"It's a fucking mess," Tyrone said quickly. He was relieved to be able to talk about it. "You can't believe it. I'm down there to watch a crisis management team in action, but what do I find?" He shook his head. "They're still trying to decide on the size of the conference table." The reference caught Scott's ear. "No, it's not that bad, but it might as well be."
"How is this ECCO thing put together? Who's responsible?"
"Responsible? Ha! No one," Tyrone chuckled as he recounted the constant battles among the represented agencies. "This is the perfect bureaucratic solution. No one is responsible for shit, no one is accountable, but they all want to run the show. And, no one agency clearly has authority. It's a fucking disaster."
"No one runs security? In the whole government, no one runs security?"
"That's pushing it a little, but not too far off base."
"Oh, I gotta hear this," Scott said reclining in the deep plush cloth covered couch.
"Once upon a time, a super secret agency, no one ever spoke the initials, but it begins with the National Security Agency, got elected by the Department of Defense to work out communications security during the Cold War. They took their job very seriously.
"Then along came NIST and IBM who developed DES. The DOD formed the Computer Security Initiative and then the Computer Security Evaluation Center. The DOD CSEC became the DOD Computer Security and then after NSA realized that everybody knew who they were, it became the NCSC. Following this?"
Scott nodded only not to disrupt the flow.
"Ok, in 1977, Carter signed a bill that said to NSA, you take over the classified national security stuff, but he gave the dregs, the unclassified stuff to the NTIA, a piece of Commerce. But that bill made a lot of people unhappy. So, along comes Reagan who says, no that's wrong, before we get anything con- structive done, let me issue a Directive, number 145, and give everything back to NSA.
"That pissed off even more people and Congress then passed the Computer Security Act of 1987, stripped NSA of what it had and gave NIST the unclassified stuff. As a result, NSA closed the NCSC, NIST is underbudgeted by a factor of 100 and in short, they all want a piece of a very small pie. That took over 4 years. And that's whose fault it is.
"Whose?"
"Congress of course. Congress passes the damn laws and then won't fund them. Result? I get stuck in the middle of third tier rival agency technocrats fighting over their turf or shirking responsibility, and well , you get the idea. So I've got ECCO to talk to CERT to talk to NIST to talk to . . .and it goes on ad nauseum."
"Sorry I asked," joked Scott.
"In other words," Ty admitted, "I don't have the first foggy idea what we'll do. They all seem hell bent on power instead of fixing the problem. And the scary part?"
"What's that?"
"It looks like it can only get worse."
* * * * *
Tuesday, November 11White House Press Room
"Mr. President," asked the White House correspondent for Time magazine. "A recent article in the City Times said that the military has been hiding a super weapon for years that is capable of disabling enemy computers and electronics from a great dis- tance without any physical destruction. Is that true, sir, and has the use of those weapons contributed to the military's suc- cesses over the last few years?"
"Ah, well," the President hesitated briefly. "The Stealth pro- gram was certainly a boon to our air superiority. There is no question about that, and it was kept secret for a decade." He stared to his left, and the press pool saw him take a visual cue from his National Security Director. "Isn't that right Henry?" Henry Kennedy nodded aggressively. "We have the best armed forces in the world, with all the advantages we can bring to bear, and I will not compromise them in any way. But, if there is such a classified program that I was aware of, I couldn't speak of it even if I didn't know it existed." The President picked another newsman. "Next, yes, Jim?"
During the next question Henry Kennedy slipped off to the ante- room and called the Director of the National Security Agency. "Marv, how far have you gotten on this EMP-T thing?" He waited for a response. "The President is feeling embarrassed." Another pause. "So the Exchange is cooperating?" Pause. Wait. "How many pieces are missing?" Pause. "That's not what Mason's article said." Longer pause. "Deal with it."
Immediately after the press conference, the President, Phil Musgrave, his Chief of Staff, Henry Kennedy and Quinton Chambers his old time ally and Secretary of State had an impromptu meeting in the Oval Office.
They sat in the formal Queen Anne furniture as an elegant silver coffee and tea service was brought in for the five men. Minus Treasury Secreatry Martin Royce, this was the President' inner circle, his personal advisory clique who assisted in making grand national policy. Anything goes in one of these sessions, the President had made clear in the first days of his Administration. Anything.
We do not take things personally here, he would say. We have to explore all options. All options. Even if they are distasteful. And in these meeting, treat me like one of the guys. "Yes, sir, Mr. President." The only formality of their caucuses was the President's fundamental need to mediate the sometimes heated dialogues between his most trusted aids. They were real free-for-alls.
"Henry," the President said. "Before we start, who was that reporter? Where the hell did that question come up about the weapon stuff?"
