closing the net.txt

黑客培训教程

       On May 8, 1990, the Secret Service executed 28 or more search
warrants in at least 14 cities across the country.  The raids involved more
than 150 agents, plus state and local law enforcement personnel.
       According to a press release from the U.S. Attorney's office in
Phoenix, the operation targeted "computer hackers who were alleged to have
trafficked in and abused stolen credit card numbers [and] unauthorized
long-distance dialing codes, and who conduct unauthorized access and damage
to computers."	The agency claimed the losses might amount to millions of
dollars.  In later releases and news reports, that figure was inflated to
tens of millions of dollars.
       Nationwide, the government seized at least 40 computers and 23,000
disks of computer information.	In most cases, the subjects of these
searches have remained anonymous.  Presumably, they have either been
advised by counsel to remain silent or have been so intimidated that they
wish to attract no further attention.
       John Perry Barlow reports in _Whole_Earth_Review_ that the Secret
Service held families at gunpoint while agents charged into the bedrooms of
teenage hacker suspects.  He adds that some equipment seizures deprived
self-employed mothers of their means of support.  These reports remain
unconfirmed.  It's clear, however, that the Secret Service closed down a
number of BBSes by the simple expedient of seizing "as evidence" the
computers on which those BBSes operated.
       Bulletin board services are venues for speech.  They are used mainly
to exchange information and ideas.  Nothing in the nature of the technology
prevents the exchange of illegal ideas.  But in a free society, the
presumption must be that, in absence of proof to the contrary, the use of a
medium is legitimate.  The Secret Service has not indicted, let alone
convicted, the operators of any of the BBSes closed down on May 8.
       If law enforcement officials suspect that a magazine, newspaper, or
book publisher may be transmitting illegal information, they get a warrant
to search its files and perhaps a restraining order to prevent publication.
They don't, however, seize its printing presses to prevent it from
operating.  A clearer violation of freedom of the press could hardly be
imagined.  Yet that is precisely what the Secret Service has done to these
BBSes.
       One of the BBSes closed down was the JolNet BBS in Lockport,
Illinois, which Neidorf and Riggs had used to exchange the 911 document.
Ironically, JolNet's owner, Richard Andrews, had triggered the
investigation by noticing the document, deciding it was suspicious, and
notifying the authorities.  He had cooperated fully with the investigators,
and they rewarded him by seizing his equipment.


       The Ripco BBS in Chicago was among those raided by the Secret
Service.  Operated by Bruce Esquibel under the handle of "Dr. Ripco," it
was a freewheeling, wide-ranging board, one of the best known BBSes in the
Chicago area.  Speech was extraordinarily free on the Ripco board.
       "I felt that any specific information that could lead to direct
fraud was not welcome and would be removed, and persons who repeated
violating this themselves would be removed from the system also," Esquibel
writes.  But just about anything else was open for discussion.	Hackers did
indeed discuss ways of breaking into computers.  And the Ripco board
contained extensive text files, available for downloading, on a variety of
subjects to which some might take exception.  For instance, there was a
series of articles on bomb construction -- material publicly available from
books such as _The_Anarchist's_Cookbook_.
       Along with the computer on which Ripco operated, the Secret Service
seized two other computers, a laser printer, and a 940-megabyte WORM drive,
an expensive piece of equipment.  The additional seizures mystify Esquibel.
"My guess is that after examining the rat's nest of wires around the three
computers, they figured anything plugged into the power strip must have
been tied in with [the rest] in some way," he says.
       The Secret Service has yet to return any of Esquibel's equipment.
He has yet to be charged with any crime, other than failure to register a
firearm.  (He had three unlicensed guns at his office; he informed the
Secret Service agents of this before they began their search.)	Says
Esquibel, "The government came in, took my personal property to determine
if there was any wrongdoing somewhere.	It seems like a case of being
guilty until proven innocent...It's just not right...I am not a hacker; [I
don't] have anything to do with credit cards or manufactured explosives.
Until the weapons charge I never had been arrested, and even my driving
record has been clean since 1978."
       It appears that the Secret Service has already achieved its goal.
The Ripco board was a place where "dangerous" speech took place, and the
agency closed it down.	Why bother charging Esquibel with a crime?
Especially since he might be acquitted.


