Friday, 1945 h: New York in late summer is mad, as usual. Outside the hotel
a van is unloading VDUs. Clearly this is the right place. I鈥檓 in the heart of
Manhattan for what鈥檚 billed as the biggest two-day hacker conference yet: HOPE
(Hackers On Planet Earth). The programme promises speeches from spies, hacking
into the New York subway system, reading telephone pagers around the city from
the comfort of the hotel, talks by hackers from Germany and the Netherlands,
lessons on cloning cellular phones 鈥 none of it entirely legal. It should be
fun.
I check into my room. The TV remote control 鈥 tagged by wire to the bedside
table 鈥 doesn鈥檛 work. Someone鈥檚 taken the batteries. I can鈥檛 plug my modem
into the phone because there鈥檚 no socket, just a mess of wires. It鈥檚
definitely not hacker-friendly. But will it be enough to stop them hacking
into the hotel computer, and staying for free?
2000 h: On the 18th floor, the top one, the conference is being prepared.
In a huge anteroom, beyond the main hall, a young team wires up a computer
network to the Internet. Rows of empty tables sit waiting for terminals. The
people already there, 16 hours before the conference starts, are a mixed
bunch, mostly teenagers, and all go by a 鈥渉andle鈥. That鈥檚 hackerspeak for
name.
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鈥淗i, I鈥檓 `Dr J鈥,鈥 says one, grasping my hand warmly. Another introduces
herself as 鈥淓mpress鈥. She works for Burger King. A guy known as 鈥淢adcap鈥,
wearing a floppy purple and green hat, is selling T-shirts with 鈥淗OPE鈥 on the
front and a long screed entitled 鈥淭he conscience of a hacker鈥 on the back,
price $10. So you can be a hacker and an entrepreneur. Yet another,
dressed in black with as much of a goatee bread as he can muster, introduces
himself as 鈥淪atan鈥.
Gradually it dawns on me why everyone is so keen to say hello to apparent
strangers: they want to know if they have met before in cyberspace, as words
on a screen.
There is a lot of talk of red boxes, 1-800s and COCOTS. Red boxes, I learn,
are bits of electronics that you hold over the speakers of payphones: when you
are asked to insert a quarter, you get the red box to play a rapid sequence of
tones. These fool the billing computer into thinking that you鈥檝e paid. But in
fact, you鈥檙e 鈥減hreaking鈥. I also discover that 1-800s are freephone numbers,
which are widely exploited, and that a COCOT is a Common Operator Coin-
Operated Telephone 鈥 a payphone to you.
2035 h: A pizza the size of a dustbin lid arrives for those wiring the
network. I follow Dr J, Empress, Satan and someone entitled 鈥淟ohtk鈥 across the
street to a fast-food store. As we wait in the queue, Lohtk leans over and
says, 鈥淯h, excuse me, Mr Over-21, would you mind buying me a beer?鈥 He鈥檚
obviously too young to buy alcohol in New York; I鈥檓 obviously not. This is a
barrier the hackers and phreakers have yet to overcome.
2310 h: Upstairs it鈥檚 getting crowded. There are about 20 terminals on the
network already. Word is there鈥檒l be a thousand people at the conference 鈥
three times more than at any other. But the organisers don鈥檛 really know. How
could they?
Outside the room a huge sheet of paper covers a whole wall, intended for
graffiti of all sorts. At least it鈥檒l keep the toilet walls clean. Someone has
put up a contest offering a prize if you 鈥淪pot the Fed鈥 鈥 meaning a federal
agent working for the FBI or CIA.
Someone walks in and calls out, 鈥淗as anybody seen Stormshadow?鈥 No one
responds. 鈥淲ell, if you do, could you tell him his mother鈥檚 looking for
丑颈尘?鈥
I get talking to Lauren, one of the few women at the do. She鈥檚 in her mid-
twenties. 鈥淧hreakers are younger, tend to be still living at home; their
parents pick up the bills,鈥 she explains. With them it鈥檚 about getting a 鈥渞ep鈥
鈥 a reputation 鈥 and being one up, not about meeting people. 鈥淗ackers are more
cooperative,鈥 says Lauren, 鈥渙ften working in a job, and many of them have
known each other for maybe a decade.鈥
Saturday 0100 h: Dr J tells me he wants to try hacking into the city鈥檚
central traffic light controller, if one exists. Jet-lagged, I leave him to it
and go to bed. The real hackers stay up till three, four, five in the morning,
鈥渏ust doing stuff鈥.
