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485 KiB
Plaintext
7292 lines
485 KiB
Plaintext
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_______ _____ _____ /\ ________ ______ _____
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/ ___// \\_ \/ \ \ \\_ \/ /
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/ / __/ | \/ \/ _/| \ \ \ /
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/ \/ \ | \ \/ \ \__ \/ / \
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/ \ | / || \_ || \_ /\ \_
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\ ________/______/ ||_____/__||_____/ /Mb\____/
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\//________|/____/
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Total Eclipse - Comax Scandinavian Headquarters
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Sysop: ZCANDALER/COMAX
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CoSysops: REBEL/FAIRLIGHT, DALE'N X3M/RAGE
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+ 4 6 - 3 1 - 5 7 2 5 4 5
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This file was get from a cool BBS near you
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Where friendship is not only a word !
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|>-<: \ :-<>|
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|-</\_____/\________ _______. __/\ /\___ /\_________ ______/\-|
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|<>\__ / ______/\/ / / / \ \ \ _____ /\ ._ \_/ __/<|
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|>-<\_ \__/ ._ \_ ./ / / \ \ \| / \ _/|/ /=[m|d]=_/<>|
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|-<>:\_ / |/ / \ |___/ \:. \/ _:. / \_/ ._ ¯¯\ _/<>-|
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|<>-: \___/ :___/ \/: \___|_ \___/ / /| :/ \___/:>-<|
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|>-<. \_ __|\ \_______ /\ | \ /|____\ : |______/ .-<>|
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|<>-| \ \ / / .>-<|
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:-<>.< (|) eNuff hD sPAce , Hz , waREz , CumB aND oRGASM 4 aLL yA >|<>-|
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>-<|-<> CONTAcT pERsONS : GiANtS & MyXiN / TYT - LoRD SToNE / MB >-<|-<>|
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.
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ____________/\__ /\_______________/\ /\ /\___ ______ ___/\ ______
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\SP _ / \/ / \ _ \ \ / \/ / / ___\__\ _\\ /
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\ /|____/ \/ \ |/ / / / / /__\ \ \ / \\ /
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/\/ ___// | / / / __/ /_/ \ // \ \ \/ \\/
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/ | / _ \ / \ \ / \ \ /_/ \ / \
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\____ |/ ___| \__ \___ |\____\ _ \__ /\_______/\___\ /\_____ \
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Da F/\iRLiGhT / / Da LSD U.K.
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ACCEPT NO / Y /\ \__)\__)\__/_ \// \///__\_ ACCEPT ONLY
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Approaching Zero
|
||
-----
|
||
The Extraordinary Underworld of Hackers,
|
||
Phreakers, Virus Writers,
|
||
And Keyboard Criminals
|
||
-----
|
||
Paul Mungo
|
||
Bryan Glough
|
||
*****
|
||
|
||
This book was originally released in hardcover by Random House in 1992.
|
||
I feel that I should do the community a service and release the book in the
|
||
medium it should have been first released in... I hope you enjoy the book as
|
||
much as I did..It provides a fairly complete account of just about
|
||
everything.....From motherfuckers, to Gail 'The Bitch' Thackeray.....
|
||
|
||
Greets to all,
|
||
|
||
Golden Hacker / 1993
|
||
Death Incarnate / 1993
|
||
|
||
*****
|
||
|
||
PROLOGUE
|
||
|
||
Fry Guy watched the computer screen as the cursor blinked. Beside him a small
|
||
electronic box chattered through a call routine, the numbers clicking audibly
|
||
as each of the eleven digits of the phone number was dialed. Then the box made
|
||
a shrill, electronic whistle, which meant that the call had gone through; Fry
|
||
Guy's computer had been connected to another system hundreds of miles away.
|
||
The cursor blinked again, and the screen suddenly changed. WELCOME TO CREDIT
|
||
SYSTEMS OF AMERICA, it read, and below that, the cursor pulsed beside the
|
||
prompt: ENTER ACCOUNT NUMBER.
|
||
Fry Guy smiled. He had just broken into one of the most secure computer systems
|
||
in the United States, one which held the credit histories of millions of
|
||
American citizens. And it had really been relatively simple. Two hours ago he
|
||
had called an electronics store in Elmwood, Indiana, which--like thousands of
|
||
other shops across the country--relied on Credit Systems of America to check
|
||
its customers' credit cards.
|
||
"Hi, this is Joe Boyle from CSA . . . Credit Systems of America," he had said,
|
||
dropping his voice two octaves to sound older--a lot older, he hoped--than his
|
||
fifteen years. He also modulated his natural midwestern drawl, giving his voice
|
||
an eastern twang: more big-city, more urgent.
|
||
"I need to speak to your credit manager . . . uh, what's the name? Yeah, Tom.
|
||
Can you put me through?"
|
||
|
||
PROLOGUE
|
||
|
||
Tom answered.
|
||
"Tom, this is Joe Boyle from CSA. You've been having some trouble with your
|
||
account?"
|
||
Tom hadn't heard of any trouble.
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||
"No? That's really odd.... Look, I've got this report that says you've been
|
||
having problems. Maybe there's a mistake somewhere down the line. Better give
|
||
me your account number again."
|
||
And Tom did, obligingly reeling off the eight-character code that allowed his
|
||
company to access the CSA files and confirm customer credit references. As Fry
|
||
Guy continued his charade, running through a phony checklist, Tom, ever
|
||
helpful, also supplied his store's confidential CSA password. Then Fry Guy
|
||
keyed in the information on his home computer. "I don't know what's going on,"
|
||
he finally told Tom. "I'll check around and call you back."
|
||
But of course he never would. Fry Guy had all the information he needed: the
|
||
account number and the password. They were the keys that would unlock the CSA
|
||
computer for him. And if Tom ever phoned CSA and asked for Joe Boyle, he would
|
||
find that no one at the credit bureau had ever heard of him. Joe Boyle was
|
||
simply a name that Fry Guy had made up.
|
||
Fry Guy had discovered that by sounding authoritative and demonstrating his
|
||
knowledge of computer systems, most of the time people believed he was who he
|
||
said he was. And they gave him the information he asked for, everything from
|
||
account codes and passwords to unlisted phone numbers. That was how he got the
|
||
number for CSA; he just called the local telephone company's operations
|
||
section.
|
||
"Hi, this is Bob Johnson, Indiana Bell tech support," he had said. "Listen, I
|
||
need you to pull a file for me. Can you bring it up on your screen?"
|
||
The woman on the other end of the phone sounded uncertain. Fry Guy forged
|
||
ahead, coaxing her through the routine: "Right, on your keyboard, type in K--P
|
||
pulse.... Got that? Okay, now do one-two-one start, no M--A.... Okay?
|
||
"Yeah? Can you read me the file? I need the number there...."
|
||
|
||
PROLOGUE X;
|
||
|
||
It was simply a matter of confidence--and knowing the jargon. The directions he
|
||
had given her controlled access to unlisted numbers, and because he knew the
|
||
routine, she had read him the CSA number, a number that is confidential, or at
|
||
least not generally available to fifteen-year-old kids like himself.
|
||
But on the phone Fry Guy found that he could be anyone he wanted to be: a CSA
|
||
employee or a telephone engineer--merely by pretending to be an expert. He had
|
||
also taught himself to exploit the psychology of the person on the other end of
|
||
the line. If they seemed confident, he would appeal to their magnanimity: "I
|
||
wonder if you can help me . . ." If they appeared passive, or unsure, he would
|
||
be demanding: "Look, I haven't got all day to wait around. I need that number
|
||
now." And if they didn't give him what he wanted, he could always hang up and
|
||
try again.
|
||
Of course, you had to know a lot about the phone system to convince an Indiana
|
||
Bell employee that you were an engineer. But exploring the telecommunications
|
||
networks was Fry Guy's hobby: he knew a lot about the phone system.
|
||
|
||
Now he would put this knowledge to good use. From his little home computer he
|
||
had dialed up CSA, the call going from his computer to the electronic box
|
||
beside it, snaking through a cable to his telephone, and then passing through
|
||
the phone lines to the unlisted number, which happened to be in Delaware.
|
||
The electronic box converted Fry Guy's own computer commands to signals that
|
||
could be transmitted over the phone, while in Delaware, the CSA's computer
|
||
converted those pulses back into computer commands. In essence, Fry Guy's home
|
||
computer was talking to its big brother across the continent, and Fry Guy would
|
||
be able to make it do whatever he wanted.
|
||
But first he needed to get inside. He typed in the account number Tom had given
|
||
him earlier, pressed Return, and typed in the password. There was a momentary
|
||
pause, then the screen filled with the CSA logo, followed by the directory of
|
||
services--the "menu."
