Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

W >> Winn Schwartau >> Since the author also requests remuneration, we would ask these

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I am listening.

ONE OF THE READERS IS DEAD. HIS EQUIPMENT HAS BEEN CAPTURED.

By whom?

THE NEW YORK POLICE. THERE WAS A CAR ACCIDENT. THEN THE FBI GOT
THE READER. THEN THE NSA, STEPPED IN AND TOOK OVER. THEY EVEN
HAVE INTERFERED WITH THE PRESS. SCOTT MASON WROTE A STORY ON THE
READERS AND THE GOVERNMENT STOPPED HIM.

How? We don't do that sort of stuff.

OBVIOUSLY YOU DO, MR. FOSTER. I HAVE MY SOURCES AS YOU DO.

They don't screw with the press, though. That's frowned upon.

MAYBE SO, BUT TRUE. WE NEED TO GET THIS MASON BACK ON THE TRACK.
HE IS WHAT WE NEED.

Why him?

SIMPLE. WE HAVE SENT READER INFORMATION TO SEVERAL NEWSPAPERS.
THE ONLY ONE TO PRINT HAS BEEN YOUR NATIONAL EXPOSE. THAT PAPER,
I BELIEVE IS SOLD AT SUPERMARKETS AND READ BY WOMEN WHO WATCH
SOAP OPERAS. MR. MASON IS AN ENGINEER WHO UNDERSTANDS. WE NEED
HIM BACK. HE IS VALUABLE TO OUR PLAN. IN YOUR COUNTRY PEOPLE
LISTEN TO THE PRESS. BUT YOUR GOVERNMENT STOPPED HIM. WE CANNOT
LET HIM FAIL.

How much does he know?

AS MUCH AS WE WANT HIM TO. NO MORE. WE WANT TO FEED HIM A
LITTLE AT A TIME, AS WE PLANNED. I AM AFRAID HE WILL BE DISCOUR-
AGED AND ABANDON THE HUNT. YOU KNOW HOW CRITICAL THE PRESS IS.
THEY ARE OUR MOUTHPIECE.

Yes, I agree. I wish I knew how you find out these things.

MANY PEOPLE OWE ME FAVORS. WE MAY HAVE LOST AFTER PEARL HARBOR,
BUT WE WON WITH THE TRANSISTOR RADIO AND VCRS. THE WAR IS NOT
OVER.

What do you want me to do?

MAKE SURE THAN MR. MASON IS KEPT INFORMED. HE IS BRIGHT. HE
UNDERSTANDS. HIS VOICE WILL BE HEARD. HE MUST NOT BE STOPPED.
I WILL DO WHAT I CAN AS WELL. PUT HIM BACK ON THE TRACK.

I know how to do that. That will not be a problem. Do we still
have readers?

YES, WE LOST ONLY ONE, AND THAT IS NOT HURTING. WE HAVE MANY
MORE.

How many?

MR. FOSTER, YOU WROTE THE PLAN. DID YOU FORGET?

No, I know. Curiosity.

KILLED THE CAT AS YOU SAY.

It is my plan.

WHICH I BOUGHT. I WANT THE PUBLICITY, AS PLANNED. SEE THAT WE
GET IT.

Sure.

MR. FOSTER? ONE MORE THING.

Yes.

I DO NOT HAVE A SLOPED BROW NOR IS RICE MY PRIMARY MEANS OF
PROPULSION.

Just an expression.

KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.

<<<<<>>>>>

* * * * *

Midnight, Wednesday, December 2
Scarsdale, New York

Since he had met Kirk, Scott had developed a mild affection for
his long distance modem-pal, and pretended informer. Now, it was
time to take advantage of his new asset. Maybe the Government
carries weight with their spook shit, but a bank can't push hard
enough to pull a story, if it's true. And Kirk, whoever that
was, offered Scott the ideal way to prove it. Do it yourself.

So he prepared himself for a long night, and he would definitely
sleep in tomorrow; no matter what! Scott so cherished his sleep
time. He wormed his way through the mess of the downstairs
"study in disaster," and made space by redistributing the mess
into other corners.

