Hack (13 page)

“Count me in,” I said. Then his face changed, becoming more serious.

“We have a club you might be interested in.”

“Sounds interesting. When do you meet?”

“Sometime next week. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go. I’ll see you in class.”

“See you.”

“What was that about?” said my escort. I explained about my whiteboard hack in less technical terms, and she was amused, but genuinely puzzled.

“Why did you do it?”

“Just for, you know, the challenge.” She didn’t seem to understand. We taxied back to Grace’s house, and I had the taxi wait, while I went to the door.

“I had a good time tonight,” Grace said.

“I would have thought it would have bored you, all those computer games.”

“I wasn’t bored.” Grace ran her fingers through her hair, which my dating tips had told me was a good sign. Grooming behavior, Olivia had called it. I waited for the sprinkler system to come on, leaving us giggling and running for cover, like in the movies, but nothing happened. I waited for the clouds to pull back, setting free a romantic moon, but nothing happened. The Macks had no sprinklers, the moon was hardly showing that night, and the stuff Hollywood makes up can be quite misleading.

“Wait a minute,” Grace said suddenly. “I’ve got something for you.”

“You’ve got something for me?”

Grace disappeared into the house, and then came back a minute later, holding a cell phone.

“You said that you wanted a phone. You can have my old one, if you want.

It’s nothing special, but it works.” She held it out to me.

“You don’t mind?”

“No, I was keeping it as a spare, but I don’t use it.”

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“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

“And thanks for showing me around again.”

“No problem.”

“See you in school.”

“See you.” Grace went inside.

I pocketed the phone, and went home.

“Hi, David,” Hannah said, as I went into the house. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. I played some of the old games that I used to play.”

“That’s nice.”

“And I made a new friend.”

I woke as usual at 6 a.m. the next day, Sunday. I didn’t go down for breakfast.

I listened to music, and flicked through the radio stations. At ten o'clock, I was too hungry to stay upstairs any longer, and went down, hoping that Hannah and Richard would have gone out. But Hannah was in the kitchen, writing.

“Good morning, David,” she said, with indefatigable cheeriness. I said hello, got some cereal, and went back to my room. An hour later, I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I said, and looked up to see Hannah sticking her head around the door.

“I’m going out. Richard’s gone to get something from the store. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Was there anything you wanted to do today?”

“No, I’ll just take it easy. I could do with a bit of a rest.”

She was about to back out of the room when she spotted the cereal bowl, sitting on the floor at the side of the bed.

“Don’t forget to take your bowl back to the kitchen.”

“Yes, Mom,” I agreed, with a wry grin, and she left. I got off the bed, picked up the bowl, and headed to the kitchen. Through the window, I could see she was now in front of the garage, putting on a helmet, ready to go cycling. I opened the door.

“Are you going bike riding?” —a dumb question if ever I heard one.

“Just a few miles,” she said. She didn’t sound too enthusiastic. I wondered what the FBI’s yearly fitness tests involved. “Do you want to come?”

“Okay.”

“I set a pretty hard pace,” she said, with a hint of a wicked smile. I smiled back.

“I used to ride my bike all over the city. I’ll manage.”

“Get changed and we’ll go.”

I changed and followed Hannah out of the driveway. We rode to a nearby park, where I tested my suspension out on a few natural jumps. Then we circled the dirt track twice, and after half an hour, Hannah was ready to ride back. We sprinted the last hundred yards, and I let Hannah win.

“You haven’t even broken a sweat,” she said, looking at me, her hands on her thighs, breathing deeply.

“I used to ride everywhere,” I said.

Inside, I headed for the fridge, and got some juice.

“Don’t eat too much,” Hannah said. “I’m going to be cooking.”

“It’s just juice.”

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I went upstairs and lay on the bed once again. I didn’t bother to shower or change. I just lazed on the bed, going over my plan for the next few days, as meticulously as an inspector checking for holes in a nuclear reactor. Apart from dinner, I stayed in my room, and it turned out that the bike ride was the highlight of the day.

