◇Text/[Beauty] Translated by Mitsutomu Shimomura/Pang Qifan
Hacker Challenge
On the first day after Christmas in 1994, I drove to Taihe Lake for skiing. While driving, my phone rang. It was my research assistant, Andrew Gross, who called.
"Can you find a landline to answer it?" He asked. I immediately became alarmed, realizing that it was a very confidential matter, and I was afraid that I would be being detected by a radio scanner on my mobile phone.
"It's not very convenient." I replied, "Tell me briefly, what's going on?" ”
"Well," he said, "the summaries of your computer's documents have been intercepted by unknown persons." ”
My heart immediately sank. Andrew went on to say that someone broke into my home's heavily guarded computer system via the Internet. Skiing had to be another day, and I drove back.
Back in San Diego, I looked closely at the files on my computer and found that many of them had been copied by the intruder.
Andrew and I then spent several days verifying the estimated damage, writing computer programs to recreate the theft traces in the hope of finding clues that the thieves might have left behind.
We discovered that this nasty thief had managed to trick my computer system into a legitimate operation that would make my computer mistake him for a member of the network-friendly reputation. I've seen theoretical descriptions of such attacks, and as far as I knew at the time, no one had ever actually put them into practice before. It seems that my opponent is not the idle among hackers.
At this time, I opened my voicemail again to check, and I didn't expect a string of recordings to pop up. "Think you're unlucky," said a male voice mimicking an Australian accent, "and my skills are top-notch." Know who I am? Hehe, my friends and I will let you die without a place to bury. ”
Then, another voice said, "Hey, boss, your skills are amazing!" The voice could also be the same person.
"That's right," the commenter finally said in the previous falsetto, "I'm a top player." ”
Obviously, someone was challenging me.
Fish bite the bait
A few weeks later, I received a call from a man named Bruce Kobauer, an employee of Sausato Computer Networks under Will Corporation. He received a notice from Will Corporation asking him to delete a huge piece of data that was taking up a lot of space in the company's network repository. Kobauer was baffled because he hadn't used that particular account for a while. He checked the account and found that it had been stolen by cyber hackers, and it was stuffed with all sorts of mysterious documents — my computer data and confidential information from Motorola, Apple and other high-tech companies. Obviously, this hacker has broken into the computer protection systems of many companies.
About a month and a half after my computer data was stolen, my voicemail received another message full of ridicule, starting with a roaring voice and then gradually lowering to a small mutter: "Your security defenses are vulnerable." "There's also a message that is kind of music from a suspense movie that is meant to make you want to look back and see if there's anyone staring at you behind you.
I put two of his voicemails on the Internet in the form of digital files, and computer speakers can convert and play the files, hoping to lure the voicemail caller into taking the bait. If he calls me back, I can find out where he is. In addition, I called the FBI, and Lever Burns, an agent in the Bureau's Computer Crime Division, told me to keep an eye on him.
I also installed a surveillance system at Will Corporation. As soon as the hacker shows up, we receive a warning message. This way, we can monitor and record his every move. The key issue is to make it easier to spy on him without exposing ourselves.
Finally, one night, the monitor shows the hacker's finger presses, and we see him open the email box of New York Times reporter John Makov, searching for documents containing the letters "itni". He tried to be cautious, but let me guess his identity. In 1994, Makov published an article about a cyber hacker named Kevin Mitnick. He also co-authored a book called Computer Punker, which tells the story of Mitnick and other hackers. Apparently, the hacker was searching for information about Mitnik in Makov's mail. Who else but Mitnik himself would have such an interest?
After a while, I received another voicemail, which was exactly what I had been waiting for. "Ah, Shimomura-kun, my good apprentice," he said this time, mimicking the voice of an Asian, "I know you've put my voice online." Is that all you have to do? You've let me down so much, my child. Hehe, my technique is the best! ”
The fish began to float up and bite the bait. With the tracking data set up on the phone, we were able to pinpoint the location of the thief.
Later, through analysis, we found out that this guy is frequently active through Netcom, a large Internet connection service company. One of his big results was to obtain the information of 20,000 credit card users of Netcom. In order to facilitate the nationwide monitoring and monitoring of the hacker's activities, we moved the surveillance system to Netcom. We then write programs that track the intruder's online activity. As soon as he went off the grid, we hurried to eat and rest; As soon as he came online, we immediately went back to the computer to monitor him.
One day, we monitored the cyber thief having an online conversation with an Israeli accomplice. At one point on the surveillance screen, he typed, "Makov owes a lot of credit to the front page of the New York Times for making my photo." ”
This confirmed my suspicion: the hacker was Kevin Mitnick.
Game over
Mitnick and I have something in common: a fanaticism and obsession with computers. I work at Ross Eramos National Laboratory in New Mexico, where I spend my days researching and developing advanced computer projects. However, the lonely and isolated Mitnick was lured by the "dark side" of computers, and since the age of 17, he has repeatedly illegally broken into other people's computer systems. Most recently, in September 1993, he tapped the phone of the California branch of an automobile company and obtained password instructions for their company's law enforcement procedures, which he subsequently used to steal confidential company information. The California State Police Department issued an arrest warrant for Mitnik, who managed to escape, and has been a fugitive ever since.
We continue to monitor Mitnick's every move at Netcom. At that time, Netcom had dial-up lines installed in 51 cities across the country, and as long as Mitnik called any user anywhere in Netcom, we were able to track down their location.
Late at night on February 12, 1995, we were having dinner in the "war room" of Wangkang. At this point, we have been staring at the surveillance screen for 36 hours without stopping, and our eyes are red. Suddenly, our computer showed that Mitnik had logged into the Internet via a cell phone and a modem, using Netcom's dial-up line, located in Raleigh, North Carolina. We immediately contacted a telecommunications technician, who locked the call to the northeast of the suburbs of Raleigh. I breathed a sigh of relief that we were finally close to our goal.
The next day, I flew to Raleigh. At two o'clock in the morning, I drove the rover along the route, accompanied by journalist John Makov and an engineer from a telecommunications company. I held the antenna in my hand while staring at the electronic detection device resting on my lap. After a while, we determined that Mitnik was surfing the Internet in a complex of apartments called the Athletes' Club. The signal is getting stronger, indicating that we are gradually approaching the goal. Judging by the beating of the instrument's pointers, I dare say, he was almost above our heads. I imagined that in an apartment less than 30 yards above us, Mitnick was hunched in front of his computer, collecting passwords and data files and eavesdropping on other people's emails.
We turned over the materials we had to the FBI and the U.S. Department of Justice. A few days later, federal agents had what they needed to arrest Mitnik. Then, we immediately went back to carry out the arrest. Agents burst into the Athletes' Club apartment building, and Makov and I waited outside the club. It's cold, and I have mixed feelings, maybe I'm sorry for Mitnik.
Ten minutes later, Federal Agent Riverd Burns emerged from the apartment building. "We've got him." He said. Burns told us that when they stormed his apartment, Mitnick was trying to lock some papers in a suitcase, but it was too late.
Two days later, I attended Mitnick's pretrial hearing. A tall young man with gold-rimmed glasses and shoulder-length brown hair was escorted into the courtroom, handcuffed and shackled to his feet.
As I walked to the middle of the courtroom, he stopped and looked at me. He looked shocked, his eyes wide open. "You're Tsutomu Shimomura!" He blurted out.
At the end of the hearing and as I was about to leave the courtroom, Mitnik turned around and stared at me. "Shimomura-kun," he said, "I admire your skills. ”
I stared at him too, but I didn't say anything, just nodded. What else do you need to say? The game is over, and he loses.