[b]Around 2 A.M.[/b]
[b]Museum of Modern Art[/b]
[b]New York City[/b]

It was luck, really. That was the only discernible reason for the knowledge. Although once the knowledge was had, it immediately led Sanctuary to damn near everything there was to know about it. Kara was no expert on this kind of thing...at least she wasn't until she had spent all the night before reading up on it (a week and she still hadn't slept), and VRing quite a few of these incidents using Sanctuary's careful recreations. And if she hadn't been before last night, she was certainly impressed by what she had stumbled upon. If crime could become a puzzle, this was one tough nut to crack. Kara had always loved puzzles.

It had taken them over three hundred man hours, most of that spent in gathering intelligence and technology research/development. The plan was precise, practiced, and as perfect as any sentient soul was likely to get it. The criminals involved were a mixed bag; Kara and Sanctuary had made sure to look into each and every one of them. Including the money trail, which went back three crimes, one Italian casino owner, and a Shanghai lawyer. Kara had personally spoken to the lawyer, a floating blonde girl with arms crossed wearing a white silk pants suit that had tailoring even Mr. Chen could appreciate.

Even if she'd surprised him as he came out upon the sixty-fourth story balcony of his luxury high rise for morning tea. 

Mr. Chen had been a gracious host; inviting her to join him for tea. They discussed Chinese history, a conversation prompted by Mr. Chen complimenting her on her Mandarin, asking about how long she'd been at it. He answered a few questions she had about the modern Chinese elite, including their attitudes on the emerging 'metahuman' issue. The answers didn't surprise her, some of them disappointing. A few, she was told, were interesting in seeing if it was something they could benefit or profit from. That one made her chuckle. It wasn't until the end that Kara asked Mr. Chen about the criminal activity he funded, and his reasons.  

That led her to an insurance executive out of Las Vegas. Mr. Percival hosted a small poker tournament for around eighty friends out of a private villa at the Venetian. Sanctuary had suggested the approach to her, although it hinged on Kara not being immediately tossed for 'crashing' the event. Given the expected guest list of mostly middle aged and beyond men, Sanctuary argued, the chances were high of Kara simply being allowed to stay. At least, the A.I. added, so long as Kara approached the situation correctly. 

Of all the things Kara expected of Sol-III, having an A.I. suggest she wear a "mini-dress" wasn't high on the list. In fact, it hadn't been on the list at all. Disturbing as Kara found it, the advice worked. A black dress, and high black heels that felt like stilts to the Kryptonian girl, and her charming side got Kara smiles and friendliness. Soon she was using the practice time spent dealing cards, running the odds in her head for every hand, every card dealt. The numbers weren't too hard, so long as wild multiples and factoring were your thing. They'd always come easy to Kara, but then as she learned, a Kryptonian's education was far more in depth and active than most Terran upbringings. 

Kara enjoyed her first cigar. Her first pocket Aces. Her first Scotch; then her second, and third. She bet big, and was even nearly busted once when chance triumphed over the odds. To say nothing of the other ways in which she was almost 'busted'--every guy in the villa wanted to ask her about herself. "Where you from?" "How old are you?" "What do you do, if you don't mind my asking?" "Y'like jazz, sweetheart?" She evaded most all of them for most the night; except the jazz, she liked jazz. But by then, she was on first name basis with every face she saw. 

Even Eddie--Edward Percival. At the end it was just Mr. Percival and she, sipping a 'night cap', and playing a few hands. She dealt; she did it quickly (but not too quickly), and the cards always seemed to go where she wanted them...go figure. He asked her about herself, she gave clearer answers than she had all night, without giving away too much. They talked about the insurance business, they talked about betting and gambling in general. They even briefly touched upon politics, and Lex Luthor. Then they talked about metahumans. This time, Percival surprised her...even if he beat her with spades on the draw. She politely thanked him for the lovely evening.

It wasn't until she was walking away that he asked why she'd really come. So she asked him about the crime he bankrolled, and his reasons.

Given both Mr. Chen and Mr. Percival had been honest with her (and Kara liked to think she could spot the signs of a lie), Kara had no serious logic based objection to the next part of her plan. If she had, Sanctuary and she would have had to come up with a new plan. These men weren't angels, but they weren't devils, either--an important distinction to be made on this planet. If a fine line. But humanity was ever so fond of their fine lines, as Kara was starting to learn. Finally, it was time to head to New York City and prepare.

