Ghost in the Wires_ My Adventures as the World's Most Wanted Hacker - Kevin Mitnick [28]
I was on a Greyhound the next day for the long trip, which gave me time to pick a temporary name for myself: Michael Phelps (the last name taken from the TV series Mission Impossible).
A rumor, probably started by one of those reliable hacker “friends” of mine, circulated that I had fled to Israel. In fact I did not then—and would not for quite a few more years—even cross the border into Canada or Mexico, much less travel overseas. But this was another of those stories that would become part of the legend, another untrue “fact” of my history that would later be used to convince judges not to grant me bail.
My hosts in Oroville, Jessie and Duke, were retired, living on a homestead of half an acre in a farming area. Nice people but very set in their ways. The days were precise in their routine. Up at 5:00 every morning, corn bread and milk for breakfast. After dinner, watch game shows on TV. No computer. No modem. No ham radio. Tough for a kid like me, but way better than being behind the walls of a Youth Authority facility.
The couple kept chickens and pigs, and had two dogs. To me, it felt like Green Acres. I swear one of their pigs looked exactly like Arnold, the pig on the show!
Obviously I couldn’t drive, since the only license I had was in my real name, and there was a warrant out for my arrest. So to get around the neighborhood, I bought a bike.
I’d ride to the local library and spend hours reading. For something else to keep my mind engaged, I signed up for a course at the local college—in Criminal Justice. The instructor was a sitting criminal court judge in Butte County. During the course, he played tapes of confessions. And then lectured how naive the suspects were to talk to the police without a lawyer. He once said, “Most criminals believe they can talk their way out of trouble.” I smiled, knowing that was great advice. It amused me to wonder what he would have thought if he had found out that a student sitting in the front row of the class had a fugitive warrant out for him.
I stuck with the Green Acres lifestyle for four months, until a call to my attorney confirmed that he had received a copy of the CYA discharge paper indicating they no longer had jurisdiction over me. The attorney pointed out that it was a “dishonorable” discharge. I just laughed. Who’d give a damn if it was dishonorable? It was never that honorable to start with. It’s not like I’d left the armed forces.
Within days, I was back in Los Angeles, full of anticipation. Lenny DiCicco had landed a job at Hughes Aircraft as a computer operator and he was eager for me to come over and visit. Even better, Lenny said he had something to share with me, something he didn’t want to tell me over the phone. I wondered what it could be.
Will Hack for Love
Kyoo olxi rzr Niyovo Cohjpcx ojy dn T apopsy?
In his time at Hughes Aircraft, Lenny DiCicco told me, he had become buddy-buddy with a lady security guard. I was to come see him on a night when this lady would be on duty, and say I was a DEC employee. When I showed up, she signed me in with a wink, not asking to see any ID.
Lenny arrived to escort me from the lobby, barely able to control his excitement, but still arrogant and full of himself. He led me to a Hughes VAX computer that had access to the Arpanet, linking a collection of universities, research labs, government contractors, and the like. Typing commands, he told me he was accessing a computer system called Dockmaster, which was owned by the National Computer Security Center (NCSC), a public arm of the supersecret National Security Agency. We were elated, knowing that this was the closest we’d ever come to establishing a real connection to the NSA.
Bragging about his social engineering, Lenny said he had pretended to be a member of the National Computer Security Center’s IT Team and conned a worker there named T. Arnold into revealing his credentials to the system. Lenny was practically dancing