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💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › shorts › defcon › 25 › DEFCON-25-NRDavis-Resi… captured on 2022-07-16 at 15:47:42.

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Resist and Disobey

by N.R. Davis @NRDavisWrites

It started with an executive order. Just like that, it all came
to an end. With a simple flick of a pen across paper, the DEF
CON tradition was abolished. The President's signature meant
that any congregation of hackers could be labeled a terrorist
organization.
Martin watched the highlight reel on the evening news while sitting at
the tiki bar near his home. Just as he thought it couldn’t get any
worse, the President continued with his address.
“It has been six months since I received the Hacker
Registration Initiative bill from Congress and signed it into
law. Under the HRI, all hacking activities must be authorized by
a government official. Anyone wishing to conduct hacking
activities are required to register their handle and link it to
their birth identity. The law included a six month window to
allow time for all current hackers to complete their
registration. That grace period ended last night. The original
language of the HRI had weak enforcement components. I am
utilizing my powers as President to strengthen the HRI by
signing the Cyber Intervention and Apprehension Order. This
Order will restore safety to cyberspace and ensure accelerated
compliance with the HRI.
“Law enforcement agencies around the country were briefed this
morning. Each agency has compiled a list of known, unregistered hackers
in their jurisdiction. They will immediately begin the apprehension and
detention of all persons believed to be engaging in unsanctioned hacking
activities. Until registration can be verified, they are to be
considered enemy combatants.
”Make no mistakes, we are at war. We are at war with the
hacker menace and those who support them. No more shall we
tolerate their disruption of commerce and spreading of chaos. No
longer will we stand idly by while websites are defaced,
identities stolen, and private details leaked for the world to
see. These hackers and their gatherings are a threat to our way
of life. This threat will be removed and we shall return the
Internet to a safe place for all to browse without fear.”
“Well, shit.” Martin was too stunned to summon any other
response. He stared at the TV while the President continued. His
eyes registered that there were pictures and his ears heard
sounds but his brain was unable to process what just happened.
His mind was caught somewhere between the past and the present.
He’d heard the calls to action when the HRI was proposed but
he never thought it would pass, so he did nothing. Everyone said
it couldn’t happen in America. They couldn’t have been more
wrong. When the Executive Enhancement to the HRI was rumoured,
there was a similar outcry but it didn’t have the same
support. Newly registered hackers refused to risk their
‘protected’ status by protesting. In less than a year’s
time, hackers went from being members of society to
terrorists and enemies of the state for not agreeing to be
digitally branded. The newscaster had come back onscreen.
“Earlier today, the President signed an executive order
declaring all hacker conferences and clubs to be terrorist
organizations and enhanced HRI enforcement. We have received
reports claiming arrests have begun in the area but we have not
obtained official confirmation. You are encouraged to notify law
enforcement whenever you see someone you suspect of being a
hacker. Do not risk your personal identity or safety.” The man
seated on the stool beside Martin laughed. “Don’t engage a
hacker to protect your identity? What a bunch of bullshit. They
have no clue how this works. All they’re doing is stirring up
fear to drive up ratings.” Martin turned and looked at the
patron to his left. He was an older gentleman with a full grey
beard and an eclectic sense of fashion. His attention appeared
to be focused on the TV despite his statements structured to
encourage those around to engage him in conversation. “What
about you, kid? You seem to have an opinion on this story. What
do you think about them rounding up all the hackers?” His
question was directed at Martin but his attention was still on
the TV. Martin cleared his throat. “Well, people are scared.
They’re facing an adversary with no face wielding technology
they don’t understand. They just know that at any point in
time their ‘private’ information could suddenly be available
to the public and used against them. That fear of the unknown,
fear of financial insecurity, and fear of how others will see
them once their dirty habits are exposed is a powerful motivator
for most people. They’re willing to sacrifice everything to
keep those secrets in order to feel safe. What most people
don’t realize is that safety is an illusion. “So now we
have a terrified populace screaming for the government to do
something and power hungry elected officials capitalizing on
this fear. In our current age, the only way to coordinate a
resistance is through the Internet. That space was once ruled by
hackers but governments have slowly been encroaching. The ruling
party is removing the only means of resistance by hunting the
dissenters and controlling the communication channels.” Martin
was shocked with himself. He never shared that sort of
information with anyone out of fear of being identified. He
didn’t know if it was the alcohol or his anger at the
executive order that was making him want to share his opinions.
Whatever it was, he needed to get it under control. The grey
beard started laughing. It was a full, hearty laugh not meant to
insult or mock. “You know, kid, you sound a lot like I did
when I was your age. I used to think I had the world all figured
out too. You know what though, I was only half right. I had the
motivations right but I overlooked the obvious; much like you
are doing right now.” He extended his hand towards Martin.
“I’m Tim Bass. Though, most everyone just calls me
Phisher.” Martin was angry about being laughed at even if it
wasn’t meant to hurt. He didn’t like being told he was
wrong, either, but was now curious what he missed. “Alright,
I’ll bite. What did I overlook, Tim?” “Please, call me
Phisher. Tim is just so formal.” He smiled as he said it. It
was warm and welcoming. “Phisher it is then,” replied
Martin. Something about Tim just made Martin want to open up.
“What’s missing?” “There are more channels for
communication than just the internet.” “TOR’s monitored.
Everyone knows that. Hit a compromised site and you’re
toast.” Tim sighed. “I was talking about going old school.
What do you know about modems and bulletin boards?” “No one
uses those any more. I thought they were all taken offline.
