The Art of Deception_ Controlling the Human Element of Security - Kevin D. Mitnick [69]
Louis gave the fax number, and the caller said, “Okay, thanks. Before I can fax this, I need to ask you for Code B.”
“But you called me,” he said with just enough chill so the man from Boston would get the message.
This is good, the caller thought. It’s so cool when people don’t fall over at the first gentle shove. If they don’t resist a little, the job is too easy and I could start getting lazy.
To Louis, he said, “I’ve got a branch manager that’s just turned paranoid about getting verification before we send anything out, is all. But listen, if you don’t need us to fax the information, it’s okay. No need to verify.”
“Look,” Louis said, “Angela will be back in half an hour or so. I can have her call you back.”
“I’ll just tell her I couldn’t send the information today because you wouldn’t identify this as a legitimate request by giving me the code. If I’m not out sick tomorrow, I’ll call her back then.”
“Okay.”
“The message says ‘Urgent.’ Never mind, without verification my hands are tied. You’ll tell her I tried to send it but you wouldn’t give the code, okay?”
Louis gave up under the pressure. An audible sigh of annoyance came winging its way down the phone line.
“Well,” he said, “wait a minute; I have to go to my computer. Which code did you want?”
“B,” the caller said.
He put the call on hold and then in a bit picked up the line again. “It’s 3184.”
“That’s not the right code.”
“Yes it is—B is 3184.”
“I didn’t say B, I said E.”
“Oh, damn. Wait a minute.”
Another pause while he again looked up the codes.
“E is 9697.”
“9697—right. I’ll have the fax on the way. Okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Walter’s Caller
“Industrial Federal Bank, this is Walter.”
“Hey, Walter, it’s Bob Grabowski in Studio City, branch 38,” the caller said. “I need you to pull a sig card on a customer account and fax it to me.” The sig card, or signature card, has more than just the customer’s signature on it; it also has identifying information, familiar items such as the social security number, date of birth, mother’s maiden name, and sometimes even a driver’s license number. Very handy to a social engineer.
“Sure thing. What’s Code C?”
“Another teller is using my computer right now,” the caller said. “But I just used B and E, and I remember those. Ask me one of those.”
“Okay, what’s E?”
“E is 9697.”
A few minutes later, Walter faxed the sig card as requested.
Donna Plaice’s Caller
“Hi, this is Mr. Anselmo.”
“How can I help you today?”
“What’s that 800 number I’m supposed to call when I want to see if a deposit has been credited yet?”
“You’re a customer of the bank?”
“Yes, and I haven’t used the number in a while and now I don’t know where I wrote it down.”
“The number is 800-555-8600.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Vince Capelli’s Tale
The son of a Spokane street cop, Vince knew from an early age that he wasn’t going to spend his life slaving long hours and risking his neck for minimum wage. His two main goals in life became getting out of Spokane, and going into business for himself. The laughter of his homies all through high school only fired him up all the more—they thought it was hilarious that he was so busted on starting his own business but had no idea what business it might be.
Secretly Vince knew they were right. The only thing he was good at was playing catcher on the high school baseball team. But not good enough to capture a college scholarship, no way good enough for professional baseball. So what business was he going to be able to start?
One thing the guys in Vince’s group never quite figured out: Anything one of them had—a new switchblade knife, a nifty pair of warm gloves, a sexy new girlfriend—if Vince admired it, before long the item was his. He didn’t steal it, or sneak behind anybody’s back; he didn’t have to. The