Approaching Zero by Paul Mungo (best way to read e books .TXT) đź“•
The next day, after his friend in Kentucky had picked up the $687, Fry Guy carried out a second successful transaction, this time worth $432. He would perform the trick again and again that summer, as often as he needed to buy more computer equipment and chemicals. He didn't steal huge amounts of money-- indeed, the sums he took were almost insignificant, just enough for his own needs. But Fry Guy is only one of many, just one of a legion of adolescent computer wizards worldwide, whose ability to crash through high-tech security systems, to circumvent access controls, and to penetrate files holding sensitive information, is endangering our computer-dependent societies. These technology-obsessed electronic renegades form a distinct subculture. Some steal--though most don't; some look for information; some just like to play with computer systems. Together they probably represent the future of our computer-dependent society. Welcome to the com
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that could have grossed him over $7.5 million, assuming that each of the twenty
thousand recipients of the diskette had sent the “lifetime” license fee. More
realistically, it was estimated that one thousand recipients had actually
loaded the diskette after receiving it; but even if only those one thousand had
sent him the minimum license fee, he still would have earned $189,000.
The police also discovered a diskette that they believed Popp intended to send
out to “registered users” who had opted for the cheaper, $189 license. Far from
being an antidote, it was another trojan and merely extended the counter from
90 boot-ups to 365 before scrambling the hard disk. In addition, there was
evidence that the London mailing was only an initial test run: when Popp’s home
in Ohio was raided, the FBI found one million blank diskettes. It was believed
that Popp was intending to use the proceeds from the AIDS scheme to fund a
mass, worldwide mailing, using another trojan. The potential return from one
million diskettes is a rather improbable $378 million.
The police also had suspicions that Popp, far from being mentally unstable, had
launched the scheme with cunning and foresight. For example, he had purposely
avoided sending any of the diskettes to addresses in the United States, where
he lived, possibly believing that it would make him immune to prosecution under
American law.
But the case was never to come to trial. Popp’s defense presented evidence that
his mental state had deteriorated. Their client, his British lawyers said, had
begun putting curlers in his beard and wearing a cardboard box on his head to
protect himself from radiation. In November 1991 the prosecution accepted that
Popp was mentally unfit to stand trial. To this day, the Computer Crime Unit
has never successfully prosecuted a virus writer.
For Popp, whatever his motives and his mental state, the AIDS scheme was an
expensive affair—all funded from his own pocket. The postage needed to send
out the first twenty thousand diskettes had cost nearly $7,700, the envelopes
and labels about $11,500, the diskettes and the blue printed instruction
leaflets yet
another $11,500—to say nothing of the cost of registering PC Cyborg
Corporation in Panama, or establishing an address in London. To add insult to
injury, not one license payment was ever received from anyone, anywhere.
Popp’s scheme was not particularly well thought out. The scam depended on
recipients of his diskettes mailing checks halfway around the world in the hope
of receiving an antidote to the trojan. But, as John Austen said, “Who in their
right mind would send money to a post office box number in Panama City for an
antidote that might never arrive?” Or that may not be an antidote anyway.
It seems unlikely that anyone will ever again attempt a mass blackmail of this
type; it’s not the sort of crime that lends itself to a high volume, low cost
formula. It’s far more likely that specific corporations will be singled out
for targeted attacks. Individually, they are far more vulnerable to blackmail,
particularly if the plotters are aided by an insider with knowledge of any
loopholes. An added advantage for the perpetrators is the likely publicity
blackout with which the corporate victim would immediately shroud the affair:
every major corporation has its regular quota of threats, mostly empty, and a
well-defined response strategy.
But at present, hacking—which gives access to information—has proven to be
substantially more lucrative. Presentday hackers traffic in what the
authorities call access device codes, the collective name for credit card
numbers, telephone authorization codes, and computer passwords. They are
defined as any card, code, account number, or “means of account access” that
can be used to obtain money, goods, or services. In the United States the codes
are traded through a number of telecom devices, principally voicemail
computers; internationally, they are swapped on hacker boards.
The existence of this international traffic has created what one press report
referred to colorfully as “offshore data havens”—pirate boards where hackers
from different countries convene to trade Visa numbers for computer passwords,
or American Express accounts for telephone codes. The passwords and telephone
codes, the common currency of hacking, are traded to enable hackers to maintain
their lifeline—the phone—and to break into computers. Credit card numbers are
used more conventionally: to fraudulently acquire money, goods, and services.
The acquisition of stolen numbers by hacking into credit agency computers or by
means as mundane as dumpster diving (scavenging rubbish in search of the
carbons from credit card receipts) differs from ordinary theft. When a person
is mugged, for example, he knows his cards have been stolen and cancels them.
But if the numbers were acquired without the victim knowing about it, the cards
generally remain “live” until the next bill is sent out, which could be a month
away.
Live cards—ones that haven’t been canceled and that still have have credit on
them—are a valuable commodity in the computer underworld. Most obviously, they
can be used to buy goods over the phone, with the purchases delivered to a
temporary address or an abandoned house to which the hacker has access.
