1418 lines
57 KiB
Plaintext
1418 lines
57 KiB
Plaintext
|
==Phrack Magazine==
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Volume Five, Issue Forty-Six, File 23 of 28
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****************************************************************************
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Cyber Christ Bites The Big Apple
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HOPE - Hackers On Planet Earth,
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New York City - August 13-14, 1994
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(C) 1994 Winn Schwartau
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by Winn Schwartau
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(This is Part II of the ongoing Cyber Christ series. Part I,
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"Cyber Christ Meets Lady Luck" DefCon II, Las Vegas, July 22-24,
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1994 is available all over the 'Net.)
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Las Vegas is a miserable place, and with a nasty cold no less; it
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took me three weeks of inhaling salt water and sand at the beach
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to finally dry up the post nasal drip after my jaunt to DefCon
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II. My ears returned to normal so that I no longer had to answer
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every question with an old Jewish man's "Eh?" while fondling my
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lobes for better reception.
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New York had to be better.
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Emmanuel Goldstein -aka Eric Corely - or is it the other way
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around? is the host of HOPE, Hackers on Planet Earth, a celebra
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tion of his successfully publishing 2600 - The Hackers Quarterly
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for ten years without getting jailed, shot or worse. For as
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Congressman Ed Markey said to Eric/Emmanuel in a Congressional
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hearing last year, and I paraphrase, 2600 is no more than a
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handbook for hacking (comparable obviously to a terrorist hand
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book for blowing up the World Trade Center) for which Eric/Emman
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uel should be properly vilified, countenanced and then drawn and
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quartered on Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks.
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Ed and Eric/Emmanuel obviously have little room for negotiation
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and I frankly enjoyed watching their Congressional movie where
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communication was at a virtual standstill: and neither side
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understood the viewpoints or positions of the other.
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But Ed is from Baaahhhsten, and Eric/Emmanuel is from New York,
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and HOPE will take place in the Hotel Filthadelphia, straight
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across the street from Pennsylvania Station in beautiful downtown
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fast-food-before-they-mug-you 34th street, right around the
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corner from clean-the-streets-its-Thanksgiving Herald Square.
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Geography notwithstanding, HOPE promised to be a more iconoclas
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tic gathering than that of DefCon II.
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First off, to set the record straight, I am a New Yorker. No
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matter that I escaped in 1981 for the sunny beaches of California
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for 7 years, and then moved to the Great State of the Legally
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Stupid for four more (Tennessee); no matter that I now live on
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the Gulf Coast of Florida where the water temperature never dips
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below a chilly 98 degrees; I am and always will be a New Yorker.
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It took me the better part of a decade of living away from New
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York to come to that undeniable and inescapable conclusion: Once
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a New Yorker, always a New Yorker. Not that that makes my wife
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any the happier.
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"You are so rude. You love to argue. Confrontation is your
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middle name." Yeah, so what's your point?
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You see, for a true New Yorker these aren't insults to be re-
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regurgitated at the mental moron who attempts to combat us in a
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battle of wits yet enters the ring unarmed; these are mere tru
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isms as seen by someone who views the world in black and white,
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not black, white and New York.
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Case in point.
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I used to commute into Manhattan from the Westchester County
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suburb of Ossining where I lived 47 feet from the walls of Sing
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Sing prison (no shit!). Overlooking the wide expanse of the
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Hudson River from my aerie several hundred feet above, the only
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disquieting aspect of that location were the enormously deafening
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thunderclaps which resounded a hundred and one times between the
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cliffs on either side of the river. Then there was the occasion
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al escapee-alarm from the prison. .
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So, it was my daily New York regimen to take the 8:15 into the
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city. If the train's on time I'll get to work by nine . . .
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Grand Central Station - the grand old landmark thankfully saved
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by the late Jackie O. - is the nexus for a few hundred million
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commuters who congregate in New York Shitty for no other reason
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that to collect a paycheck to afford blood pressure medicine.
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You have to understand that New York is different. Imagine,
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picture in your mind: nothing is so endearing as to watch thou
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sands of briefcase carrying suits scrambling like ants in a Gary
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Larson cartoon for the nearest taxi, all the while greeting their
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neighbors with the prototypical New York G'day!
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With both fists high in the air, middle fingers locked into erect
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prominence, a cacophonous chorus of "Good Fucking Morning"
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brightens the day of a true New Yorker. His bloodshot eyes
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instantly clear, the blood pressure sinks by 50% and already the
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first conflict of the day has been waged and won.
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Welcome to the Big Apple, and remember never, ever, to say, "Have
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a Nice Day." Oh, no. Never.
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So HOPE was bound to be radically different from Vegas's DefCon
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II, if only for the setting. But, I expected hard core. The
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European contingent will be there, as will Israel and South
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America and even the Far East. All told, I am told, 1000 or more
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are expected. And again, as at DefCon II, I am to speak, but
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Eric/Emmanuel never told me about what, when, or any of the other
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niceties that go along with this thing we call a schedule.
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* * * * *
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God, I hate rushing.
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Leaving Vienna at 3:15 for a 4PM Amtrak "put your life in their
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hands" three hour trip to New York is not for the faint of heart.
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My rented Hyundai four cylinder limousine wound up like a sewing
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machine to 9,600 RPM and hydroplaned the bone dry route 66 into
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the pot holed, traffic hell of Friday afternoon Washington, DC.
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Twelve minutes to spare.
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I made the 23 mile trip is something less than three minutes and
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bounded into the Budget rental return, decelerated to impulse
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power and let my brick and lead filled suitcase drop to the
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pavement with a dent and a thud. "Send me the bill," I hollered
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at the attendant. Never mind that Budget doesn't offer express
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service like real car rental companies. "Just send me the bill!"
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and I was off.
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Eight minute to spare. Schlepp, schlepp. Heavy, heavy.
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Holy shit! Look at the line for tickets and I had reservations.
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"Is this the line for the four o'clock to New York?" Pant,
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breathless.
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"Yeah." She never looked up.
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"Will they hold the train?"
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"No." A resoundingly rude no at that. Panic gene takes over.
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"What about the self-ticketing computer?" I said pointing at the
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self ticketing computer.
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"Do you have a reservation?"
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"Yup." Maybe there is a God.
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"Won't help you."
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"What?"
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Nothing.
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"What do you mean won't help?"
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"Computer's broken." Criminy! I have 4 minutes and here's this
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over-paid over-attituded Amtrak employee who thinks she's the
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echo of Whoopi Goldberg. "The line's over there."
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Have you ever begged? I mean really begged? Well I have.
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"Are you waiting for the four?" "Can I slip ahead?" "Are you in
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a death defying hurry?" "I'll give you a dime for your spot in
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line." "You are so pretty for 76, ma'am. Can I sneak ahead?"
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Tears work. Two excruciating minutes to go. I bounced ahead of
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everyone in a line the length of the Great Wall of China, got my
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tickets and tore ass through Union Station The closing gate
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missed me but caught the suitcase costing me yet more time as I
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attempted to disgorge my now-shattered valise from the fork-lift-
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like spikes which protect the trains from late-coming commuters.
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The rubber edged doors on the train itself were kinder and gen
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tler, but at this point, screw it. It was Evian and Fritos for
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the next three hours.