Besides, those protocols are totally insecure. Why would anyone
risk using that?” “Think about it. Who’s monitoring the
phone lines for dial up connections any more? Everyone has
shifted their resources to the Internet. If you’re really
worried about someone listening in, encrypt the data transmitted
over the phone lines. “There are lots of ways to do this. It
all just depends on your commitment to evading detection and
your tolerance of paranoia. Very few who have walked this path
escape being touched by lingering paranoia.” Phisher paused
and lifted his drink to his lips. He pulled the glass away
slightly to continue speaking. “Just remember, you’re not
crazy if they’re really out to get you.” Phisher let out a
satisfied sigh as he placed his empty glass on the table.
Martin just stared at the man. His brain was racing, trying to
think of what to say next. He really was onto something. Could
something that simple really work? How would you distribute the
encryption key? What about changing the key? You’d need a way
to revoke it. Wait, but why is he telling me this? Is he a
government plant, trying to get me to reveal myself? If so, I
already said too much. “Sounds like you’ve put a lot of
thought into this. But why tell me?” Phisher laughed again.
“Not me, I didn’t have anything to do with it. In fact, all
I have are rumors… rumors someone built just that sort of
system. A way for those with the right equipment and know how to
talk and coordinate. It’s what I’m looking for. Kinda
reminds me of the early days of Net...” he trailed off. He
appeared distant, perhaps in the past, for a second or two
before returning to the present. “Anyway, I was hoping you
might have heard something about this. Maybe able to give me a
clue.” Martin shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it. In
fact, I’m not really involved with the conference scene. This
was supposed to be my first ever DEF CON. Looks like that
won’t be happening now.” It was Martin’s turn to be
nostalgic. ”A buddy of mine, Heron, gave me his old DC24 badge
earlier. He wanted me to hold on to it in case something
happened to him. I wonder if he knew about the Executive
Order?” “Very possible, kid. I’ve heard people have
expected this ever since they passed that stupid law. I’m not
surprised the BBS rumors started a week before this nightmare
began.” Phisher paused. “You know, it just dawned on me that
I didn’t get your name.” Martin chuckled. “I didn’t give
it. I wasn’t sure whose side you’re on. I’m Martin…
Martin Stoat.” “Did your parents hate you or something? They
named you after two weasels?” “I get that a lot. In fact,
some people have started calling me Tweasel, short for two
weasel. I can’t get rid of it now.” “Tweasel’s not bad.
It’s not great but it’s not bad either. There are worse
handles to have. You could have called yourself Zero Cool or
some shit like that.” Martin and Tim continued to talk,
getting lost in conversation. They were so caught up in the
topic of resistance that they failed to notice that no one else
was coming into the bar, only leaving. It was when the music
stopped they realized how quiet it had become. The two men
turned away from the bar and looked around. In the doorway stood
two police officers in full tactical gear. Another two covered
the back exit. A fifth man, in a suit, approached the two at the
bar. Martin tensed. Phisher noticed this and whispered,
“Relax, they’re here for me, not you. Just stay quiet.”
The man in the suit spoke, “Tim, the Phisher, Bass, you’re
being detained under the CIAO enhancement to the HRI for
participation in unsanctioned hacking activities and failure to
self register. You need to come with me.”
Phisher stood up and took a step. The officers covering the
doors raised their weapons. Phisher staggered, falling face
first. He barely caught himself by throwing an arm around
Martin’s waist. He was helped back to his feet by Martin. Once
he was upright again, he raised his hands and said, “No need
for violence. I’ll come peacefully.” Phisher turned to
Martin. “Remember. Resist and disobey.” He turned back to
the officers and calmly walked towards his fate. Tim Bass was
handcuffed and escorted out of the bar, flanked by the police.
The jovial atmosphere never returned to the tiki bar. All of the
patrons were introspective, processing how the abstract words
enhancing a controversial law had suddenly played out in front
of their faces. They could no longer deny hackers were being
rounded up and detained under dubious charges. Martin simply
didn’t feel safe being in the bar any longer. Did someone
overhear the conversation and call the cops? He didn’t know
but it was time to leave. He paid his tab and picked up Tim’s
as well. It was unlikely that anyone would ever see Tim again,
but that was no reason for the staff to suffer a poor tip. Once
outside, Martin reached in his pocket to grab his keys. His
fingertips brushed something strange in his pocket. He pulled it
out with his keys.It was a silver usb stick that he’d never
seen before. Did Phisher slip this in my pocket when he
stumbled? Is there something on here he didn’t want the cops
to have? That’s a major gamble giving me a drive without
knowing me. He put the drive back in his pocket. This wasn’t
the place to be pondering ‘what if’. Even though the parking
lot was empty, Martin felt like he was being watched. He was
half a block down the road from the bar when he checked his
rearview mirror. A white sedan pulled out of the parking lot
he’d just left and waited until they were in the street to
turn on their headlights. Martin made a right turn at the next
major intersection and watched his mirror. Just a few seconds
later, the white sedan turned to follow. He made a few more
turns at well traveled cross streets and the sedan was always in
his rear view mirror. A small side street was coming up. This
would settle it. If he was truly being followed, they’d turn
in behind him. He made the turn and stomped on the gas. His car
was built for efficiency, not speed. It did not hurry, just
slowly accelerated. Another road was coming up. He was almost
there when the white car once again appeared. They were
following him. Did they know about the flash drive? What’s on
it that’s so important? I’ve got to get clear and see
what’s on this thing. There was a mall nearby with multiple
parking garages. If he could get there, it might be enough to
help shake this tail. Martin tried to think who might be
following him. This was not a usual unmarked vehicle and if it
was the police, they’d have used other units to try and box
him in. Was this another group? He had no way to know but he
wasn’t going to stick around to find out. If his tail was
still back there, they were doing a good job of hiding. Martin
had taken a winding route to get to the mall and hadn’t seen
the other vehicle for several minutes. He found an out of the
way spot with a good view of the road and multiple exits before
he parked. Traffic on the road appeared normal. Vehicles passed
and none of them appeared to be the one looking for him. Martin
felt he was clear, for now. He pulled the USB drive out of his
pocket and stared at it, hoping that something on the outside
would give him clues towards its contents. There was nothing. He
was going to have to break one of his rules. He reached in the
back seat and grabbed his laptop. The top was covered in so many
stickers the manufacturer's logo, let alone the original color,
couldn’t be determined. It came to life as soon as Martin
opened the lid. It only took a few seconds for Martin to log in
but it felt like an eternity. The events of the night had his
adrenaline going. His hands were shaking making it difficult to
type. Decision time, he thought. Do I really want to access
Phisher’s drive with my laptop? Who knows what’s on it.