Sanctuary provided most the items needed, but the meet place wasn't exactly something that could be ordered online or replicated. She settled on the tenth floor of a nearby building under construction. It was private enough, it was a place they could talk, and it provided her with plenty of opportunity for any exit she wanted. Not that it would come to that, but it was just a nice thing to know was there. She spent most of the day of the crime listening to music in her D.C. apartment, going out with Kyle for a movie and dinner. When she got home it was near 11 P.M., and time for her to change and go. 

The entire security system of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City's Manhattan island was taken down, piece by piece. Some of it manually, some of it remotely. Some of it by a little flying 'drone' that could evade motion detectors and laser grids to reach a small keypad. All said and done, they were in and and nearly ready to leave in just a shade over three minutes. Each painting was in a criminal's hands when the strong wind came through exhibit hall in question. Just like that, faster than a human eye could blink, the paintings they held in their very black gloved hands disappeared. Replaced with a note in black type on white paper.

[i]Impressive job. 18th and West 53rd, tenth floor. I'll be waiting with the Picassos and Chagalls.[/i]

Whatever their shock and misgivings, all five of them arrived right on que, their arrival announced by the [i]ding[/i] of the elevator. The floor was empty, lit only with mobile construction lighting. When they got in far enough and began to ask themselves if anyone was even there, or coming, and how they didn't see any paintings, Kara made her entrance.

She 'appeared' right behind them out of their sight. All five were men, though of varying ages. The ringleader, Mr. Green, was mid-40s, a diplomat's son that earned a degree in Engineering from Midwestern. The rest ranged from late-30s to mid-20s. Mark Towiski was from Montana, 25 years old, left Stanford a year before graduation, majored in Computer Science. According to Sanctuary, a good hacker with an addiction to...Mountain Dew. Demolitions was a Samuel Saunders, 34, from Georgia, trained while with EOD in the US Army. Jacob Crowder was 28, and liked to boast he could drive or fly damn near anything with an engine in it, his father a mechanic and race car driver out of Central Florida. Alex Franklin was 36, and had been everything from a male exotic dancer to a phone help desk operator in life before chance, or fate, brought him into one of Mr. Green's plots. 

"I apologize--" she began, ignoring their reactions of shock and surprise. A few even cursed at her, like she scared them. Kara tried not to smirk, "--for the surprise attack, gentlemen, but I needed your full attention."

"Wearing that would have been enough," Mr. Green said, meaning the ceremonial vestments of House El she was wearing, and the shield upon it. 

Towiski, nervously, voiced a concern. "...she could just be a girl in a Superman suit. Like...does she fly?"

"Can't be Superman if you can't fly."

"Or lasers. You need lasers out of the hands."

"No, idiot, Superman shoots lasers out of his eyes."

"...which one shoots them out of their hands?"

It was a suggestion the entire group seemed to embrace. Mr. Green seemed untouched by the suggestion of having Kara demonstrate the ability to fly, turning to his own band of fellow criminals. "You don't think maybe her lifting the paintings right out from under our noses and replacing them with white stock paper was enough of a demonstration?"

Most the group looked a bit embarrassed. Kara smiled at it, her eyes glowing red for a few heartbeats, her feet leaving the ground for just a few moments longer. By time her feet touched the ground, they were already cheering. Cheering. 

"Wow, that's really it."

"...see any lines?"

"Hey, at least we're getting busted by Super...woman?"

"Supergirl, I saw it on Twitter."

"Maybe she prefers woman over girl. Ever think of that?"

"It saw it on Twitter."

"I saw it too."

"...don't help him."

Kara's eyes never left Green's, and his never left her's, even as the group bantered. Finally, Green spoke. "She's not here to bust us."

"...wait, what?"

"How is that possible?"

"Okay. Um, cool. So, why then?"

Kara gave them each a small smile, and explained herself. "I'm hiring you. All of you. Because of my own privacy concerns, I can't accept no for an answer. The paintings I'll return tomorrow. No cop's likely to question paintings being returned from Supergirl. I know what each of your takes was going to be, and I've already ensured the amounts in your chosen offshore bank accounts. Any questions?"

"What are we stealing?"

"Why can't you just do it? You're like...Superchick, right?"

That one made her snicker. "I am, like, superchick, sure. But this can't get back to me, and it has to look like it was done by actual people...not superchick. As for the other question, we're going to take files from the secure, private, server of Lex Luthor. Remote hack is out of the question, it's too secure."

"Black bag job," Green said, thinking aloud. "Think Lex'll mind?"

To that question, Supergirl only grinned.