He felt a commitment, an excitement that was beyond that of de-
veloping a great story. Scott was gripped with an intensity that
was a result of the apprehension of invading a computer, and the
irony of it all. He was an engineer, turned writer, using com-
puters as an active journalistic instrument other than for word
processing. To Scott, the computer, being the news itself, was
being used as a tool to perform self examination as a sentient
being, as a separate entity. Techno-psychoanalysis?

Is it narcissistic for man's tools to use themselves as both
images of the mirror of reflective analysis? They say man's brain
can never fully understand itself. Is the same true with comput-
ers? And since they grow in power so quickly compared to man's
snail-like millennia by millennia evolution, can they catch up
with themselves?

Back to reality, Scott. The Great American Techno-Philosophy and
Pulitzer could wait. He had a bank to rob. Scott left his
computer on all the time since Kirk had first called. If the
Intergalactic Traveler called back, the computer would answer,
and Kirk could leave a message. Scott checked the Mail Box in
the ProCom communications program. No calls. Not that his modem
was a popular number. Only he, his office computer and Kirk knew
it. And the phone company, but everyone knows about them . . .

Just as the clock struck midnight, Kirk jumped in his seat. Not
only was the bell chiming an annoying 12 mini-gongs, but his
computer was beeping. It took a couple of beeps from the small
speaker in his computer for him to realize he was receiving a
call. What do I do know? The 14" color screen came alive and it
entered terminal mode from the auto-answer screen that Scott had
left yesterday.

WTFO

The screen rang out. Scott knew the answer.

naft

VERY GOOD! COULDN'T HAVE SAID IT BETTER MYSELF.

Welcome pilgrim, what has brought thee to these shores?

I GUESS WRITERS HAVE AN ADVANTAGE ON COMM. MAKE YOURSELF VERY
COLORFUL. CREATE ANY PICTURE YOU WANT.

Seems a bit more sporting that hiding behind techy-talk.

YEAH, WELL, I'LL WORK ON IT.

So, as Maynard G. Crebbs asked, "You Rang?"

AH! DOBIE GILLIS. NICK AT NIGHT!

No, the originals.

WHEN WAS THAT?

You've just dated yourself. Thanks.

TO-FUCKING-SHAY! NOT AS OLD AS YOU. READY FOR A TRIP TO THE
BANK?

You read my mind :-)

I FIGURED YOU'D WIMP OUT ON A SOLO TRIP, FIRST TIME AND ALL.
THOUGHT I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP. I MAKE A HELL OF A CHAUFFEUR.

What do you mean?

I MEAN I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU FOR A RIDE.

You're kidding. Just like Superman carries Lois Lane?

JUST ABOUT. FIRST I'M GOING TO SEND YOU A COPY OF 'MIRAGE'
SOFTWARE.

When?

RIGHT NOW. THEN, YOU'LL USE MIRAGE. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS
EXECUTE FROM THE COMMAND LINE AFTER I DOWN LOAD.

English kimosabe.

OK, ITS SIMPLE. WHEN I SAY SO, YOU ENTER ALT-F9. THAT SETS YOU
UP TO RECEIVE. NAME THE FILE MIRAGE.EXE. THERE'S ONLY ONE.
THEN WHEN IT SAYS ITS DONE, PRESS CTRL-ALT-R. YOU WILL HAVE A
DOS LINE APPEAR. ENTER MIRAGE.EXE AND RETURN.

Stop! I'm writing . . .

USE PRTSCR

What's that?

IS YOUR PRINTER ON LINE?

Yes.

WHENEVER YOU WANT TO PRINT WHAT'S ON THE SCREEN ENTER 'SHIFT-
PrtScr'. LOOK FOR IT. HIT IT NOW.

Thanks! Got it.

OR SAVE THE WHOLE THING TO A FILE. USE CTRL-ALT-S. THEN PICK A
NEW FILE NAME. MEANS MONGO EDITING THOUGH.

Done! I like Ctrl-Alt-S. Suits me fine. No memory needed.

HIT ALT-F9. MIRAGE IS COMING.

Scott did as instructed. The entire procedure made sense intel-
lectually, but inside, there was an inherent disbelief that any
of these simple procedures would produce anything meaningful. It
is inherently difficult to feel progress, a sense of achievement
without instantaneous feedback that all was well.