Martin pondered this for a moment longer before saying out loud,
“Fuck it. There’s a reason he gave me this.” He spun up a
virtual machine. At least this should give me a little bit of
protection, just in case. He inserted the drive and associated
it with the VM. No turning back now. It only took a few seconds
for him to mount the device and list its contents. There were
four directories and a single file named _README_. He opened
that file first. The file was nothing more than text. It
started simply enough but the language was not that of Phisher.
“The war against hackers has already begun. It started long
before the Hacker Registration Initiative but this was the
catalyst that spurred us to direct action. A small group,
dedicated to active resistance, has formed. We created a method
for proving your worth. By possessing this drive, someone deemed
you capable of solving our challenge. These puzzles will test
your skills and guide you to others like you. A single hacker is
capable, but together we are unstoppable. Good luck.” The
prickles that had started as a chill while reading the first
sentence became full fledged goosebumps by the time he was done.
Martin sat there for a moment, stunned. He was being recruited.
This wasn’t just some little game or badge challenge. It was a
legitimate test of his skills. If the events of the evening were
any indication, there would be serious consequences if he failed
to complete it. His pulse was racing. It felt like everything
came crashing down on him all at once. The stress from avoiding
the HRI, the bar encounter, the high speed chase and now this
puzzle finally caught up to him. It was amazing he had held out
this long but the human mind can only endure so much. He wiped
his hands on his pants before returning them to the keyboard.
They were still sweating. His fingers were slick on the keys. If
he raised his hands off the keyboard, his fingers would just
shake. There was something comforting about resting them on the
keys beyond just providing enough friction to keep them from
bouncing all over the place. Martin attempted to access the
folder. He had to type the command three times before he got it
right. He was too nervous to find the right keys. Inside, he
found a single 1KB file. When he viewed the contents of the
file, it was two numbers, 35.285827, 115.68463, separated by a
comma. Something about the structure looked familiar but he
couldn't place it. He was still too worked up to think clearly
and decided to come back later. The shaking had subsided and he
could finally hear noises other than the rhythmic hammering of
blood in his ears.The panic was passing. Typing would be easier
now. The second folder contained a single JPG. When he opened
it, he was presented with a picture of an old Soviet era
shortwave radio. A quick internet search returned an article
talking about UVB-76, the Buzzer. That station had been
broadcasting for years. That’s too easy though. No one would
send me after that station. It’s too well known and still
active. There had to be more here. He just wasn’t seeing it.
He moved on to the next one. The third folder had a two files;
one labeled DIALER and a second readme. This readme file had
only a short phrase in it. It simply read, “A skilled hacker
uses the combined disciplines of wire and wave to attain their
goals.” What does this mean, Martin wondered. Why is it in the
folder with DIALER? What is DIALER anyway? He tried to open it
with a text editor but it just returned machine code. Whoever
built it had encrypted the file. It could be an executable but
it wasn’t flagged as such. I could change the flag and make it
execute but what would it do? Do I want to trust this bizarre
file? In the end, he decided that he had no other option. He
modified the permissions and ran it. At first it appeared to do
nothing. The cursor just blinked. After a few seconds, it spit
out an error message. “Modem not detected, exiting.”
“Damn,” Martin cursed. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy,
but with a name like DIALER he should have known that a modem
was required. It was just too obvious. That’s it! The wire
has to be the phone lines. Now, where the hell am I going to
find a modem at this time of night. Martin checked his laptop,
just in case. No dice. Just not that lucky. If he still had his
previous laptop, he would have had a phone jack. Fry’s was
around the corner. He could get in and out with the USB modem
before 9PM. When he exited the store, he saw a white sedan in
the back corner of the parking lot. It looked like the same one
as before but he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to run and just
leave his car in case they hadn’t seen him. He didn’t know
who ‘they’ were though. He had no way of knowing who or what
he was running from. Besides, his computer was still in the car
along with the thumb drive. He HAD to go back and get that. The
return to the car was nerve wracking. His attempts to look
inconspicuous only made his walk stilted. Instead of appearing
calm, he looked very suspicious. Once back in the vehicle, he
waited and watched the sedan for a minute to see what it did.