"Forget him. The story started at the City Times. Scott Mason, sir." Musgrave replied quickly. His huge football center sized body overwhelmed the couch on which he sat. "He's been giving extensive coverage to computer crime."
"Well, do we have such a bomb?" he asked with real curiosity.
"Ah, yessir," Henry Kennedy responded. "It's highly classified. But the object is simple. Lob in a few of the EMP-T bombs as they're called, shut down their communications and control, and move in during the confusion. Very effective, sir."
"Well, let's see what we can do about keeping secrets a little better. O.K., boys?" The President's charismatic hold over even his dear friends and long time associates made him one of the most effective leaders in years. If he was given the right information.
The President scanned a few notes he had made on a legal pad.
"Can I forget about it?" the President closely scrutinized Henry for any body language.
"Yessir."
The President gave Henry one more glance and made an obvious point of highlighting the item. The subject would come up again.
****************************************************************
Thursday, November 14NASA Control Center, Johnson Space Center
The voice of Mission Control spoke over the loudspeakers and into hundreds of headsets.
The Space Shuttle Columbia was on Launch Pad 3, in its final preparation for another secret mission. As was expected, the Department of Defense issued a terse non-statement on its pur- pose: "The Columbia is carrying a classified payload will be used for a series of experiments. The flight is scheduled to last three days."
In reality, and most everyone knew it, the Columbia was going to release another KH-5 spy satellite. The KH-5 series was able, from an altitude of 110 miles, to discern and transmit to Earth photos so crisp, it could resolve the numbers on an automobile license plate. The photographic resolution of KH-5's was the envy of every government on the planet, and was one of the most closely guarded secrets that everyone knew about.
Mission control specialists at the Cape and in Houston monitored every conceivable instrument on the Shuttle itself and on the ground equipment that made space flight possible.
A cavernous room full of technicians checked and double checked and triple checked fuel, temperature, guidance, computers sys- tems, backup systems, relays, switches, communications links, telemetry, gyros, the astronauts' physiology, life support systems, power supplies . . .everything had a remote control monitor.
"The liquid hydrogen replenish has been terminated, LSU pressuri- zation to flight level now under way. Vehicle is now isolated from ground loading equipment."
"SRB and external tank safety devices have been armed. Inhibit remains in place until T-Minus 10 seconds when the range safety destruct system is activated."
The Mission Control Room had an immense map of the world spread across its 140 feet breadth. It showed the actual and projected trajectories of the Shuttle. Along both sides of the map were several large rear projection video screens. They displayed the various camera angles of the launch pad, the interior of the Shuttle's cargo hold, the cockpit itself and an assortment of other shots that the scientists deemed important to the success of each flight.
"At the T-Minus one minute mark, the ground launch sequencer will verify that the main shuttle engines are ready to start."
"Liquid hydrogen tanks now reported at flight pressure."
The data monitors scrolled charts and numbers. The computers spewed out their data, updating it every few seconds as the screens flickered with the changing information.
The Voice of Mission Control continued its monotone countdown. Every airline passenger is familiar with the neo-Texas twang that conveys sublime confidence, even in the tensest of situations.
The Count-down monitor above the global map decremented its numbers by the hundredths of seconds, impossible for a human to read but terribly inaccurate by computer standards.
"Coming up on T-Minus one minute and counting."
"Pressure systems now armed, lift off order will be released atT-Minus 16 seconds."
The voice traffic became chaotic. Hundreds of voices give their consent that their particular areas of responsibility are ship- shape. The word nominal sounds to laymen watching the world over as a classic understatement. If things are great, then say 'Fuel is Great!' NASA prefers the word Nominal to indicate that sys- tems are performing as the design engineers predicted in their simulation models.
The hoses that connect the Shuttle to the Launch Pad began to fall away. Whirls of steam and smoke appeared around portions of the boosters. The tension was high. 45 seconds to go.
"SRB flight instrumentation recorders now going to record."
Eyes riveted to computer screens. It takes hundreds of computers to make a successful launch. Only the mission generalists watch over the big picture; the screens across the front of the behe- moth 80 foot high room.
"External tank heaters now turned off in preparation for launch."
Screens danced while minds focused on their jobs. It wasn't until there were only 34 seconds left on the count down clock that anyone noticed. The main systems display monitor, the one that contained the sum of all other systems information displayed a message never seen before by anyone at NASA.
"We have a go for auto sequence start. Columbia's forward comput- ers now taking over primary control of critical vehicle functions through lift-off."
"What the hell is that?" Mission Specialist Hawkins said to the technician who was monitoring the auto-correlation noise reduc- tion systems needed to communicate with the astronauts once in space.
"What?" Sam Broadbent took off his earpiece.
"Look at that." Hawkins pointed at the central monitor.
"What does that mean, it's not in the book?"