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At 9 a.m. the next morning, I arrived bright and cheery at school. By 9:10

a.m., I was dull and bored. The only interesting thing that happened took place after my first class, as I was leaving the classroom. I was bumped into by some oversized guy wearing a sports shirt. Apparently, I was in his way. I stood aside to let him pass.

It was like that in jail, too. Everybody is told what to do, and the only outlet for that grief is to tell other people what to do.

At lunch time, I found Grace, and we sat talking again. I tried several times to bring up a topic that was on my mind, but didn’t know how to go about it. So far, everything had been going well. I had made good progress, considering the short time I had been working at it. But I hadn’t yet found somewhere quiet where I could begin hacking in private. Somewhere like Grace’s house. But I couldn’t figure out how to approach the subject.

“Grace, do you mind if I use your room for some illegal computer hacking?”

“No, go right ahead. When the cops turn up, I’ll tell them you were teaching me basic war-dialing, and MAC spoofing.”

Somehow, I didn’t think that it would go like that. I looked at Grace, sitting across the table from me. She had finished her liquid lunch, and was toying with the empty can, talking about something that annoyed her. Putting my problems aside, and tuning back into what she was saying, I realized that she was talking about downloading music from the Internet, without paying for it. Stealing. She had heard about other people doing it, but when she had tried to do it, she had got nowhere. At last, my cue.

“Why don’t you just download from Monolith?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s where you can get music from.”

“You mean like the latest stuff?”

“Some of it.”

“How much does it cost?”

“It doesn’t cost anything.”

“Really? Why?”

“It’s kind of sharing, you know. It’s not actually legal, but people do it.”

“Do I have to share some of mine?”

“Yes, that’s the idea.”

“Can you show me how?”

“Sure.”

What had I been glooming about? This was almost too easy.

“How about tonight?” I asked.

“Okay.”

When the last bell rang, I phoned Hannah and told her that I’d be going to my friend’s house for dinner. I didn’t say which friend.

I was surprised to find that Grace’s room was entirely normal. I don’t know why—maybe it was the dark eye makeup—but I had half-expected it would be painted black, or something like that. I looked at my watch. It was nearly four-thirty. I hoped that I’d have time to contact Knight Securities Inc., before they closed at five. I was thinking of hiring their services, and needed a couple of references from them.

Computer security companies and reformed hackers turned white hats are a popular challenge for hackers, and just one well-publicized crack could leave them out of business forever. So you can imagine how heavy Knight would have laid on the 54

security for his own network. That meant that I’d have to go in through a back door, and the easiest route was through one of Knight’s clients. Knight would have to periodically remotely monitor them for break-ins. That meant that at least once a day, there would be a connection leading back into Knight Security Inc.—a connection that I might be able to tap into.

“This computer is really old,” Grace said, powering up the machine under her desk. I took a look at it. It was a couple of years old, which was surprising, since her dad did such a nice line in stolen hardware.

“It’s okay for playing music,” I said. I moved to the keyboard, and quickly surfed over to Monolith’s site, where I downloaded the software.

“I am putting this program on your machine, so you can exchange music files with other people.”

After the installation had finished, I said, “Give me a band name.”

“Trauma,” Grace said. I typed ‘trauma’ into the search box, and a couple of files came up on the list.

“Now right-click and download them. You can preview them, to see what they sound like.”

Grace clicked the preview button, and a blast of angst-pop music that sounded like it had been recorded in a grain silo blared out.

“Hey, it works,” Grace said.

I looked at my watch. It was twenty to five. I left Grace downloading, and took out my own notebook, booted it, and got busy transferring my hacker programs from the memory stick to the computer. I started to unpack my toolkit, the collection of scripts and utilities that I kept with me whenever possible, in the way that a tradesman keeps his toolbox in his truck.

Getting set up is important to me. If I know where everything is, then I generally work a lot faster. I used to spend half an hour getting ready so that I could spend ten minutes hacking, rather than the other way around. I did a couple of familiar registry hacks, resized the page file, and turned off a couple of services that were sure to do nothing but take up resources and let in Trojans and hackers. I lifted my head, to find Grace staring at me.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you don’t mind me using my computer?”