There was no movement. He started his car and headed out to the
main road. Before leaving the lot, he took one last look at the
sedan. It hadn’t moved. A blonde woman was approaching it from
the store. Martin figured it was her car, and not the one from
before. He couldn’t go home. It was too great of a risk. If
he wasn’t on a list earlier, being seen with Phisher might
have put him on one. Plus, who knew why that car was chasing
him. He didn’t know who he could trust.The only thing he was
certain about was that he had a puzzle given to him. He needed
a place to crash. Some place where he could work quietly and
solve this challenge. Martin settled on a little cash only
motel across town from his home. The place was perfect if you
needed to run quickly. The property had multiple exits from the
parking lot and a car parked at the end of the building can’t
be seen from the road. More importantly, they had never
upgraded their phone system so there were still analog lines in
the rooms. It may have been a nice place when originally built
but 50+ years of service had taken its toll. The second floor
room he’d been given was small but would serve his needs for
the night. Its cleanliness left something to be desired. There
was a certain smell about the room and his shoes stuck to the
floor when he walked across the carpet to the window. The glass
was dirty and smudged with hand prints. He overlooked all of
that because it had a desk, a chair, a bed, and an wireless
internet connection. The window crank was difficult to turn but
it finally yielded to him. Unlike newer buildings, the opening
was large enough that he could get through if needed. He looked
down and saw it was a ten foot drop onto grass. This would be
perfect, in case he needed to bail. Martin converted the desk
into a more comfortable workspace than his car had been. The
laptop was the central focus and all his accessories were laid
out around it. He never left the house without his gear bag. In
it was everything he needed to compete in most capture the flag
events or engage in some more questionable endeavors. Martin
pulled his newest purchase out of its shopping bag. It only took
a few moments to free the modem from its plastic cocoon but he
felt accomplished at not having to use a knife. “Hopefully,
this is a sign of how the night’s going to go.” Once he had
the modem connected to his laptop, he updated the drivers and
started up DIALER. The screen cleared and the blinking cursor
just sat in the upper left corner. He was just about to break
out of the program when “PASSWORD:” appeared on the screen.
The cursor was still there, blinking and taunting him as it
asked for information he didn’t have. Martin tried a few
common weak passwords but after 3 attempts, the program claimed
“Max attempts exceeded, goodbye!” This was going to take
forever. There was no easy way he could brute force it. Maybe
one of the other puzzles will help with this. He went back to
the JPEG file. He stared at it a while and zoomed in on some of
the features of the radio. A word on the front panel was enough
information to identify the model in the image. It was either a
Saluts 001 or an Euromatic 001 radio capable of receiving long,
medium and short wave transmissions in addition to FM radio
signals. The only difference between the Saluts and Euromatic
was that the Euromatic was the export version and had more
capabilities. Further digging revealed an identical picture. He
compared the two side by side. There was nothing visibly
different about the images that he could detect but the file on
the drive was larger than the one he’d located online. Time
stamps were identical though. Had someone hidden something in
this file? No one uses steganography anymore, right? Still, he
couldn’t just ignore this discrepancy. He spent the next hour
going through all the different ways he could think of where one
might hide text in a JPEG. None of them revealed anything. If it
was steganography, it was so well done that he couldn’t find
the difference in pixel colors. He was ready to give up when he
decided to take one last look at the properties of the file.
There in the comments section of the file details was “Control
your counting to be universally L337.” Could this be what
I’ve been looking for? Was it right here the entire time? He
pulled up the original file and checked the comments there. The
text was absent. The clue was hiding in plain sight! It was so
simple that he’d missed it. He had bigger issues than getting
mad at himself, like trying to understand what this meant.
Obviously, this has to relate to the picture somehow. This must
be referencing some sort of short wave broadcast. Searching for
just “control your counting” didn’t bring back any
meaningful results. Switching the search string to “control
your counting shortwave” pointed to The Conet Project which
had released some recordings of number station transmissions.
He finally caught a break on this puzzle. There was a shortwave
numbers station related to the comment somehow.
He looked through the track listing from the Conet Project. There, track
3 on disk 1, was a recording labeled “(E14) Counting 'Control’”.
The solution was a historical numbers station.
Martin spent another hour researching the station. E14 was a
control station for E05, The Counting Station, sometimes
referred to as Cynthia. Both stations were believed to be
operated by the CIA. The Control station would transmit daily on
a number of frequencies at various times throughout the day.
Each message would transmit for 10 minutes and cease. The
chills had started again. He was onto something big. Had these
fools really started transmitting a message on a shortwave
frequency previously used by a CIA number station? Is that what
he was supposed to find? It makes sense. This is 'by wave’ as
the file indicated.
E14 had one broadcast time and frequency that was close to fitting the
rest of the JPEG comment. It would broadcast on 13425 kHz at 1330 hrs
UTC. The comment used “universally L337”. He just needed to listen
to 13425 kHz at 1337 hrs UTC and get the wave portion of the puzzle. But
how was he going to listen in?
Martin went still as he pondered this question. He’d need
something able to tune in to that frequency. It was below the
range of most modern things. I wonder… He became a flurry of
activity as he rummaged through his pack. He had an idea. It
just might work. Out of the pack came a roll of speaker wire,
some alligator clips, a metal telescoping antenna and a small
black plastic box. He placed the box on the table, orienting the
antenna connection towards the window. His software defined
radio was capable of operating at frequencies between 1MHz and 6
GHz but he’d never tried to grab something so low before.
