Ghost in the Wires

Ghost in the Wires cover

Ghost in the Wires cover

I thought Kevin Mitnick was a friend of mine—but that was before I read his forthcoming book, Ghost in the Wires. Kevin’s the consummate liar, it seems. He’ll say anything to get what he wants, going to extreme efforts to research, then set up support for elaborate cons. He’ll claim to be a cop, a utility employee, or your colleague from a remote office, if it serves his purpose. A faceless voice on the telephone, he’ll sweet-talk one minute, and command with authority the next. At least he used to do this, before spending five years in federal prison…

To become the boldfaced name in social engineering, Kevin honed a natural knack for people-reading from childhood. He was a telephone Zelig who rarely needed to get out of his sweats. He always found a plausible pretext for his capers and pursued them with outrageous chutzpah. Rarely would he fail to obtain the information he sought.

Can one retire a talent like that? I doubt it, but as I can’t think of what use Bob and I are to Kevin, I prefer to think that we really are his friends.

Ghost in the Wires: My Adventures as the World’s Most Wanted Hacker is Kevin’s third book, to be published in August 2011. I love that title. The book chronicles how Kevin, from an early age, tinkered with communication devices: ham radios, telephones, cellphones, computers, and the software that runs them all. Although he was obsessively compelled to dig deeper and deeper into the gizmo-code, he never tried to make or steal money from his exploits. He did it out of his own curiosity, to learn more, and to challenge himself to do what seemed impossible.

Sometimes, in his relentless pursuit of knowledge, he simply had to break into a company’s computer to get the software, the code, or the user names and passwords that he needed. In an electronic sense, that’s breaking and entering. And when he copied that proprietary information for his own use, well, that’s stealing.

Once he’d gained access to his target computer, he’d usually fiddle with its inner settings just enough to plant a “backdoor,” an easy way in for his next visit. He might read his target’s emails and even copy them, but he never destroyed the files.

Imagine an intruder who breaks into your house, sneaks around and looks into your secret hiding places, rifles your files, and picks through your drawers. Satisfied, he then backs out quietly leaving everything just as it was, sweeps up his footprints and, oh yeah—copies your house key on the way out.

Bambi Vincent, Kevin Mitnick, Bob Arno

I’ve heard Kevin call himself a “non-profit hacker.” Sure, he got himself free phone calls, but throughout his hacking career, he was always gainfully employed. With the information he had at his fingertips, he could easily have enjoyed a life of leisure from credit card fraud. He could have sold proprietary source code in the hackers’ underworld. But no; Kevin lacks a vital attribute. He has nerves of steel and gigantic balls, but he does not possess a criminal core. He was simply educating himself.

That is, until he got himself in trouble for snooping. Then he needed that information to protect himself, so he could make untraceable phone calls, so he could listen in to others. As the Feds closed in on him, he needed to know how much they knew about him, too.

Many times while reading Ghost in the Wires I wanted to smack Kevin. I wanted to shake him and say “you just got out of juvenile detention for doing just this—why are you doing it again?” He makes it clear that his hacking was his idea of fun and entertainment, to see if he could get to the next level. Like an addicted gamer.

It turns out, after all, that Kevin was busy educating himself. From “the world’s most wanted hacker” he has become one of the most wanted security experts in the world. He’s now considered the ultimate social engineer and an “ethical hacker,” one who’s challenge is to break into his clients’ systems, whether electronically or by social engineering. In other words, as Mitnick Security, he’s now paid to do what he loves, and he no longer has to look over his shoulder.

Social engineers are an ominous bugbear to security. A company (or you!) can have the tightest security system in place, but humans are its weakest link. For a hacker like Kevin, it’s easier to simply ask for the key to the front door than to steal it. He simply has to ask in the right way. Because social engineers are basically skillful actors playing a role, they’re an invisible threat and a daunting challenge for businesses.

I’m no hacker, that’s for sure, nor even a programmer. Yet, I found it fascinating to read exactly how Kevin finagled himself into systems and tweaked them to his advantage. Kevin wanted to include more of the nitty-gritty hackery in the book, but his co-author, Bill Simon, saved us readers from too much esoterica. I think they struck an excellent balance. I never felt bogged down by the technical bits.

In fact, some might worry that Ghost is a hackery cookbook, complete with lessons in how to get others to spill their secrets. I worried about this aspect with my own book, Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams.

