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Wrap

Text File | 1988-04-29 | 16.9 KB | 273 lines

The Night of the Hackers ________________________ . As you are surveying the dark and misty swamp you come across what appears to be a small cave. You light a torch and enter. You have walked several hundred feet when you stumble into a bright blue portal. . . With a sudden burst of light and a loud explosion you are swept into . . . DRAGONFIRE . . . Press Any Key if You Dare." . You have programmed your personal computer to dial into Dragonfire, a computer bulletin board in Gainesville, Texas. But before you get any information, Dragonfire demands your name, home city and phone number. So, for tonight's tour of the electronic wilderness you become Montana Wildhack of San Francisco. . Dragonfire, Sherwood Forest (sic), Forbidden Zone, Blottoland, Plovernet, The Vault, Shadowland, PHBI and scores of other computer bulletin boards are hangouts of a new generation of vandals. These precocious teenagers use their electronic skills to play hide-and-seek with computer and telephone security forces. Many computer bulletin boards are perfectly legitimate: they resemble electronic versions of the familiar cork boards in supermarkets and school corridors, listing services and providing information someone out there is bound to find useful. But this is a walk on the wild side, a trip into the world of underground bulletin boards dedicated to encouraging -- and making -- mischief. . The phone number for these boards are as closely guarded as a psychiatrist's home telephone number. Some numbers are posted on underground boards; others are exchanged over the telephone. A friendly hacker provided Dragonfire's number. Hook up and you see a broad choice of topics offered. For Phone Phreaks -- who delight in stealing service from AT&T and other phone networks . Phreakenstein's Lair is a potpourri of phone numbers, access codes and technical information. For computer hackers -- who dial into other people's computers -- Ranger's Lodge is chock-full of phone numbers and passwords for government, university and corporate computers. Moving through Dragonfire's offerings, you can only marvel at how conversant these teen-agers are with the technical esoterica of today's electronic age. Obviously they have spent a great deal of time studying computers, though their grammar and spelling indicate they haven't been diligent in other subjects. You are constantly reminded of how young they are. . "Well it's that time of year again. School is back in session so let's get those high school computer phone numbers rolling in. Time to get straight A's, have perfect attendance (except when you've been up all night hacking school passwords), and messing up you worst teacher's paycheck." . Forbidden Zone, in Detroit, is offering ammunition for hacker civil war -- tips on crashing the most popular bulletin-board software. There also are plans for building black, red and blue boxes to mimic operator tones and get free phone service. And he re are the details for "the safest and best way to make and use nitroglycerine," compliments of Doctor Hex, who says he got it "from my chemistry teacher." . Flip through the "pages." You have to wonder if this information is accurate. Can this really be the phone number and password for Taco Bell's computer? Do these kids really have the dial-up numbers for dozens of university computers? The temptation is too much. You sign off and have your computer dial the number for the Yale computer. Bingo -- the words Yale University appear on your screen. You enter the password. A menu appears. You hang up in a sweat. You are now a hacker. . Punch in another number and your modem zips off the touch tones. Here comes the tedious side of all of this. Bulletin boards are popular. No vacancy in Bates Motel (named for Anthony Perkin's creepy motel in the movie "Psycho"); the line is busy. So are 221 B. Baker Street, PHBI, Shadowland and The Vault, Caesar's Palace rings and connects. This is different breed of board. Caesar's Palace is a combination Phreak board and computer store in Miami. This is the place to learn ways to mess up a department store's anti-shoplifting system, or make free calls on telephones with locks on the dial. Pure capitalism accompanies such anarchy, Caesar's Palace is offering good deals on disc drives, software, computers and all sorts of hardware. Orders are placed through electronic mail messages. . 