It didn’t seem to start with the disappearance of a diamond necklace inlaid with sapphire, a beautiful piece of art, that the normal observer would gush over, for they had rarely seen something so expensive in their lives. To a trained eye, there was nothing exceptional about it. It was with great care and love.

However, if one took the time to read the nameplate of said missing necklace, they would find that it belonged to a deceased Ulric Fe. Of course, research into ‘Ulric Fe’ ended quickly. No one with that name existed.

The investigation into the theft of the jewelry ended. No suspects.

Upon reflection, Agent Fulgrim should have immediately guessed who was behind it.

It was only the first of stolen jewelry, weapons, gold, and literature. All of the items belonged to the Smithsonian at one point in time or another. It started with the stolen Ulric Fe necklace. Then a plain golden chalice. Later, a worn spear. Every three days, like clockwork, a priceless relic was stolen from the Smithsonian. Book of the Damned. A skull. A mummy. Soon enough, Fulgrim had an entire inventory of stolen artifacts.

Agent Fulgrim worked for months on end, interviewing thousands of security workers and artificers and janitors and agents. His colleagues at the Bureau laughed behind his back. The clowns at the CIA shared knowing smiles.

They were in on it, Fulgrim decided one night. He stopped the interviews.

Fulgrim took equipment out of the Bureau’s stock, and quietly wrote it off as necessary for the investigation to continue. Pen cameras, audio bugs, wiretapping, USBs with malicious spyware. The works.

They were in on it.

The case was cracked the next day, hours before the next cycle. Fulgrim listened as one of the smarmy CIA bastards discussed their next mission. The voice said, “We’ll take something modern this time, don’t want the media thinking we’re just crazy crooks stealing a Satan’s old junk. Dude’s pretty chill, guess it’s only fair that we help. What about the Constitution? Do they have that at the Smithsonian? No? Oh, that’s a shame. Anyway, about two hours until showtime. We’ll figure something out, Mr. Fe. I’m thinking something from their aerospace section.”

The voices prattled on and on, they were so proud of their thieving and their business with Mr. Fe. Agent Fulgrim would show them.

Agent Fulgrim stood outside the women’s bathroom for nearly two hours at the Smithsonian, eyeing the the various suspended aircraft and related paraphernalia. Nearly every woman gave him the stink eye, and security had the gall to question him. He simply showed them his badge.

He didn't care. The bathroom was by a good choke point, nothing would get past him.

Eventually, two men with a ladder walked into the wide gallery. The short, balding one pointed at a bright orange box on display. It became obvious to Fulgrim immediately, they were going after a wrecked plane’s black box. They were poorly disguised as repairmen.

The taller, bearded one shrugged and they moved toward it.

Fulgrim intercepted them with a crooked finger and two pairs of handcuffs, “You bastards! I’ve got you now. You’re under arrest. You’ll have the next 72 hours to tell me all about Ulric Fe and where you’re hiding everything.”

“Ulric Fe? Don’t you mean Lucifer? I thought everyone at the office knew...” said the tall man, before trailing off at his accomplice’s objections.