The Fugitive Game: Online With Kevin Mitnick (3 page)

Mitnick was omnipresent: "A judge's credit record at TRW, Inc.
[the nationwide credit reporting agency], was inexplicably altered,"
reported the
Times.
"Police computer files on the case were accessed
from outside." Finally, in December 1988, Mitnick was arrested on
charges of "causing $4 million damage to a Digital Equipment Corp.
[DEC] computer" and "stealing a highly secret computer system."
U.S. Magistrate Venetta Tassopulos "took the unusual step of order-
ing the young Panorama City computer whiz held without bail, rul-
ing that when armed with a keyboard he posed a danger to the
community."

In the days after Mitnick's latest arrest, the accusations snow-
balled. Assistant U.S. Attorney Leon Weidman told the
Times
that
"investigators believe that Mitfiick, twenty-five, may have been the
instigator of a false report released by a news service in April that
Security Pacific National Bank lost $400 million in the first quarter
of 1988."

On December 2.7, 1988, the
Los Angeles Daily News
reported
that "in an effort to safeguard the nation's computer systems, a new
federal agency plans to look closely" at Mitnick's case. "A guy like
Mitnick can commit crimes all over the world in a 10-minute span."
The article ended with the ultimate charge. "[LAPD Sergeant Jim]
Black added that because Mitnick does not seem to be motivated by
money he is more dangerous.... It is possible for a person with
Mitnick's capabilities to commit nearly any crime by computer.
'You could even kill a person by using a computer. . ..' "

When U.S. District Judge Mariana R. Pfaelzer ruled Mitnick "a
very, very great danger to the community" and renewed his im-
prisonment without bail, Mitnick's attorney complained to the As-
sociated Press that Mitnick is "being held incommunicado" and is
being treated more harshly than men charged with violent crimes.
"My client is being portrayed as some sort of Machiavellian figure

either out of government paranoia ... or some other government
agenda I'm not aware of."

But it was the January 8, 1989,
Los Angeles Times
piece by John
Johnson that cemented Mitnick's legend. Titled "Computer an 'Um-
bilical Cord to His Soul': 'Dark Side' Hacker Seen as 'Electronic
Terrorist,' " the article was one of the first to explore the hacker's
psyche:

Mitnick's motive for a decade of hacking?

Not money, apparently. An unemployed computer programmer,
he drove a used car and was living with his wife in his mother's
modest Panorama City apartment .. . but within the subculture of
computer hackers, Mitnick was a colorful figure, using the name
"Condor," for a Robert Redford movie character who outwits the
government. The final digits of his unlisted home phone were
"007," reportedly billed to the name "James Bond."

Mitnick had such a special feeling for the computer that when an
investigator for the Los Angeles County district attorney's office
accused him of harming a computer he entered, he got tears in his
eyes. "The computer to him was more of an animate thing," said
the investigator, Robert Ewen. "There was an umbilical cord from
it to his soul. That's why when he got behind a computer he became
a giant."

... Steven Rhoades, a fellow hacker and friend ... said he and
Mitnick broke into a North American Air Defense Command com-
puter in Colorado Springs, Colo., in 1979. The 1983 movie "War-
games" is based upon a similar incident, in which a young hacker
nearly starts World War III.

Over time, newspapers codified the legend. Soon, the unchecked al-
legations of Mitnick's incredible feats were treated as fact. Kevin
Mitnick was the "Condor," the dark-side hacker, enemy of the gov-
ernment and the public, a hacker too dangerous to be allowed near a
computer or phone. He was fat, ugly, uneducated, a slave to junk
food. Greed the government could understand. But a hacker who

wielded power for its own sake, someone who played electronic
pranks on probation officers, FBI agents, and judges?

Mitnick's intrusions spawned new laws to curb computer crime.
He had an insider's understanding of the international phone system
and the burgeoning Internet. He had the prerequisite obsessive
streak. He had a quirky sense of humor, a love of sophomoric
pranks. And he understood better than anyone who came before him
that people make the computers, the phones, the networks. And no-
body, nobody fooled people like Kevin Mitnick. He became one of
those rare figures whose reputation grew so ominous that the gov-
ernment and the media seemed to act as one, ignoring any facts that
might diminish his demonic image.