The extent of fraud of this sort is difficult to quantify. In April 1989
Computerworld magazine estimated that computer-related crime costs American
companies as much as $555,464,000 each year, not including lost manhours and
computer downtime. The figure is global, in that it takes in everything: fraud,
loss of data, theft of software, theft of telephone services, and so on. Though
it’s difficult to accept the number as anything more than a rough estimate, its
apparent precision has given the figure a spurious legitimacy. The same number
frequently appears in most surveys of computer crime in the United States and
is even in many government documents. The blunt truth is that no one can be
certain what computer fraud of any sort really costs. All anyone knows is that
it occurs.
154 APPROACHING ZERO [WYRWA ??????]
erably older than the 150 or so adolescent Olivers she gathered into her ring.
As a woman, she has the distinction of being one of only two or three female
hackers who have ever come to the attention of the authorities.
In 1989 Doucette lived in an apartment on the north side of Chicago in the sort
of neighborhood that had seen better days; the block looked substantial, though
it was showing the first signs of neglect. Despite having what the police like
to term “no visible means of support,” Doucette was able to provide for herself
and her two children, pay the rent, and keep up with the bills. Her small
apartment was filled with electronic gear: personal computer equipment, modems,
automatic dialers, and other telecom peripherals.
Doucette was a professional computer criminal. She operated a scheme dealing in
stolen access codes: credit cards, telephone cards (from AT&T, MCI, Sprint, and
ITT) as well as corporate PBX telephone access codes, computer passwords, and
codes for voicemail (VM) computers. She dealt mostly in MasterCard and Visa
numbers, though occasionally in American Express too. Her job was to turn
around live numbers as rapidly as possible. Using a network of teenage hackers
throughout the country, she would receive credit card numbers taken from a
variety of sources. She would then check them, either by hacking into any one
of a number of credit card validation computers or, more often, by calling a
“chat line” telephone number. If the chat line accepted the card as payment, it
was live. She then grouped the cards by type, and called the numbers through to
a “code line,” a hijacked mailbox on a voicemail computer.
Because Doucette turned the cards around quickly, checking their validity
within hours of receiving their numbers and then, more importantly, getting the
good numbers disseminated on a code line within days, they remained live for a
longer period. It was a very efficiently run hacker service industry. To
supplement her income, she would pass on card numbers to members of her ring in
other cities, who would use them to buy Western Union money orders payable to
one of Doucette’s aliases. The cards were also used to pay for an unknown
number of airline tickets and for hotel accommodation when Doucette or her
accomplices were traveling.
The key to Doucette’s business was communication—hence the emphasis on PBX and
voicemail computer access codes. The PBXs provided the means for
communication; the voicemail computers the location for code lines.
PBX is a customer-operated, computerized telephone system, providing both
internal and external communication. One of its features is the Remote Access
Unit (RAU), designed to permit legitimate users to call in from out of the
office, often on a 1-800 nunlher. and access a long-distance line after
punching in a short code on the telephone keypad. The long-distance calls made
in this way are then charged to the customer company. Less legitimate users—
hackers, in other words—force access to the RAU by guessing the code. This is
usually done by calling the system and trying different sequences of numbers on
the keypad until stumbling on a code. The process is timeconsuming, but
hackers are a patient bunch.
The losses to a company whose PBX is compromised can be staggering. Some
hackers are known to run what are known as “callsell” operations: sidewalk or
street-corner enterprises offering passersby cheap long-distance calls (both
national and international) on a cellular or pay phone. The calls, of course,
are routed through some company’s PBX. In a recent case, a “callsell” operator
ran up $1.4 million in charges against one PBX owner over a four-day holiday
period. (The rewards to “callsell” merchants can be equally enormous: at $10 a
call some operators working whole banks of pay phones are estimated by U.S. Iaw
enforcement agencies to have made as much as $10,000 a day.)
PBXs may have become the blue boxes for a new generation of phreakers, but
voicemail computers have taken over as hacker bulletin boards. The problem
with the boards was that they became too well known: most were regularly
monitored by law
enforcement agencies. Among other things, the police recorded the numbers of
access device codes trafficked on boards, and as the codes are useful only as
long as they are live—usually the time between their first fraudulent use and
the victim’s first bill—the police monitoring served to invalidate them that
much faster. Worse, from the point of view of hackers, the police then took
steps to catch the individuals who had posted the codes.
The solution was to use voice mail. Voicemail computers operate like highly
sophisticated answering machines and are often attached to a company’s
toll-free 1-800 number. For users, voicemail systems are much more flexible
than answering machines: they can receive and store messages from callers, or
route them from one box to another box on the system, or even send one single
message to a preselected number of boxes. The functions are controlled by the
appropriate numerical commands on a telephone keypad. Users can access their
boxes and pick up their messages while they’re away from the office by calling
their 1-800 number, punching in the digits for their box, then pressing the
keys for their private password. The system is just a simple computer,
accessible by telephone and controllable by the phone keys.
But for hackers voice mail is made to order. The 1-800 numbers for voicemail
systems are easy enough to find; the tried-and-true methods of dumpster diving,
social engineering, and war-dialing will almost always turn up a few usable
targets. War-dialing has been simplified in the last decade with the advent of
automatic dialers, programs which churn through hundreds of numbers, recording
those that are answered by machines or computers. The process is still
inelegant, but it works.
After identifying a suitable 1-800 number, hackers
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