'Tele-Trial': Bored by Caesar's Palace, you enter the number for Blottoland, the board operated by one of the nation's most notorious computer phreaks -- King Blotto. This one has been busy all night, but it's now pretty late in Cleveland. The phone rings and you connect. To get past the blank screen, type the secondary password "S-L-I-M-E." King Blotto obliges, listing his rules: he must have your real name, phone number, address, occupation and interests. He will call and disclose the primary password, "if you belong on this board." If admitted, do not reveal the phone number or the secondary password, lest you face "tele-trial," the King warns as he dismisses you by hanging up. You expected heavy security, but this teenager's security is, as they say, awesome. Computers at the Defense Department and hundreds of businesses let you know when you've reached them. Here you need a password just to find out what system answered the phone. Then King Blotto asks questions -- and hangs up. Professional computer-security experts could learn something from this kid. He knows that ever since the 414 computer hackers were arrested in August 1982, law-enforcement officers have been searching for leads on computer bulletin boards. . "Do you have any ties to or connections with any law enforcement agency or any agency which would inform such a law enforcement agency of this bulletin board?" . Such is the welcoming message from Plovernet, a Florida board known for its great hacker/phreak files. There amid a string of valid VISA and MasterCard numbers are dozens of computer phone numbers and passwords. Here you also learn what Blotto means by tele-trial. "As some of you may or may not know, a session of the conference court was held and the Wizard was found guilty of some miscellaneous charges, and sentenced to four months without bulletin boards." If Wizard calls, system operators like King Blotto disconnect him. Paging through bulletin boards is a test of your patience. Each board has different commands. Few are easy to follow, leaving you to hunt and peck your way around. So far you haven't had the nerve to type "C," which summons the system operator for a live, computer-to-computer conversation. The time, however, however has come for you to ask a few questions of the "sysop." You dial a computer in Boston. It answers and you begin working your way throughout the menus. You scan a handful of dial- up numbers, including one for Arpanet, the Defense Department's research computer. Bravely tap C and in seconds the screen blanks and your cursor dances across the screen. . Hello . . . What kind of computer do you have? . Contact. The sysop is here. You exchange amenities and get "talking." How much hacking does he do? Not much, too busy. Is he afraid of being busted, having his computer confiscated like the Los Angeles man facing criminal changes because his computer bulletin board contained a stolen telephone-credit-card number? "Hmmmm . . . No," he replies. Finally, he asks the dreaded question: "How old are you?" "How old are YOU," you reply, stalling. "15," he types. Once you confess and he knows you're old enough to be his father, the conversation gets very serious. You fear each new question; he probably thinks you're a cop. But all he wants to know is your choice for president. The chat continues, until he asks, "What time is it there?" Just past midnight, you reply. Expletive. "it's 3:08 here," Sysop types. "I must be going to sleep. I've got school tomorrow." The cursor dances "*********** Thank you for Calling." The screen goes blank. Epilog: . A few weeks after this reporter submitted this article to Newsweek, he found that his credit had been altered, his drivers' licence revoked, and EVEN HIS Social Security records changed! Just in case you all might like to construe this as a 'Victimless' crime. The next time a computer fouls up your billing on some matter, and COSTS YOU, think about it! _______________________________ . This the follow-up to the previous article concerning the Newsweek reporter. It spells out SOME of the REAL dangers to ALL of us, due to this type of activity! _______________________________ The REVENGE of the Hackers _______________________________ . In the mischievous fraternity of computer hackers, few things are prized more than the veil of secrecy. As NEWSWEEK San Francisco correspondent Richard Sandza found out after writing a story on the electronic underground's (DISPATCHES, Nov. 12, 198\ ability to exact revenge can be unnerving. Also severe.... Sandza's report: . "Conference!" someone yelled as I put the phone to my ear. Then came a mind-piercing "beep," and suddenly my kitchen seemed full of hyperactive 15-year-olds. "You the guy who wrote the article in NEWSWEEK?" someone shouted from the depths of static, and giggles. "We're going disconnect your phone," one shrieked. "We're going to blow up your house," called another. I hung up. . Some irate