Defense attorneys argued that Mitnick was a computer addict, a
novel legal theory accepted by the prosecution and the judge. By
April of 1989, the prosecution had drastically changed its harsh view
of Kevin Mitnick and accepted a plea bargain. U.S. Attorney James
Sanders admitted to Judge Pfaelzer that Mitnick's damage to DEC
was not the $4 million that had made headlines but $160,000. Even
that amount was not damage done by Mitnick, but the rough cost of
tracing the security weaknesses that his incursions had brought to
DEC's attention. The government acknowledged it had no evidence
of the wild claims that had helped hold Mitnick without bail and in
solitary confinement. No proof Mitnick had ever compromised the
security of the NSA. No proof that Mitnick had ever issued a false
press release for Security Pacific Bank. No proof that Mitnick had
ever changed the TRW credit report of a judge. "A lot of the stories
we originally heard just didn't pan out," James R. Asperger, the As-
sistant U.S. Attorney, told the
Daily News.

But the judge, perhaps influenced by the terrifying media cover-
age, rejected the plea bargain and sentenced Mitnick to a longer term
than even the government wanted. "Mr. Mitnick, you have been
engaging in this conduct for too long, and no one has actually pun-
ished you," U.S. District Judge Mariana Pfaelzer was quoted in the
Los Angeles Times.
"This is the last time you are going to do this."

The prosecution's admission that Mitnick's case had been hyped
barely registered a blip on the Mitnick legend. Newspaper articles
continued to quote the $4 million figure and recite the other myths

as fact. And what angered Mitnick the most was that he suspected at
least some of the reporters knowingly hid the truth.

■ ■ ■

He did his eight months in solitary at the Metropolitan Detention
Center in Los Angeles and four months at Lompoc, up the coast,
where he met Ivan Boesky. Then, after six months in a Jewish half-
way house, Kevin Mitnick tried to reenter the workforce. He landed
a programming job in Vegas, but his employer was so terrified of his
reputation that he wasn't allowed to work unchaperoned in the
computer room. By law, Mitnick had to tell them he was a convicted
felon.

Finally, after he lost his Vegas programming job in June of 1991,
Mitnick realized his efforts were in vain. Mitnick applied at all the
heavily computerized Vegas casinos: Caesar's, the Mirage, the
Sands. Mitnick believed they were all interested, until his probation
officer would phone or write.

The federal government had decided Kevin Mitnick was a danger
to society, and like a convicted rapist or child molester, Mitnick was
being monitored. His probation officer would persistently contact
Mitnick's prospective employers: "Does he have access to cash?... I
want you to understand the danger...."

The federal government didn't know what to do with Kevin Mit-
nick. The government wasn't going to let him disappear like some
small-time crook. Kevin Mitnick was a hacker.

■ ■ ■

"Why should I talk to this Eric dude?"

"I don't know," Spiegel drawls. "All I know is he saved my ass.
Came over one night with Erica and told me there was a tap on my
line."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a couple weeks later, some Secret Service and Sprint guys
paid me a visit."

"What else can Eric do?"

"He wiretaps, wins radio contests."

"So why should I talk to him?"

"I don't know. You're a hacker. He's a hacker. Maybe he wants
to share information."

"Can you call him?" Mitnick asks.

"Hold on a minute."

Spiegel flips through his address book, and dials Eric's pager num-
ber. "It should only be a couple minutes. He usually phones back
fast."

He's right.

Spiegel makes the introductions, then drops off the line to see how
his girl's doing. Spiegel monitors Mitnick's call on speakerphone.

"I'm into phones, computers," Eric coolly introduces himself. "I
like keeping in touch with people. I'm willing to share. Course I
don't do any hacking myself."

"Same here," agrees Mitnick.

"Yeah, but I like to stay current. You know what I mean?"

"Right," answers Mitnick. "Look, I know somebody else you
might want to talk to. His name is Bob."