Martin stripped the insulation off the ends of the speaker wire
and twisted the strands on each end together. One end he secured
to the antenna with an alligator clip. The other end he lowered
out the open window. It wasn’t perfect but should make a
decent improvised long wire antenna that would allow him to
capture shortwave signals. All that was left to do was connect
the SDR to his laptop and see if he could hear anything. The
hiss of static filled the room as the radio came alive. He
decided to try connecting to a known signal, just to see if his
antenna was functioning. He wasn’t certain which one to try
until he remembered the article from earlier. He decided to tune
into the Buzzer on 4625 KHz. The static was still there but it
was interrupted by a “bzzzt” that lasted for just a second
or two, followed by a short pause and then the buzz would
repeat. This happened at a pace of 25 tones a minute. More
importantly, it proved that he could receive a known signal
which meant he should be able to receive the questionable signal
as well. He tuned the SDR to 13425 KHz. What he heard surprised
him. It was the exact same buzzing pattern that he’d heard on
the Buzzer. He double checked everything to make sure that it
had actually tuned properly. As far as he could tell, he had. He
even went to a different frequency, where he got nothing but
static. The problem wasn’t in his equipment. He was
incredibly confused. He had everything correct. Why am I getting
that tone on this frequency? Could it be that the hacker signal
is just pirating the buzzer and replaying it on the CIA
frequency? That has to be it. He couldn’t help but smile.
There was a special type of irony in having hackers broadcast a
clone of a Russian pattern on a frequency formerly used by the
CIA. He still had a lot of time before 1337 hrs UTC so he
switched over to one of the other puzzles. This time, he decided
to work on the two numbers. He considered a few options but none
of them were right. There was something about this pair that was
bugging him. Had been since he first saw them. It seemed
familiar still. He plugged the first number into a search
engine and was floored by the results. He didn’t have to add
the second number. It was the lat/long coordinates of the Mojave
Desert phone booth. That’s why it is so familiar! He laughed
out loud at the discovery yet still felt a little foolish for
taking so long to find the solution. This was a part of
phreaking history that had faded into relative obscurity. He’d
driven out there once but it was after the booth itself had been
removed. It just wasn’t the same without the booth. It felt
like a place that had lost its battle with time. There was an
empty sadness. He’d called the old number from his cell phone
while he was there, just to feel connected to the past. Instead
of getting an error, it rang! After a few rings the call was
connected but no one was there, just recorded music which all
seemed to have a theme relating to phone calls. He stayed on the
line a while, but no one else called in. He grabbed his cell
phone and dialed 760-733-9969. There was nothing for him in the
desert, he was almost positive of this. Most likely it was a red
herring designed to make people waste their time driving out
there. The phone was ringing. It rang three times then was
picked up. A familiar woman’s voice answered by saying,
“Please deposit twenty five cents.” Martin smiled. They’d
used the old pay phone recording. He wasn’t expecting the
request though. The recording was repeated two more times while
he frantically searched for a recording of the tones played when
a quarter was dropped into a payphone. Before he could find the
correct file, the phone disconnected and the annoying buzz of a
busy signal interrupted his search. He hung up and continued
his search. It only took a few more seconds and he found a
recording that claimed to match the $0.25 deposit signal. The
original tone was a combination of a 1700 Hz and 2200 Hz tones
played together for 5 pulses, 33ms in length, with a 33ms pause
between each pulse. Martin queued up the recording and dialed
the number again. Once the woman spoke, he moved the phone’s
mic close to his laptop speakers and played the recording. There
was the silence of an open line that followed for a long second,
before the woman said, “Thank you,” and the hold music
started. Martin didn’t know what he was supposed to do now.
He had expected that someone would be on the line and would give
him the next clue. He was getting tired and frustrated. Hitting
a wall like this didn’t help. He was stuck and there was
nothing to point him in the correct direction. He hung up on the
hold music and set down his phone. It was on the table no more
than two seconds before his phone buzzed. He had received a text
message from 760-733-9969. The message read, “The end has
come. 4671” Was this the next clue? It wasn’t a prime
number, but it had to be important. He just didn’t know how.
Martin sighed but it became a big yawn. In his mind, he’d
solved the number puzzle by getting this clue. He’d also tuned
in to the hacker shortwave channel. There was nothing more that
he could do until the broadcast time. He decided to try and get
some sleep. Maybe with fresh eyes he’d see something he
missed. His sleep was short and fitful. He dreamed of being
chased and of Phisher getting arrested. One thing stood out in
each dream sequence. Phisher’s voice repeated, “Remember.
Resist and disobey.” He sat up and fumbled around for the
light switch. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? He made
his way to the table and touched the power button on his laptop.
It responded, only taking a short moment to wake. He checked to
be sure the modem and phone line were still connected to his
laptop while he waited. Once everything had loaded, he tried to
run DIALER again. This time, when given the password prompt, he
typed in “resist.” It showed him the prompt again, so that
one was not it. He tried “disobey.” The cursor blinked and
showed a new line - DIALING. “Holy…” Martin had missed it
in the confusion. He was smiling to himself as he watched
connection status information displayed on the screen. The
screen cleared and showed “Initial connection established.”
Just below that was another prompt. This one read, “User
ID.” Martin didn’t have a user ID. Or did he? “What the
hell… let's try it?” He typed in ‘resist’ and hit
return. “INVALID ID - DISCONNECTED” flashed on the screen
before the program exited. If he had to dial in every time he
wanted to try a new id, this was going to get really frustrating
really fast. Just think. You’ve got this. The clues have all
been super straightforward. You probably overlooked something.
He looked back through the other files while the dialer was
reestablishing its connection. It was right there, in the
DIALER readme file. The ‘disciplines of wire and wave’ were
the keys. He received a number when he called the phone line.
That was the wire portion. Could that be the user ID? It would
make a lot sense to hide it like that. The DIALER had completed
its connection. There was the User ID prompt again. This time,
Martin typed in 4671. Instead of hanging up, it brought up yet
another prompt. This time it asked for a “Daily Access
Code”. His brief sensation of elation quickly faded. He may
have solved one portion but he couldn’t move forward until he
secured the access code from the broadcast. He’d have to wait
another hour until that happened. Whoever these people were,
they’d sure gone to a lot of trouble to make sure they were
difficult to locate. Martin’s stomach rumbled. He’d been
running on adrenaline and completely forgotten about eating. Now
that he had some down time, it was back with a vengeance. There
was a small 24 hr diner across the street. He figured he’d be
able to get over there, eat, and get back in time to receive the
transmission. He looked at his gear scattered across the room.