Less than a minute later, the screen told Scott it was finished.
Did he want to Save the file? Yes. Please name it. Mirage.Exe.
Would you like to receive another? No. Do you want to exit to
Command line? Yes. He entered Mirage.Exe as Kirk had instruct-
ed, hoping that he was still waiting at the other end. The
screen displayed various copyrights and Federal warnings about
illegal copying of software, the very crime Scott had just com-
mitted.

The video suddenly split into two windows. The bottom window
looked just like the screen he used to talk to Kirk, except much
smaller. Only 10 out of a possible 25 lines. The upper half of
the screen was new. MIRAGE-Remote View (C)1988.

Kirk announced himself.

WTFO

Yup! I got something. Two screens.

GOOD. THAT MEANS EVERYTHING PROBABLY WORKED. LET'S TEST IT.
YOU AND I TALK JUST AS USUAL, ON THE SMALL WINDOW, LIKE WE'RE
DOING NOW. ON THE TOP WINDOW, YOU WILL SEE WHAT I'M DOING.
EXCEPT IN MINIATURE. BECAUSE YOU ONLY HAVE 15 LINES TO SEE, AND
A NORMAL SCREEN IS 25 LINES, THE PROGRAM COMPRESSES THE SIGNAL TO
DISPLAY IT IN FULL. DO YOU HAVE A DECENT MONITOR?

vga 14 inch

GOOD. YOU WON'T HAVE ANY PROBLEMS. REMEMBER, WHENEVER YOU WANT
A COPY OF THE SCREEN, HIT SHIFT-PRTSCR.

Can't I save everything?

CTRL-ALT-S, YEAH.

Done. Anything else?

YOU CAN'T INTERFERE. JUST ALONG FOR THE RIDE.

A Sunday drive in the country . . .

WITH ME DRIVING. HA! FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS.

Scott watched with his fingers sitting on the keyboard with
anticipation. A phone number was displayed on top line in the
Upper Window: 18005555500.

<>

In a few seconds the screen announced,

WELCOME TO USA-NET, THE COMPLETE DATA BASE.

The graphics got fancy but in black and white.

ARE YOU A FIRST TIME USER? NO

ID? XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
PASSWORD? XXXXXXXX

The video monitor did not let Scott see the access codes.

Welcome to USA-NET, Kirk.
Time synchronizing: 0:04:57 December 18, 1990

DO YOU WANT THE MAIN MENU? Y

Scott's large window began to scroll and fill with lines after
line of options:

(A) Instructions
(B) Charges
(C) Updating
(D) OAG
(E) Shopping Menus
(F) Trading Menus
(G) Conversation Pits

In all there were 54 choices displayed. The lower window came
alive.

SEE HOW IT WORKS?

Fascinating.

THAT WAS JUST A TEST. NOW FOR THE REAL THING. SURE YOU WANNA
GO?

Scott had gone this far. He would worry about the legalities in
the morning. Higgins would have his work cut out for him.

Aye, aye, Captain.

ENGAGE WARP ENGINES.

The upper window changed again.

QUIT? Y
ARE YOU SURE? Y

<<<<<>>>>>

Another number flashed in the upper window. 12125559796.

<>

After less than 2 rings the screen announced that they had ar-
rived at the front doors to the computer system at First State
Bank, in New York. Another clue. Kirk was not from New York.
He used an area code.

Scott felt like looking back over his shoulders to see who was
watching him. His automatic flight-or-fight response made the
experience more exhilarating. He tried to force his intellect to
convince himself that he was far from view, unobservable, unde-
tectable. Only partially successful, he remained tense realizing
that he was borderline legal.

<<<<<>>>>>

PORT CONTROL SECURITY, CENTRAL DATA PROCESSING CENTER, FIRST
STATE BANK. O/S VMS R31

SECURITY: SE-PROTECT, 4.0 REV. 3.12.1 10, OCT, 1989
TIME: 00:12:43.1
DATE: 04 December
PORT: 214

ARE YOU SYSTEMS ADMINISTRATOR? YES
ENTER SYS-ADMIN ID CODE SEQUENCE: 8854

<>

PRIMARY SYS-ADMIN AUTHENTICATION ACCEPTED. PLEASE BEGIN SECOND-
ARY IDENTIFICATION.