"I dunno. No chances though." Hawkins switched his intercom selector to 'ALL', meaning that everyone on line, including the Mission Control Director would hear.
"We have an anomaly here . . ." Hawkins said into his mouthpiece.
"Specify anomaly, comm," The dry voice returned. Hawkins wasn't quite sure how to respond. The practice runs had not covered this eventuality.
"Look up at Video 6. Switching over." Hawkins tried to remain unflustered.
"Copy comm. Do you contain?"
"Negative Mission Control. It's an override." Hawkins answered.
The voice of Mission Control annoyed Hawkins for the first time in his 8 years at NASA.
"Confirm and update."
Hawkins blew his cool. "Look at the goddamned monitor for Chris- sakes. Just look!" He yelled into the intercom.
"Holy . . .who's . . .please confirm, local analysis," the sober voice sounded concerned for the first time.
"Confirmed anomaly." "Confirmed." "Confirmed." "Confirmed."The votes streamed in.
"We have a confirm . . ."
"We have a go for main engine start."
"We have a main engine start . . .we have a cut off."
"Columbia, we have a monitor anomaly, holding at T-minus 5."
"That's a Roger, Houston," the commander of Space Shuttle Colum- bia responded calmly.
"We have a manual abort override. Columbia's on board computers confirm the cut-off. Can you verify, Columbia?"
"That's a Roger."
The huge block letter message continued to blaze across the monitors. Craig Volker spoke rapidly into his master intercom system. "Cut network feed. Cut direct feed. Cut now! Now!" All TV networks suddenly lost their signal that was routed through NASA's huge video switches. NASA's own satellite feed was simul- taneously cut as well. If NASA didn't want it going to the public it didn't get sent.
CNN got the first interview with NASA officials.
"What caused today's flight to be aborted?"
"We detected a slight leak in the fuel tanks. We believe that the sensors were faulty, that there was no leak, but we felt in the interest of safety it would be best to abort the mission. Orbital alignment is not critical and we can attempt a relaunch within 2 weeks. When we know more we will make further informa- tion available." The NASA spokesman left abruptly.
The CNN newsman continued. "According to NASA, a malfunctioning fuel monitor was the cause of today's aborted shuttle launch. However, several seconds before the announced abort, our video signal was cut by NASA. Here is a replay of that countdown again."
CNN technicians replayed one of their video tapes. The video monitors within Mission Control were not clear on the replay. But the audio was. "Look at the goddamned monitor for Chrissakes. Just look." Then the video went dead.
* * * * *
Steve Billings received an urgent message on his computer's E-Mail when he got home from classes. All it said was
He dialed NEMO directly this time.
<<<<<
He chose CONVERSATION PIT from the menu. La Creme was there, alone and probably waiting.
What's the panic?
YOU DON'T KNOW? <
Just finished exams . . .been locked up in student hell . . .
NASA ABORT . . .SHUTTLE WENT TO SHIT. <
So? More Beckel fuel problems I s'pose.
UH . . .UH. NOT THIS TIME. NASA GOT AN INVITATION. <
From aliens? SETI finally came through?
NOPE. FROM CHRISTA MCAULIFFE. <
Right.
SERIOUS. SHE WELCOMED THE CREW OF COLUMBIA. <
Get real . . .
I AM. CHECK OUT CNN. THEY RECONSTRUCTED THE VIDEO SIGNAL BEFORENASA SHUT THE FEED DOWN. THE MONITORS HAD A GREETING FROM CHRIS-TA. ABORTED THE DAMN MISSION. <
I don't get it.
NEITHER DO I. BUT, DON'T YOU PLAY AROUND IN NASA COMPUTERS?
<
Sure I do. Poke and Play. I'm not alone.
AND REPROGRAM THE LAUNCH COMPUTERS? <
Never. It's against the Code.
I KNOW THAT, BUT DO YOU? <
What are getting at?
OK GOOD BUDDY . . .STRAIGHT SHOOTING. DID YOU GO IN AND PUT SOMEMESSAGES ON MISSION CONTROL COMPUTERS? <
Fuck, no. You know better than that.
I HOPED YOU'D SAY THAT. <
Hey . . .thanks for the vote of confidence.
NO OFFENSE DUDE. HADDA ASK. THEN IF YOU DIDN'T WHO DID?
<
I don't know. That's sick.
Damn. Better get clean.
Nah. They're security is for shit. No nothing. Besides, I get in as SYSOP. I can erase my own tracks.
I'm not going back, not for a while.
Can't blame 'em. What d'you suggest? I'm clean, really.
I hope so . . .