Does an exhaustive explanation of theft techniques actually teach the thieves? Kevin and I obviously came to the same conclusion: no, there’s more to gain by putting all the details out there, the better to protect yourself.

I feel a little sorry for all the good people whose trust Kevin exploited. They bought into his ruses in a good-faith effort to be helpful. No doubt that he used them, and probably got many of them into big trouble. Well, in my line of work too, thiefhunting and training the public to avoid theft, a kernel of cynicism is not a bad seed to plant. Kevin’s patsies will think twice before giving out sensitive information.

Ghost is 400+ pages of tension, broken only by Kevin’s sentimental musings about his mother and grandmother, who are constant supportive figures in his life, and the heartbreaking side-story of his brother. It’s fast reading—a tribute to the clear writing and exciting story.

Yeah, yeah, you think I’m all positive because Kevin’s my friend. He gave me an unedited galley copy of the book (littered with typos), but didn’t ask me to write about it. If I hadn’t liked it, I wouldn’t have written a word.

Or maybe I would have. After all, Kevin might not be a real friend of mine…

© Copyright 2008-present Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

Mac history

Mac laptops—through the ages.
Mac laptops—through the ages.

These are the Mac laptops I never sold or gave away. Three are in current use. One is a backup. The others have occasionally saved the day by accessing ancient files. Once, not too long ago, I actually had to dig out a SCSI adaptor to attach an old Zip drive to one.

Clockwise from top left:

…¢ MacBookPro. 2.8 GHz, 500 GB hard drive. My current machine.

…¢ PowerBook G4. 1.67 GHz, 100 GB HD.

…¢ PowerBook G3 500. 500 MHz, 12 GB HD.

…¢ PowerBook 180c. (That’s “c” for color!) 33 MHz, 80 MB HD.

…¢ Macintosh Portable. Almost 16 pounds! 16 MHz, 40 MB HD.

…¢ Macintosh PowerBook 3400. 180 MHz, 3 GB HD

…¢ PowerBook 190. 66 MHz, 500 MB HD

…¢ PowerBook G4. 667 MHz (The original Titanium).

…¢ MacBookPro. 2.6 GHz. Bob’s current machine.

…¢ MacBook Air. 1.86 GHz. Also Bob’s.

I’ve had many other Macs. I wish I still had my first, a 128k desktop with no hard drive, one 400k floppy drive. That was in 1985. I lived in the Bahamas then, and did actual, professional “desktop publishing.”
© Copyright 2008-2009 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

Mac + paperclip = fire

apple mac portable
apple mac portable. The adorable, 16-pound baby.
The adorable, 16-pound baby.

Anyone remember this old relic?

We were so thrilled with it. We’d spent a year in Africa and needed a laptop. Apple didn’t make one yet, so we had to buy a DOS machine. Shortly after we got home, Apple came out with a luggable.

Apple Mac Portable

Bob and I were on a cruise ship with our Mac Portable. The machine was a year or so old—that’s how long ago this was. Bob sat at the desk in our stateroom, I on the bed, with my 16-pound Mac open in front of me.

“Pass me a paperclip,” I said to him.

apple mac portable. Apple logo circa 1989.
Apple logo circa 1989.

He tossed, I missed. The paperclip fell right into a narrow gap behind the display, where the back end of that computer extended another four or so inches. Instantly, a thin wisp of smoke arose and, like a cartoon, curled its wavy way right up to the smoke detector. On a ship. At sea.

I gave the gap a good blow and was horrified to see a little red flame dancing within. We got the tiny fire out quickly, but the machine was dead.

apple mac portable. The size of a small suitcase.
The size of a small suitcase.

The story’s not over though. We had a fancy neoprene case for the Mac Portable, embossed with a pretty little Apple logo. On our way home, we bought extra insurance for the case and sent it as baggage—something we’d otherwise never do. We hoped it would be stolen. We were sure it would be.

apple mac portable. Not a reflection. Handle, display, hinge, back end.
Not a reflection. Handle, display, hinge, back end.

On arrival, we waited at the baggage carousel—and waited. Finally, we went to the lost luggage office to report the loss of our insured computer. “Oh, we have your bag,” they said. It got extra care since it was insured, and they wanted to hand it to us personally. (Yeah. Those were the days.)

