Two months ago...

Had it been reverse psychology? Had he been blind drunk? Faustie couldn't remember how the team had convinced him to be the hero, but it must have involved foul play. He sat on a pile of scuba equipment with his arms crossed.

"That's embarrassing," he said, eyeing the mustard-yellow cloak and tights his friend held up with a grin.

"All super-hero outfits start out ugly. It's a process," his friend replied. "Now for your hair, should we go... Greaser slick, Military buzz, or Einstein crazy? That would probably freak some people out."

"Get out."

"But–"

"No way, I'm not doing this."

At this point, Faustie decided that Ben was no longer a friend of his.

"But I've got the perfect name for you too!" Ben the ex-friend insisted.

Faustie crossed his arms and glared but Ben took his silence for permission.

"Ambergris."

He tried to look disinterested and failed. The love of a fancy pseudonym was a weakness that those who knew Faustie exploited mercilessly. And ambergris was the fanciest term someone could use... that is, if he was referring to whale vomit.

Present Day...

Like the Mona Lisa, the Crown of Alice was smaller in real life. It was also just as priceless. The circlet of precious stones was not much bigger than a grapefruit; more of a bangle than a crown.

A pair of steady, gloved hands lifted it with all care from its pedestal at the City Arts museum. The hands belonged to Indigo Westlake, the current family fund manager of the Westlake family, arguably the museum's youngest and most enthusiastic benefactor.

Once the crown was secured in the padded briefcase, and the case shut, she let out a sigh. Even if the case was stolen, there was no way that the thief could get to the prize within it without triggering a bazillion alarm systems and being hit by an electrical current strong enough to rob him of any potential future generations he was intending to share his loot with. The briefcase was then handcuffed to her wrist; the wrists of a young woman proficient in mixed martial arts. There was a hand-sized pad on the side of the briefcase for Indigo's unique prints. However, even if a thief got hold of her fingerprints, she would still get the last laugh.

"That should do it," she said with a confident smile. The men in suits standing around her nodded. Only the museum curator betrayed any signs of worry.

His forehead was beaded with sweat, and he wrung his hands as he said, "I do not question the adequacy of your preparations, Miss Westlake, but there have been two letters from master thieves stating that the Crown will never make it back to your vaults. I'm not so concerned about the so-called 'B-Team', whom I've never heard of, but Red Renard has never failed."

"So you are questioning my preparations?" Indigo's tone was mild, but her words were blunt. She considered the middle aged man for a moment, and turned away with a dismissive wave. As such, the curator didn't see that the girl grinned manically. "Don't worry your pretty head, Mr Finch. The museum is absolved from any responsibility for what happens to the Crown now. My men and I will take it from here."

Without waiting for a reply, she began to walk out of the gallery. Her men hurried into position; two before her, two behind, and one on either side. Objects like the Crown of Alice were catnip for the criminally inclined, and Indigo was no stranger to their ways. In fact, she was pretty sure that the museum curator himself was one of Renard's plants. She had studied the old thief long enough to know his modus operandi, and having someone warn the mark, knowing that the warning would fall on deaf ears, was one of Renard's small pleasures.

They left the museum, passing the advertisements for the new exhibition as they left. The jewellery exhibition was coming to a close and the museum would soon be turned into a gallery for the history of super-heroes. Indigo smiled. She was still a child at heart and she was still quite fond of the idea of someone rushing into a bank unarmed and ordering bank robbers to drop their guns. As foolish as it was, Indigo secretly wished that she was part of their ranks.

Indigo slipped into the awaiting car with two of her men without incident. The remaining took their places in two other black four wheel drives that made up the convoy. All that was left was a cushy two hour drive back to the vaults.

The first incident occurred not ten minutes into the drive. There came a soft hissing noise, barely distinguishable from the sound of air conditioning, even to the trained ear. Then, the car began to swerve recklessly, and there was loud and angry beeping from traffic.

There was a burst of static. "Alice Two, you are deviating from course," came an angry announcement over the two-way radio.

"What's happening?" Indigo cried out in alarm.

The driver didn't reply, but Indigo's eyes were already fluttering shut. She slumped over one of her body guards, and her pale hair sprawled across her face. When another wave of angry words erupted through the two way speaker, the driver wrenched it out of its holder with a grunt and threw it out the window. It was followed by a great deal more erratic driving before the driver slowed down again. By then, the soundscape and the air had changed. There was the smell of brine. They were approaching the sea.

There was one last jolt as the car passed over a set of bumps. The front door opened and slammed when the driver got out, and Indigo's body was pitched further forward when the bodyguard who she had fallen onto was unbuckled and pulled unceremoniously from the car.