1000 h: Breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The hackers among the guests
aren鈥檛 hard to pick out; they鈥檙e the pale, shifty ones, and when they leave
they pay by cash. Credit cards have names; they can be traced. Seems paranoid,
if you ask me.
1100 h: Outside the main conference hall there is a list of rules. Number
1: 鈥淒on鈥檛 hack, phreak or mess with hotel property, wiring or fire alarms.鈥
Number 10: 鈥淎ssume you are being watched at all times by your worst
苍颈驳丑迟尘补谤别.鈥
I walk into the huge back room, now thronged with people, load up my camera
and stand on a chair to take a picture of the scene. When the flash goes off a
lot of faces turn round; few of them look happy. An organiser comes over: 鈥淚f
you鈥檙e taking photos close up of people, then you have to get their
permission.鈥 Yeah, these people really are paranoid. They can鈥檛 think I鈥檓 a
Fed, or can they?
There鈥檚 a mobile disco with huge speakers spilling out rock music at a
tolerable volume. The rows of tables are filling up with people who have
brought their computers to show off what they can do 鈥 to get one up,
establish their rep. Some have brought some pretty serious equipment with
them. One has a Silicon Graphics Iris workstation 鈥 a very expensive, very
powerful machine. It鈥檚 a rep in itself.
1200 h: The first conference speech is given by Robert Steele, a former CIA
agent. 鈥淚 spent nine years in the CIA,鈥 he tells the enthralled audience. 鈥淏ut
in computers the threat doesn鈥檛 come from the military or the government, it鈥檚
from the whole country. I would like to see you guys write a book about what鈥檚
wrong with the system, and what we should do about it. But I don鈥檛 want you to
publish how to do it, because although I trust you, I don鈥檛 trust the people
who would read it.鈥 People nod.
I wander back into the anteroom. There鈥檚 no coffee, though there鈥檚 lots of
Coke, and pizza, hamburgers and fries. The crowd out here still all look below
twenty 鈥 and they鈥檙e all about 20 pounds overweight. It鈥檚 all those hours at
the keyboard.
1415 h: The conference鈥檚 key challenge gets under way 鈥 to crack the New
York Metropolitan Transit Authority鈥檚 Metrocard. It鈥檚 about the size of a
credit card, and has a magnetic strip 鈥 though no-one is quite sure if that is
what it is. The cards provide up to $80 worth of subway rides, which
cost $1.25 a go. The hackers want to be able to control the cards, so
they can have everlasting rides, or recharge their card for free whenever they
want.
The speaker introduces himself as an MTA ticket clerk 鈥 and hacker. He is
wearing a baseball hat, glasses and has a polo-neck jumper rolled over his
mouth. You can see as much of his face as Robocop鈥檚. He wants to keep his job,
he says.
He explains the mechanics of how the card operates, how it appears to work,
what he has to do as a clerk. In that job, he says, he has tried every means
available to get under the skin of the computer that programs the cards in the
booth, including an 鈥渁ccidental鈥 coffee spill. Nothing worked. The MTA is
clearly well-prepared.
The audience and speaker throw ideas around. What and how much data does
the magnetic strip hold? Could you put two cards through a reader or charging
machine at once? What would happen if you 鈥渃reated鈥 two cards with the same
serial number? Although there aren鈥檛 any card readers there, the speaker has
tried so many methods that he can answer almost any suggestion.
Overall, it reminds me of some of my more enjoyable university lectures,
the ones where you did some thinking rather than just being told things.
Except that these guys make university undergraduates look middle-aged.