       Secret Service agents searched the home of Len Rose, a computer
consultant from Baltimore, on May 8.  The agents not only seized his
computers but confiscated every piece of electronic equipment in the house,
including his fax machine, along with some family pictures, several boxes
of technical books, and a box containing his U.S. Army medals.
       On May 15, Rose was indicted on four counts of wire fraud, aiding
and abetting wire fraud, and interstate transportation of stolen goods.
Among other things, the indictment alleged that Rose is a member of the
Legion of Doom, a claim both he and admitted Doomsters vociferously deny.
       The interstate-transportation charge is based on the fact that Rose
was in possession of source code for Unix, an operating system used by a
wide variety of minicomputers and computer workstations.  (Source code is
the original text of a program.)  In theory, Unix is the property of AT&T,
which developed the system.  AT&T maintains that Unix is protected as a
confidential, unpublished work.  In fact, AT&T has sold thousands of copies
across the country, and every systems programmer who works with Unix is
likely to have some of the source code lying around.
       The wire-fraud counts are based on the fact that Rose sent a copy of
a "Trojan horse" program by electronic mail.  Trojan horse programs are
sometimes used by hackers to break into computers; they are also sometimes
used by systems managers to monitor hackers who try to break in.  In other
words, a Trojan horse program is like a crowbar:  You can use it to break
into someone's house, or you can use it to help renovate your own house.
It has both legitimate and illegitimate uses.
       Rose is a computer consultant and has dealt with security issues
from time to time.  He maintains that his Trojan horse program was used
solely for legitimate purposes -- and, in any case, would no longer work,
because of changes AT&T has made to Unix since Rose wrote the program.
Rose is not charged with actually attempting to break into computers,
merely with possessing a tool that someone could use to break in.  In
essence, the Secret Service found Len Rose in possession of a crowbar and
is accusing him of burglary.
       By seizing Rose's equipment, the Secret Service has effectively
denied him his livelihood.  Without his equipment, he cannot work.  Rose
says he has lost his home, his credit rating and credit cards, his
business, and some of his friends.  He can no longer afford to retain his
original attorney and is now represented by a public defender.
       Rose's difficulties are compounded by a theft conviction arising
from a dispute with a former client regarding the ownership of computer
equipment.  Nevertheless, it seems brutal for the Secret Service to deny
him the means to support his family and to pay for an effective defense.
Investigators must long ago have gleaned whatever evidence his equipment
may have contained.


       Ultimately, the case against Neidorf and Riggs fell apart.  In June,
the grand jury issued a revised indictment.  It dropped the charges of
violating the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act and added seven new counts of
wire fraud, some involving electronic mail between Neidorf and Riggs.
Neidorf was charges with two counts of wire fraud for uploading issues of
_Phrack_ to JolNet.  In other words, mere distribution of his publication
was deemed to be "fraud" because _Phrack_ contained material the Secret
Service claimed had been obtained by fraudulent means.	The new indictment
also reduced the "value" of the document Riggs allegedly stole from more
than $70,000 to $20,000.
       On July 9, Riggs pleaded guilty in a separate indictment to one
count of conspiracy in breaking into Bell South's computer.  Sentencing was
set for September 14 -- after Neidorf's trial was to begin.  Riggs agreed
to be a witness for the prosecution of Neidorf.
       On July 28, Neidorf's trial began in Chicago.  Within four days, it
was over.  The prosecution's case had collapsed.
       Under cross-examination, a Bell South employee admitted that the
stolen document was far from confidential.  Indeed, any member of the
public could purchase a copy by calling an 800 number, requesting the
document, and paying $13 -- far less than the $20,000 claimed value or the
$5,000 minimum required to support a charge of transporting stolen goods
across state lines.
       Testimony also revealed that the contents of the document could not
possibly allow someone to enter and disrupt the 911 network.  The document
merely defined a set of terms used in telecommunications and described the
procedures used by Bell personnel in setting up a 911 system.
       Riggs, testifying for the prosecution, admitted that he had no
direct knowledge that Neidorf ever gained illegal access to anything; that
Neidorf was not himself a member of the Legion of Doom; and that Neidorf
had not been involved in the initial downloading of the document in any
way.
       In short, Neidorf and Riggs had not conspired; therefore, Neidorf
should not have been charged with the fraud counts.  The only value of
which Bell South was "deprived" by Riggs's downloading was $13; therefore,
he was, at worst, guilty of petty theft.  The interstate-transportation
counts were moot, since the "stolen goods" in question were worth less than
the $5,000 minimum.
       Not only was there no case against Neidorf -- there also was no case
against Riggs.	The government dropped the case against Neidorf.  Riggs,
however, had already pleaded guilty.