|
||
Fry Guy was completely on his own now, although he had a
|
||
|
||
X PROLOGUE
|
||
|
||
good idea of what he was doing. He was going to delve deeply into the accounts
|
||
section of the system, to the sector where CSA stored confidential information
|
||
on individuals: their names, addresses, credit histories, bank loans, credit
|
||
card numbers, and so on. But it was the credit card numbers that he really
|
||
wanted. Fry Guy was short of cash, and like hundreds of other computer wizards,
|
||
he had discovered how to pull off a high-tech robbery.
|
||
|
||
When Fry Guy was thirteen, in 1987, his parents had presented him with his
|
||
first computer--a Commodore 64, one of the new, smaller machines designed for
|
||
personal use. Fry Guy linked up the keyboard-sized system to an old television,
|
||
which served as his video monitor.
|
||
On its own the Commodore didn't do much: it could play games or run short
|
||
programs, but not a lot more. Even so, the machine fascinated him so much that
|
||
he began to spend more and more time with it. Every day after school, he would
|
||
hurry home to spend the rest of the evening and most of the night learning as
|
||
much as possible about his new electronic plaything.
|
||
He didn't feel that he was missing out on anything. School bored him, and
|
||
whenever he could get away with it, he skipped classes to spend more time
|
||
working on the computer. He was a loner by nature; he had a lot of
|
||
acquaintances at school, but no real friends, and while his peers were mostly
|
||
into sports, he wasn't. He was tall and gawky and, at 140 pounds, not in the
|
||
right shape to be much of an athlete. Instead he stayed at home.
|
||
About a year after he got the Commodore, he realized that he could link his
|
||
computer to a larger world. With the aid of an electronic box, called a modem,
|
||
and his own phone line, he could travel far beyond his home, school, and
|
||
family.
|
||
He soon upgraded his system by selling off his unwanted possessions and bought
|
||
a better computer, a color monitor, and various other external devices such as
|
||
a printer and the electronic box that would give his computer access to the
|
||
wider world. He installed three telephone lines: one linked to the computer for
|
||
|
||
PROLOGUE xiii
|
||
|
||
data transmission, one for voice, and one that could be used for either.
|
||
Eventually he stumbled across the access number to an electronic message center
|
||
called Atlantic Alliance, which was run by computer hackers. It provided him
|
||
with the basic information on hacking; the rest he learned from
|
||
telecommunications manuals.
|
||
Often he would work on the computer for hours on end, sometimes sitting up all
|
||
night hunched over the keyboard. His room was a sixties time warp filled with
|
||
psychedelic posters, strobes, black lights, lava lamps, those gift-shop relics
|
||
with blobs of wax floating in oil, and a collection of science fiction books.
|
||
But his computer terminal transported him to a completely different world that
|
||
encompassed the whole nation and girdled the globe. With the electronic box and
|
||
a phone line he could cover enormous distances, jumping through an endless
|
||
array of communications links and telephone exchanges, dropping down into other
|
||
computer systems almost anywhere on earth. Occasionally he accessed Altos, a
|
||
business computer in Munich, Germany owned by a company that was tolerant of
|
||
hackers. Inevitably, it became an international message center for computer
|
||
freaks.
|
||
Hackers often use large systems like these to exchange information and have
|
||
electronic chats with one another, but it is against hacker code to use one's
|
||
real name. Instead, they use "handles," nicknames like The Tweaker, Doc Cypher
|
||
and Knightmare. Fry Guy's handle came from a commercial for McDonald's that
|
||
said "We are the fry guys."
|
||
Most of the other computer hackers he met were loners like he was, but some of
|
||
them worked in gangs, such as the Legion of Doom, a U.S. group, or Chaos in
|
||
Germany. Fry Guy didn't join a gang, because he preferred working in solitude.
|
||
Besides, if he started blabbing to other hackers, he could get busted.
|
||
Fry Guy liked to explore the phone system. Phones were more than just a means
|
||
to make a call: Indiana Bell led to an immense network of exchanges and
|
||
connections, to phones, to other computers, and to an international array of
|
||
interconnected phone
|
||
|
||
XiV PROLOGUE
|
||
|
||
systems and data transmission links. It was an electronic highway network that
|
||
was unbelievably vast.
|
||
He learned how to dial into the nearest telephone exchange on his little
|
||
Commodore and hack into the switch, the computer that controls all the phones
|
||
in the area. He discovered that each phone is represented by a long code, the
|
||
LEN (Line Equipment Number), which assigns functions and services to the phone,
|
||
such as the chosen long-distance carrier, call forwarding, and so on. He knew
|
||
how to manipulate the code to reroute calls, reassign numbers, and do dozens of
|
||
other tricks, but best of all, he could manipulate the code so that all his
|
||
calls would be free.
|
||
After a while Indiana Bell began to seem tame. It was a convenient launching
|
||
pad, but technologically speaking it was a wasteland. So he moved on to
|
||
BellSouth in Atlanta, which had all of the latest communications technology.
|
||
There he became so familiar with the system that the other hackers recognized
|
||
it as his SoI--sphere of influence--just as a New York hacker called Phiber
|
||
Optik became the king of NYNEX (the New York-New England telephone system), and
|
||
another hacker called Control C claimed the Michigan network. It didn't mean
|
||
that BellSouth was his alone, only that the other members of the computer
|
||
underworld identified him as its best hacker.
|
||
At the age of fifteen he started using chemicals as a way of staying awake.
|
||
Working at his computer terminal up to twenty hours a day, sleeping only two or
|
||
three hours a night, and sometimes not at all, the chemicals--uppers, speed--
|
||
kept him alert, punching away at his keyboard, exploring his new world.
|
||
But outside this private world, life was getting more confusing. Problems with
|
||
school and family were beginning to accumulate, and out of pure frustration, he
|
||
thought of a plan to make some money.
|
||
|
||
In 1989 Fry Guy gathered all of the elements for his first hack of CSA. He had
|
||
spent two years exploring computer systems and the phone company, and each new
|
||
trick he learned added one more
|
||
|
||
PROLOGUE XV
|
||
|
||
layer to his knowledge. He had become familiar with important computer
|
||
operating systems, and he knew how the phone company worked. Since his plan
|
||
involved hacking into CSA and then the phone system, it was essential to be
|
||
expert in both.
|
||
The hack of CSA took longer than he thought it would. The account number and
|
||
password he extracted from Tom only got him through the credit bureau's front
|
||
door. But the codes gave him legitimacy; to CSA he looked like any one of
|
||
thousands of subscribers. Still, he needed to get into the sector that listed
|
||
individuals and their accounts--he couldn't just type in a person's name, like
|
||
a real CSA subscriber; he would have to go into the sector through the back
|
||
door, as CSA itself would do when it needed to update its own files.
|
||
Fry Guy had spent countless hours doing just this sort of thing: every time he
|
||
accessed a new computer, wherever it was, he had to learn his way around, to
|
||
make the machine yield privileges ordinarily reserved for the company that
|
||
owned it. He was proficient at following the menus to new sectors and breaking
|
||
through the security barriers that were placed in his way. This system would
|
||
yield like all the others.
|
||
It took most of the afternoon, but by the end of the day he, chanced on an area
|
||
restricted to CSA staff that led the way to the account sector. He scrolled
|
||
through name after name, reading personal credit histories, looking for an
|
||
Indiana resident with a valid credit card.
|
||
He settled on a Visa card belonging to a Michael B. from Indianapolis; he took
|
||
down his full name, account and telephone number. Exiting from the account
|
||
sector, he accessed the main menu again. Now he had a name: he typed in Michael
|
||
B. for a standard credit check.
|
||
Michael B., Fry Guy was pleased to see, was a financially responsible
|
||
individual with a solid credit line.
|
||
Next came the easy part. Disengaging from CSA, Fry Guy directed his attention
|
||
to the phone company. Hacking into a local switch in Indianapolis, he located
|
||
the line equipment number for
|
||
|
||
XVi PROLOGUE
|
||
|
||
Michael B. and rerouted his incoming calls to a phone booth in Paducah,
|
||
Kentucky, about 250 miles from Elmwood. Then he manipulated the phone booth's
|
||
setup to make it look like a residential number, and finally rerouted the calls
|
||
to the phone box to one of the three numbers on his desk. That was a bit of
|
||
extra security: if anything was ever traced, he wanted the authorities to think
|
||
that the whole operation had been run from Paducah.
|
||
And that itself was a private joke. Fry Guy had picked Paducah precisely
|
||
because it was not the sort of town that would be home to many hackers:
|
||
technology in Paducah, he snickered, was still in the Stone Age.