1630 h: Wandering around the anteroom, I come across someone soldering
chips together. I鈥檓 now acclimatised, so I know that these are phreaking boxes
鈥 either red, or blue (to make the billing computer think the call hasn鈥檛 been
connected while you鈥檙e talking), or black (for free international calls). The
solderer 鈥 in black jumpsuit, Mohican haircut and a chip apparently stuck to
the side of his head 鈥 says that they鈥檙e red boxes. He鈥檚 鈥淢alice鈥, and he鈥檚
22. He got started after reading William Gibson鈥檚 Neuromancer, the seminal
cyberpunk novel that revolves around the exploits of a genius hacker in a
future world. 鈥淭he new thing to hack will be interactive TV.鈥 I ask him where
he鈥檚 from. 鈥淯mm 鈥 the 617 area,鈥 he replies elliptically, referring to his
local telephone dialling code. I鈥檓 not sure why he鈥檚 being wary. If the police
were that serious about arresting every hacker in sight you wouldn鈥檛 get far
walking around with a chip stuck to the side of your head.
I chat with Winn Schwartau, an ebullient American author with a handlebar
moustache, who is promoting his latest book, Information Warriors. It鈥檚 about
people who have hackers鈥 skills but not their good intentions. There should be
an Electronic Bill of Rights, he says, to set out what constitutes private
information and what rights you have over it. 鈥淪ome people think I鈥檓 nuts,
specifically politicians in Washington. But there are people out there who
have another, nastier agenda. I know how to shut down just about anything, so
thank God I鈥檓 a good guy.鈥
1950 h: The demonstration of how to read everyone鈥檚 pager passes off
peacefully, not to mention dully, since the speakers don鈥檛 actually hack into
anything, they just explain (with diagrams) how you might do it 鈥 after all,
hacking is illegal in New York state. More shades of university lectures, but
the boring ones this time. I wander off.
One guy is showing off a card reader that can read magnetic strips. It鈥檚
amazing how many things do have magnetic strips on them, and how much
information they contain. I don鈥檛 offer him any of my things. He might just be
collecting it all for later use 鈥 paranoia is catching.
A second shows off the walkie-talkie he modified to operate on 16 channels,
instead of just two. The modification was absurdly small. He simply bought
one, opened it up, and found that the chip inside had been lobotomised to two
channels but would happily support 16. Think of all the people who bought that
system and never knew what it could do.
2100 h: Another speaker turns up, a hippy in his late 40s, with wild grey
hair and a slightly manic, laughing light in his eyes. 鈥淐heshire Catalyst鈥 is
here to give us the history of TAP, a radical magazine for hackers. As he鈥檚 a
senior citizen of the hacking world (Cheshire used to do it on the Telex
network), the question-and-answer session following his talk consists of
people seeking wisdom. 鈥淏e careful. Don鈥檛 do anything really dangerous, and
don鈥檛 get them really worrying about you, because they will come down
丑补谤诲.鈥
The name of Kevin Mitnick comes up. He was the boy who hacked into the US
military鈥檚 computers as a teenager (inspiring the film War Games) and then
went on to bigger things, mostly unrevealed. Now he鈥檚 a fugitive from the law.
Before the conference, he had eluded some FBI agents who were after him by
tapping their phones. No-one knows where he is; few people know what he looks
like. He agitates even the hackers.
I want to know more. But if I ask more than two questions about anything,
people give you that look 鈥 the one that means (I am learning) they are
weighing up whether you are a Fed.
2200 h: Next comes the editorial team of 2600 magazine (subtitle: 鈥淭he
Hacker鈥檚 Quarterly鈥), which is named after the basic tone used for phreaking.
They set up this conference by advertising it on their Internet bulletin
board. I flick through an issue: 鈥淭his article is an attempt to teach the
reader the basics of CCITT-5 international signalling 鈥︹ Other pieces
include elaborate schematic diagrams, perhaps like those used by a phreaker
such as Malice to build his boxes. Another article looks at how to hack
digital locks. It鈥檚 remarkable how boring hobby magazines can be if they鈥檙e
not about your hobby.