* * * * *
Friday, November 15New York City Times
NASA SCRUBS MISSION: HACKERS AT PLAY?by Scott Mason
NASA canceled the liftoff of the space shuttle Columbia yester- day, only 15 seconds prior to liftoff. Delays in the troubled shuttle program are nothing new. It seems that just about every- thing that can go wrong has gone wrong in the last few years. We watch fuel tanks leak, backup computers go bad, life support systems malfunction and suffer through a complete range of incom- prehensible defects in the multi-billion dollar space program.
We got to the moon in one piece, but the politics of the ShuttleProgram is overwhelming.
Remember what Senator John Glenn said during his historic 3 orbit mission in the early days of the Mercury Program. "It worries me some. To think that I'm flying around up here in a machine built by the lowest bidder."
At the time, when the space program had the support of the coun- try from the guidance of the young Kennedy and from the fear of the Soviet lead, Glenn's comment was meant to alleviate the tension. Successfully, at that. But since the Apollo fire and the Challenger disaster, and an all too wide array of constant technical problems, political will is waning. The entire space program suffers as a result.
Yesterday's aborted launch echoes of further bungling. While the management of NASA is undergoing critical review, and executive replacements seem imminent, the new breed will have to live with past mistakes for some time. Unfortunately, most Americans no longer watch space launches, and those that do tune out once the astronauts are out of camera range. The Space Program suffers from external malaise as well as internal confusion.
That is, until yesterday.
In an unprecedented move, seconds after the countdown was halted, NASA cut its feeds to the networks and all 4 channels were left with the omnipresent long lens view of the space shuttle sitting idle on its launch pad. In a prepared statement, NASA blamed the aborted flight on yet another leak from the massive and explo- sive 355,000 gallon fuel tanks. In what will clearly become another public relations fiasco, NASA lied to us again. It appears that NASA's computers were invaded.
CNN cooped the other three networks by applying advanced digital reconstruction to a few frames of video. Before NASA cut the feed, CNN was receiving pictures of the monitor walls from Mis- sion Control in Houston, Texas. Normally those banks of video monitors contain critical flight information, telemetry, orbital paths and other data to insure the safety of the crew and machin- ery.
Yesterday, though, the video monitors carried a message to the nation:
This was the message that NASA tried to hide from America. Despite the hallucinations of fringe groups who are prophesizing imminent contact with an alien civilization, this message was not from a large black monolith on the Moon or from the Red Spot on Jupiter. A Star Baby will not be born.
The threatening words came from a deranged group of computer hackers who thought it would be great sport to endanger the lives of our astronauts, waste millions of taxpayer dollars, retard military space missions and make a mockery of NASA. After con- fronted with the undisputed evidence that CNN presented to NASA officials within hours of the attempted launch, the following statement was issued:
"The Space Shuttle Columbia flight performing a military mission, was aborted 5 seconds prior to lift-off. First reports indicated that the reason was a minor leak in a fuel line. Subsequent analysis showed, though, that the Side Band Communications Moni- toring System displayed remote entry anomalies inconsistent with program launch sequence. Automatic system response mechanisms put the count-down on hold until it was determined that intermit- tent malfunctions could not be repaired without a launch delay. The launch date has been put back until November 29."
Permit me to translate this piece of NASA-speak with the straight skinny.
The anomaly they speak of euphemistically was simple: A computer hacker, or hackers, got into the NASA computers and caused those nauseating words to appear on the screen. The implication was obvious. Their sickening message was a distinct threat to the safety of the mission and its crew. So, rather than an automat- ic systems shut-down, as the CNN tape so aptly demonstrates, a vigilant technician shouted, "Look at the g_______ed monitor for Chrissakes! Just look!"
While the NASA computers failed to notice that they had been invaded from an outside source, their able staff prevented what could have been another national tragedy. Congratulations!
If computer hackers, those insidious little moles who secretively poke through computer systems uninvited and unchecked, are the real culprits as well placed NASA sources suggest, they need to be identified quickly, and be prosecuted to the fullest extent possible. There are laws that have been broken. Not only the laws regarding computer privacy, but legal experts say that cases can be made for Conspiracy, Sedition, Blackmail, Terrorism and Extortion.
But, according to computer experts, the likelihood of ever find- ing the interlopers is " . . .somewhere between never and none. Unless they left a trail, which good hackers don't, they'll get away with this Scott free."
Hackers have caused constant trouble to computer systems over the years, and incidents have been increasing in both number and severity. This computer assault needs to be addressed immediate- ly. America insists on it. Not only must the hacker responsible for this travesty be caught, but NASA must also explain how their computers can be compromised so easily. If a bunch of kids can enter one NASA communications computer, then what stops them from altering flight computers, life support systems and other comput- er controlled activities that demand perfect operation?
NASA, we expect an answer.
This is Scott Mason, waiting for NASA to lift-off from its duff and get down to business.
* * * * *
Friday, November 15New York City.
