HACK.
Ken Brugle had had a good day. He had only been hassled for ID checks four times. It was virtually a record for him. He’d hardly seen an ID Inspector all day. Normally they were everywhere you turned.
He went to the pub for a few celebratory beers. The landlord scanned his ID as he went in, but he didn’t bother checking on him with every visit to the bar. Some nights that happened. More often than not it didn’t.
Ken was having fun. He flirted with a young lady, and even danced with her, and though she eventually disappeared into the arms of another guy, Ken was flattered that she had even given him a second glance. That rarely happened now that his hair had mostly gone, and his waistline had expanded.
Ken had been having the time of his life, with no particular reason. Something worried him though, a niggling suspicion that a day this good might end in catastrophe. He told himself such fears were groundless. Tired out by the dancing and drinking, Ken decided to walk home along Wilbraham Road into Chorlton. It was a dark, and warm night. There were a few clouds, but only of the white fluffy kind. There was no rain in the air. It was an Indian summer.
The happy day ended as soon as a young man carrying a skateboard under his arm asked Ken for a light. Ken could tell immediately that he was about to get rumbled. The youth had that look about him.
Ken said that he didn’t smoke, which was true enough. The youth asked for money with which to buy his own cigs instead. Ken tried to assure him that he was skint, having blown all his money in the pub.
“Why else would I be walking through a rough area like this?” he said, smiling. He didn’t tell the young man that he lived only a few streets away. A taxi ride from the pub would just not have been worth it.
The smile from the young man turned into a snarl. “Show me your fucking wallet. I want to see how skint you are.”
Ken trembled. This was it – a mugging. The good times were over. The niggling premonition was all too true.
Ken decided fighting back was not an option. The kid could have a knife or even a gun on him. The best bet was to give him the money and hope that was enough. Ken tugged his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it. He reached for a clump of fivers to offer them as a sacrifice to the gods of non-violence. The gods were not interested. The skateboard came down heavily on the back of Ken’s skull. He was thrown off his feet as the front wheels hit the back of his cranium. Ken passed out as he felt a foot kicking at his ribs. When he woke up, he was alone. His wallet and the board-bearer had gone.
The enormity of what had happened hit home to Ken as hard as the pain on the back of his head. His wallet hadn’t just contained his money. His ID Card was in there too. Panic set in. He’d never been without his card since its issue. He had no idea what to do. There had been an advice slip about what to do if you lost your card. Ken had never read it. In fact, it had been crumpled up and crammed into the wallet, alongside the card. He wondered if there was a spare one at home. He certainly had contact numbers for the IDI there anyway. Then again, he could just cal the police.
Ken felt nauseous. The lump on his head was growing and throbbing. He wondered if he might have concussion. He thought that might be the result of a blow to the front of the skull. Was the back of the head likely to give him such an effect too? Ken wasn’t sure. He decided to cal the police, and an ambulance for himself. He rooted in his pocket for his mobile phone. It was missing. His assailant had been thorough. He had taken that too.
“Twat,” Ken said.
The only phone box he came to have been vandalised. Murphy’s law. Bad vibes everywhere. Even without cash he would have been able to phone in an emergency if the phone had been working. He would have to get home and call them from there. It wasn’t much further anyway.
His house was in sight. He had about three hundred yards to go. He staggered forward until a wave of nausea and pain over-powered him. He fell forward and vomited violently.
He heard a yelp and an angry growl. “Christ, you pissed up drunken disgusting little bastard.”
Ken looked up to see the vomit stained boots on the feet of a man in a blue uniform. He had puked his guts out all over an ID Card inspector.
The man looked down at the pathetic wretch at his feet. “Show me your card. I expect you know the drill by now.”
Ken struggled to his feet. The man made no effort to help him up. He just looked at him in utter contempt. “Your Card, Now.”
Ken shook his head. “No. I can’t. I haven’t…”
The man inhaled and his face went red to the point of apoplexy. “Are you refusing to show me your ID Card? Do you know that is a serious criminal offence?”
Ken struggled and stammered to explain.
“I don’t have it. I’ve just been mugged.”
Te Inspector looked down at him in disbelief. “I’ve heard that one before. Get your card out, or I’m taking you in.”
Ken struggled for words. “I’m telling you the truth. Look at me, Can’t you see the lumps and bruises.”
“No, I can’t.’ The inspector growled, clearly losing even more patience. “I just see some pissed up pathetic little creep trying to wind me up.”
Ken realised that the man couldn’t see the bruises because they were on the back of his head, and he was facing forwards. He turned round sharply to show the other side. That was a mistake. Turning his back was quickly interpreted as an attempt to turn round ready for running away. The Inspector grabbed ken by the shoulders and pushed him sharply against a nearby wall. Ken felt his ribs crack into the brickwork, and the air was pressed out of his lungs. He was too exhausted now to do more than collapse. As he lost consciousness, the ID Inspector finally saw how hurt he was and realised that he might be telling the truth. He quickly phoned an ambulance and the police on his own phone.
The emergency services arrived quickly, but there was delay and confusion due to Ken’s lack of proof of identity. Normally there would be an ID check before being placed onto a stretcher. The ambulance crew were uncertain how to proceed with a John Doe case. They also had to give their own ID Cards up for inspection to verify that they were witnesses to the unusual event.
Finally, Ken was taken to the hospital. Various nurses, doctors and porters had their ID’s checked to confirm his admission, and finally he was put into a comfortable hospital bed. The diagnosis was concussion, and severe internal haemorrhaging in the skull.
