Ghost in the Wires_ My Adventures as the World's Most Wanted Hacker - Kevin Mitnick [100]
I configured the DDI software package on my computer to play an alarm tone if the DDI detected any phone number that I programmed into the software: the cell phone numbers of all the FBI agents I had identified as being in communication with Eric. The software continually scanned the phone numbers being fed to it in the chain of cell site, to scanner, to DDI, to computer. If any of the agents’ cell phones showed up in the Teltec area, my setup would sound the alert.
I had created a trap for the FBI, putting me one step ahead. If the Feds came looking for me, I’d be forewarned.
TWENTY-THREE
Raided
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On a Monday in late September 1992, I arrived at work early, before anyone else was in. As I walked down the hall, I started hearing a faint beep, beep, beep. I thought I must have incorrectly entered the alarm code for getting into the Teltec offices. But the farther I went down the hall, the louder the beeping became.
Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep…
The sound was coming from my office.
Maybe somebody had stashed an electronic alarm of some sort at my desk?
No. It was something else.
My early-warning system.
The beeping had been triggered by the software package monitoring my scanner.
The scanner was picking up an FBI cell phone in the area.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
The computer showed me the phone number of the cell phone that had triggered the alarm: 213 500-6418.
Ken McGuire’s cell phone.
The DDI software on my computer showed that the alarm had been triggered at 6:36 a.m., a couple of hours earlier.
McGuire had been in the area, somewhere near Teltec.
My computer was also showing the digits McGuire had dialed: 818 880-9XXX. Back in those days, in Los Angeles, the “9” in that position of the phone number usually meant a pay phone. McGuire was calling a pay phone in my neighborhood.
Moments later it hit me, and it confirmed my worst fear: McGuire had called the pay phone near the Village Market, the convenience store directly across the street from my apartment.
That was only a couple of miles away from Teltec, barely more than a five-minute drive.
A thousand things were running through my mind. Why were they here? They were setting up to follow me. Or they followed me here to arrest me. Should I run? Hide? Sit and wait for them to come bursting through the door?
I was startled. Scared. Terrified.
Wait a minute. If they had come to arrest me, they would have knocked on my door while I was still in the apartment.
Why would McGuire call the Village Market? Suddenly the answer came clear: to get a search warrant, they would need a description of my apartment complex and the exact location of my unit. Maybe McGuire wasn’t ready to arrest me yet—he was just getting the location details that he needed to put into the search warrant before presenting it to a judge.
Michael and Mark both arrived at work. I updated them: “Ken McGuire’s been to my apartment this morning, while I was still asleep.” Their expressions were priceless: “How the hell does he always find out these things?!” All along, they had been fascinated by my stories about how I was penetrating the entire FBI operation against me. They had been eating it up, and this was the capper.
I gathered up all my personal belongings and headed down the stairs to my car, freaked out and uncomfortable, afraid at any moment I’d hear someone shout: “Mitnick, FREEZE!” In the parking area, I peered intently into every car to see if there were any guys in suits keeping watch for me.
As I cautiously pulled out of the garage, my eyes were all but glued to the rearview mirror. I was concentrating more on what might be behind me than what was in front.
I jumped onto the 101 Freeway and gunned it to Aguora Hills, one city over, far enough away that I would be comfortable using my cell phone.
Rolling off the freeway, I pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot.
My first call was,