Scott Mason picked up the phone on the first ring.
"Scott Mason," he said without thinking.
"Mr. Mason? This is Captain Kirk." The voice was serious, but did not resonate as did the distinctive voice that belonged to William Shatner. Scott laughed into the phone.
"Live long and prosper." Mason replied in an emotionless voice.
"I need to talk to you," the voice came right back.
"So talk." Scott was used to anonymous callers so he kept the rhythm of the conversation going.
"You have it all wrong. Hackers aren't the ones." The voice was earnest.
"What are you talking about?" Scott asked innocuously.
"Your articles keep saying that hackers cause all the trouble on computers. You're wrong."
"Says who?" Scott decided to play along.
"Says me. You obviously don't know about the Code."
"What code?" This was getting nowhere fast.
"Listen, I know your phone is tapped, so I only have another few seconds. Do you want to talk?"
"Tapped? What is this all about?" The annoyance was clear inScott's voice.
"You keep blaming everything on hackers. You're wrong."
"Prove it." Scott gave this phone call another 10 seconds.
"I've been inside the NASA computers."
That got Scott to wake up from the droll papers on his desk. "Are you telling me you wrote the message . . .?" Scott could not contain his incredulity.
"God, no." Captain Kirk was firm. "Do you have a modem? At home?"
"Yeah, so what." Scott gave the caller only another 5 seconds.
"What's the number?"
"Is this love or hate?" Time's up thought Scott.
"News."
"What?"
"News. Do I talk to you or the National Expos<130>? I figured you might be a safer bet." The voice who called himself Captain Kirk gave away nothing but the competitive threat was effective.
"No contest. If it's real. What have you got?" Scott paid atten- tion.
"What's the number?" the voice demanded. "Your modem."
"Ok! 914-555-2190." Scott gave his home modem number.
"Be on at midnight." The line went dead.
Scott briefly mentioned the matter to his editor, Doug, who in turn gave him a very hard time about it. "I thought you said virus hacker connection was a big ho-hum. As I recall, you said they weren't sexy enough? What happened?"
"Eating crow can be considered a delicacy if the main course is phenomonal."
"I see," laughed Doug. Creative way out, he thought.
"He said he'd been plowing around NASA computers," Scott argued.
"Listen, ask your buddy Ben how many crackpots admit to crimes just for the attention. It's crap." Doug was too jaded, thought Scott.
"No, no, it's legit," Scott said defensively. "Sounds like a hacker conspiracy to me."
"Legit? Legit?" Doug laughed out loud. "Your last column just about called for all computer junkies to be castrated and drawn and quartered before they are hung at the stake. And now you think an anonymous caller who claims to be a hacker, is for real? C'mon, Scott. You can't have it both ways. Sometimes your conspiracies are bit far fetched . . ."
"And when we hit, it sells papers." Scott reminded his boss that it was still a business.
Nonetheless, Doug made a point that hit home with Scott. Could he both malign computer nerds as sub-human and then expect to derive a decent story from one of them? There was an inconsist- ency there. Even so, some pretty despicable characters have turned state's evidence and made decent witnesses against their former cohorts. Had Captain Kirk really been where no man had been before?
"You don't care if I dig a little?" Scott backed off and played the humble reporter.
"It's your life." That was Doug's way of saying, "I told you there was a story here. Run!"
"No problem, chief." Scott snapped to mock attention and left his editor's desk before Doug changed his mind.
* * * * *
MidnightScarsdale, New York
Scott went into his study to watch Nightline after grabbing a cold beer and turned on the light over his computer. His study could by all standards be declared a disaster area, which his ex- wife Maggie often did. In addition to the formal desk, 3 folding tables were piled high with newspapers, loose clippings, books, scattered notes, folders, magazines, and crumpled up paper balls on the floor. The maid had refused to clean the room for 6 months since he blamed her for disposing of important notes that he had filed on the floor. They were back on good terms, he had apologized, but his study was a no-man's, or no maid's land.
Scott battled to clear a place for his beer as his computer booted up. Since he primarily used his computer for writing, it wasn't terribly powerful by today's standards. A mere 386SX running at 20 megahertz and comparatively low resolution VGA color graphics. It was all he needed. He had a modem in it to connect to the paper's computer. This way he could leave the office early, write his articles or columns at home and still have them in by deadline. He also owned a GRiD 386 laptop com- puter for when he traveled, but it was buried beneath a mound of discarded magazines on one of the built-in floor to ceiling shelves that ringed the room.
Scott wondered if Kirk would really call. He had seemed paranoid when he called this afternoon. Phones tapped? Where did he ever get that idea? Preposterous. Why wouldn't his phone at home be tapped if the ones at work were? We'll see.