Next, the driver unbuckled her and dragged her out of the car by her arms-

-only to feel her strong grip on his wrists. A moment later, Indigo's steel capped heels slammed into his stomach and sent him sprawling back.

Indigo leapt to her feet and tore the small rebreather from her face. Her bodyguards hadn't been so adequately prepared, but she didn't care. They were hired help, and they obviously hadn't bothered to read the dossiers she'd prepared.

As the driver recovered, Indigo studied her surroundings. She was pleasantly surprised to see that they were on a barge, heading out of the bay. The ship's captain was looking down worriedly from the bridge, and already, three of his crew were heading down towards the commotion. No one had weapons.

Indigo turned back to the man who had kidnapped her. He was tall and wearing a leather mask styled to look like a fox's head.

"Red Renard," she greeted gaily. "Today is the day you'll be unmasked."

To which he replied in accented English, "many have tried, none have succeeded. You are outnumbered and on a barge you cannot hope to steer alone."

Indigo shook her head sadly. The old fox may have been diligent when he was younger, but he had grown arrogant with age. But he wasn't the first to underestimate Indigo, and he probably wouldn't be the last. If Renard had done his research, he would have known that she had been involved in the sea scouts as a child and she knew exactly how to hail the coast guard. She didn't need to know how to steer a barge, all she needed was to get to the control room after she'd dispatched everyone on board.

"Whatever you say," she said with a smirk.

She advanced, cautiously but surely, and delivered a punch to Renard's head. He was no fighter, but he was agile, and he dodged it and leapt back. It was as she expected, given his training as an acrobat, so she steered the fight away from anything he could use to get away; poles, ropes, even crates. Soon she had him pinned down on open ground and a roundhouse kick finished the job. Renard went down cold.

The three men were on her before she could celebrate. One grabbed the briefcase, wrenching it hard against her wrist. She felt something snap and cried out in pain. It was distracting enough that another landed a blow to her shoulder, creating another blossom of agony in her arm and along her chest. She growled and kneed the first assailant, who stumbled back and gave her room to fight. She tucked the suitcase under her arm, out of harm's way, and used her powerful legs to deal most of the damage. A high kick to the side of one man's face, and he was down. A feint with her right hand, followed by two quick downward stomps to the kneecaps, and the second man was finished. She turned back to the first assailant and scissor-kicked him in the chin. All three men were down. She glared up at the captain, who was halfway down the stairs. He raised his hands and inched over to the railing. When he was sure she wouldn't make it to him in time, he climbed over it ungracefully and jumped into the water.

Renard was not where she'd left him. She stared at the spot where he had been a moment ago. She barely felt his fingers at work, even though the slightest jolt would have sent a wave of pain through her wrist. When she turned around, it was too late. Renard had plucked the suitcase from her hands. The side of the handcuff that had been attached to her wrist dangled from the handle.

Her eyes narrowed as he made a run for the edge of the ship, following the captain's lead. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a gun. The sound of the hammer cocking made him stop in his steps.

"Drop the case and I'll let you leave with your dignity intact," Indigo said. Her voice was as cold as the look in her eyes.

Renard turned slowly and put the briefcase on the floor as gingerly as if it were a newly laid egg.

"I believe that I have met my match," he said.

Indigo laughed as he back flipped into the water. She retrieved the briefcase with her uninjured hand and headed up to the bridge. Her left wrist was swollen and throbbing too painfully to consider re-attaching the briefcase to it and she didn't want to restrict the range of movement of her right hand. But given how ineffective a cuff had been against a master thief, she supposed that she could leave it off for now.

The radio sounded strange, distorted through the old radio receiver, but she managed the hail the coast guard with little trouble. The operator talked her through some basic controls for the barge to stop it from speeding out of the bay, and then informed her that help was on its way.

"How long am I expected to wait?" Indigo asked.

"A few hours at most, ma'am. We should get to you before sun down."

"Sun down!" Indigo cried. "Isn't there any way to get me back to shore sooner? I have priceless items to secure and incident reports to write!"

The coast guard hesitated. "Stand by," he said.

Indigo waited. And waited. She was just about to hail the coast guard again when the sight of something small streaking through the sky made her pause. It was too big to be a bird, but too small to be a plane. As the object grew closer, Indigo could make out that the shape was an ugly, mustard colour. It got closer still and she saw that it was a human. A costumed human.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The super-hero was flying straight for her barge. He wore a jet pack which left twin trails of white smoke in his wake. His landing left much to be desired, but she was too in awe to care. She descended the stairs to meet him on the deck. The three henchmen and Indigo's bodyguards were tied up together around a pole, collecting sun burns. In her eyes, her men had committed the crime of incompetence and deserved punishment too.