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* * * * *
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Promises tend to be lies. The check is in the mail; Dan Quayle
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will learn to spell; I won't raise taxes. I wonder about HOPE.
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"It's going to be Bust Central," said one prominent hacker who
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threatened me with electronic assassination if I used his name.
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"Emmanuel will kill me." Apparently the authorities-who-be are
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going to be there in force. "They want to see if Corrupt or any
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of the MoD crew stay after dark, then Zap! Back to jail. (gig
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gle, giggle.) I want to see that."
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Will Mitnick show up? I'd like to talk to that boy. A thousand
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hackers in one place and Eric/Emmanuel egging on the Feds to do
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something stupid. Agent Steal will be there, or registered at
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least, and half of the folks I know going are using aliases.
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"I'd like a room please."
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"Yessir. Name?"
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"Monkey Meat."
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"Is that your first or last name?"
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"First."
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"Last name?"
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"Dilithium Crystal."
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"Could you spell that?"
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Now: I know the Hotel Pennsylvania. It used to be the high
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class Statler Hilton until Mr. Hilton himself decided that the
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place was beyond hope. "Sell it or scuttle it." They sold and
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thus begat the hotel Filthadelphia. I stayed here once in 1989
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and it was a cesspool then. I wondered why the Farsi-fluent
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bellhop wouldn't tell me how bad the damage was from the fire
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bombed 12th floor. The carpets were the same dingy, once upon a
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time colorful, drab as I remembered. And, I always have a bit of
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trouble with a hotel who puts a security check by the elevator
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bank. Gives you the warm and fuzzies that make you want to come
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back right away.
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I saved $2 because none of the bell hops noticed I needed help,
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but then again, it wouldn't have mattered for there was no way he
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and I and my luggage were going to fit inside of what the hotel
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euphemistically refers to as a 'room'. Closet would be kind but
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still inaccurate. I think the word, ah, '$95 a night slum' might
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still be overly generous. Let's try . . . ah ha! the room that
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almost survived the fire bombing. Yeah, that's the ticket.
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The walls were pealing. Long strips of yellowed antique wall
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paper embellished the flatness of the walls as they curled to
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wards the floor and windows. The chunks of dried glue decorated
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the pastel gray with texture and the water stains from I know not
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where slithered their way to the soggy carpet in fractal pat
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terned rivulets. I stood in awe at early funk motif that the
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Hotel Filthadelphia chose in honor of my attendance at HOPE.
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But, no matter how bad my room was, at least it was bachelor
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clean. (Ask your significant other what that means. . .)
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In one hacker's room no bigger than mine I counted 13 sleeping
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bags lying amongst the growing mold at the intersection of the
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drenched wallboard and putrefying carpet shreds. (God, I love
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going to hacker conferences! It's not that I like Hyatt's and
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Hilton' all that much: I do prefer the smaller facilities, but, I
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am sad to admit, clean counts at my age.). My nose did not have
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to venture towards the floor to be aware that the Hotel Filtha
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delphia was engaging in top secret exobiological government
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experiments bent on determining their communicability and infec
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tion factor.
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The top floor of the Hotel Filthadelphia - the 18th - was the
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place for HOPE, except the elevator door wouldn't open. The
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inner door did, but even with the combined strength of my person
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al crowbar (a New York defensive measure only; I never use it at
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home) and three roughians with a bad case of Mexican Claustropho
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bia, we never got the door open.
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The guard in the lobby was a big help.
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"Try again."
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Damned if he didn't know his elevators and I emerged into the
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pre-HOPE chaos of preparing for a conference.
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About 100 hackers lounged around in varying forms of disarray -
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Hey Rop!
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Rop Gongrijjp editor of the Dutch Hacktic is a both a friend and
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an occasional source of stimulating argument. Smart as a whip, I
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don't always agree with him, though, the above-ground security
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types ought to talk to him for a clear, concise and coherent
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description of the whys and wherefores of hacking.
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Hey Emmanuel! Hey Strat! Hey Garbage Heap! Hey Erikb! Hey to
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lots of folks. Is that you Supernigger? And Julio? I was sur
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prised. I knew a lot more of these guys that I thought I did.
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Some indicted, some unindicted, some mere sympathizers and other
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techno-freaks who enjoy a weekend with other techno-freaks.
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Security dudes - get hip! Contact your local hacker and make
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friends. You'll be glad you did.
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>From behind - got me. My adrenaline went into super-saturated
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mode as I was grabbed. I turned and it was . . . Ben. Ben is a
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hugger. "I just wanted to hug you," he said sweetly but without
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the humorous sexually deviant connotation that occurred during
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Novocain's offer to let Phil Zimmerman sleep with him in Las
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Vegas.
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I smiled a crooked smile. "Yeah, right." Woodstock '94 was a
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mere 120 miles away . . .maybe there was a psychic connection.
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But Ben was being sincere. He was hugging everyone. Everyone.
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At 17, he really believes that hugging and hacking are next to
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Godliness. Boy does he have surprise coming the first time his
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mortgage is late. Keep hugging while you have the chance, Ben.
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Assorted cases of Zima (the disgusting Polish is-this-really-lime
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flavored beer of choice by those without taste buds) appeared,
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but anyone over the age of 21 drank Bud. What about the 12 year
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olds drinking? And the 18 year olds? And the 16 year olds?
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"Rop, I don't think you need to give the hotel an excuse to bust
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you guys outta here." Me, fatherly and responsible? Stranger
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things have happened. The beer was gone. I'm not a teetotaler,
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but I didn't want my weekend going up in flames because of some
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trashed 16 year old puking on an Irani ambassador in the lobby.
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No reason to test fate.
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* * * * *
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Nothing worked, but that's normal.
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Rop had set up HEU (Hacking at the End of the Universe) in
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Holland last year with a single length of 800m ethernet. (That's
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meter for the Americans: about 2625 ft.) HOPE, though was dif
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ferent. The Hotel Filthadelphia's switchboard and phone systems
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crashed every half hour or so which doesn't do a lot for the
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health of 28.8 slip lines.
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The object of the exercise was seemingly simple: plug together
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about 20 terminals into a terminal server connected to Hope.Com
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and let 'em go at it. Provide 'net access and, to the lucky
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winner of the crack-the-hopenet server (root) the keys to a 1994
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Corvette!
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You heard it right! For breaking into root of their allegedly
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secure server, the folks at 2600 are giving away keys to a 1994
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Corvette. They don't know where the car is, just the keys. But
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they will give you the car's last known location . . . or was it
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$50 in cash?
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Erikb - Chris Goggans - showed up late Friday night in disguise:
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a baseball cap over his nearly waist length dirty blond hair.
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"He's here!" one could hear being muttered. "He had the balls to
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show up!" "He's gonna get his ass kicked to a pulp." "So you
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did come . . . I was afraid they'd intimidated you to stay in
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Texas."
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No way! "Why tell the enemy what your plans are." Even the 50's-
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something ex-amphetamine-dealer turned reseller of public-records
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Bootleg didn't know Goggans was going to be there. But the
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multiple fans of Erikb, (a strong resemblance to Cyber Christ if
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he do say so himself) were a-mighty proud to see him.
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This stunning Asian girl with skin too soft to touch (maybe she
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was 14, maybe she was 25) looked at Erikb by the message board.