Scott turned the old 9" color television on the corner of the desk to Nightline. Enough to occupy him even if Kirk didn't call.
He set the ComPro communications program to Auto-Answer. If Kirk, or anyone else did call him, the program would automatical- ly answer the phone and his computer would alert him that someone else's computer had called his computer.
He noticed the clock chime midnight as Nightline went overtime to further discuss the new Soviet Union. Fascinating, he thought. I grow up in the 60's and 70's when we give serious concern to blowing up the world and today our allies of a half century ago, turned Cold War enemy, are talking about joining NATO.
At 12:02, Scott Mason's computer beeped at him. The beeping startled him.
He looked at the computer screen as a first message appeared.
Scott didn't know what to make of it, so he entered a simple response.
Hello.
The computer screen paused briefly then came alive again.
Scott entered 'Yes'.
Scott wondered what the proper answer was to a non-question by a computer. So he retyped in his earlier greeting.
Hello. Again.
What a question! Scott answered quickly.
Please be gentle.
I call the computer at work. First time with a stranger. Is it safe?
Scott had a gestalt realization. This was fun. He didn't talk to the paper's computer. He treated it as an electronic mailbox. But this, there was an attractiveness to the anonymity behind the game. Even if this Kirk was a flaming asshole, he might have discovered a new form of entertainment.
Not too quick, sweetheart.
Yes.
Kirk, or whoever this was, was comfortable with anonymity, obvi- ously. And paranoid. Sure, play the game.
You screwed up the NASA launch.
Glad to know it.
What do I have wrong?
You called me, remember?
Sure, I think.
That's what I've been saying
A guy who pokes his nose around where it's not wanted. Like inNASA computers.
So, change my mind.
You still haven't told me what you think a hacker is.
A Ham.
In my day it was a sliderule, and we called them propeller heads.
A fly boy, space jockey.
A grease monkey
Fucking crazy!!!!
Ok, let's accept that for now. What about those stories of hackers running around inside of everybody else's computers and making computer viruses and all. Morris and Chase were hackers who caused a bunch of damage.
Wait a minute. You first say that hackers are the guys in the white hats and then you admit that you are one of those criminal types who invades the privacy of others.
Why? For the thrill?
That's a line of crap.
So you admit hacking is a crime?
You made that up.
How is it different?
What about theft of service?
Breaking and entering.
But, you have to admit, you are doing it without permission.
Aw, come on.
Nice place to make a home.
That's crazy.
I guess the police would figure me for a blithering idiot, a candidate for the funny farm, and my insurance company might have reason not to pay me after they canceled me. So what?
It can't be that simple. No one would leave keys lying around for hackers.
If what you're saying is true . . .
I don't know if I buy this. But, for now, I'll put that aside.So, where do these hacker horrors come from?
Not many I guess.
That's impossible.
Why should I believe that?
Throw me off the track.
By the way, what's your name.
No, really.
How can I call you?
Handle? Like CB? Never had one.
Been called worse. How about Spook? That's what I'm doing.
What do you mean we?
repo man
I suspect that hackers are up to no good.
Got me. You're right, that's what the public buys. But not all news is bad.
At least we don't do the crime, just report it. What about these viruses. I suppose hackers are innocent of that too.
You keep mentioning this code. What is the code?
That's it?
So, you said earlier that you poke around NASA computers. And NASA just had a pretty good glitch that rings of hackers. Some- one broke the code.
Why would they? Isn't that a sure giveaway and a trip up the river?
So?
And then gets caught, right?
So it was you?
Uh . . .
I'm thinking.
The police, NASA,
That you did it.
Good point. Who are you?
I don't know if I buy everything you say, but it is something to think about. So what about the NASA thing.
You mean, I gather, nobody has owned up to it.
How can I describe you? If I wanted to use you in an article.
Sounds like a Letter to Penthouse Forum.
If you've done nothing wrong, why not come forward?
What time is it?
Arrange a trip? Travel agent on the side.
Let's say I am.
<<<<<
****************************************************************
Wednesday, November 25
HACKERS HAMPER HOLIDAY HELLO'SBy Scott Mason
As most of my readers know by now, I have an inherent suspicion of lame excuses for bureaucratic bungling. If any of you were unable to make a long distance phone call yesterday, you weren't alone.
AT&T, the long distance carrier that provides the best telephone service in the world, handles in excess of 100,000,000 calls daily. Yesterday, less than 25% got through. Why? There are two possible answers: AT&T's official response and another, equally plausible and certainly more sinister reason that many experts claim to be the real culprit.
According to an AT&T spokesperson from its Basking Ridge, New Jersey office, "In my 20 years with AT&T, I have not seen a crisis so dramatic that it nearly shut down operations nation- wide." According to insiders, AT&T came close to declaring a national emergency and asking for Federal assistance.