Being known as a hackers鈥 magazine has its excitements. The FBI called
round in the 1980s, wanting to use the mag to encourage Soviet hackers to
divulge their secrets. Editor Emmanuel Goldstein and his five-strong editorial
team refused.
Now the magazine鈥檚 success is the problem. From being run by hackers in
their spare time and distributed by a few anti-establishment independents,
it鈥檚 now available on news-stands nationally, selling about 20 000 copies per
issue. 鈥淎 lot of people read us for shortcuts, which worries us, because we
want people to understand hacking,鈥 Goldstein tells the attentive audience.
(The room is full again.)
2245 h: The first signs of dissent. A rambling question from a woman
worried that everyone will be arrested 鈥渇or conspiracy鈥 elicits mumbles from
the audience, even boos.
The topic of Phiber Optik comes up. He was, or is, a 2600 staff writer
who鈥檚 in prison for hacking. 鈥淚t was a sobering experience,鈥 says Goldstein.
鈥淗e didn鈥檛 do anything malicious, just spread information about.鈥
2355 h: Now it鈥檚 the cryptography session, featuring how to make sure no
one ever traces your name or whereabouts on the Internet. You are on computer
A, sending to computer C via network B 鈥 diagrams proliferate, with circles
and arrows going back and forth. I can鈥檛 handle this.
Back in the anteroom they are still trying to hack into things on the
Internet. I watch a thin, fidgety character in his late teens who wears
bottle-glass spectacles. He鈥檚 trying to set up a fake user account on the
Well, the California-based network widely known for its sociability and
openness. I watch over his shoulder. He seems to be making good progress; he鈥檚
got into the registration program. It asks for a credit card number. He puts
in a row of 9s. It asks if he wants to pay now. He declines, choosing instead
a few weeks鈥 free use before deciding. It asks for a daytime phone number; he
provides a row of 1s. Now he must choose a password.
Passwords on the Well, it explains, must be at least six characters long
and contain at least one number or punctuation symbol. He enters six p鈥檚. The
machine rejects this. 鈥淯h?鈥 he says, as the same screen comes up. He enters
six p鈥檚 again. The same thing happens. He literally jumps in his seat.
鈥淯丑??鈥
I point out his mistake as gently as I can. 鈥淥h,鈥 he says. He enters a
valid string. It thanks him and says that his new account will be set up as
soon as 鈥 Again, he doesn鈥檛 bother to read the message. He just hits a key
to return to the Well鈥檚 main level, and enters his new, fake username. It asks
for his password. He keys it in. 鈥淯nknown user ID,鈥 flashes the screen.
鈥淎ccess denied.鈥 The would-be hacker just stares.
I point out what he must have missed by not reading the messages on screen
鈥 that the account will be set up only after his card number has been
validated and his telephone number has been called to check his identity. You
can鈥檛 just set up a free account at midnight on Saturday, not even in New
York. 鈥淣ah, nah,鈥 he mumbles, not believing me, and hacks on.
I鈥檓 starting to feel weary, and go downstairs in search of that older
hallowed elixir 鈥 cold beer.
I find some. Unfortunately it鈥檚 in a video Karaoke bar. I鈥檝e swapped people
who can鈥檛 read words on a screen for people who can鈥檛 sing words off one.
Sunday, 0125 h: Refreshed. The hackers are still going strong, both in the
session (still rowing upstream through cryptography) and on the terminals.
鈥淶oran!鈥 exclaims one. 鈥淲hat channel are you on?鈥 He needs to know this so he
can send Zoran some e-mail, along the lines of 鈥淗ow is it, dude?鈥
To find out what channel Zoran is on, he turns round in his seat. Zoran is
sitting a metre away. I鈥檓 starting to think hackers are less of a threat to
national security than to each others鈥 sleep patterns. Certainly they are
wrecking mine.
1430 h: Cheshire and Goldstein are back, this time to talk about 鈥渟ocial
engineering鈥 鈥 also known as getting people to tell you things they shouldn鈥檛.
With them on the platform are 鈥淐aptain Crunch鈥 and someone going by the name
of John Draper.
Draper is going to try to get someone at the local phone company to give
him the freephone number of the database containing the names and addresses of
its customers. This allows a caller to dial the database and key in any
customer鈥檚 number to retrieve a computerised voice giving that customer鈥檚 name
and address. The freephone number is supposed to be top secret, known only to
nominated company employees. In fact, every hacker in the New York telephone
area knows the number for the CNA (customer name and address) database, and
Draper reads it out before he begins the demonstration so that the rest of us
know what the target is, too.
On a phone wired up so we can all hear both ends of the conversation,
Draper calls up directory enquiries and tries to adopt the breezy tone of
someone working on Sunday in the phone company鈥檚 computer department. Being
breezy in front of a thousand people who are hanging on your every word isn鈥檛
easy. He tries to charm the operator, but his voice wavers a little, and when
he asks for the CNA number, she sounds doubtful and puts him on hold.
Draper rings off at once.
鈥淲hen people put you on hold, that鈥檚 a bad sign,鈥 says Cheshire. 鈥淚t means
they鈥檙e referring things upwards.鈥
Draper tries again. We hear: 鈥淓nquiries. This is Marcie.鈥
鈥淗ey, Marcie, how鈥檚 it going, this is John over in CIS,鈥 he drawls. 鈥淵ou
busy today?鈥
鈥淜ind of, yeah,鈥 the operator replies.
鈥淥h, Sundays, I know how it is,鈥 he sympathises. 鈥淟isten, I was just
calling because we鈥檝e got a glitch over here, the systems just went down, and
I can鈥檛 pull the CNA number up. I just need it to complete this job. Have you
got it there?鈥
鈥淭he CNA number? The freephone?鈥
鈥渊耻辫.鈥
鈥淪ure 鈥︹ There鈥檚 a pause, and then she comes back and gives him the
number. 鈥淵ou need the PIN [code number] too?鈥
鈥淣oo, that鈥檚 fine, we got it here,鈥 says Draper. The PIN would be very
valuable, but getting it would also be a touch irresponsible, since any hacker
here could then make unlimited use of the system, including unlisted numbers.
He puts the phone down, beaming, and the audience bursts into applause.
1610 h: A panel of writers (magazine, book and film) face their fiercest
critics 鈥 the people they write about. They are joined later by three men who
are making a film about hackers. They tell the hackers to develop a new
attitude towards the media: not to distrust its members outright but, equally,
not to jump at the slightest chance to have their name in lights.
Where in society, someone asks, does the panel think hackers and their
pursuit will be in five to ten years? 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know,鈥 replies Julian Dibbel,
who has written on hackers for the Village Voice and Spin. 鈥淚t depends on what
hackers鈥 self-image is: do they get comfort from thinking that it鈥檚 a minority
thing? It鈥檚 poised right now: it could go either way, staying small or really
别虫辫濒辞诲颈苍驳.鈥
2000 h: The conference is winding down. On the graffiti wall, someone has
written, in large letters, HACKSTOCK. Which in a way it is 鈥 more like the
first Woodstock than the second. A haphazard registration; a rigorous
timetable, which went awry almost as soon as the event began; high ideals, but
low reality. No violence, unless you count the man who was arrested for
phreaking some mobile phones. Not many police, unless you count the six
government agents that Steele swore he noticed (recognising them by their
abstract interest and overshined shoes).
Instead of free love, free Internet bandwidth. Well, what do you expect in
cyberworld?
I catch a word with 鈥淓d鈥, who is packing his computer into a bag. What鈥檚
the point of it all, I ask? Why get together? Couldn鈥檛 hack the Metro card,
didn鈥檛 make any earthshaking decisions, so 鈥?
鈥淚n this country, it doesn鈥檛 matter if 500 people stand up and say `Let鈥檚
get rid of the government鈥,鈥 he replies. 鈥淏ut it does if 500 people know how
to get into the phone system.鈥
The conference鈥檚 organisers reckon that at least 1500 turned up. Any maybe
that is the point: 鈥淪preading knowledge is a political act in itself,鈥 says
Ed.