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"You're," she pointed in disbelief "Erikb?" Chris nods, getting
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arrogantly used to the respectful adulation. Yeah, that's me, to
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which the lady/girl/woman instantly replied, "You're such an
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asshole." Smile, wide smile, hug, kiss, big kiss. Erikb revels
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in the attention and hundreds of horny hackers jealously look on.
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Friday night was more of an experience - a Baba Ram Dass-like Be
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Here Now experience - with mellow being the operative word. The
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hotel had apparently sacrificed 20,000 square feet of its pent
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house to hackers, but it was obvious to see they really didn't
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give a damn if the whole floor got trashed. Ceiling panels
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dripped from their 12 foot lofts making a scorched Shuttle under
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belly look pristine. What a cesspool! I swear nothing had been
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done to the decorative environs since the day Kennedy was shot.
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But kudos to Emmanuel for finding a centrally located cesspool
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that undoubtedly gave him one hell of a deal. I think it would be
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a big mistake to hold a hacker conference at the Plaza or some
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such snooty overly-self-indulgent denizen of the rich.
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Filth sort of lends credibility to an event that otherwise seeks
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notoriety.
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|||
|
I didn't want to take up too much of Emmanuel's and Rop's time -
|
|||
|
they were in setup panic - so it was off to the netherworld until
|
|||
|
noon. That's when a civilized Con begins.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I dared to go outside; it was about 11AM and I was in search of
|
|||
|
the perfect New York breakfast: a greasy spoon that serves coffee
|
|||
|
as tough as tree bark and a catatonia inducing egg and bacon
|
|||
|
sandwich. Munch, munch, munch on that coffee.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I'd forgotten how many beggars hang out on the corner of 33rd and
|
|||
|
7th, all armed with the same words, "how about a handout, Winn?"
|
|||
|
How the hell do they know my name? "Whatever you give will come
|
|||
|
back to you double and triple . . . please man, I gotta eat." It
|
|||
|
is sad, but John Paul Getty I ain't.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
As I munched on my coffee and sipped my runny egg-sandwich I
|
|||
|
noticed that right in front of the runny-egg-sandwich place sat a
|
|||
|
Ford Econoline van. Nice van. Nice phone company van. What are
|
|||
|
they doing here? Oh, yeah, the hackers need lines and the switch
|
|||
|
board is down. Of course, the phone company is here. But,
|
|||
|
what's that? Hello? A Hacker playing in the phone van? I recog
|
|||
|
nize you! You work with Emmanuel. How? He's robbing it. Not
|
|||
|
robbing, maybe borrowing.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The ersatz telephone van could have fooled anyone - even me, a
|
|||
|
color blind quasi-techno-weanie to yell "Yo! Ma Bell!" But, upon
|
|||
|
not-too-closer inspection, the TPC (The Phone Company) van was in
|
|||
|
fact a 2600 van - straight from the minds of Emmanuel and
|
|||
|
friends. Impeccable! The telephone bell in a circle logo is, in
|
|||
|
this case, connected via cable to a hacker at a keyboard. The
|
|||
|
commercial plates add an additional air of respectability to the
|
|||
|
whole image. It works.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Up to HOPE - egg sandwich and all.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The keynote speech was to be provided courtesy of the Man in
|
|||
|
Blue. Scheduled for noon, things were getting off to a late
|
|||
|
start. The media (who were there in droves, eat your heart out
|
|||
|
CSI) converged on the MIB to see who and why someone of his
|
|||
|
stature would (gasp!) appear/speak at a funky-downtown hotel
|
|||
|
filled with the scourges of Cyberspace. I didn't see if Ben
|
|||
|
hugged the MIB, but I would understand if he didn't. Few people
|
|||
|
knew him or suspected what size of Jim-Carey-MASK arsenal might
|
|||
|
suddenly appear if a passive hug were accidentally interpreted as
|
|||
|
being too aggressive. The MIB is imposing and Ben too shy.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The media can ask some dumb questions and write some dumb arti
|
|||
|
cles because they spend 12 1/2 minutes trying to understand an
|
|||
|
entire culture. Can't do that fellows!
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The MIB, though, knows hackers and is learning about them more
|
|||
|
and more; and since he is respectable, the media asks him about
|
|||
|
hackers. What are hackers? Why are YOU here, Mr. MIB?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Because they have a lot to offer. They are the future," the Man
|
|||
|
In Blue said over and over. Interview after interview - how time
|
|||
|
flies when you're having fun - and the lights and cameras are
|
|||
|
rolling from NBC and PIX and CNN and assorted other channels and
|
|||
|
magazines. At 12:55 chaos had not settled down to regimented
|
|||
|
disorganization and the MIB was getting antsy. After all, he was
|
|||
|
a military man and 55 minutes off schedule: Egad! Take charge.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The MIB stood on a chair and hollered to the 700+ hacker phreaks
|
|||
|
in the demonstration ballroom, "Hey! It's starting. Let's go the
|
|||
|
theater and get rocking! Follow me." He leaned over to me: "Do
|
|||
|
you know where the room is?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Sure, follow me."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Everyone follow, c'mon," yelled the MIB. "I'm going to get
|
|||
|
started in exactly three minutes," and three minutes he meant.
|
|||
|
Despite the fact that I got lost in a hallway and had hundreds of
|
|||
|
followers following my missteps and the MIB yelling at me for
|
|||
|
getting lost in a room with only two doors, we did make the main
|
|||
|
hall, and within 90 seconds he took over the podium and began
|
|||
|
speaking.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I bet you've always wanted to ask a spy a few questions. Here's
|
|||
|
your chance. But let me say that the United States intelligence
|
|||
|
community needs help and you guys are part of the solution." The
|
|||
|
MIB was impeccably dressed in his pin stripe with only traces of
|
|||
|
a Hackers 80 T-shirt leaking through his starched white dress
|
|||
|
shirt. The MIB is no less than Robert Steele, ex-CIA type spy,
|
|||
|
senior civilian in Marine Corps Intelligence and now the Presi
|
|||
|
dent of Open Source Solutions, Inc.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
He got these guys (and gals) going. Robert doesn't mince words
|
|||
|
and that's why as he puts it, he's "been adopted by the hackers."
|
|||
|
At his OSS conferences he has successfully juxtaposed hackers and
|
|||
|
senior KGB officials who needed full time security during their
|
|||
|
specially arranged 48 hour visa to Washington, DC. He brought
|
|||
|
Emmanuel and Rop and clan to his show and since their agendas
|
|||
|
aren't all that different, a camaraderie was formed.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Robert MIB Steele believes that the current intelligence machin
|
|||
|
ery is inadequate to meet the challenges of today's world. Over
|
|||
|
80% of the classified information contained with the Byzantine
|
|||
|
bowels of the government is actually available from open sources.
|
|||
|
We need to realize that the future is more of an open book than
|
|||
|
ever before.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
We classify newspaper articles from Peru in the incredibly naive
|
|||
|
belief that only Pentagon spooks subscribe. We classify BBC
|
|||
|
video tapes from the UK with the inane belief that no one will
|
|||
|
watch it if it so stamped. We classify $4 Billion National
|
|||
|
Reconnaissance Office satellite generated street maps of Calle,
|
|||
|
Colombia when anyone with an IQ only slightly above a rock can
|
|||
|
get the same one from the tourist office. And that's where
|
|||
|
hackers come in.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"You guys are a national resource. Too bad everyone's so scared
|
|||
|
of you." Applause from everywhere. The MIB knows how to massage
|
|||
|
a crowd. Hackers, according to Steele, and to a certain extent I
|
|||
|
agree, are the truth tellers "in a constellation of complex
|
|||
|
systems run amok and on the verge of catastrophic collapse."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Hackers are the greatest sources of open source information in
|
|||
|
the world. They have the navigation skills, they have the time,
|
|||
|
and they have the motivation, Robert says. Hackers peruse the
|
|||
|
edges of technology and there is little that will stop them in
|
|||
|
their efforts. The intelligence community should take advantage
|
|||
|
of the skills and lessons that the hackers have to teach us, yet
|
|||
|
as we all know, political and social oppositions keep both sides
|
|||
|
(who are really more similar then dissimilar) from talking.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hackers put a mirror up to the technical designers who have
|
|||
|
built the networks, and what they see, they don't like. Hackers
|
|||
|
have shown us all the chinks in the armor of a house without
|
|||
|
doors or windows. The information infrastructure is fragile and
|
|||
|
we had better do something about it now; before it's too late."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Beat them at their own game, suggests Steele. Keep the doors of
|
|||
|
Cyberspace open, and sooner or later, the denizens of the black
|
|||
|
holes of information will have to sooner or late realize that the
|
|||
|
cat is out of the bag.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Steele educated the Hacker crowd in a way new to them: he treat
|
|||
|
ed them with respect, and in turn he opened a channel of dialog
|
|||
|
that few above ground suit-types have ever envisioned. Steele
|
|||
|
works at the source.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
HOPE had begun and Robert had set the tone.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The day was long. Dogged by press, hackers rolled over so the
|
|||
|
reporters could tickle their stomachs on camera. Despite their
|
|||
|
public allegations that the media screws it up and never can get
|
|||
|
the story right, a camera is like a magnet. The New York Times
|
|||
|
printed an article about HOPE so off the wall I wondered if the
|
|||
|
reporter had actually been there. Nonetheless, the crowds fol
|
|||
|
lowed the cameras, the cameras followed the crowds, and the
|
|||
|
crowds parted like the Red Sea. But these were mighty colorful
|
|||
|
crowds.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
We all hear of that prototypical image of the acne faced, Jolt-
|
|||
|
drinking, pepperoni downing nerdish teenager who has himself
|
|||
|
locked in the un-air-conditioned attic of his parents' half
|
|||
|
million dollar house from the time school gets out till the sun
|
|||
|
rises. Wrongo security-breath. Yeah, there's that component, but
|
|||
|
I was reminded of the '80's, the early '80's by a large percent
|
|||
|
age of the crowd.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Purple hair was present but scarce, and I swear on a stack of
|
|||
|
2600's that Pat from Saturday Night Live was there putting every
|
|||
|
one's hormonal guess-machines to the test. But what cannot help
|
|||
|
but capture one's attention is a 40 pin integrated circuit in
|
|||
|
serted into the shaved side skull of an otherwise clean-cut
|
|||
|
Mohawk haircut.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The story goes that Chip Head went to a doctor and had a pair of
|
|||
|
small incisions placed in his skull which would hold the leads
|
|||
|
from the chip. A little dab of glue and in a few days the skin
|
|||
|
would grow back to hold the 40 pins in the natural way; God's
|
|||
|
way.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
There was a time that I thought ponytails were 'out' and passe,
|
|||
|
but I thought wrong. Mine got chopped off in roughly 1976 down
|
|||
|
to shoulder length which remained for another six years, but half
|
|||
|
of the HOPE audience is the reason for wide spread poverty in the
|
|||
|
hair salon industry.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Nothing wrong with long, styled, inventive, outrageous hair as
|
|||
|
long as it's clean; and with barely an exception, such was the
|
|||
|
case. In New York it's not too hard to be perceived as clean,
|
|||
|
especially when you consider the frame of reference. Nothing is
|
|||
|
too weird.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The energy level of HOPE was much higher than the almost lethar
|
|||
|
gic (but good!) DefCon II. People move in a great hurry, perhaps
|
|||
|
to convey the sense of importance to others, or just out of
|
|||
|
frenetic hyperactivity. Hackers hunched over their keyboards -
|
|||
|
yet with a sense of urgency and purpose. Quiet yet highly animat
|
|||
|
ed conversations in all corners. HOPE staff endlessly pacing
|
|||
|
throughout the event with their walkie-talkies glued to their
|
|||
|
ears.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Not many suit types. A handful at best, and what about the Feds?
|
|||
|
I was accosted a few times for being a Fed, but word spread: no
|
|||
|
Fed, no bust. Where were the Feds? In the lobby. The typical
|
|||
|
NYPD cop has the distinctive reputation of being overweight
|
|||
|
especially when he wearing two holsters - one for the gun and one
|
|||
|
for the Italian sausage. Perpetually portrayed as donut dunking
|
|||
|
dodo's, some New York cops' asses are referred to as the Fourth
|
|||
|
Precinct and a few actually moonlight as sofas.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
So rather than make a stink, (NY cops hate to make a scene) the
|
|||
|
lobby of the Hotel Filthadelphia was home to the Coffee Clutch
|
|||
|
for Cops. About a half dozen of them made their profound
|
|||
|
presence known by merely spending their day consuming mass quan
|
|||
|
tities of questionable ingestibles, but that was infinitely
|
|||
|
preferable to hanging out on the 18th floor. The hackers weren't
|
|||
|
causing any trouble, the cops knew that, so why push it. Hackers
|
|||
|
don't fight, they hack. Right?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
After hours of running hours behind schedule, the HOPE conference
|
|||
|
was in first place for disorganized, with DefCon II not far
|
|||
|
behind. Only with 1000 people to keep happy and in the right
|
|||
|
rooms, chaos reigns sooner. The free Unix sessions and Pager
|
|||
|
session and open microphone bitch session and the unadulterated
|
|||
|
true history of 2600 kept audiences of several hundred hankering
|
|||
|
for more - hour after hour.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Over by the cellular hacking demonstrations, I ran into a hacker
|
|||
|
I had written about: Julio, from the almost defunct Masters of
|
|||
|
Destruction. Julio had gone state's evidence and was prepared to
|
|||
|
testify against MoD ring leader Mark Abene (aka Phiber Optik) but
|
|||
|
once Mark pled guilty to enough crimes to satisfy the Feds, Julio
|
|||
|
was off the hook with mere probation. Good guy, sworn off of
|
|||
|
hacking. Cell phones are so much more interesting.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
However, while standing around with Erikb and a gaggle of Cyber
|
|||
|
Christ wanna-bes, Julio and his friend (who was the size of Texas
|
|||
|
on two legs) began a pushing match with Goggans. "You fucking
|
|||
|
narc red-neck son of a bitch." Goggans helped build the case
|
|||
|
against the MoD and didn't make a lot of friends in the process.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The shoving and shouldering reminded me of slam dancing from
|
|||
|
decades past, but these kids are too young to have taken part in
|
|||
|
the social niceties of deranged high speed propulsion and revul
|
|||
|
sion on the dance floor. So it was a straight out pushing match,
|
|||
|
which found Erikb doing his bloody best to avoid. Julio and pal
|
|||
|
kept a'coming and Erikb kept avoiding. It took a dozen of us to
|
|||
|
get in the middle and see that Julio was escorted to the eleva
|
|||
|
tors.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Julio said Corrupt, also of the MoD, was coming down to HOPE,
|
|||
|
too. Corrupt has been accused of mugging drug dealers to finance
|
|||
|
his computer escapades, and was busted along with the rest of the
|
|||
|
MoD gang. The implied threat was taken seriously, but, for
|
|||
|
whatever reason, Corrupt never showed. It is said that the
|
|||
|
majority of the hacking community distances itself from him; he's
|
|||
|
not good for the collective reputation. So much for hacker
|
|||
|
fights. All is calm.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The evening sessions continued and continued with estimates of as
|
|||
|
late as 4AM being bandied about. Somewhere around 1:00AM I ran
|
|||
|
into Bootleg in the downstairs bar. Where was everybody? Not
|
|||
|
upstairs. Not in the bar. I saw a Garbage Heap in the street
|
|||
|
outside (now that's a double entendre) and then Goggans popped up
|
|||
|
from the door of the Blarney Stone, a syndicated chain of low-
|
|||
|
class Irish bars that serve fabulously thick hot sandwiches.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"We're about to get thrown out."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"From the Blarney Stone? That's impossible. Drunks call the
|
|||
|
phone booths home!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Fifty or so hacker/phreaks had migrated to the least likely, most
|
|||
|
anachronistic location one could imagine. A handful of drunken
|
|||
|
sots leaning over their beers on a stain encrusted wooden breed
|
|||
|
ing ground for salmonella. A men's room that hasn't seen the
|
|||
|
fuzzy end of a brush for the best part of a century made Turkish
|
|||
|
toilets appear refreshingly clean. And they serve food here.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I didn't look like a hacker so I asked the bartender, "Big crowd,
|
|||
|
eh?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The barrel chested beer bellied barman nonchalantly replied,
|
|||
|
"nah. Pretty usual." He cleaned a glass so thoroughly the water
|
|||
|
marks stood out plainly.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Really? This much action on a Saturday night on a dark side
|
|||
|
street so questionably safe that Manhattan's Mugger Society posts
|
|||
|
warnings?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yup."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So," I continued. "These hackers come here a lot?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Sure do," he said emphatically.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Wow. I didn't know that. So this is sort of a hacker bar, you
|
|||
|
might say?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Exactly. Every Saturday night they come in and raise a little
|
|||
|
hell."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
With a straight face I somehow managed to thank the confused
|
|||
|
barman for his help and for the next four hours learned that
|
|||
|
socially, hackers of today are no different than many if not most
|
|||
|
of us were in our late teens ad early twenties. We laughed and
|
|||
|
joked and so do they - but there is more computer talk. We
|
|||
|
decried the political status of our day as they do theirs, albeit
|
|||
|
they with less fervor and more resignation. The X-Generation
|
|||
|
factor: most of them give little more than a tiny shit about
|
|||
|
things they view as being totally outside their control, so why
|
|||
|
bother. Live for today.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Know they enemy. Robert hung in with me intermingling and argu
|
|||
|
ing and debating and learning from them, and they from us.
|
|||
|
Hackers aren't the enemy - their knowledge is - and they are not
|
|||
|
the exclusive holders of that information. Information Warfare
|
|||
|
is about capabilities, and no matter who possesses that capabili
|
|||
|
ty, there ought to be a corresponding amount respect.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Indeed, rather than adversaries, hackers could well become gov
|
|||
|
ernment allies and national security assets in an intense inter
|
|||
|
national cyber-conflict. In the LoD/MoD War of 1990-91, one
|
|||
|
group of hackers did help authorities. Today many hackers assist
|
|||
|
professional organizations, governments in the US and overseas -
|
|||
|
although very quietly. 'Can't be seen consorting with the
|
|||
|
enemy.' Is hacking from an Army or Navy or NATO base illegal?
|
|||
|
Damned if I know, but more than one Cyber Christ-like character
|
|||
|
makes a tidy sum providing hands-on hacking education to the
|
|||
|
brass in Europe.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Where these guys went after 5AM I don't know, but I was one of
|
|||
|
the first to be back at the HOPE conference later that day; 12:30
|
|||
|
PM Sunday.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The Nazi Hunters were out in force.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"The Neo-Nazi skinheads are trying to start another Holocaust." A
|
|||
|
piercing, almost annoying voice stabbed right through the crowds.
|
|||
|
"Their racist propaganda advocates killing Jews and blacks. They
|
|||
|
have to be stopped, now."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Mortechai Levy (I'll call him Morty) commanded the attention of a
|
|||
|
couple dozen hackers. Morty was a good, emotional, riveting
|
|||
|
shouter. "These cowardly bastards have set up vicious hate call
|
|||
|
lines in over 50 cities. The messages advocate burning syna
|
|||
|
gogues, killing minorities and other violence. These phones have
|
|||
|
to be stopped!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The ever-present leaflet from Morty's Jewish Defense Organization
|
|||
|
asked for help from the 2600 population.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Phone freaks you must use your various assorted bag of
|
|||
|
tricks to shut these lines down. No cowardly sputterings
|
|||
|
about 'free speech' for these fascist scum."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The headline invited the hacker/phreak community to:
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Let's Shut Down 'Dial-A-Nazi'!!!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Morty was looking for political and technical support from a band
|
|||
|
of nowhere men and women who largely don't know where they're
|
|||
|
going much less care about an organized political response to
|
|||
|
someone elses cause. He wasn't making a lot of headway, and he
|
|||
|
must have know that he would walk right into the anarchist's
|
|||
|
bible: the 1st amendment.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The battle lines had been set. Morty wanted to see the Nazis
|
|||
|
censored and hackers are absolute freedom of speechers by any
|
|||
|
measure. Even Ben sauntering over for a group hug did little to
|
|||
|
defuse the mounting tension.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I couldn't help but play mediator. Morty was belligerently loud
|
|||
|
and being deafeningly intrusive which affected the on-going ses
|
|||
|
sions. To tone it down some, we nudged Morty and company off to
|
|||
|
the side and occupied a corner of thread bare carpet, leaning
|
|||
|
against a boorish beige wall that had lost its better epidermis.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The heated freedom of speech versus the promotion of racial
|
|||
|
genocide rancor subdued little even though we were all buns side
|
|||
|
down. I tried to get a little control of the situation.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Morty. Answer me this so we know where you're coming from. You
|
|||
|
advocate the silencing of the Nazis, right?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"They're planning a new race war; they have to be stopped."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So you want them silenced. You say their phones should be
|
|||
|
stopped and that the hackers should help."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Call that number and they'll tell you that Jews and blacks
|
|||
|
should be killed and then they . . ."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Morty. OK, you want to censor the Nazis. Yes or No."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"OK, I can understand that. The question really is, and I need
|
|||
|
your help here, what is the line of censorship that you advocate.
|
|||
|
Where is your line of legal versus censored?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
A few more minutes of political diatribe and then he got to the
|
|||
|
point. "Any group with a history of violence should be censored
|
|||
|
and stopped." A little imagination and suddenly the whole planet
|
|||
|
is silenced. We need a better line, please. "Hate group, Nazis,
|
|||
|
people who advocate genocide . . . they should be
|
|||
|
silenced . . . ."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So," I analyzed. "You want to establish censorship criteria
|
|||
|
based upon subjective interpretation. Whose interpretation?"