Airlines and hotel reservation services reported that phone traffic was down between 65-90%! Telemarketing organizations said that sales were off by over 80%.
Perhaps an understanding of what goes on behind the scenes of a phone call is in order.
When you pick up your phone, you hear a dial tone that is provid- ed by the Local Exchange Company, or as more commonly called, a Baby Bell. The LEC handles all local calls within certain dial- ing ranges. A long distance call is switched by the LEC to the 4ESS, a miracle of modern communications. There are 114 Number 4 and 5 Electronic Switching Systems used in all major AT&T switch- ing offices across the country. (A few rural areas still use relays and mechanical switches over 40 years old. When it rains, the relays get sticky and so does the call.)
Now here's the invisible beauty. There are 14 direct connects between each of the 114 4ESS's and every other 4ESS, each capable of handling thousands of call at once. So, rarely do we ever get a long distance busy signal. The systems automatically reroute themselves.
The 4ESS then calls its own STP, Signal Transfer Point within an SS7 network. The SS7 network determines from which phone number the call originated and its destination. (More about that later!) It sends out an IAM, Initial Address Message, to the destination 4ESS switch and determines if a line is available to complete the call. The SS7 is so powerful it can actually create up to 7 additional virtual paths for the heaviest traffic. 800 numbers, Dial a Porn 900 numbers and other specially coded phone numbers are translated through the NCP( Network Control Point) and routed separately. Whew! Had enough? So have I.
The point is, massive computer switches all across our nationsautomatically select the routing for each call. A call fromMiami to New York could be sent through 4ESS's in Dallas, LosAngeles and Chicago before reaching its ultimate destination.But what happened yesterday?
It seems that the switches got real stupid and slowed down. For those readers who recall the Internet Worm in November of 1988 and the phone system slowdown in early 1990 and then again in 1991, computers can be infected with errors, either accidentally or otherwise, and forced to misbehave.
AT&T's explanation is not satisfying for those who remember thatAT&T had said, "it can never happen again."
Today's official explanation is; "A minor hardware problem in one of our New York City 4ESS switches caused a cascading of similar hardware failures throughout the network. From all appearances, a faulty piece of software in the SS7 networks was the culprit. Our engineers are studying the problem and expect a solution shortly. We are sorry for any inconvenience to our valued cus- tomers."
I agree with AT&T on one aspect: it was a software problem.
According to well placed sources who asked to remain anonymous, the software problems were intentionally introduced into AT&T's long distance computers, by person or persons yet to be identi- fied. They went on to say that internal investigation teams have been assigned to find out who and how the "bug" was introduced. Regardless of the outcome of the investigation, AT&T is expected, they say, to maintain the cover of a hardware failure at the request of the public relations Vice President.
AT&T did, to their credit, get long distance services up and running at 11:30 P.M. last night, only 9 hours after the problem first showed up. They re-installed an older SS7 software ver- sion that is widely known to contain some "operational anomalies" according to the company; but they still feel that it is more reliable than what is currently in use.
If, in fact the biggest busy signal in history was caused by intruders into the world's largest communications systems, then we need to ask ourselves a few questions. Was yesterday a sym- bolic choice of dates for disaster or mere coincidence? Would the damage have been greater on a busier business day? Could it affect our defense systems and the government's ability to commu- nicate in case of emergency? How did someone, or some group, get into AT&T's computers and effect an entire nation's ability to do business? And then, was there a political motivation sufficient to justify am attack om AT&T and not on Sprint or MCI?
Perhaps the most salient question we all are asking ourselves, is, When will it happen again?
This is Scott Mason, busy, busy, busy. Tomorrow; is Big Brother listening?
* * * * *
Friday, November 27Times Square, New York
The pre-winter overnight snow-storm in New York City turned to sleet and ice as the temperature dropped. That didn't stop the traffic though. Hundreds of thousands of cars still crawled into Manhattan to insure downtown gridlock. If the streets were drivable, the city wouldn't stop. Not for a mere ice storm.
Steam poured from subway grates and manhole covers as rush hour pedestrians huddled from the cold winds, tromping through the grimy snow on the streets and sidewalks.
The traffic on 42nd street was at a near standstill and the intersection at Broadway and 7th Avenues where the Dow Chemical Building stood was unusually bad. Taxis and busses and trucks and cars all fought for space to move.
As the southbound light on 7th turned green, a dark blue Ford Econoline van screeched forward and cut off two taxis to make a highly illegal left turn. It curved too quickly and too sharply for the dangerously icy conditions and began to slide sideways. The driver turned the wheel hard to the left, against the slide, compensating in the wrong direction and then he slammed on the brakes. The van continued to slide to the right as it careened toward the sidewalk. The van rotated and headed backwards at the throngs of pedestrians. They didn't notice until it was too late.
