came to realize that they were nothing more than ‘script kiddies,’ downloading and altering other people’s work.
30
They weren’t like me. They didn’t have my enthusiasm or skills. They had all the gear, but no original ideas. I was the opposite: I couldn’t afford any hardware. I scavenged stuff from dumpsters, and spent hours in the public library learning how to put it all together. I also learned how to get free and open source software to run on it.
I had the names of the authors of those loaned books burned into my brain, because I found myself reaching for those books a hundred times a day, and renewing them as often as possible.
When I finally had a system that I could use, I began to look for things to do with it. It was then that I read about all the great hackers, and those people became my role models: I wanted to be just like them.
There was Kevin Mitnick, who beat the world’s largest communications companies at their own game. There was Gary McKinnon, who hacked into the Pentagon. I read about Vladimir Levin, who robbed Citibank of $10 million. I laughed over stories of Kevin Poulsen, who won a Porsche from a radio phone-in by commandeering the entire Los Angeles telephone network. I kept all these people in my mind. With every keystroke, I knew that I was coming closer to my goal. I knew that I wouldn’t get caught; I was too careful for that.
I would get out of my miserable existence; I would get somewhere worth living in. I would have all the best equipment, and have lots of fun. I would travel abroad to whichever country was currently holding a hacker convention. I would stay in the best hotels. I wanted to teach people—to inspire the next generation. Kids in their bedrooms, wanting to escape their miserable lives, would look to me as their own role model: Karl Ripley, who had made a fortune selling banks their own security holes.
I began to hack websites, and leave my electronic calling card. I cracked email servers, and left the owners a little surprise. I found network print devices in remote offices, and left a fortune cookie for the next person at the printer. I began accruing user accounts all around the world. I started installing backdoors into every computer system I could find, from local businesses to national institutions. I got an account at NASA. I got root privileges at the world’s second largest bank. I even got my foot in the door of the Pentagon . . .
But now I was back in high school, in some ways starting over.
31
Chapter 8
At 7:30 a.m., the next day, I followed the smell of breakfast down the stairs.
Richard was quietly reading a newspaper, and Hannah was watching something on the stove.
“See you later,” I said, heading for the door.
“David, don’t you want breakfast?” Hannah asked.
“No, I’m okay.”
“You should eat something.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. I knew that my new parents had taken to their roles, but nutrition advice seemed a step too far. On the other hand, in jail I had got used to breakfast every morning.
“What have we got?”
“I can make you some scrambled eggs, if you want?”
“I’ll get some fruit.” I wasn’t very hungry, and didn’t want to wait. I took two red apples from the bowl on the table. Hannah put a plate in front of Richard. He put the paper down, and turned to his scrambled eggs. Hannah sat down, and poured some cereal into a bowl, and added low-fat milk. Fed-O’s, I thought, the new cereal for undercover police. Full of fiber, so you don’t get constipated from sitting in a stake-out car. A single bowl has just half the calories of coffee and donuts.
“I gotta go to school,” I said.
“Goodbye,” Hannah said.
I stopped at the door, and then looked back over my shoulder. Apart from their jaw muscles, both Hannah and Richard sat still, calmly eating breakfast, a tableau of the normal married couple in the morning. I freewheeled down the hill most of the way on my new bike.
30
They weren’t like me. They didn’t have my enthusiasm or skills. They had all the gear, but no original ideas. I was the opposite: I couldn’t afford any hardware. I scavenged stuff from dumpsters, and spent hours in the public library learning how to put it all together. I also learned how to get free and open source software to run on it.
I had the names of the authors of those loaned books burned into my brain, because I found myself reaching for those books a hundred times a day, and renewing them as often as possible.
When I finally had a system that I could use, I began to look for things to do with it. It was then that I read about all the great hackers, and those people became my role models: I wanted to be just like them.
There was Kevin Mitnick, who beat the world’s largest communications companies at their own game. There was Gary McKinnon, who hacked into the Pentagon. I read about Vladimir Levin, who robbed Citibank of $10 million. I laughed over stories of Kevin Poulsen, who won a Porsche from a radio phone-in by commandeering the entire Los Angeles telephone network. I kept all these people in my mind. With every keystroke, I knew that I was coming closer to my goal. I knew that I wouldn’t get caught; I was too careful for that.
I would get out of my miserable existence; I would get somewhere worth living in. I would have all the best equipment, and have lots of fun. I would travel abroad to whichever country was currently holding a hacker convention. I would stay in the best hotels. I wanted to teach people—to inspire the next generation. Kids in their bedrooms, wanting to escape their miserable lives, would look to me as their own role model: Karl Ripley, who had made a fortune selling banks their own security holes.
I began to hack websites, and leave my electronic calling card. I cracked email servers, and left the owners a little surprise. I found network print devices in remote offices, and left a fortune cookie for the next person at the printer. I began accruing user accounts all around the world. I started installing backdoors into every computer system I could find, from local businesses to national institutions. I got an account at NASA. I got root privileges at the world’s second largest bank. I even got my foot in the door of the Pentagon . . .
But now I was back in high school, in some ways starting over.
31
Chapter 8
At 7:30 a.m., the next day, I followed the smell of breakfast down the stairs.
Richard was quietly reading a newspaper, and Hannah was watching something on the stove.
“See you later,” I said, heading for the door.
“David, don’t you want breakfast?” Hannah asked.
“No, I’m okay.”
“You should eat something.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. I knew that my new parents had taken to their roles, but nutrition advice seemed a step too far. On the other hand, in jail I had got used to breakfast every morning.
“What have we got?”
“I can make you some scrambled eggs, if you want?”
“I’ll get some fruit.” I wasn’t very hungry, and didn’t want to wait. I took two red apples from the bowl on the table. Hannah put a plate in front of Richard. He put the paper down, and turned to his scrambled eggs. Hannah sat down, and poured some cereal into a bowl, and added low-fat milk. Fed-O’s, I thought, the new cereal for undercover police. Full of fiber, so you don’t get constipated from sitting in a stake-out car. A single bowl has just half the calories of coffee and donuts.
“I gotta go to school,” I said.
“Goodbye,” Hannah said.
I stopped at the door, and then looked back over my shoulder. Apart from their jaw muscles, both Hannah and Richard sat still, calmly eating breakfast, a tableau of the normal married couple in the morning. I freewheeled down the hill most of the way on my new bike.
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