|
|||
|
My approach brought nods of approval.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
One has to admire Morty and his sheer audacity and tenacity and
|
|||
|
how much he strenuously and single-mindedly drives his points
|
|||
|
home. He didn't have the ideal sympathetic audience, but he
|
|||
|
wouldn't give an inch. Not an inch. A little self righteousness
|
|||
|
goes a long way; boisterous extremism grows stale. It invites
|
|||
|
punitive retorts and teasing, or in counter-culture jargon,
|
|||
|
"fucking with their heads."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Morty (perhaps for justifiable reasons) was totally inflexible
|
|||
|
and thus more prone to verbal barbing. "You're just a Jewish
|
|||
|
racist. Racism in reverse," accused one jocular but definitely
|
|||
|
lower middle class hacker with an accent thicker than all of
|
|||
|
Brooklyn.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Incoming Scuds! Look out! Morty went nuts and as they say,
|
|||
|
freedom of speech ends when my fists impacts upon your nose.
|
|||
|
Morty came dangerously close to crossing that line. Whoah,
|
|||
|
Morty, whoah. He's just fucking with your head. The calm-down
|
|||
|
brigade did its level best to keep these two mortals at opposite
|
|||
|
ends of the room.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"You support that Neo Nazi down there; you're as bad as the
|
|||
|
rest!" Morty said. "See what I have to tolerate. I know him,
|
|||
|
we've been keeping track of him and he hangs out with the son of
|
|||
|
the Grand Wizard of Nazi Oz." The paranoid train got on the
|
|||
|
tracks.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Do you really know the Big Poo-bah of Hate?" I asked the hacker
|
|||
|
under assault and now under protective custody.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yeah," he said candidly. "He's some dick head who hates every
|
|||
|
one. Real jerk."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So what about you said to Morty over there?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Just fucking with his head. He gets a little extreme." So we
|
|||
|
had in our midst the Al Sharpton of the Jewish faith. Ballsy.
|
|||
|
Since Morty takes Saturday's off by religious law, he missed the
|
|||
|
press cavalcade, but as a radical New York fixture, the media
|
|||
|
probably didn't mind too much.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I was off to sessions, Morty found new audiences as they came off
|
|||
|
the elevators, and the band played on.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
In my humble 40-something opinion, the best session of HOPE was
|
|||
|
the one on social engineering.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The panel consisted of only Emmanuel, Supernigger (social engi
|
|||
|
neer par excellence) and Cheshire Catalyst. The first bits were
|
|||
|
pretty staid dry conventional conference (ConCon) oriented, but
|
|||
|
nonetheless, not the kind of info that you expect to find William
|
|||
|
H. Murray, Executive Consultant handing out.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The best social engineers make friends of their victims. Remem
|
|||
|
ber: you're playing a role. Think Remington Steele.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Schmooze! "Hey, Jack did you get a load of the blond on Stern
|
|||
|
last night?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Justifiable anger: "Your department has caused nothing but head
|
|||
|
aches. These damn new computers/phones/technology just don't
|
|||
|
work like the old ones. Now either you help me now or I'm going
|
|||
|
all the way to Shellhorn and we'll what he says about these kinds
|
|||
|
of screwups." A contrite response is the desired effect.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Butt headed bosses: "Hey, my boss is all over my butt, can you
|
|||
|
help me out?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Management hatred: "I'm sitting here at 3PM working while man
|
|||
|
agement is on their yachts. Can you tell me . . .?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Giveaways: "Did you know that so and so is having an affair with
|
|||
|
so and so? It's true, I swear. By the way, can you tell me how
|
|||
|
to . . ."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Empathy: "I'm new, haven't been to the training course and they
|
|||
|
expect me to figure this out all by myself. It's not fair."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Thick Accent: "Hi. Dees computes haf big no wurk. Eet no makedah
|
|||
|
passurt. Cunu help? Ah, tanku." Good for a quick exchange and a
|
|||
|
quick good-bye. Carefully done, people want you off the phone
|
|||
|
quickly.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Billsf, the almost 40 American phreak who now calls Amsterdam
|
|||
|
home was wiring up Supernigger's real live demonstration of
|
|||
|
social engineering against Sprint. A dial tone came over the PA
|
|||
|
system followed by the pulses to 411.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Directory Assistance," the operator's male voice was squeezed
|
|||
|
into a mere three kilohertz bandwidth.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Suddenly, to the immense pleasure of the audience, an ear-split
|
|||
|
ting screech a thousand times louder than finger nails on a chalk
|
|||
|
board not only belched across the sound system but caused instant
|
|||
|
bleeding in the ears of the innocent but now deaf operator. .
|
|||
|
Billsf sheepishly grinned. "Just trying to wire up a mute
|
|||
|
button."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Three hundred people in unison responded: "It doesn't work." No
|
|||
|
shit.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
While Billsf feverishly worked to regain his reputation, Super
|
|||
|
nigger explained what he was going to do. The phone companies
|
|||
|
have a service, ostensibly for internal use, called a C/NA. Sort
|
|||
|
of a reverse directory when you have the number but want to know
|
|||
|
who the number belongs to and from whence it comes. You can
|
|||
|
understand that this is not the sort of feature that the phone
|
|||
|
company wants to have in the hands of a generation of kids who
|
|||
|
are so apathetic that they don't even know they don't give a
|
|||
|
shit. Nonetheless, the access to this capability is through an
|
|||
|
800 number and a PIN.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Supernigger was going to show us how to acquire such privileged
|
|||
|
information. Live. "When you get some phone company person as
|
|||
|
dumb as a bolt on the other end, and you know a few buzz words.
|
|||
|
you convince them that it is in their best interest and that they
|
|||
|
are supposed to give you the information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I've never done this in front of an audience before, so give me
|
|||
|
three tries," he explained to an anxiously foaming at the mouth
|
|||
|
crowd. No one took a cheap pot shot at him: tacit acceptance of
|
|||
|
his rules.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Ring. Ring.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Operations. Mary."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Mary. Hi, this is Don Brewer in social engineering over at CIS,
|
|||
|
how's it going?" Defuse.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Oh, fine. I guess."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I know, I hate working Sundays. Been busy?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Nah, no more. Pretty calm. How can I help you?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I'm doing a verification and I got systems down. I just need
|
|||
|
the C/NA. You got it handy?" Long pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Sure, lemme look. Ah, it's 313.424.0900." 700 notebooks ap
|
|||
|
peared out of nowhere, accompanied by the sound of 700 pens
|
|||
|
writing down a now-public phone number.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Got it. Thanks." The audience is gasping at the stunningly
|
|||
|
stupid gullibility of Mary. But quiet was essential to the
|
|||
|
mission.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Here's the PIN number while we're at it." Double gasp. She's
|
|||
|
offering the supposedly super secret and secure PIN number? Was
|
|||
|
this event legal? Had Supernigger gone over the line?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"No, CIS just came up. Thanks anyway."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Sure you don't need it?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yeah. Thanks. Bye." Click. No need to press the issue. PIN
|
|||
|
access might be worth a close look from the next computer DA
|
|||
|
wanna-be.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
An instant shock wave of cacophonous approval worked its way
|
|||
|
throughout the 750 seat ballroom in less than 2 microseconds.