PASSWORD: 4Q-BAN/HKR

<>

SECONDARY SYS-ADMIN AUTHENTICATION ACCEPTED. PLEASE BEGIN FINAL
IDENTIFICATION.

ID: 374552100/1

<>

WELCOME TO CENTRAL DATA PROCESSING, FIRST STATE BANK, NEW YORK
CITY. YOU ARE THE SYSTEMS ADMINISTRATOR.

*****************
WARNING!!!

PLEASE ONLY INITIATE CHANGES WHICH HAVE BEEN TESTED ON BACKUP
PROCESSORS. SEVERE DAMAGE MAY RESULT FROM IMPROPER ADMINISTRA-
TION.

*****************

Scott watched in fascination. Here he was, riding shotgun on a
trip through one of New York's largest bank computers, and there
was no resistance. He could not believe that he had more securi-
ty in his house than a bank with assets of over $10 Billion. The
bottom window showed Kirk's next message.

WHAD'YA THINK?

Pretty stupid

WHAT?

That the bank doesn't have better control

VIVE LE HACKER!!!

* * * * *

Wednesday, December 2
New York City

"Doug," Scott came into the office breathlessly, "we have to see
Higgins. I gotta great . . ."

"Hey, I thought you were gonna come in late today? Wire in the
copy?" He looked at the New York clock on the wall. It was
9:15. Scott broke the promise he made to himself to come in
late.

"Yeah, well, I underslept." He brandished a thick file of
computer printouts. "Before I write this one, I want Higgins and
every other lawyer God put on this green Earth to go over it."

"Since when did you get so concerned with pre-scrutiny. As I
remember, it was only yesterday that you threatened to nuke
Higgins' house and everyone he ever met." Doug pretended to be
condescending. Actually, the request was a great leap forward
for Scott and every other reporter. Get pre-lawyered, on the
approach, learn the guidelines, and maybe new rules before plow-
ing ahead totally blind.

"Since I broke into a bank last night!" Scott threw the folder
down on Doug's desk. "Here. I'm going to Rosie's for a choles-
terol fix. Need a picker upper."

When Scott came back from a breakfast of deep fried fat and pan
grilled grease he grabbed his messages at the front desk. Only
one mattered:

Higgins. 11:00. Be there. Doug.

Still the boss, thought Scott.

Higgins' job was to approve controversial material, but it gener-
ally didn't surround only one reporter, on so many different
stories within such a short time span.

"Good to see you, Mason," snorted Higgins.

"Right. Me too," he came back just as sarcastically. "Doug."
He acknowledged his editor with only slightly more civility.

"John, the boy's been up all night," Doug conciliated to Higgins.
He called all his reporters boys. "And Scott, lighten up." He
was serious.

"Sure, Doug," he nodded.

Higgins began. "O.K., Scott, what is it this time? Doug said you
broke into a bank, and I haven't had time to go over these." He
held up the thick file of printouts. "In 25 words or less."
The legal succinctness annoyed Scott.

"Simple. I tied in with a hacker last night, 'round midnight.
He had the passwords to get into the First State computers, and
well, he showed me around. Showed me how much damage can actual-
ly be done by someone at a keyboard. The tour lasted almost 2
hours."

"That's it?" Asked Higgins.

"That's it? Are you kidding? Let me tell you a few things in 25
words or more!" Scott was tired and the lack of sleep made him
irritable.

"I did a little checking before I went on this excursion. You
bank at First, don't you, John?"

It was a setup question. "Yes," Higgins said carefully.

"I thought so. Here let me have that file. Gimme a minute," he
said flipping pages. "Here it is, and yes, correct me if I say
anything that you don't agree with." His curtness and accusato-
ry sound put both Higgins and Doug off. Where was he going?

"John W. Higgins, social security number, 134-66-9241. Born Rock-
ville, Maryland, June 1, 1947. You currently have $12,435.16 in
your checking account, $23,908.03 in savings . . ."

Higgins' jaw and pen dropped simultaneously. Doug saw the shock
on his face while Scott continued.

