' Anthrax
shuffled papers on top of the pay phone, near the receiver. `How many
digits is it?'
`Seven.'
That was helpful. Now to find seven digits. Anthrax looked across the
street at the fish and chips shop. No numbers there. Then a car
licence plate caught his eye. He read off the first three digits, then
plucked the last four numbers from another car's plate.
`Thank you. Putting your call through, Mr Baker.'
A valid number! What amazing luck. Anthrax milked that number for all
it was worth. Called party lines. Called phreakers' bridges. Access
fed the obsession.
Then he gave the number to a friend in Adelaide, to call overseas. But
when that friend read off the code, the operator jumped in.
`YOU'RE NOT MR BAKER!'
Huh? `Yes I am. You have my code.'
`You are definitely not him. I know his voice.'
The friend called Anthrax, who laughed his head off, then called into
Dialcom and changed his code! It was a funny incident. Still, it
reminded him how much safer it was working by himself.
Living in the country was hard for a hacker and Anthrax became a
phreaker out of necessity, not just desire. Almost everything involved
a long-distance call and he was always searching for ways to make
calls for free.
Pages:
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637