It was all set up, ready to receive this signal. He knew it
worked in its current configuration and didn’t want to disturb
it. He couldn’t afford to have it fail. He was torn. On one
hand, he didn’t want to risk ruining his hard work, on the
other, he wasn’t comfortable leaving his equipment alone in a
place like this. He decided to split the difference and leave
his gear unattended just long enough to get take out. He’d
bring it back and eat in the room. He pulled out the silver
thumb drive and slipped it into his pocket. He definitely
didn’t want that ending up in the wrong hands. It was going
with him. Martin stepped out onto the exterior walkway.
Twilight had started. The sun would be up in almost an hour,
just about the same time as his broadcast. He had to hurry.
There was very little traffic as he crossed the street but the
lot for the diner was half full, even at this hour. This must be
a great place to have this many regulars. Shame I’m in a
hurry. He was in and out faster than he expected. Only negative
part of the experience was the price. He didn’t have the cash
on hand to pay for it outright. He ended up using his credit
card to pay. Martin was starting to panic about screwing up
like that. He kept telling himself that his paranoia was getting
the better of him. There was no way that whoever was following
him monitored his bank records. As he crossed the road back to
the motel, he was scanning for anything that looked out of the
ordinary. Everything looked the same as when he left. This
comforted him. He relaxed enough that he could focus on the time
remaining until the broadcast and everything he needed to do to
make sure that it went smoothly. Martin was so caught up in his
thoughts that he missed the white sedan pulling into the parking
lot as he closed the door to the room.
Once inside, he fired up the computer again and loaded the tuning
software. It didn’t take long before that familiar buzz returned. He
ate while waiting for 1337 UTC with no clue what was going to happen.
Just as his watch ticked over to 1337 UTC, the buzzing stopped
and a woman’s voice came through. “516 516 516
1234567890.” Each number was spoken individually. The series
repeated a number of times before playing ten beeps. The woman
returned. “Count 28. Count 28. 61-696 42-06f 66-207 46-865
69-722 06-76f 76-657 26-e6d 65-6e7 42-c20 67-6f7 66-572 6e-6d6
56-e74 20-736 86-f75 6c-642 06-265 20-616 67-261 69-642 06-f66
20-746 86-569 72-207 06-56f 70-6c6 52-e20.” There was a long
pause then “Repeat” before she started going through the
message a second time. After she completed the message the
second time, she said “End,” and the buzzing started again.
Martin was frantically writing while she spoke. Fortunately, the
pause was long enough he was able to get all of the pairs
written before she started up again. This way, he had a chance
to check the message for accuracy. Martin figured the structure
was chosen to stay true to the original numbers station but this
transmission had letters. The structure didn’t matter, just
the values themselves. It has to be hex. He couldn’t think of
any other option. He keyed the message into a hex converter,
omitting the dashes and spaces. The converter could handle the
formatting. The message that came back was unexpected. It read,
“People should not be afraid of their government, government
should be afraid of their people.” There was something off
with the code though. The last hex value was a space not a
return or a period. Martin felt that extra space would be
important. He was also stuck on how long that phrase was.
There’s no way I am expected to key that into the dialer, is
there? He pondered the problem for a little bit before he had a
moment that was sheer inspiration. The industry has been telling
people to use pass phrases and condense them into passwords as a
method to ensure they’re sufficiently complex. Could that be
what’s happening here? I’ll take the first letter of each
word, plus punctuation and the space and make the daily access
code. It was rather easy to distill the quote into the code. It
became “Psnbaotg,gsbaotp. “ Unless, the space should also be
in the middle, in which case it would be “Psnbaotg, gsbaotp.
“ Either way, he had codes to test. He ran the DIALER and
stepped through the different entry prompts until he was at the
passcode. His mind was running wild with what he might find on
the other side of this link once connected. He keyed in
“Psnbaotg, gsbaotp. “ despite how the logical side of his
brain was screaming that this was wrong. Something about it just
felt right to him. Martin hit the enter key and waited. He
didn’t have to wait long. When ascii art started to fill the
screen, he knew he’d gotten it correct on the first try. It
required both spaces. The art was a splash screen of sorts
announcing that he had connected to a BBS. Martin didn’t know
that anyone still operated a Bulletin Board System. He certainly
never expected that he’d be connected to one as part of this
mysterious puzzle. There wasn’t much on the board. Just two
notes on the public wall. The first one read, “Congratulations
Traveler! You’ve managed to piece together what many could
not. We give you one last puzzle before you can join us. “The
note that follows this one contains our current location. It
changes frequently, as do the access codes. If you fail to make
a meet, you’ll need to repeat this challenge to return here
and get the new location. “Once you arrive at the specified
location, a gate will block your path. Honk three times and
someone will greet you. They will ask you about the DEF CON
badge designer. This is the challenge question that will allow
you to know you’re in the right location. Your response will
let us know you have completed this test. You must state “I
hear he does great work,” in order to be recognized. No other
response will be accepted.” Martin couldn’t help himself.
“What the hell is this? Some sort of Cold War spy game? First
brush passes, then shortwave number stations, and now a
challenge and response?” He was starting to have doubts.
