Ghost in the Wires: My Adventures as the World’s Most Wanted Hacker

“Come back
tomorrow when I’m awake!”
They’re not going to go away. Is there any chance I can convince them
I’m not the guy they’re looking for?
Several minutes later, I call my mom back and tell her, “I’m going to
open the door. Stay on the phone with me.”
I crack the door open. The guy who has been calling to me is maybe in
his late thirties, black, with a graying beard.

---

It’s the middle of the night, and he’s wearing a suit—I figure he must
really be FBI. In time I’ll learn he’s Levord Burns, the guy in charge of this
operation. The door is barely open, but it’s enough for him to stick his foot
out and block me from slamming it closed. Several others follow, pushing
their way into the room.
“Are you Kevin Mitnick?”
“I already told you I’m not.”
Another agent, Daniel Glasgow, starts in on me. He’s somewhat older,
bulky, with graying hair. “Hang up the phone,” he says.
I tell my mom, “I gotta go.”
Some of the guys have started searching.
I ask, “Do you have a search warrant?”
“If you’re Kevin Mitnick, we have an arrest warrant,” Burns says.
I tell him, “I want to call my attorney.”
The agents make no move to stop me.
I call Yzurdiaga. “Hey, John, this is Thomas Case, I’m in Raleigh, North
Carolina. The FBI has just showed up at my door. They think I’m some guy
named Mitnick, and they’re going through my apartment, but they haven’t
shown me a search warrant. Can you talk to them?”
I pass the phone to the agent standing in my face, Glasgow. He takes the
phone and starts demanding to know who’s on the other end of the line. I
think Yzurdiaga doesn’t want to identify himself because he knows I’m
using a phony name, and that might raise some ethical issues for him.
Glasgow passes the phone to Burns. Now I know who’s in charge.
I can hear Yzurdiaga telling him, “If you show my client a valid warrant,
you’re good to search.”
They finish the call. Everybody is searching the apartment.
Burns asks me for ID. I pull out my wallet and show him my G. Thomas
Case driver’s license.
One searcher comes into the room and shows Burns the cell phone he’s
just found under my bed.
Burns, in the meantime, is pawing through my gym bag and finally
comes up with the other cell phone. At this point, cell phone time still costs
about a buck a minute, so the fact that I own 
two
phones can’t help but raise
suspicions.
Burns asks me for my cell phone number. I say nothing. I’m hoping
he’ll turn the phone on. It’s a trap I’ve set in case something like this ever

---

happened: unless you enter a secret code within sixty seconds of powering
up, all of the phone’s memory, including the programmed mobile number
and ESN, will be erased. Poof! There goes the evidence.
Damn! He just hands it off to another agent without powering it up.
Again I demand, “Where’s your search warrant?!”
Burns reaches into a folder and hands me a paper.
I look at it and say, “This isn’t a valid warrant. There’s no address.”
From my reading of law books, I know that the United States Constitution
forbids general searches; a warrant is valid only if it is specific and precise
about the address to be searched.
They go back to searching. Like an actor, I put myself in the mindset of
someone being violated. I get loud: “You don’t have any right to be here.
Get outta my apartment. You don’t have a search warrant. Get outta my
apartment 
NOW!
”
A few agents form a circle around me. One of the agents shoves a sheet
of paper at me. He says, “Doesn’t this look like you?”
I can’t help smiling to myself. The U.S. Marshals Service has put out a
wanted poster on me. Unbelievable!
It says: