, a set of nicked Dutch ceramics worth a hundred and fifty grand and a shitload of other art treasures worth another million nicker between them. Oh, and all the exhibits in DI Morgan's big art forgery case which starts at the Bailey today. The lot. He's in there at the moment seeing what can be salvaged, but it looks like the whole case is going to collapse. That's a two year undercover operation and millions of pounds worth of operational effort down the shitter, and a whole bunch or heavy hitters from organised art fraud who are going to walk scot free. Oh, and the helmet? Not a mark on it. The Chief Super is about to have an aneurism, and DI Morgan wants you on point duty in a tall hat for the rest of your career, he's ranting that it was deliberate sabotage and cursing your name to the roof! I had the cavalry out last night trying to find you, but you weren't answering your phone and you weren't at home or anywhere else I could think of to look. Sorry, Guv...".
"Don't apologise, Jim, thanks for holding the fort. Shit, what a balls up. OK, I'd better get back to the factory and face the music… I'll see you in a bit… one thing, though.. I reckon attack is the best form of defence. You said Jack Morgan reckons it is sabotage? Maybe he's on to something at that. What if that shiny metal hat was a deliberate plant?", DI Foster mused.
"Guv?", asked Jim Murdoch, sounding sceptical.
"Think about it. Why was it in the secure evidence locker?", asked Foster.
"Because it is worth £50,000…", said DS Murdoch.
"Right. We stuck it secure evidence because it was worth £50,000. And we know it is worth £50,000 because?", asked Foster?
"Because Dr Voss… told.. us…", said DS Murdoch, as the penny dropped with him.
"Right. And it was his museum exhibit that was supposedly turned over in a burglary with no detectable break-in… and oh look, a trial involving an international art forgery ring and a hundred hooky fake canvases punted out to unsuspecting art collectors for well over a million Euros collapses because all the evidence gets shredded… in the secure evidence store.
"Something stinks, Jim. So, I want the full works on the good Dr Voss. His bank accounts, internet access, email, and then spin his drum, and arrest him on suspicion of perverting the course of justice and assisting an offender. And turn his office over. In fact, go through the museum accounts, email, etc etc, yadda yadda. Pull all the security camera footage and cross reference with all the faces in Jack Morgan's case files, just in case anybody connected with the case paid him a visit at work any time in the last three weeks. Gather the troops, Jim, we have a lot of work to do, and no time to do it before we both end up directing traffic…", said Foster.
"Guv…", said his sergeant, sounding troubled.
"Yes, go on Jim, get it off your chest…", said Foster with a sigh.
"Well, I can see the way you are going here and yes it does make sense. But.. The electrical storm… and the helmet. It doesn't have a mark on it. I'm not sure…", said the DS.
"Listen," said Foster firmly. "Three weeks ago about a million de-activated highly advanced tiny toy robots were distributed to anybody who wanted them all over the world. All it would take would be some clever Russian mafia hacker to pull one of those apart, rewire it and work out how to build it into that shiny tin hat, and there's your magic flying helmet. And remember how the sky went dark when those giant robots were flying around the place? So I'm still not seeing a single reason to call in the damned space cadets. And that goes double because if we do call in Global Justice then they will take the shiny metal hat away, we'll never see it again, and they'll tell us to go play in traffic. Then we will have nothing to investigate, and more importantly, nothing between us and the combined might of the Chief Super, 'Mental' Morgan and The Directorate of Professional Standards who will be perfectly happy to conspire together to bust us both down to Traffic Warden. So… unless we actually nick somebody for this little lot who we can prove is definitely on their damned Y list, we don't even whisper about going there. OK?"
"OK, Guv…", said a deflated Morgan.
"Oh, where's the shiny metal hat right now?", asked Foster.
"On my desk, Guv. Nowhere else to put it!", replied his DS.
"Bugger that for a game of soldiers. There's a squash court in the Blue Lamp club on the top floor. Commandeer that, stick the damned thing in there, and organise a round the clock obbo on it. If it goes mental again, I don't want my desk trashed. Some of those empty coffee mugs are antiques by now, and all that paperwork didn't get into those untidy piles by accident!", commanded Foster.
"Guv!", replied Morgan.
"Now, I want the Dr Voss in my interview room within three hours. I'll be there in one and I expect to know his entire life story before we get the thumb screws out. So, like I said, gather the troops, and don't wait for me. I'll be there as soon as I can! I'm on my way...", finished Foster.
"Guv!", replied DS Morgan again, and Foster cut the call, dropping the phone back in his pocket. 'God I could murder a fag', he thought, as he reached for his shirt pocket, and found only the nicotine gum, the thought of which almost caused his stomach to enter full on revolt.
"Love… can I have another cup of tea please? And if you have any aspirin, you could save my life", he said to the young lady who was clearing away his empty grease-laden plate and the side-plate still full of cold, congealed toast.
He wanted to get his thumping head under control before he headed for the undoubtedly loud 'interview without coffee' that he was surely due to have with the Chief Super the moment he walked into the squad office at New Scotland Yard. Blowing chunks over his boss while he was in mid rant would probably not make things go any better...
- 23
- 24
- 25
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Enter the Naked Mole Rat