Basics: A sixteen year old male student from Finland studying computer forensics with a side-business selling stolen credit card information to the highest bidder.
Motivation: Stumbles onto something he shouldn't have, now wanted in association with terrorism. Offered the chance to make it all go away.
The computer sat silent in the corner of the room and he carefully avoided looking at the black monitors as he reached over to turn up the radio. Some American "Top Forty" pop hit blasted through the speakers. He attributed the tinny-static quality to the song rather than the system; Elias Heikkinen spared no expense on toys.
The sound served its purpose in drowning out the disconcerting lack of the comforting hum of his computer. It'd been ten days since he'd turned it off and he still wasn't used to the room without it.
Still, he smirked, it had been worth it. To get that smug bastard's name into the UN's CTC registry was worth every minute of lost uptime. According to his notebook another twelve days and he would be clear to boot up again. It was all about following the steps, if he followed the list, stuck to the plan, and made sure he'd cleaned up any trace he was fine. Only those who made mistakes got caught, and Elias didn't make mistakes.
It had been a perfect exploit. He'd called into various low level offices, pretending to be a systems analyst who was having trouble accessing the mainframe, or some variation of that. Non-technical people tended to tune out when someone started talking above their heads. He'd been passed around to several different people until, with a stroke of good fortune, one cheerful sounding secretary had given him what he needed, the root password. It wasn't her fault he was so charming, or that her boss left a list of codes next to his computer.
He flipped through a well used copy of "The Art of Deception". It had been brand new when he'd ordered online, now the corners of the cover were ragged and the spine was cracked. It was almost time to buy a third copy, the first was long since disintegrated. Elias began sorting out what he'd need and how long it would take to establish a new set of dox. The more layers the better.
A quick glance at the clock told him he was going to be late for school if he didn't get going. Faari would not like it if he was late again, something that would've been much easier if he had been allowed to get his A1 license. Elias rolled his eyes and tucked the book into his jacket pocket before rolling off the bed, careful not to knock any of his prepay cellphones onto the floor.
His grandfather had some strange ideas about motorized vehicles, even mopeds and motorbikes. As long as Elias had lived with him he'd been forced to walk, at least out of sight of the house, before getting into a car or catching a bus. Superstitious old man, the line of logic between assuming that he would die in a car accident just because his parents had was faulty at best.
He walked down the alley towards the bus stop that was conveniently located just out of view for any of the windows in the flat. The bus was late given the number of people that were gathered at the stop waiting. He jostled his way into the line, ignoring the glares of his fellow travelers and pulled his book out to read while he waited.
Instead of his bookmark an envelope was tucked between the pages. He pulled out the stack of paper inside and read the note paper-clipped to the front.
Would you like to play a game?
1. Michelle Sanchez
2. Godfrey De Vries
3. Ebisawa Hitome
4. Tony Blake
5. Kamali Ncube
6. Alexi Bogdanov
7. Mei Yu
8. Thiago Torres
9. Vahide Younan
Kill these people and we will ensure all traces are erased.
His hands shook as he flipped through the sheets. It would look like jibberish to anyone else, but Elias recognized them as the UN CTC server logs. His handiwork, which he'd taken proper steps to erase, was highlighted.