I found the old Portable in the garage recently. It has some parts tucked into its case I don’t remember, like a huge battery brick. Though it doesn’t start up, I can’t throw it out. I don’t know why.

apple mac portable. paperclip

© Copyright 2008-present Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

Dead zone

dead-zone

Seeking answers, or shared experiences: On a first class cross-country flight last weekend, the trackpad of Bob’s MacBook Air refused to work. His cursor moved erratically or not at all, or opened contextual menus unasked. He turned off his wifi antenna and made sure bluetooth was off. He restarted. He checked his trackpad prefs. No help.

What worked was raising the laptop 24 or so inches into the air. There, the trackpad worked normally. It also functioned well about a foot below laplevel. Meanwhile, the trackpad on my four-year-old PowerBook was fine in any position, including in Bob’s dead zone.

We were on a Boing 737, row 4, Bob in the aisle seat, if that matters. There was a/c power in the seats, and we were plugged in. We’ve used laptops on airplanes for decades, with and without power, in all cabin classes. This MacBook Air has worked flawlessly on about 30 previous flights.

On the return trip two days later, we had aisle and window seats in row 1 on another B737. Same issue. Bob’s troublesome area ranged from laplevel to tray-table height, with a bad buffer of a foot or so above and below. Again, he was on the aisle.

The Air’s cursor moved normally while on my lap in the window seat, and my machine worked fine in all of Bob’s territory. We did not get up and change seats in order to complete experimentation—perhaps the cause was a combination of Bob’s body on the aisle.

A magnetic field? Or what?
©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Getting used to robot speech

I’ve been listening to essays by George Orwell. Terry, a voracious reader, devoured Orwell after Proust and Vidal, and he’s now working on Paul Bowles. I downloaded some Orwell essays here, but I find that when I’m in front of my computer (which is a lot), I’m either working or making use of the internet, rather than reading material safely stowed on my hard drive. I can read those documents any time. Somehow, though, I don’t.

Then I ran across this hint, which makes it a cinch to convert text to an iTunes audiobook. The hint contains a downloadable script that practically installs itself, then shows up under the Mac’s Services menu. (Although this hint is for Leopard only, it can be tweaked for Tiger.) I’m sure my programmer friends are privately chiding me, but I’m glad that someone wrote and provided a script to make the text-to-audiobook conversion dead simple.

With the stories on my iPod, they’re sure to be listened to, and planes are the ideal place. I can only read so many hours in the dry air of airports and airplanes, before my contacts start sticking to my eyeballs. Right after converting a few files, I flew to Ireland.

At first, the pleasure of listening was only about half the pleasure of reading. I expected that for two reasons. First is that I prefer to read good writing, linger over it, reread lovely phrases. But okay, there’s deep-seated pleasure in being read to, too. I’ve listened to a few audio books lately, all read by their authors, and I enjoyed them, though more for their stories than their writing.

Listening to synthesized speech is not the same as being read to by an author. The lauded new Leopard voice Alex is synthesized and, though his diction is not bad, Alex lacks style, grace, sensitivity, timing, mellifluence, drama, and every other quality that makes George Guidall, my sister’s uncle-in-law, an award-winning reader of audiobooks (more than 800 books to his credit). But…

I got used to Alex’s style. And though it’s not like reading, nor the same as being read to, it’s better than osmosis. It’s better than not knowing the texts at all. It’s like the Cliff Notes version, but delivered slowly, a fleeting association to reunite with later. Maybe.

And now, after listening to a few more essays, I’m happy enough with Alex. I found that slowing his speech by about 15% improves the experience. I’ve converted a 13,000-word article on cybercrime to digest on my next flight.

Later: The cybercrime article was good, but I didn’t listen to it on a plane. I listened during a 2+ hour taxi ride from the south of England to London. It was too bumpy to read, too much strobe effect from the shade of trees on a rare sunny day. The cybercrime article, from Wired, was an hour and 22 minutes long. Perfect for the drive.

And: My computer suddenly lost all input and output audio devices. After a little troubleshooting, I removed the SpeakToItunesAudiobook.service from my system and all’s well again. If that was not an anomaly, I will just drop the service in when I need it.

Lastly: In his essay “How the Poor Die,” I was delighted to hear Orwell mention Axel Munthe’s The Story of San Michele.  Axel Munthe was a great-grand-uncle of Bob’s, and The Story of San Michele is a great grand-read.