■ ■ ■

Bob, Roscoe ... Lewis De Payne has a few aliases. He's Mitnick's
old friend and hacker sidekick. De Payne has also been prominent in
the Los Angeles phone phreaking scene, and was busted for com-
puter fraud back in 1982. But he managed to elude the sort of crimi-
nal and public limelight heaped on his young disciple. He even had
his record legally expunged. He graduated from the University of
Southern California, and satisfied himself with running the main-
frame computers of a large Los Angeles wholesaler.

De Payne toys with Eric for a couple of weeks, stringing him along
with vague hints that he might be committing crimes. Finally, a frus-
trated Eric pages Mitnick again, and the elusive hacker phones
Spiegel to set up another three-way call. Henry Spiegel's Hollywood
phone is the electronic meeting place for Mitnick and Eric.

"Found anything good for monitoring lines?" Eric asks Mitnick.

"You know about the SCC talk and monitor feature on the
1AESS, right?" Mitnick offers.

To hackers, the SCC talk and monitor feature is considered a

quick and dirty wiretap. But Mitnick knows it only works on the
1AESS Pacific Bell phone switch, makes an audible click, and re-
quires the target to be mid-conversation to work.

"Have you heard of SAS?"

Mitnick doesn't know what Eric is talking about.

"Tell me how it works," Mitnick presses.

Eric clams up.

But he's already said too much. Eric has given Mitnick the name
of SAS, a mysterious wiretapping system.

Mitnick makes a few phone calls to Pac Bell offices, pretending to
be a Pac Bell employee, a tech looking for information. Hackers call
this social engineering. The key is knowing the jargon, the corporate
infrastructure, and human nature. Mitnick exudes confidence, and
few challenge him or his requests for data. He tracks down the per-
son he needs.

"Can you read me the copyright notice on the manual?"

"Sure, hold on... . You know they've gone out of business."

That doesn't stop Mitnick. He does a little more research, finds
SAS's designer, and phones him up.

The engineer is excited to have someone at Pac Bell take an inter-
est in his old masterpiece. He searches the hard drive on his PC, and
finds his design notes. The engineer wants to know where he should
send them.

"Here's my fax number ..."

Mitnick laughs to himself. They never check fax numbers.

■ ■ ■

Three weeks pass. Mitnick figures it's time for a face-to-face encoun-
ter. The three meet at Hamburger Hamlet on Sepulveda.

De Payne and Mitnick await Eric's arrival outside in De Payne's
car, scanning all two hundred channels for FBI traffic with De
Payne's Radio Shack scanner. They pick up nothing.

De Payne looks much like Eric expected. Too slender, pants too
tight, movements jerky, almost robotic. Mitnick is the surprise.
Nothing like the 240-pound monster in the newspapers. He's
dressed casually, stocky but athletic, just under six feet tall and
about 180 pounds. His dense, dark hair is short, but styled. His face

is handsome, his eyes almost warm. His voice emotional, even child-
like at times. He seems to be always on the verge of a smile. Or could
it be laughter?

Mitnick is puzzled by Eric. He looks like he's just come from a
Metallica rock concert. He looks too old to be a hacker. But he's
knowledgeable. He seems to know his stuff.

"We brought some toys, Eric," De Payne says with a smile. "We
scanned the place. It's clean. So why don't you tell us a little about
yourself, Eric?"

"Well, you've heard of Kevin Poulsen, the guy charged with espio-
nage?"

They nod. They've seen the dramatic
Unsolved Mysteries
televi-
sion episode on the hacker fugitive, and read his front-page
L.A.
Times
clips. Poulsen pulled off some of the coolest hacks in cy-
berspace. Won Porsches and $20,000 cash prizes by taking over ra-
dio station phone lines. Messed with secret FBI and national security
wiretaps. He lived underground for two years, always one step
ahead of the cybercops until last April, when he was finally nabbed
in a nearby Ralph's Supermarket. Poulsen, like Mitnick, is a legend,
a hero to thousands of young hackers.