The hero was a young man, lanky in build and wearing dark green goggles to disguise his identity.

"Uh... I heard that an Indigo Westlake needed rescuing, but it looks like she's done ok for herself," he said, looking at the five men in rope cocoons.

She tried to cover up her fan-girl excitement with fake indifference. "I am in need of a ride more than rescuing," she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she gasped at the connotation of her words.

The hero's grin was full of good nature. He offered his hand. "Hi Indigo, I'm Ambergris."

She took it with a frown. "Uh... sperm whale bile?"

"What?"

"Ambergris. It's... the stuff that sperm whales vomit up. It was really valuable as a fixative for perfumes until they came up with synthetic alternatives."

Ambergris withdrew his hand and clenched both into fists. "Ben. I'm going to kill him."

It was Indigo's turn to look confused.

Seeing the expression on his face, he laughed awkwardly and explained. "Oh, he's a friend of mine. This whole thing was his idea. You could say that he's the brains and I'm the muscle." Reading her expression again, he added, "the...uh... not very muscular muscle."

Indigo laughed. It was impossible not to like the dorky super-hero who seemed to blurt out ever thought on his mind. "So, are you up to 'rescuing' me or not?" Again, the unintended innuendo only became apparent after it was too late to take back the words.

"Uh..." Ambergris seemed to blush too. He held out his hands. "You'll have to... hold on tight."

There was another round of awkward chuckles as Indigo climbed into his embrace. But all that was forgotten when they lifted off into the sky.

Indigo flew through the sky, wrapped tightly around a super-hero. It could have been a scene from a movie! For a moment, she forgot that she was the responsible trust fund manager. She ceased to be the tigress that could face down five guys in a dark alley. She was no longer the brainiac with contingency plans upon contingency plans. She was Indigo, the girl who was falling in love with a badly themed super-hero.

As they neared the shore Ambergris' jetpack gave a splutter and they dropped a few feet in the sky. The jolt loosened both their grips, and Ambergris reached out at the last moment to grab hold of Indigo's hand, saving her from a plunge. The briefcase, however, fell into the water with a splash and began to sink quickly.

"Crap!" Ambergris said.

By the time Indigo was secured around him again, the briefcase had disappeared.

"Don't worry," she said. "There's a tracking device on the suitcase. Just get me back quickly and I can come out again with a search party."

"I'm so sorry!"

"It's ok."

They made it back to the dock without incident. The two other cars full of Indigo's men were already waiting. She knew that she had no time to waste, but Ambergris seemed so dejected that she just couldn't leave him alone.

"Hey," she said, grabbing his arm.

"I should go. I'm so sorry, Indi," he said.

Indi. He had casually used the name that only her closest friends and family used. It made her heart beat faster.

She smiled as she leant up and placed a slow, deliberate kiss on his cheek. "You did great. Thank you, Ambergris. I hope to see you around."

Ambergris grinned. "Me too."

But after that day, the hero Ambergris was never seen again.

One Week Later...

Indigo leapt out of her bed in the middle of the night with an angry scream. Her mind had chosen that exact moment to figure out the events that led to the disappearance of the Crown of Alice.

In fact, the Crown hadn't disappeared at all – it had been stolen!

Her scream was followed by hysterical laughter.

"It was all part of the plan!" she announced like a mad person.

It was the group that called themselves the B-Team, the one that no one had paid much attention to. They had been miles in front of the other players, going as far as factoring in Red Renard's game into their own. They had even done research on her! They knew she loved super-heroes. They even knew the nickname her friends used. Everything was designed to get her to trust the 'super-hero' Ambergris. And the jetpack hadn't been the least bit faulty, it had been an act to relieve her of the Crown. No doubt an accomplice had been waiting in the water to grab the case – that was why the search boats never found it.

Worst of all, she had kissed one of them! She had practically handed them the keys! It wasn't the fingerprints that the briefcase needed, but her lip-prints.

In her rage, she tore her pillow in half, and as the feathers rained down around her, she collected her thoughts.

All was not lost. She still had a lead. B-team. She was pretty sure the B referred to the man at the centre of the whole operation, and Ambergris had given her the name of the so called brain of the group – Ben.

Indigo turned on the lights and grabbed her dressing robe. She had work to do.

Author's Notes

Still rough around the edges, cause I wrote this in 4 hours. Not my usual style. It will be edited! Maybe. This was written for the July writing contest on the Labyrinth forum. Contestants picked one of three 60-word stories from the Writing Challenge threat of the forum.

26/07/2014 - Thanks DJ who pointed out the errors of my ways.

27/07/2014 - A great editing pick-up from Liz - thank you.

28/08/2014 - Thanks Jazzy for another great pick-up.