The van spun around again and crashed through a McDonald's window into the dense breakfast crowds. As it crushed several patrons into the counter, the van stopped, suddenly propelling the driver through the windshield into the side of the yogurt machine. His neck was broken instantly.
Getting emergency vehicles to Times Square during the A.M. rush hour is in itself a lesson in futility. Given that 17 were pronounced dead on the scene and another 50 or more were injured, the task this Monday morning was damned near impossible.
City-ites come together in a crisis, and until enough paramedics arrived, people from all walks of life tended to the wounded and respectfully covered those beyond help. Executives in 3 piece suits worked with 7th avenue delivery boys in harmony. Secre- taries lay their expensive furs on the slushy street as pallets for the victims.
It was over two hours before all the wounded were transferred to local hospitals and the morgue was close to finishing its clean up efforts. Lt. Mel Kavitz, 53rd. Precinct, Midtown South NYPD made it to the scene as the more grisly pieces were put away. He spoke to a couple of officers who had interviewed witnesses and survivors. The media were already there adding to the frigid chaos. Two of the local New York TV stations were broadcasting live, searching out sound-bytes for the evening news and all 3 dailies had reporters looking for quotable quotes. Out of the necessity created by such disasters, the police had developed immunity to the media circus.
"That's it lieutenant. Seems the van made a screwball turn and lost control." The young clean-shaven patrolman shrugged his shoulders. Only 27, he had still been on the streets long enough not to let much bother him.
"Who's the driver?" Lt. Kavitz scanned the scene.
"It's a foreign national, one . . .ah . . .Jesef Mumballa. Second year engineering student at Columbia." The young cop looked down and spoke quietly. "He didn't make it."
"I'm not surprised. Look at this mess." The Lieutenant took it in stride. "Just what McDonalds needs. Another massacre. Any- thing on him?" Kavitz asked half suspecting, half hoping.
"Clean. As clean as rag head can be."
"Ok, that's enough. What about the van?"
"The van?"
"The van!" Kavitz said pointedly at the patrolman. "The van!What's in it? Has anybody looked?"
"Uh . . .no sir. We've been working with the injured . . .I'm sure you . . ."
"Of course. I'm sorry." Kavitz waved off the explanation. "Must have been pretty rough." He looked around and shook his head. "Anything else officer?"
"No sir, that's about it. We still don't have an exact count though."
"It'll come soon enough. Soon enough." Kavitz left the young patrolman and walked into the bloodbath, pausing only briefly before opening the driver's side door. "Let's see what's in this thing."
* * * * *
"D'y'hear about the mess over at Times Square?" Ben Shellhorne walked up to Scott Mason's desk at the City Times.
"Yeah, pretty gruesome. The Exchange . . .McDonald's. You really scrape the bottom, don't you?" Scott grinned devilishly at Ben.
"Maybe some guys do, not me." Ben sat down next to Scott's desk."But that's not the point. There's something else."
"What's that?" Scott turned to Ben.
"The van."
"The van?" Scott asked.
"Yeah, the van. The van that busted up the McBreakfast crowd."
"What about it?"
Ben hurried. "Well, it was some sort of high tech lab on wheels.Computers and radios and stuff. Pretty wild."
"Why's that so unusual? Phone company, computer repair place,EPA monitors, could be anything." Scott seemed disinterested.
"If that were true, you're right. But this was a private van, and there's no indication of what company it worked for. And the driver's dead. Personal ID only. No company, no numbers, no nothing, except this."
He handed a sheaf of computer printouts to Scott. "Look familiar?"
Scott took the papers and perused them. They were the same kind that Scott had received from Vito, his unknown donor. These were new documents as far as Scott could tell - he didn't recognize them as part of his library. They only contained some stock tips and insider trading information from a leading Wall Street bro- kerage house. Pretty tame stuff.
"These," Scott pointed at the papers, "these were in the van?"
"That's what I said," Ben said triumphantly.
"How did you get them?" Scott pushed.
"I have a few friends on the force and, well, this is my beat you know. Crime, disaster, murder, violence, crisis, death and de- struction on the streets. Good promo stuff for the Big Apple."
"Are there any more?" Scott ignored Ben's self pity.
"My guy said there were so many that a few wouldn't make any difference."
"Holy Christ!" Scott said aloud as he sat back in thought.
"What is it? Scott? Does this mean something?"
"Can I have these, Ben? Do you need them?"
"Nah! There's no blood on 'em? Not my kinda story. I just remembered that secret papers and computers are your thing, so they're yours." Ben stood up. "Just remember, next time you hear about a serial killer, it's mine."
"Deal. And, hey, thanks a lot. Drinks on me." Scott caught Ben before he left. "Ben, one more thing."