|
|||
|
Supernigger had just successfully set himself as a publicly
|
|||
|
ordained Cyber Christ of Social Engineering. His white robes
|
|||
|
were on the way. Almost a standing ovation lasted for the better
|
|||
|
part of a minute by everyone but the narcs in the audience. I
|
|||
|
don't know if they were telco or Feds of whatever, but I do know
|
|||
|
that they were the stupidest narcs in the city of New York. This
|
|||
|
pair of dour thirty something Republicans had sphincters so tight
|
|||
|
you could mine diamonds out of their ass.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Arms defiantly and defensively crossed, they were stupid enough
|
|||
|
to sit in the third row center aisle. They never cracked a smile
|
|||
|
at some of the most entertaining performances I have seen outside
|
|||
|
of the giant sucking sound that emanates from Ross Perot's ears.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Agree or disagree with hacking and phreaking, this was funny and
|
|||
|
unrehearsed ad lib material. Fools. So, for fun, I crawled over
|
|||
|
the legs of the front row and sat in the aisle, a bare eight feet
|
|||
|
from the narcs. Camera in hand I extended the 3000mm tele-photo
|
|||
|
lens which can distinguish the color of a mosquitoes underwear
|
|||
|
from a kilometer and pointed it in their exact direction. Their
|
|||
|
childhood acne scars appeared the depth of the Marianna Trench.
|
|||
|
Click, and the flash went off into their eyes, which at such a
|
|||
|
short distance should have caused instant blindness. But noth
|
|||
|
ing. No reaction. Nada. Cold as ice. Rather disappointing, but
|
|||
|
now we know that almost human looking narc-bots have been per
|
|||
|
fected and are being beta tested at hacker cons.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Emmanuel Goldstein is very funny. Maybe that's why Ed Markey and
|
|||
|
he get along so well. His low key voice rings of a gentler,
|
|||
|
kinder sarcasm but has a youthful charm despite that he is 30-
|
|||
|
something himself.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Sometimes you have to call back. Sometimes you have to call
|
|||
|
over and over to get what you want. You have to keep in mind
|
|||
|
that the people at the other end of the phone are generally not
|
|||
|
as intelligent as a powered down computer." He proceeded to
|
|||
|
prove the point.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Ring ring,
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Directory Assistance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Can I help you."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hello?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Can I help you.:
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"OK."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Shhhhh. Ssshhh. Quiet. Shhhh. Too damned funny for words.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Directory Assistance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I need some information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"How can I help you."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Is this where I get numbers?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"What number would you like?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"You said directory assistance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"But I need information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"What information do you need?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"For information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"What's the number?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"For what?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is directory assistance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I need the number for information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause. Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"What number do you want?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"For information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause. Guffaws, some stifled, some less so. Funny stuff.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hold on please."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Supervisor. May I help you?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Can I help you?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I need the number for information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is directory assistance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hi."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"What's the number for information?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"What about directory assistance?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is directory assistance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"But I need information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"This is information."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Oh, OK. What's the number for information?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Ah 411."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"That's it?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"No. 555.1212 works too."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So there's two numbers for information?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Which one is better?" How this audience kept its cool was
|
|||
|
beyond me. Me and my compatriots were beside ourselves.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Neither."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Then why are there two?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I don't know."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"OK. So I can use 411 or 555.1212."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"That's right."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"And which one should I use?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"411 is faster." Huge guffaws. Ssshhhh. Ssshhhh..
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Oh. What about the ones?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Ones?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"The ones."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Which ones?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"The ones at the front of the number."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Oh, those ones. You don't need ones. Just 411 or 555.1212.."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"My friends say they get to use ones." Big laugh. Shhhhhh.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"That's only for long distance."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"To where?" How does he keep a straight face?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"If you wanted 914 information you'd use a one."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"If I wanted to go where?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"To 914?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Where's that?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Westchester."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Oh, Westchester. I have friends there."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Hello?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So I use ones?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes. A one for the 914 area."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"How?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Put a one before the number."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Like 1914. Right?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"1914.555.1212."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"All of those numbers?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"That's three ones."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"That's the area code."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I've heard about those. They confuse me." Rumbling chuckles
|
|||
|
and laughs throughout the hall.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Pause.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
She slowly and carefully explained what an area code is to the
|
|||
|
howlingly irreverent amusement of the entire crowd except for the
|
|||
|
fool narcs.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Thanks. So I can call information and get a number?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"That's right."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"And there's two numbers I can use?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yes."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"So I got two numbers on one call?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Yeah . . ."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Wow. Thanks. Have a nice day."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Comments heard around HOPE.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Rop Gongrijjp, Hacktic: "The local phone companies use their own
|
|||
|
social engineers when they can't get their own people to tell
|
|||
|
them what they need to know."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Sprint is using what they consider to be the greatest access
|
|||
|
mechanism since the guillotine. For all of us road warriors out
|
|||
|
there who are forever needing long distance voice service from
|
|||
|
the Whattownisthis, USA airport, Sprint thinks they have a better
|
|||
|
mousetrap. No more messing finger entry. No more pass-codes or
|
|||
|
PIN's.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I remember at the Washington National Airport last summer I was
|
|||
|
using my Cable and Wireless long distance access card and entered
|
|||
|
the PIN and to my surprise, an automated voice came on and said,
|
|||
|
"Sorry, you entered your PIN with the wrong finger. Please try
|
|||
|
again."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Sprint says they've solved this thorny cumbersome problem with a
|
|||
|
service called "The Voice Fone Card". Instead of memorizing
|
|||
|
another 64 digit long PIN, you just speak into the phone: "Hi,
|
|||
|
it's me. Give me dial tone or give me death." The voice recog
|
|||
|
nition circuits masturbate for a while to determine if it's
|
|||
|
really you or not.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Good idea. But according to Strat, not a good execution. Strat
|
|||
|
found that someone performing a poor imitation of his voice was
|
|||
|
enough to break through the front door with ease. Even a poor
|
|||
|
tape recording played back over a cheap cassette speaker was
|
|||
|
sufficient to get through Sprint's new whiz-banger ID system.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Strat laughed that Sprint officials said in defense, "We didn't
|
|||
|
say it was secure: just convenient."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Smart. Oh, so smart.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"If my generation of the late 60's and early 70's had had the
|
|||
|
same technology you guys have there never would have been an
|
|||
|
80's." This was how I opened my portion of the author's panel.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The authors panel was meant to give HOPE hackers insight into how
|
|||
|
they are perceived from the so-called outside. I think the
|
|||
|
session achieved that well, and I understand the videos will be
|
|||
|
available soon.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The question of electronic transvestites on AOL came up to every
|
|||
|
one's enjoyment, and all of us on the panel retorted with a big,
|
|||
|
"So what?" If you have cyber-sex with someone on the 'Net and
|
|||
|
enjoy it, what the hell's the difference? Uncomfortable butt
|
|||
|
shifting on chairs echoed how the largely male audience likely
|
|||
|
feels about male-male sex regardless of distance.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Imagine," I kinda said, "that is a few years you have a body
|
|||
|
suit which not only can duplicate your moves exactly, but can
|
|||
|
touch you in surprisingly private ways when your suit is connect
|
|||
|
ed to another. In this VR world, you select the gorgeous woman
|
|||
|
of choice to virtually occupy the other suit, and then the two of
|
|||
|
you go for it. How do you react when you discover that like
|
|||
|
Lola, 'I know what I am, and what I am is a man and so's Lola.'"