Before tonight, his life was quiet, almost boring. Now he was in
the middle of some mystery because he had a drink in a bar. He
couldn’t imagine what required this much secrecy. Was this
something he still wanted to be part of? Memories of Phisher
being detained, of being chased, of hacker friends suddenly
going dark, and the daily fear of living flashed through his
brain. All of it reminded him that whatever was at this final
location had to be better than what he’d already endured. He
opened the second post. It was another set of coordinates. When
he plotted them, they indicated a warehouse on the outskirts of
town. It wouldn’t take him long to get there. Martin
couldn’t believe this crazy night was coming to an end.
Hopefully he’d find some answers once he got to the warehouse.
He had so many questions that he didn’t know where to begin.
They bounced around in his head while he went about packing up
his gear. He’d nearly finished stowing all of his equipment
when he noticed a black usb stick, with a green Mr. Yuk sticker,
in a bag of cables. So that’s where I stuck it. He pulled the
drive out of the cable bag and put it, and the other thumb
drive, in his front pocket. I’ll put you in your proper home
later. Don’t want to lose you again. That could be dangerous.
He wound up the speaker wire and went around the room restoring
everything to its original position while making sure he’d
left nothing else behind. Hopefully no one would know what
he’d spent the night doing in this room. These places
weren’t known for their attention to guest activities anyway.
One last look around the room before he swung his pack over his
shoulder and turned to the door. He looked out the peephole.
There was no motion on the exterior balcony walkway. He opened
the door and stepped out into the daylight. Motion on the far
end of the walkway caught his attention and he paused, one foot
still in the room. A man in a dark grey suit had just pushed
off the wall by the stairs and was now heading his way. Martin
checked the other direction. A second suited man, in a lighter
color fabric, walked towards him from the other stairwell.
Light suit called out, "Martin Stoat. You’re a hard man to
find.” FUCK!!! They found me! Martin could feel the adrenaline
dumping into his system. It started in his chest. His heart
started to pound while everything around it tightened up. That
tightness spread through his extremities and didn’t stop until
his arms were practically vibrating. His respiration quickened
while his sense of time started to slow. He wanted to run but
if he did that, they’d quickly catch him. Instead he needed a
way out. Light suit was talking again. ”You got sloppy and
used your card. Otherwise, we’d never have found you. Relax,
we’re not here for you. We just want the drive. You were the
last one seen talking to Phisher. He didn’t hide it at the bar
and it wasn’t on him when we arrested him. Therefore, you must
have it.” Martin didn’t know what to do. He wanted to
believe them but his gut was telling him that if he gave in,
they’d just arrest him for conspiring with hackers, which
thanks to that damned Executive Order was akin to conspiring
with terrorists. He was not about to be branded one.
“Don’t make this harder on yourself than you have to, Mr. Stoat,”
said the dark suit. He was about ten feet away and standing with his
hand inside his jacket. “This won’t end well for you if you don’t
give us what we want. We have you for failing to register under the HRI,
conspiring with known unregistered hackers, and performing unauthorized
hacking. You don’t want to go down for that.”
From his left, light suit said, “If you weren’t a criminal
before, you are now. Hell, you’re more than that. You’re an
enemy combatant operating on US soil. We have very deep holes
for people like you.” The suit paused for effect. “But, this
can all go away.” He took a slow breath. “*WE* can go
away.” He paused. “As long as you hand over that drive.” A
voice in the back of his head sounding suspiciously like Phisher
was chanting, “Resist! Resist! Resist!” He made up his mind.
He was going to do just that. He was going to resist. The
nervousness instantly faded. Where there had once been jittery
panic, there was now calm resolve. He cleared his throat before
speaking. “You have a point.” He tried to make his voice
sound defeated. “If I give you the drive, you’ll leave me
alone?” “Absolutely.” “Alright then,” Martin said as
he reached into his pocket. He felt around for the drive and
pinched it between two fingers. “I have it. You want it…”
As he pulled his hand out of the pocket, he flicked his wrist,
sending the black drive flying over the balcony railing towards
the parking lot below. “Go get it!” Both men in suits
watched as the black object flew past them, twisting in the
morning light. Flashes of green were visible as the light hit
the sticker. Martin seized the moment and darted back into the
room while the men were distracted. Light grey was shouting,
“Get the drive!” Martin slammed the door closed, threw the
deadbolt and set the security latch. He’d bought himself a few
minutes but he had to get out. The curtain falling back
into place in front of the open window caught his eye. Of
course! Martin slipped his free arm through the empty strap on
his pack, making sure it was settled on his back. Trying to
climb or jump with only a single strap on his shoulder wasn’t
a good idea. He didn’t want to drop the bag either, for risk
of breaking his laptop. He would just have to risk falling over
while wearing it. One of the two men was at the door, pounding
on it and screaming for him to open up. This further cemented
his resolve. It proved to him that they couldn’t be trusted.
Even though he gave them a drive, they still were coming after
him. He looked out the window again. It was too far to jump,
even if he was seated on the window sill. He was going to have
to climb out and hang from the ledge, then drop. That was the
safest way. Martin started to crawl out the window and turn
around. He got himself positioned so he was kneeling on the sill
facing inwards, its metal frame was digging into his shins. He
had just started to prop himself up on his hands when he heard a
key in the lock. Martin lifted himself up onto his hands,
supporting all of his weight on the ledge and lowered his legs
along the wall. His toes pressed against the brick, giving some
extra traction. He was in this position when the door opened,
only to be caught on the security latch. Martin was out of
time, he had to go. He lowered himself down, toes scraping on
the wall, stabilizing him as he descended. His entire body
weight was being supported by his fingers but the ground was now
just a few feet below him. He let go. The fall was over before
he knew it. The landing wasn’t graceful but he was down and he
was able to run. Above him, the sound of metal snapping and a
door flying open indicated that the security latch had given
way. He sprinted to the end of the building. Martin looked
back as he turned the corner and saw a head sticking out of the
window he’d just exited. He raced to his car, trying to pull
his keys out of his pocket while at a dead run. It didn’t
work. They got stuck. He had to slow down to extract them.
