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.No evidence ofanything but an eclectic taste in music there. Another policeman opened Pad's wardrobe and peered inside.`Anything in here of interest?'he asked.`No,' Pad answered.`It's all over here.' He pointed to the box of computer disks.Pad didn't think there was much point in the police tearing the place to pieces, when theywould ultimately find everything they wanted anyway.Nothing was hidden.Unlike theAustralian hackers, Pad hadn't been expecting the police at all.Although part of the data on hishard drive was encrypted, there was plenty of incriminating evidence in the un-encrypted files.Pad couldn't hear exactly what his parents were talking about with the police in the otherroom, but he could tell they were calm.Why shouldn't they be? It wasn't as if their son haddone anything terrible.He hadn't beaten someone up in a fist fight at a pub, or robbed anyone.He hadn't hit someone while drunk driving.No, they thought, he had just been fiddling aroundwith computers.Maybe poking around where he shouldn't have been, but that was hardly aserious crime.They needn't worry.It wasn't as if he was going to prison or anything.The policewould sort it all out.Maybe some sort of citation, and the matter would be over and done.Pad'smother even offered to make cups of tea for the police.One of the police struck up a conversation with Pad off to the side as he paused to drink histea.He seemed to know that Pad was on the dole, and with a completely straight face, he said,`If you wanted a job, why didn't you just join the police?'Pad paused for a reality check.Here he was being raided by nearly a dozen law enforcementofficers--including representatives from BT and Scotland Yard's computer crimes unit--forhacking hundreds of computers and this fellow wanted to know why he hadn't just become acopper?He tried not to laugh.Even if he hadn't been busted, there is no way he would ever havecontemplated joining the police.Never in a million years.His family and friends, while showinga pleasant veneer of middle-class orderliness, were fundamentally anti-establishment.Manyknew that Pad had been hacking, and which sites he had penetrated.Their attitude was:Hacking Big Brother? Good on you.His parents were torn, wanting to encourage Pad's interest in computers but also worryingtheir son spent an inordinate amount of time glued to the screen.Their mixed feelings mirroredPad's own occasional concern.While deep in the throes of endless hacking nights, he would suddenly sit upright and askhimself, What am I doing here, fucking around on a computer all day and night? Where is thisheading? What about the rest of life? Then he would disentangle himself from hacking for a fewdays or weeks.He would go down to the university pub to drink with his mostly male group offriends from his course.Tall, with short brown hair, a slender physique and a handsomely boyish face, the soft-spoken Pad would have been considered attractive by many intelligent girls.The problem wasfinding those sort of girls.He hadn't met many when he was studying at university--there werefew women in his maths and computer classes.So he and his friends used to head down to theManchester nightclubs for the social scene and the good music.Pad went downstairs with one of the officers and watched as the police unplugged his 1200baud modem, then tucked it into a plastic bag.He had bought that modem when he waseighteen.The police unplugged cables, bundled them up and slipped them into labelled plasticbags.They gathered up his 20 megabyte hard drive and monitor.More plastic bags and labels.One of the officers called Pad over to the front door.The jack was still wedged across themutilated door frame.The police had broken down the door instead of knocking because theywanted to catch the hacker in the act--on-line.The officer motioned for Pad to follow him.`Come on,' he said, leading the hacker into the night.`We're taking you to the station [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.No evidence ofanything but an eclectic taste in music there. Another policeman opened Pad's wardrobe and peered inside.`Anything in here of interest?'he asked.`No,' Pad answered.`It's all over here.' He pointed to the box of computer disks.Pad didn't think there was much point in the police tearing the place to pieces, when theywould ultimately find everything they wanted anyway.Nothing was hidden.Unlike theAustralian hackers, Pad hadn't been expecting the police at all.Although part of the data on hishard drive was encrypted, there was plenty of incriminating evidence in the un-encrypted files.Pad couldn't hear exactly what his parents were talking about with the police in the otherroom, but he could tell they were calm.Why shouldn't they be? It wasn't as if their son haddone anything terrible.He hadn't beaten someone up in a fist fight at a pub, or robbed anyone.He hadn't hit someone while drunk driving.No, they thought, he had just been fiddling aroundwith computers.Maybe poking around where he shouldn't have been, but that was hardly aserious crime.They needn't worry.It wasn't as if he was going to prison or anything.The policewould sort it all out.Maybe some sort of citation, and the matter would be over and done.Pad'smother even offered to make cups of tea for the police.One of the police struck up a conversation with Pad off to the side as he paused to drink histea.He seemed to know that Pad was on the dole, and with a completely straight face, he said,`If you wanted a job, why didn't you just join the police?'Pad paused for a reality check.Here he was being raided by nearly a dozen law enforcementofficers--including representatives from BT and Scotland Yard's computer crimes unit--forhacking hundreds of computers and this fellow wanted to know why he hadn't just become acopper?He tried not to laugh.Even if he hadn't been busted, there is no way he would ever havecontemplated joining the police.Never in a million years.His family and friends, while showinga pleasant veneer of middle-class orderliness, were fundamentally anti-establishment.Manyknew that Pad had been hacking, and which sites he had penetrated.Their attitude was:Hacking Big Brother? Good on you.His parents were torn, wanting to encourage Pad's interest in computers but also worryingtheir son spent an inordinate amount of time glued to the screen.Their mixed feelings mirroredPad's own occasional concern.While deep in the throes of endless hacking nights, he would suddenly sit upright and askhimself, What am I doing here, fucking around on a computer all day and night? Where is thisheading? What about the rest of life? Then he would disentangle himself from hacking for a fewdays or weeks.He would go down to the university pub to drink with his mostly male group offriends from his course.Tall, with short brown hair, a slender physique and a handsomely boyish face, the soft-spoken Pad would have been considered attractive by many intelligent girls.The problem wasfinding those sort of girls.He hadn't met many when he was studying at university--there werefew women in his maths and computer classes.So he and his friends used to head down to theManchester nightclubs for the social scene and the good music.Pad went downstairs with one of the officers and watched as the police unplugged his 1200baud modem, then tucked it into a plastic bag.He had bought that modem when he waseighteen.The police unplugged cables, bundled them up and slipped them into labelled plasticbags.They gathered up his 20 megabyte hard drive and monitor.More plastic bags and labels.One of the officers called Pad over to the front door.The jack was still wedged across themutilated door frame.The police had broken down the door instead of knocking because theywanted to catch the hacker in the act--on-line.The officer motioned for Pad to follow him.`Come on,' he said, leading the hacker into the night.`We're taking you to the station [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]