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

partners who’d squirreled away more than their share of the profits, men
who were getting divorced and had tons of cash in hidden bank accounts,
and so on. And, “I know Mark Kasden, the manager there,” my father told

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me. Then he added, “How about if I give him a call? I bet he’ll want to
know what you found out.”
I said, “Why not?” I thought the guy would appreciate the information.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the apartment door. Kasden
hadn’t wasted any time coming over. Dad let him in and introduced us. The
guy was short and stocky but muscled, with a bit of a ponytail that looked
like it was maybe meant to distract you from noticing that he was balding
on top. He didn’t look anything like my idea of a Sam Spade or Anthony
Pellicano, though I’d find out later that he was one of those avid Harley
owners who talked about their bikes with great affection. And he was
always on the hunt for chicks, focused on his next conquest.
I looked at this guy and wondered why his firm was being investigated,
though I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to share anything incriminating
with me. I explained I had checked to see if my dad’s phone lines were
being tapped.
“They aren’t,” I told him, “but three lines at Teltec are being
monitored.”
His reaction was pretty much like my father’s. He looked like he was
thinking, 
This kid is full of it. No way he’d be able to find out if a phone line
was being wiretapped
. I was excited to share my capabilities. It was cool
because ordinarily this was stuff you had to keep to yourself unless you
wanted to end up in a dormitory at a prison camp.
“You don’t think I could find wiretaps? Just using my computer and any
telephone, I can monitor anyone I want.”
The look on his face said, 
Why am I wasting time with this blowhard?
I asked if he wanted a demonstration. He replied with a skeptical, cocky,
“Sure. Let’s see if you can listen to my girlfriend’s line.” She lived in
Agoura Hills, he told me.
In my notebook I had handwritten notes of the dial-up numbers for the
SAS remote access test points (RATPs) in several COs in the San Fernando
Valley. I looked up the number for the RATP in the Agoura CO that served
her area. There were four numbers listed.
Since I knew my dad’s lines didn’t have any intercepts on them, I could
use one of them to dial in to SAS: because it was a local call, no billing
record would be generated, meaning no evidence could be found later

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showing that anybody had ever dialed SAS from this line. I sat down at a
desktop computer—which was actually my friend’s, though my dad had
agreed to say it was his if a Probation Officer ever dropped by, since I
wasn’t supposed to use computers except with prior approval. I used the
computer modem to dial in to the SAS unit in the Agoura CO.
On the second one of my dad’s lines, I called another number and put
the phone in speakerphone mode. They heard the 
ring, ring, ring
.
Then I typed some commands on the computer. All of a sudden, the
ringing stopped with a 
loud
click, as if someone had picked up the phone.
They watched, intrigued, as I hummed loudly into the speakerphone:
mmmmmmmmm
. Immediately, we heard a series of touch tones as if
someone picked up the line and started to initiate a call.
I asked Mark for his girlfriend’s phone number as I entered a series of
commands on the computer. We were now listening on the girlfriend’s
phone line.
Bummer. She wasn’t on the phone. The line was silent.
“Mark, your girlfriend’s not on the line,” I told him. “Try calling her
from your cell phone.” As he took out his cell phone and speed-dialed the
number, my dad was giving me a look of disbelief, as if he were watching
some Harry Houdini wannabe trying to perform a magic trick he didn’t
really know how to do.
From the speakerphone on my dad’s phone line, we heard the