The police arrived to await his expected recovery. In the meantime, they produced a special scanner. It had a fingerprint reader and a retinal scan devise that were not directly attached to an ordinary ID Card reading machine. They took a print and an optical reading from the unconscious youngster, and checked the data against that in the National Identity Register. They expected a quick comparison check as the computer found matching prints and retinal data. The results came back quickly, but there was no ID – the man in the hospital bed did not exist. A sample of his blood was taken. From this his DNA was extracted. Finally, there was a match, but the data claimed that Ken Brugle 2467544535369767 was on an extended vacation in Brazil. The SAT-NAV data confirmed that he was there to. The Inspectorate scrolled back the data to find that Ken had been in a pub in Chorlton earlier that evening. It would have been impossible for him to get to Rio within a few hours. There was only one possible conclusion. “His card’s been hacked,” they said.
The Chief Inspector sighed. “Not again! Keep a lid on this, boys. The public think the card is impossible to break into. Get Ken a replacement card. Make sure he thinks we just found the old one lying around somewhere. It’ll have the right data on it up to the time of the hack, - we can erase the hack details. Let’s hope we catch the bastard’s behind this before they strike again.”
****************
Phil Jones rode his skateboard quickly, pleased with his work. He had hit the man harder than he had intended. He was worried in case he had damaged the wheels on the board, but it seemed to be performing as well as ever.
A bleeper in his pocket went off. His pocket sensor had detected the presence and approach of an ID Card reading machine. There was an Inspector nearby. Phil moved with caution. He couldn’t afford to be checked now. It would rise to many questions when the victim of the mugging reported what had happened.
The stolen card was a potential ticking time bomb for now. Phil knew that he had to defuse it quickly. He sent a text message to Scholes, who told him to bring it in right away. He told Phil that he’d be waiting with ‘the kit’,
Phil used the board rather than walking. It was much quicker. He had to get to a flat on Barlow Moor Road before the hot card could be traced. He made it in minutes. Scholes opened the door before he even knocked and practically dragged him in. “Where is it? Where is it?” Scholes asked. Phil showed him the card. Scholes snatched it excitedly and ran to his computer room. Phil dropped the skateboard on the floor in the hall and followed him.
Scholes had inserted the card in what looked like an ID Card Reader. It wasn’t, not quite. It could serve as a reader, but it had many more abilities too. Phil had seen card surgery before, but he watched again. It always fascinated him.
The Card belonged to someone called Ken Brugle 2467544535369767. Scholes immediately changed the man’s name to Pablo Pelza, and the last four digits of the card number to 7777. Ken Brugle had largely ceased to exist now. He was still in the system, but tracing him would take time. DNA and Retina checks would find him sooner or later. Scholes hadn’t quite cracked a way to get at those yet. He had heard of hackers who could. He hoped to get into that exclusive little club sooner or later.
The hot card had gone cold. The bomb had been largely diffused. There would not be a police and ID Card Inspection crew storming the flat any minute.
Scholes smiled. He wore a lab coat and he looked every inch the geeky boffin he fancied himself to be. Phil called him Professor even though Scholes had at best a few old school O Levels. He never told Phil that. He liked the young man’s reverence for his intellect.
“What happens now?” Phil asked, as Scholes gave him £500.00 in cash for a job well done.
Scholes giggled. “I’ll change the picture, retinal image and fingerprint images on the card to those of my next client; Mohommed Patel. “
“So who is this Pablo bloke from Brazil?”
“No idea. I just made him up. That’ll just throw the ID watchers into a state of panic – my little joke. The cards for Mr. Patel, like I said. I’ll give him his own unique sixteen digits ID Code and a background history. He’ll be indistinguishable from a legal immigrant. He’ll pay me handsomely. I’ll give you a share of the spoils, and we’ll live like kings for a few months.”
“Do you want me to get another card tomorrow?”
“Christ no. Leave it for a good few weeks. I’ve got a backlog of clients, but if need be I’ll sell them on to other snatch and hack teams. We aren’t strike too soon round here again. “
“Can’t you just make a card from scratch? I’ve heard a few people do that?”
“It’s more difficult. It’s a lot easier to snatch an existing card, and jiggle the data around like this. There are some teams that snatch blank cards right from the manufacturing plants. There’s lots of ways to make a bogey. The Government tells everyone it’s a safe system, but that’s bullshit. I work this way, but frankly, there’s a thousand ways it can be done. At least this way you get to use some gratuitous violence. If I just made the cards from a blank template, you couldn’t do that.”
“I’m glad you have my interests at heart Prof. Much appreciated….”
“Get yourself a beer and help me with this I’ll show you how to make a card of your own soon enough.”
“Cool…. “
Brugle came too, with a headache that felt like the worst hangover in Christendom. His mother and a policeman were sitting by his bedside. Ken hugged his mum and wept. She smiled and handed him his ID Card. “The mugger must have dropped it when he ran off. It’s safe and sound. You’re lucky.”
The policeman took a statement about the mugging. It had been dark. Ken had not got a close look at the attacker. He mainly remembered the skateboard. His information was honest but not too helpful.
Ken’s new card had been amended and updated. It recorded that he had been found in a drunken stupor and that he had irresponsibly lost his card in a street brawl. The police had cautioned him about the need to be more responsible with it in future, in the interests of personal and national security.
© Copyright. Arthur
Chappell
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