"Your mortgage at 115 Central Park West is $2,754.21. Your
portfolio is split between, let's see, CD's, T-Bills, the bank
acts as your broker, and you have three safety deposit boxes,
only one to which your wife, Helen Beverly Simons, has access.
You make a deposit every two weeks . . ."

"Stop! How the hell do you know . . ."

"Jeez you make that much? Can I be a lawyer too, huh? Please Mr.
Higgins?"

Higgins threw his chair back and stormed around his desk to grab
the papers from Scott. Scott held them away.

"Let me see those!" Higgins demanded.

"Say please. Say pretty please."

"Scott!" Doug decided enough was enough. Scott had made his
point. "Cool it. Let him have them."

"Sure, boss!" He grinned widely at Doug who could not, for
reasons of professional conduct, openly condone Scott's perform-
ance, no matter how effective it was.

Higgins looked at the top pages from where Scott was reading. He
read them intently, looking from one to the other. Slowly, he
walked back to his desk, and sat down, nearly missing the chair
because he was so engrossed.

Without looking up he spoke softly. "This is unbelievable.
Unbelievable. I can't believe that you have this." Suddenly he
spoke right to Scott. "You know this is privileged information,
you can't go telling anyone about my personal finances. You do
know that, right?" The concern was acute.

"Hey, I don't really give a damn what you make, but I needed to
shake the tree. This is serious shit."

"Scott, you've got my total, undivided attention now. The
floor's yours. You have up to 100 words." Humor wasn't Higgins'
strong point, or his weak point, or any point, but Scott appreci-
ated the gesture. Doug could relax, too. A peace treaty, for
now.

"Thanks, John." Scott was sincere. "As you know I've been run-
ning a few stories on hackers, computer crimes, what have you."
Higgins rolled his eyes. He remembered. "A few weeks ago I got
a call from Captain Kirk. He's a hacker."

"What do you know about him?" Higgins was again taking notes.
The tape recorder was nowhere to be seen.

"Not much, yet, but I have a few ideas. I would hazard to guess
that he is younger. Maybe in his late '20's, not from New York,
maybe the Coast, and has a sense of responsibility."

"How do know this?"

"Well, I don't know, I guessed from our conversations."

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"I did. But, he wants his anonymity. It's the things he says,
the way he says them. The only reason I know he's a he is be-
cause he called me on the phone first."

"When did you speak to him?" Higgins inquired.

"Only once. After that it's been over computer."

"So it could be anyone really?"

"Sure, but that doesn't matter. It's what he did. First, we
entered the computer . . ."

"What do you mean we?" Higgins shot Scott a disapproving stare.

"We. Like him and me. He tied my computer to his so I could
watch what he was doing. So, he gets into the computer . . ."

"How?"

"With the passwords. There were three."

"How did he get them?"

"From another hacker I assume. That's another story." The con-
stant interruptions exasperated Scott. "Let me finish, then grill
me. O.K.?"

Higgins nodded. Sure.

"So, once we were in, he could do anything he wanted. The com-
puter thought he was the Systems Administrator, the head honcho
for all the bank's computer operations. So we had free reign.
The first place we went was to Account Operations. That's where
the general account information on the bank's customers is kept.
I asked him for information on you. Within seconds I knew a lot
about you." Higgins frowned deeply. "From there, he asked for
detailed information on your files; credit cards, payment histo-
ry, delinquencies, loans on cars, IRA's, the whole shooting
match."

"I have to interrupt here, Scott," Higgins said edgily. "Could
he, or you have made changes, to, ah . . .my account?"

"We did!"

"You made changes? What changes?" Higgins was aghast.

"We took all your savings and invested them in a new startup fast
food franchise called Press Rat and Wharthog Sandwiches, Inc."

"You have got be kidding." Scott saw the sweat drops at Higgins'
hairline.

"Yeah, I am. But he did show me how easy it is to make adjust-
ments in account files. Like pay off loans and have them disap-
pear, invoke foreclosures, increase or decrease balances, whatev-
er we wanted to do."

"Jesus Christ!"

"That's not the half of it. Not even a millionth of it. See, we
went through lots of accounts. The bank computer must hold
hundreds of thousands of account records, and we had access to
them all. If we had wanted to, we could have erased them all, or
zeroed them out, or made everyone rich overnight."