|
|||
|
Muted acknowledgment that unisex may come to mean something
|
|||
|
entirely different in the not too distant future.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Ooh, ooh, please call on me." I don't mean to be insulting, but
|
|||
|
purely for identification purposes, the woman behind the voice
|
|||
|
bordered on five foot four and four hundred pounds. Her bathtub
|
|||
|
had stretch marks.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I never called on her but that didn't stop her.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"I want to know what you think of how the democratization of the
|
|||
|
internet is affected by the differences between the government
|
|||
|
and the people who think that freedom of the net is the most
|
|||
|
important thing and that government is fucked but for freedom to
|
|||
|
be free you have to have the democracy behind you which means
|
|||
|
that the people and the government need to, I mean, you know, and
|
|||
|
get along but the sub culture of the hackers doesn't help the
|
|||
|
government but hackers are doing their thing which means that the
|
|||
|
democracy will not work , now I know that people are laughing and
|
|||
|
giggling (which they were in waves) but I'm serious about this
|
|||
|
and I know that I have a bad case of hypomania but the medication
|
|||
|
is working so it's not a bad as it could be. What do you think?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I leaned forward into the microphone and gave the only possible
|
|||
|
answer. "I dunno. Next." The thunderous round of applause
|
|||
|
which followed my in-depth response certainly suggested that my
|
|||
|
answer was correct. Not politically, not technically, but anar
|
|||
|
chistically. Flexibility counts.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
HOPE was attended by around one thousands folks, and the Hotel
|
|||
|
Filthadelphia still stands. (Aw shucks.)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
My single biggest complaint was not that the schedules slipped by
|
|||
|
an hour or two or three; sessions at conferences like this keep
|
|||
|
going if the audience is into them and they are found to be
|
|||
|
educational and productive. So an hour session can run into two
|
|||
|
if the material and presentations fit the mood. In theory a
|
|||
|
boring session could find itself kama kazi'd into early melt-down
|
|||
|
if you have the monotone bean counter from hell explaining the
|
|||
|
distributed statistical means of aggregate synthetic transverse
|
|||
|
digitization in composite analogous integral fruminations.
|
|||
|
(Yeah, this audience would buy off on that in a hot minute.) But
|
|||
|
there were not any bad sessions. The single track plenary style
|
|||
|
attracted hundred of hackers for every event. Emmanuel and
|
|||
|
friends picked their panels and speakers well. When dealing with
|
|||
|
sponge-like minds who want to soak up all they can learn, even in
|
|||
|
somewhat of a party atmosphere, the response is bound to be good.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
My single biggest complaint was the registration nightmare. I'd
|
|||
|
rather go the DMV and stand in line there than get tagged by the
|
|||
|
seemingly infinite lines at HOPE. At DefCon early registration
|
|||
|
was encouraged and the sign up verification kept simple.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
For some reason I cannot thoroughly (or even partially) fathom, a
|
|||
|
two step procedure was chosen. Upon entering, and before the
|
|||
|
door narcs would let anyone in, each attendee had to be assigned
|
|||
|
a piece of red cardboard with a number on it. For the first day
|
|||
|
you could enter the 'exhibits' and auditorium without challenge.
|
|||
|
But by Day 2 one was expected to wait in line for the better part
|
|||
|
of a week, have a digital picture taken on a computer tied to a
|
|||
|
CCD camera, and then receive a legitimate HOPE photo-ID card.
|
|||
|
What a mess. I don't have to beat them up on it too bad; they
|
|||
|
know the whole scheme was rotten to the core.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
I waited till near the end of Day 2 when the lines were gone and
|
|||
|
the show was over. That's when I got my Photo ID card. I used
|
|||
|
the MIB's photo ID card the rest of the time.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
HOPE was a lot of fun and I was sorry to see it end, but as all
|
|||
|
experiences, there is a certain amount of letdown. After a great
|
|||
|
vacation, or summer camp, or a cruise, or maybe even after Wood
|
|||
|
stock, a tear welts up. Now I didn't cry that HOPE was over, but
|
|||
|
an intense 48 hours with hackers is definitely not your average
|
|||
|
computer security convention that only rolls from 9AM to Happy
|
|||
|
Hour. At a hacker conference, you snooze, you lose. You never
|
|||
|
know what is going to happen next - so much is spontaneous and
|
|||
|
unplanned - and it generally is highly educational, informative
|
|||
|
and entertaining.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Computer security folks: you missed an event worth attending.
|
|||
|
You missed some very funny entertainment. You missed some fine
|
|||
|
young people dressed in some fine garb. You missed the chance to
|
|||
|
meet with your perceived 'enemy'. You missed the opportunity to
|
|||
|
get inside the heads of the generation that knows more about
|
|||
|
keyboards than Huck Finning in suburbia. You really missed
|
|||
|
something, and you should join Robert MIB Steele and I at the
|
|||
|
next hacker conference.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
If only I had known.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
If only I had known that tornadoes had been dancing up and down
|
|||
|
5th avenue I would have stayed at the Hotel Filthadelphia for
|
|||
|
another night.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
La Guardia airport was closed. Flights were up to 6 hours de
|
|||
|
layed if not out and out canceled. Thousands of stranded travel
|
|||
|
ers hunkered down for the night. If only I had known.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Wait, wait. Hours to wait. And then, finally, a plane ready and
|
|||
|
willing to take off and swerve and dive between thunderbolts and
|
|||
|
twisters and set me on my way home.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
My kids were bouncing out of the car windows when my wife picked
|
|||
|
me up at the airport somewhere in the vicinity of 1AM.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Not too late are you dear?" Sweet Southern Sarcasm from my
|
|||
|
Sweet Southern Wife.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Don't blame me," I said in all seriousness. "It was the hack
|
|||
|
ers. They caused the whole thing."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
* * * * *
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Notice: This article is free, and the author encourages responsi
|
|||
|
ble widespread electronic distribution of the document in full,
|
|||
|
not piecemeal. No fees may be charged for its use. For hard
|
|||
|
copy print rights, please contact the author and I'll make you an
|
|||
|
offer you can't refuse. The author retains full copyrights to
|
|||
|
the contents and the term Cyber-Christ.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Winn is the author of "Terminal Compromise", a novel detailing
|
|||
|
a fictionalized account of a computer war waged on the United
|
|||
|
States. After selling well as a book-store-book, Terminal Com
|
|||
|
promise was placed on the Global Network as the world's first
|
|||
|
Novel-on-the-Net Shareware and has become an underground classic.
|
|||
|
(Gopher TERMCOMP.ZIP)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
His new non-fiction book, "Information Warfare: Chaos on the
|
|||
|
Electronic Superhighway" is a compelling, non-technical analy
|
|||
|
sis of personal privacy, economic and industrial espionage and
|
|||
|
national security. He calls for the creation of a National
|
|||
|
Information Policy, a Constitution in Cyberspace and an Elec
|
|||
|
tronic Bill of Rights.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
He may be reached at INTER.PACT, 11511 Pine St., Seminole,
|
|||
|
FL. 34642. 813-393-6600, fax 813-393-6361, E-Mail:
|
|||
|
P00506@psilink.com.
|
|||
|
|