readers write letters to the editor. A few call their lawyers. Hackers, however, use the computer and the telephone, and for more than simple comment. Within days, computer "bulletin boards" around the country were lit up with attacks on NEWSWEEK's "Montana Wildhack" (a name I took from a Kurt Vonnegut character), questioning everything from my manhood to my prose style. "Until we get real good revenge," said one message from Unknown Warrior, "I would like to suggest that everyone with an auto-l modem call Montana Butthack then hang up when he answers." Since then the hackers of America have called my home at least 2000 times. My harshest critics communicate on Dragonfire, a Gainesville, Texas, bulletin board where I am on teletrial, a video-lynching in which a computer user with grievance dials the board and presses charges against the offending party. Other hackers -- including the defendant --post concurrences or rebuttals. Despite the mealtime interruptions, all this was at most a minor nuisance; some was amusing, even fun. . FRAUD: The fun stopped with a call from a man who identified himself only as Joe. "I'm calling to warn you," he said. When I barked back, he said, "Wait, I'm on your side. Someone has broken into TRW and obtained a list of all your credit-card numbers, your home address, social-security number and wife's name and is posting it on bulletin boards around the country." He named the charge cards in my wallet. . Credit-card numbers are a very hot commodity among some hackers. To get one from a computer system and post it is the hacker equivalent of making the team. After hearing from Joe I visited the local office of the TRW credit bureau and got a copy of my credit record. Sure enough, it showed a Nov. 13 inquiry by the Lenox (Mass.) Savings Bank, an institution with no reason whatever to ask about me. Clearly some hacker had used Lenox's password to the TRW computers to get to my files (the bank has since changed the password). . It wasn't long before I found out what was being done with my credit-card numbers, thanks to another friendly hacker who tipped me to Pirate 80, a bulletin board in Charleston, W.Va., where I found this: "I'm sure you guys have heard about Richard Stza or Montana Wildhack. He's the guy who wrote the obscene story about phreaking in NewsWeek Well, my friend did a credit card check on TRW . . . try this number, it' a VISA . . . Please nail this guy bad . . . Captain Quieg. . Captain Quieg may himself be nailed. He has violated the Credit Card Fraud Act of 1984 signed by President Reagan on Oct. 12. The law provides a $10,000 fine and up to a 15-year prison term for "trafficking" in illegally obtained credit-card account numbers. He "friend" has committed a felony violation of the California computer-crime law. TRW spokeswoman Delia Fernandex said that TRW would "be more than happy to prosecute" both of them. . TRW has good reason for concern. Its computers contain the credit histories of 120 million people. Last year TRW sold 50 million credit reports on their customers. But these highly confidential personal records are so poorly guarded that computerized teenagers can ransack the files and depart undetected. TRW passwords -- unlike many others -- often print out when entered by TRW's customers. Hackers then look for discarded printouts. A good source: the trash of banks and automobile dealerships, which routinely do credit checks. "Everybody hacks TRW," says Cleveland hacker King Blotto, whose bulletin board has security system the Pentagon would envy. "It's the easiest." For her her part, Fernandez insists that TRW "does everything it can to keep the system secure . In my case, however, that was not enough. My credit limits would hardly support big-time fraud, but victimization takes many forms. Another hacker said it was likely that merchandise would be ordered in my name and shipped to me -- just to harass me. I used to use credit-card numbers against someone I didn't like," the hacker said. "I'd call Sears and have a dozen toilets shipped to his house." . Meanwhile, back on Dragonfire, my teletrial was going strong. The charges, as pressed my Unknown Warrior, include "endangering all phreaks and hacks." The judge in this case is a hacker with the apt name of Ax Murderer. Possible sentences range from exile from the entire planet" to "kill the dude." King Blotto has taken up my defense, using hacker power to make his first pleading: he dialed up Dragonfire, broke into its operating system and "crashed" the bulletin board, destroying all of its messages naming me. The board is back up now, with a retrial in full swing. But then, exile from the electronic underground looks better all the time.