“I don’t mind.”

“You seem a bit spooked or something.”

“It’s nothing . . . It’s just that I am a bit surprised because . . .” Her shoulders slumped, as if she was puzzled, but then she rolled her eyes, and was smiling again.

“Nothing. So what are you doing?”

“I’m setting up my computer. Do you mind if I use your Internet connection?”

“I don’t mind. I’m going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?”

“Unleaded?”

“Huh?”

“Decaf.”

“Sugar?”

“No thanks. Do you mind if I make a phone call?” I said, taking out my phone.

“Go ahead.” When Grace had gone, I connected up to the Yellow Pages site, and typed “Knight” into the search box, along with the ZIP code for Knight’s area. It came up with a listing for Knight Securities Inc.

“Good afternoon. Knight Security Services,” said a woman’s voice.

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“Hello,” I said, in my best no-nonsense businessman’s voice. “My name is David Johnson. I’m calling about your security services. I think our computers might have been broken into.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll put you through to someone who can help.” The line clicked, and for a worrying moment, I thought that I might be put through to Knight, who would probably recognize my voice.

But then a different voice said, “Hello, Mister Johnson, this is Charles Forbes.

I understand that you think your computers might being targeted by criminals?”

“Well, I hope not,” I continued, “but I want to be sure. Maybe you can do something for me.”

“I’m sure we can. How we usually start is to send out a consultant, just to do a quick assessment of the situation. What sort of business are you in?”

“I run a jewelry business. I lend pieces to the fashion magazines. If your wife reads magazines, then there’s a good chance that the accessories some of the models are wearing come from us.”

“Oh, yes, my wife’s a big magazine reader. And can I ask you, are you based in Washington?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Great. Well, if I can get the address from you, I could arrange for a consultant to call on you at a convenient . . .”

“Sure, but look, I’d like to get a couple of references from you, first. Is that possible?”

“Certainly, sir, no problem at all. We have many satisfied customers. Can I take your address?”

My address? I’d have to stall him.

“Yes, it’s . . . I just got a call on the other line. Sorry, but I’ve got to take this.

Can I get back to you?”

“Please do,” said Forbes cheerfully. “I’ll have those references waiting.”

“I’ll call you back in ten minutes.” I checked my watch. It was nearly five.

Grace walked in, and handed me the coffee. Then she went back to her computer, and there was silence in the room.

“You have a lot of trophies,” I said, just to be saying something. A shelf on the other side of the room was covered with sports medals.

“I’ve had those for years.”

“What are they for?”

“They’re for shooting.”

“Shooting? You mean guns?”

Grace grinned. “Nah, I’m kidding. They’re for running, but I don’t do that anymore.”

“I like cycling. I never won any trophies though. Come to think of it, I was too busy to enter any races. Do you like cycling?”

“No.”

That was the end of that conversation. I rang Forbes, and true to his word, he had the references ready. He gave me the names and addresses of two of Knight’s clients, Mr. J. McFey of Paktran Inc. and Donald Aston of J. B. Enterprises.

“Thanks very much,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Not at all. You can call me any time you want to talk about anything.” I said I would, and rang off.

The two references I had in my hand were two possible backdoors into Knight’s lair. I slipped the details into my pocket and had a quick look over my new 56

phone. Since the advent of mobiles and digital telephone networks, phreaking had died out a bit. Thanks to the new technology—which in those days was almost as secure as a wet paper bag—phreaks were to some extent on the rise once more.

I had a quick look around the wireless routers in the neighborhood. My scan detected half a dozen good connections to routers that I could use. Two of them had no password on at all. Mr. Brown and Mrs. White had just taken them out of the package, and plugged them in, like it showed on the box. Another one had a NeoTeks home firewall, which had a default manufacturer’s password still set. I knew NeoTeks used “router” and “router” as the default username and password. One of the other three had old WEP encryption, which I cracked within a few minutes. I connected to one of those, and had a look around the Internet.