|
||
Now he had to move quickly. He had rerouted all of Michael B.'s incoming calls
|
||
to his own phone, but didn't want to have to deal with his personal messages.
|
||
He called Western Union and instructed the company to wire $687 to its office
|
||
in Paducah, to be picked up by--and here he gave the alias of a friend who
|
||
happened to live there. The transfer would be charged to a certain Visa card
|
||
belonging to Michael B.
|
||
Then he waited. A minute or so later Western Union called Michael B.'s number
|
||
to confirm the transaction. But the call had been intercepted by the
|
||
reprogrammed switch, rerouted to Paducah, and from there to a phone on Fry
|
||
Guy's desk.
|
||
Fry Guy answered, his voice deeper and, he hoped, the sort that would belong to
|
||
a man with a decent credit line. Yes, he was Michael B., and yes, he could
|
||
confirm the transaction. But seconds later, he went back into the switches and
|
||
quickly reprogrammed them. The pay phone in Paducah became a pay phone again,
|
||
and Michael B., though he was unaware that anything had ever been amiss, could
|
||
once again receive incoming calls. The whole transaction had taken less than
|
||
ten minutes.
|
||
The next day, after his friend in Kentucky had picked up the $687, Fry Guy
|
||
carried out a second successful transaction, this time worth $432. He would
|
||
perform the trick again and again that summer, as often as he needed to buy
|
||
more computer equipment and chemicals. He didn't steal huge amounts of money--
|
||
indeed,
|
||
|
||
PROLOGUE xvii
|
||
|
||
the sums he took were almost insignificant, just enough for his own needs. But
|
||
Fry Guy is only one of many, just one of a legion of adolescent computer
|
||
wizards worldwide, whose ability to crash through high-tech security systems,
|
||
to circumvent access controls, and to penetrate files holding sensitive
|
||
information, is endangering our computer-dependent societies. These
|
||
technology-obsessed electronic renegades form a distinct subculture. Some
|
||
steal--though most don't; some look for information; some just like to play
|
||
with computer systems. Together they probably represent the future of our
|
||
computer-dependent society. Welcome to the computer underworld--a metaphysical
|
||
place that exists only in the web of international data communications
|
||
networks, peopled by electronics wizards who have made it their recreation
|
||
center, meeting ground, and home. The members of the underworld are mostly
|
||
adolescents like Fry Guy who prowl through computer systems looking for
|
||
information, data, links to other webs, and credit card numbers. They are often
|
||
extraordinarily clever, with an intuitive feel for electronics and
|
||
telecommunications, and a shared antipathy for ordinary rules and regulations.
|
||
The electronics networks were designed to speed communications around the
|
||
world, to link companies and research centers, and to transfer data from
|
||
computer to computer. Because they must be accessible to a large number of
|
||
users, they have been targeted by computer addicts like Fry Guy--sometimes for
|
||
exploration, sometimes for theft.
|
||
Almost every computer system of note has been hacked: the Pentagon, NATO, NASA,
|
||
universities, military and industrial research laboratories. The cost of the
|
||
depradations attributed to computer fraud has been estimated at $4 billion each
|
||
year in the United States alone. And an estimated 85 percent of computer crime
|
||
is not even reported.
|
||
The computer underworld can also be vindictive. In the past five years the
|
||
number of malicious programs--popularly known as viruses--has increased
|
||
exponentially. Viruses usually serve no useful purpose: they simply cripple
|
||
computer systems and destroy data. And yet the underworld that produces them
|
||
continues to flourish. In a very short time it has become a major threat to the
|
||
technology-dependent societies of the Western industrial world.
|
||
Computer viruses began to spread in 1987, though most of the early bugs were
|
||
jokes with playful messages, or relatively harmless programs that caused
|
||
computers to play tunes. They were essentially schoolboyish tricks. But
|
||
eventually some of the jokes became malicious: later|\3‡îóy¹Åœ>:žµ‘Ì`C21òß“UFËú!‚KÚ£80P«õÅ=Ô*{~黟‰ÖÚÈæó<C2A6>§v—ZÙn›' N1œ‚OÒ:hkòt=bJ¹î-¼0ÄþO<>øvô
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ý±Â<EFBFBD>ûíü÷l÷%–@
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Ø%€PÀη ÏŸOžì–$™µ›4Et¨ZæX°»®á˜£B«óc¨Wþh6h+°lÛjvïëšÈ‹sᄪÃbDÆÐ9òÅl |