Fallen Angels: Ch 1, Sc 1

         Doran O'Neil winced as the bell sounded throughout the school. Just why it had to be so loud he would never know. Every student in the building -- hell, every teacher in the building as well -- constantly strained to catch the faintest ding of the dismissal bell. Someone could stand in the hallways and yell "Ring!" and every student, teacher, and staff member in the school would hear them. Everyone simply wanted to get on to the next class and a few minutes closer to the end of the day and freedom.
         It wasn't that Doran hated his job, necessarily. He taught high school computer classes, which was a miracle considering his past. Doran had begun his "hacking" career at the tender age of thirteen. He quickly realized he had a talent for it and soon was writing programs and code that did everything from purchasing items from the internet at little, or usually no cost, to simply reprogramming the local TV network station to watch whatever he wanted. Doran became so good at this last trick that the network station created a standard "We apologize for the deviation from our regularly programmed schedule."
         Many nights Doran would stay up all night at his computer (which he "purchased" for an extra low cost of two whole dollars, shipping an handling included), ultimately missing school the next day. Doran was not too worried about grades or attendance records. A computer program to fix his grades and attendance was the first thing he learned to do. The teachers didn't even notice that he was passing with A's and B's while only attending school two or three days a week.
         Not only were the teachers at school oblivious, but his parents were even more so. Both of Doran's parents worked day shifts at the crummy plastics factory in the small town in which he grew up. The upside to his parents work schedule is that they were gone before Doran left for school. The bonus, if Doran actually went to school, was that he was done with school and home long before his parents got in from work. As long as Doran remembered to get up and dressed before his parents got home, he was in the clear And there were no teacher-parent phone calls about truancy to worry about, his computer programs made sure of that.
         Doran continued improving his hacking skills day and night, always taking his triumphs and pushing them a little further the next time. But while his accomplishments were proud moments, it was his failures that ultimately taught him the most. This was as it should be, as with anything, but especially with what he was currently doing. Too many mistakes at just the wrong time and you were screwed. If you were lucky, the police caught you, sent you to juvi. At worst, the people you were screwing over caught you. Doran had heard the stories of the hacker in Philadelphia who was stealing money from a local flower shop, hacking their bank account and helping himself to a few thousand dollars off the top. Turns out the flower shop was a front or a local gang. The doctors never were able to reattach his fingers. They had used and hammer and pliers to crush then rip the fingers off his hands. Poor guy committed suicide by jumping in front of a commuter train two months later.
         Doran knew that he would never have a need to resort to suicide and he made sure of it. He was good and always double checked his code before putting it to use. He had a few close calls, just like everyone else. The police had even tracked him as close as his neighbor’s house, but never made the final connection to Doran next door. He had been scared and made sure that from that time on he never relied on less than ten telephone bounce points. Doran was in the clear from then on, until he got cocky and stupid.
         Doran's taste for more thrills and tougher challenges, not to mention the reward of more money drove him to take ever larger risks that he never should have. He did his, research, found his targets and began looking into the electronic defenses of his next cyber victims. Nothing too hard; nothing that someone like Doran couldn't handle. He had to write some new code in order to crack some of their defensive software, but within a couple of weeks he had the necessary files. Doran had everything ready to pull of his best hack yet.
         Jolt colas...check. Potato chips...check. Mood music...check.
         The first target was a business man in New York. Half a million in the bank and Doran was planning to take a hundred thousand of it. This was a warm-up, just to get his fingers moving and to check through his systems and safeguards. Cakewalk. Eight minutes later and Doran's bank account was one hundred thousand dollars richer. He only kept it there temporarily, quickly transferring the money to a small time hacker with no real talent. Doran believed he was doing the kid a favor. He was thirteen with no potential except for getting himself locked away. Once the police tracked the electronic transfers to him, the kid would spend a couple of months, maybe a year in juvenile detention. That would be enough to scare him away from doing anything else, possibly getting him sent away for a lot longer in a federal prison.