Martin opened the door of his car, threw his pack inside, and
dove in after it. Damn the contents. He had to GO! The car fired
off on the first try and he was on his way. He was so thankful
that he had backed into the spot the night before. Small wins,
right? He checked his mirror multiple times for the white sedan
but never saw it never saw it. Believing he’d gotten away was
a mistake he didn’t want to make again. However, this time was
different. He’d given them a thumb drive and might actually be
in the clear. Martin calmed down on his drive to the warehouse.
He’d done it. He’d gotten away and solved the puzzle. Now to
meet its creators. The building was one of the smaller
warehouses in the area but it still had a fence where the only
opening was a gate with a guard shack. He nosed his car into the
space in front of the gate, rolled his window down, and honked
three times. From inside the shack he heard someone rustling
like they were getting up then heard, “I’m coming. Hold your
horses.” The guard was an older man, most likely collecting
his check while sleeping the day away in the shack. He was
polite though. When he got to the car, he asked, “Can I help
you?” Martin didn’t know how to respond. This wasn’t what
he expected. Wasn’t there supposed to be a challenge question?
He was starting to wonder if he was in the right place. The
guard watched Martin squirm for a moment before asking, “Are
you looking for something in particular? I know these old
buildings all look the same. You wouldn’t happen to be lost,
would you?” There’s the question. I knew it! Martin smiled.
The old man had played that perfectly. Anyone who didn’t know
what to listen for would have missed it. Lo57, pronounced lost,
was the designer of the badge challenges. He happily responded,
“No, not Lo57, but I hear he does great work.” The guard
returned Martin’s smile and said, “Welcome, fellow seeker.
Pull up to the main office. Your answers are inside.” The man
opened the gate and waved Martin inside. Martin went to the
main office and parked, hesitating as he approached the door. He
didn’t know what he was going to find. All this work, all this
terror had led to this moment. He opened the door and stepped
into the gloom. Two men sat at a desk, discussing something
that was stopped as soon as Martin opened the door. Beyond that,
Martin couldn’t make out any details. His eyes needed time to
adjust from the bright light outside to the office interior.
One man spoke. “I’m glad you could join us.” The voice was
familiar to Martin. “Congratulations on solving the
puzzle,” he continued. “Most people never make it through.
They get stuck somewhere. Only about 50 people have gotten
through this one and it has been running for weeks.” Martin
could swear he knew this voice. His vision had finally adjusted.
On the the desk in front of him sat Heron, the friend who had
given him the DEF CON badge. Beside him leaned an unknown man
with a ponytail. Martin was stunned. It took him a moment to
figure out how to speak again. “What the hell are you doing
here?” Martin started belting out questions as they came to
mind. Heron laughed. “Easy now. Easy. Everything will be
answered in due time. But first, I want you to tell me how you
came to be here. You were the last person I expected to come
walking through that door.” Martin told the story of the
evening. He shared everything, from the initial arrest of
Phisher to the flight from the hotel room. Heron made a few
notes while he talked but didn’t interrupt often. If he did,
it was only to clarify a detail. Once Martin finished talking,
Heron spoke up. “So let me get this straight, you solved my
challenge in under 12 hours?” Martin nodded. “That’s
fantastic. I didn’t think that was possible. But it also means
that I need to rework it now that the suits have the drive.
“They don’t have the drive.” Martin pulled the silver usb
stick that Phisher had given him from his pocket. “This is the
drive that Phisher slipped me. I gave them my Yuk Stick.”
Heron gasped. “You didn’t.” “Yup, I absolutely did. One
USBKiller, with a Mr Yuk sticker, is now in their possession. I
can’t wait for them to plug it in.” Martin could barely
contain his glee at the thought of those two suits toasting some
unsuspecting computer after all the trouble they’d caused him.
He started laughing and soon the other two joined him.
“That’s priceless,” said Heron, once he regained his
composure. Heron was still smiling, when he changed the
subject. “Now, there’s something I want to show you.” He
put his arm around Martin as they walked to the back of the
room, towards a door that lead into the main part of the
warehouse. “Remember a few months ago when I told you that we
needed to do something before the government started rounding up
hackers? Well, I built this puzzle. It was my way of weeding out
those who were capable of mounting an effective resistance while
staying hidden in the days to come. “Those that do make it
through are motivated freethinkers, like us. They believe that
what is happening is unacceptable and want to take action. They
come here, learn, and take what they know back to others.”
Heron opened the door and waved Martin through. On the other
side, rows of tables were set up, each occupied by stacks of
computers and equipment. Some were complete machines, while
others were in various states of disassembly. At least one
person was at each table, working on something. Heron had
gathered a crew of hackers, despite the assembly bans, and was
facilitating the sharing of knowledge towards a common goal.
“Are you ready to work? We have a lot of work ahead of us if
we’re going to stop the hacker roundup and destroy that
registry database. If we don’t do it, who will? Or better yet,
ask yourself, ‘What comes next’, since we already know
they’re willing to go this far? “We chose to resist. We
took a stand against government oppression and loss of freedoms.
Others will follow our example. A single drop is insignificant
but millions of drops form a tidal wave that cannot be
stopped.” Heron turned and looked Martin in the eyes. “So
what do you say, are you in?” Martin didn’t hesitate.
“I’m in. Where do we start?”

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