"Are you telling me," Higgins spoke carefully, "that you and
this . . .hacker, illegally entered a bank computer and changed
records and . . ."

"Whoah!" Scott held up his hands to slow Higgins down. "We left
everything the way it was, no changes as far as I could tell."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not. I wasn't in the driver's seat. I went along for
the ride."

"What else did you do last night, Scott?" Higgins sounded re-
signed to more bad news. The legal implications must have been
too much for him to handle.

"We poked around transfer accounts, where they wire money from
one bank to another and through the Fed Reserve. Transaction
accounts, reserves, statements, credit cards. Use your imagina-
tion. If a bank does it, we saw it. The point is, John, I need
to know two things."

John Higgins sat back, apparently exhausted. He knew what was
coming, at least half of it. His expression told Scott to ask
away. He could take it.

"First, did I do anything illegal, prosecutable? You know what I
mean. And, can I run with it? That's it."

Higgins' head leaned back on the leather head rest as he began to
speak deliberately. This was going to be a lawyer's non-answer.
Scott was prepared for it.

"Did you commit a crime?" Higgins speculated. "My gut reaction
says no, but I'm not up on the latest computer legislation. Did
you, at any time, do anything to the bank's computers?"

"No. He had control. I only had a window."

"Good, that helps." The air thickened with anticipation as Doug
and Scott both waited for words of wisdom. "I could make a good
argument that you were a reporter, with appropriate credentials,
interviewing an individual, who was, coincidentally, at the same
time, committing a crime. That is, if what he did was a crime.
I don't know the answer to that yet.

"There have been countless cases where a reporter has witnessed
crimes and reported on them with total immunity. Yes, the more I
think about it, consider this." Higgins seemed to have renewed
energy. The law was his bible and Scott was listening in the
congregation. "Reporters have often gone into hostage situations
where there is no doubt that a crime is in progress, to report on
the condition of the hostages. That's O.K.. They have followed
drug dealers into crack houses and filmed their activities."

Higgins thought a little more. "Sure, that's it. The arena
doesn't change the rules. You said you couldn't affect the
computers, right?" He wanted a confirmation.

"Right. I just watched. And . . .asked him to do certain
things."

"No you didn't! Got that? You watched, nothing else!" Higgins
cracked sharply at Scott. "If anyone asks, you only watched."

"Gotcha." Scott recognized the subtle difference. He did not
want to be an aider or abettor of a crime.

"So, that makes it easy. If you were in the hackers home, watch-
ing him over his shoulder, that would be no different from watch-
ing him over a computer screen." He sounded confident. "I
guess." He sounded less confident. "There is very little case
history on this stuff, so, if it came to it, we'd be in an inter-
esting position to say the least. But, to answer your question,
no, I don't think that you did anything illegal."

"Great. So I can write the story and . . ." Scott made a
forgone conclusion without his lawyers advice. There was no way
Higgins would let him get away with that.

"Hold your horses. You say write a story, and based upon what I
know so far, I think you can, but with some rules."

"What kind of rules?" Skepticism permeated Scott's slow re-
sponses.

"Simple ones. Are you planning on printing the passwords to
their computers?"

"No, not at all. Why?"

"Because, that is illegal. No doubt about it. So, good, rule
one is easy. Two, I want to read over this entire file and have
a review of everything before it goes to bed. Agreed?" Higgins
looked at Doug who had not contributed much. He merely nodded,
of course that would be fine.

"Three, no specifics. No names of people you saw, nothing exact.
We do not want to be accused of violation of privacy in any way,
shape or form."

"That's it?" Scott was pleasantly surprised. What seemed like
common sense to him was a legal spider web that Higgins was re-
quired to think through.

"Almost. Lastly, was this interview on the record?"

Damn good question, Scott thought. "I dunno. I never asked, it
didn't seem like a regular interview, and since I don't know
Kirk's real name, he's not the story. It was what he did that is
the story. Does it matter?"

"If the shit hits the fan it might, but I think we can get around
it. Just be careful what you say, so I don't have to redline 90%
of it. Fair enough?"

Scott was pleased beyond control. He stood to thank Higgins.
"Deal. Thanks." Scott began to turn.

"Scott?" Higgins called out. "One more thing."