         Next for a little diversionary tactic. Doran planted a couple of dummy programs to throw anyone off his trail. These programs would cause enough congestion in the banking software that no one would notice Doran's elegant dance through the bank's mainframe. He already had his target in sight; fifty-seven million in the primary account with an additional one-hundred million in the secondary. This guy would never miss the paltry million Doran was planning on "borrowing." Doran had no plans to return the money, but at least calling it borrowed money helped keep his conscience clear. He might consider giving a small portion of it to a charity of some sort. Maybe the local police department would enjoy an anonymous donation?
         Doran typed the command line and hit enter. He watched as his computer sped into action, opening and closing command windows, creating and erasing files and data as it sped through the bands mainframe like the virus that it was. Forty-five seconds later and the program exited leaving one small window open on his computer screen. Doran exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath the entire time. He closed his eyes and wiped the sweat that had sprung up on his forehead. With a deep breath Doran opened his eyes and read the printout on the screen.
         "Transfer completed. You are a rich man, Doran O'Neil!"
         An ever broadening smile swept across Doran' face He reached up and casually double clicked a secondary program. A new window opened on his computer screen detailing the money which was just transferred into his personal account...his personal offshore account. In these days of internet banking anyone could open an account, if you knew how to get the specifics right and falsify just a few minor details. No one could touch him.
         Doran thought again about his idea to contribute a sizable amount to the local police department and began the process of having an anonymous cashier's check mailed to them. He couldn't wait to read the story in the local newspaper.
         Three days past and Doran's glory finally came in the form of a front page headline. "Local Police Baffled by Anonymous Donor." The article went on to describe the reaction of the police chief when he opened the certified letter delivered by messenger and containing a cashier's check for the sum of two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. An attempt was made to find the donor, although it was a meager attempt. The police were so strapped for money that they took every cent they were offered, no matter the source.
         It wasn't until a week later that the trouble started. First they came to the school. No luck there because Doran was asleep at home after a long night wrecking havoc on a mortgage company's client roster. The principal searched for Doran everywhere, checking all the places he was supposed to be. According to the computer's attendance record, Doran had been at every class he was enrolled in. However, when the principal talked with each teacher, not a single one could remember seeing Doran all day long. When the principal informed the men waiting for Doran they simply looked at one another with raised eyebrows. One of the men spoke up, obviously in charge of the rest of the men.
         "Principal Vasquez, I believe that your computers have been tampered with, most likely by the student we are looking for, Mr. O'Neil. Would you mind if one of my men took a look at your computers? He will be able to determine if this is the case."
         Principal Vasquez relinquished, not quite believing that a student like Doran could actually be able to do something like what was implied. One of the men followed Principal Vasquez to his office, inserted a small thumb drive into the USB port in the computer on the principal's desk, and typed a few quick keystrokes. Two minutes later a chime sounded signaling the end of the program's diagnostics of the school's mainframe. The man bent lower over his desk to read the printout on the screen. "Malicious software detected. Confirm target fingerprint Mr. O'Neil."
         The man typed a few more quick keystrokes, saving the evidence to his portable drive. He then straightened and signaled for his commander. "Confirmed. The malware has Mr. O'Neil's fingerprints in the base code. The evidence has been saved. Your orders?"
         The commanding officer's gaze moved to the shocked face of Principal Vasquez. "Mr. Vasquez, your school's mainframe has been hacked and compromised by a vicious computer criminal. We can remove the malicious software from the computers and return them to their optimum safety. Would you like us to proceed>"
         Principal Vasquez still stared at the commander with shock cloaking his face. A growing line of red slowly crept up his face, either from anger or embarrassment, but the commanding officer did not care either way. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Principal Vasquez nodded his head giving permission to the men to clean up the mess he was in. The commander's eyes shifted to his subordinate still hovering above the principal's computer With a short, quick nod of his head he gave the order to restore the computer to its original state. The subordinate inserted a second thumb drive and again typed a few quick keystrokes. The new program started and systematically cleared the school's mainframe of any evidence that it had been attacked. Five minutes and everything was back to normal a, at least for the computer. The subordinate officer removed the thumb drives placing the second in his inside coat pocket and the first in a small locking case containing thick manila folders.
         "Principal Vasquez" the commanding officer said. "Would you mind pulling up all records you have pertaining to Mr. Doran O’Neil? We need copies for our records."