Hackers in Chains: Encounters with Some Infamous Computer Hackers in Federal Prison

By Justin Petersen

"Welcome to the Bastrop Federal Correctional Institution" spoke the portly Hispanic man in the cheap ill-fitting suit. "I am Assistant Warden Hano." It was 3 p.m. and I had been sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair with 15 other inmates since 7 a.m. This was the Admissions and Orientation phase, a small part of my hacker behind bars saga. My name is Justin Petersen, a.k.a. Agent Steal. I spent 41 months in Federal Prison for hacking into a bank's computer and transferring funds.

But I haven't gathered you all here today to talk about my adventures with the Feds. No, every inmate with even the most mundane education thinks he has a fascinating story to impart and can often be found slaving away on his trite prison life manuscri pt. I'm here, once again a free man, to tell you about some of the other hackers I met in "the joint." Besides, I thought it might save the Feds some time if I compiled a list of my "prison associates" and had them printed in a magazine. Damn! I did it ag ain. I really need to stop thumbing my nose at them.

Shortly after I arrived at Bastrop, FCI, conveniently located just 30 minutes from the Austin, TX airport, I found myself sitting in the rather cozy prison library. Having not yet been issued standard clothing, my green jump suit and pasty complexion w as a dead giveaway as a "new commit." Despite the fact I looked like death warmed over I still had my musician look about me and a group of inmates invited me to chat with them. Once it was decided I was to audition for the drummer slot in their prison ba nd the conversation turned to "whacha in fur?" "Computer hacking," I coyly replied. The four inmates I was now sitting with quietly looked at each other as if to secretly say, "Go get you-know-who, I'll keep him talking." Not realizing there might be anot her hacker on the compound, I told them about one of my more popular crimes. "I hacked into the phone companies' computer and used it to seize phone lines at radio stations. My co-defendants and I were able to win a slew of contests." A few minutes later a rangy 20-something kid appeared. He had hacker written all over him. Chris Lamprecht, a.k.a. Minor Threat, though we had met before, didn't recognize me with my prison makeover. "This sounds like the Agent Steal/Poulson case" he quipped. It was the star t of a beautiful friendship. For the next 10 months we told crime stories, bragged, laughed, ragged on other hackers, and were basically inseparable. The prison officials were terrified of us. They became obsessed as they read our mail, screened our magaz ines, listened to our phone calls, and sent informants to try and infiltrate our little group of technophiles. The only conclusion they could come to was that they had no idea what we were up to. When the computer at the prison industries plant crashed, C hris was promptly fired from his job there. It wasn't his doing, but unbridled paranoia spreads far and wide among bureaucrats. My time at Bastrop soon ran out and I had to move on. I still miss "The Kid." If you can find a copy of the hacking program he co-authored called "Tone Loc," I highly recommend it.

Before I was shipped along with 100 other inmates aboard "Con-Air" to backass Bastrop, I had spent 16 months at the Metropolitan Detention Center (M.D.C.) in wonderful downtown Los Angeles. What a painfully droll and oppressive environment that was. Ne vertheless, being a transfer hub for prisoners I had the opportunity to cross paths with some of the nation's most infamous criminals.

Oddly enough I eventually found myself in short proximity to one of the hackers the FBI had paid me to track down. For those of you who don't know, I was a "hacker bounty hunter" for the Bureau. My work as a tech-specialist for a Private Investigator/f ormer FBI agent made me a shoe-in for the job. So it was that none other than Kevin Mitnick was in the very same prison as I. It soon came to my attention that he was on another floor of the institution and coincidentally enough, was in the cell almost di rectly below mine. Any anyone who has spent more than a day or two in M.D.C. knows that standing on the toilet and yelling into the vent "YO, SEVEN SOUTH!" will establish a direct communications link to anyone in a cell up to three floors away. Needless t o say, Mitnick and I soon found ourselves chatting away through the airduct. For obvious reasons our conversations were a bit guarded, but all-in-all the talk was quite amiable. What did the infamous hacker have to say? Well, I don't feel it would be appr opriate to disclose too much, but I will say this; in an indirect manner he told me that the log of conversations between him and others that were printed in the book Takedown were somehow unauthentic. Hmm. And, he asked me, "Why me?" Good question , maybe he should ask the U.S. Attorney.

Over time I crossed paths with numerous hackers and hacker wannabes. Prison is an environment that is thin on intellectual stimulation. When someone comes along that speaks your language, the encounter is like a breath of fresh air, a fuzzy reminder of what like "out there" was like. Despite the nature of my previous "bounty hunter" work, my friendship was always welcome. It's a different situation when you're in prison with someone. It inspires an odd comradery. I can safely say I would never work a c ase against any of the hackers I met in prison.

Then along came a hip youngster by the name if Jeremy Cushing, the elusive "Alpha Bits." Our paths had crossed before and so they would again at M.D.C. Jeremy came through twice, and on his second visit he became my cellie in my two-man room. He was ju st passing through, off to face charges of cell phone fraud in New Jersey. A bit of a celebrity himself, his case made headlines all over the Nation. "SECRET SERVICE BUSTS CELLPHONE FRAUD RING," the headlines read. Yeah, right.

On his last day before he was to be shipped out at 4 in the morning, we stayed up all night. Like a couple of school kids in our prison bunk beds on a sleepover, we chatted incessantly. We knew many of the same people. Super Nigger, Phiber Optic and th e MOD punks, Mr. Icom, The Kludge. Hackers are an odd bunch. We spent most of the time talking about the odd balls and lamers. But it became late and we dozed off. When I awoke he was gone. We tried to stay in touch, but prison officials intercepted our l etters. "Sorry, no correspondence between inmates." Prison regulations routinely defy logic.

I suppose this story would not be complete without mentioning the run-in with my former associate and co-defendant Kevin Poulsen, a.k.a Dark Dante. This was a meeting that wasn't supposed to happen being that the prison had classified us as "seperatees ." I've had my share of problems with Poulson, and at one time we were bitter enemies. So much so that took me all of a second to decide to testify against him when I was busted. It was he and his profile on Unsolved Mysteries as the "Nation's Most Wanted Hacker" that led the Feds to me in the first place.

Nevertheless, there we were locked in a cell together. Coincidentally enough, we were going to court on the same day in different proceedings. We were waiting in a draconian holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. He wouldn't look at me. I can imagine what was going through his head. But in my mind there was simply too much that needed to be said, too many unanswered questions. I walked over to him and started a conversation. I came to find out he wasn't upset that I had cooperated. He had expe cted it. The fact of the matter is that the government had been trying to convict him of espionage charges. That would have been at least 10 to 15 years. However, when I became the prosecution's star witness I refused to even acknowledge the allegation th at he could have been spying or gathering top secret national security documents, thus ending the prosecution's case. Poulson eventually pled out to straight hacking related charges and received a 51-month sentence.

In fact, being in the position I was in to bury my enemies (other co-defendants that had crossed me), I mitigated their roles and assured the FBI that we were all simply hackers, not spies. Poulson and I were the only ones of the bunch to serve time in prison. 

Despite all of this logic and my successful attempt at damage control, Poulson was still disappointed with the way I handled myself. He couldn't understand why I chose to spare certain hackers, friends, and an ex-boss from prosecution. Poulson is also the staunch "don't tell them anything" type, and I've always been "one of them." So it goes without saying that this is why we haven't always gotten along. Still, I have a great deal of respect for his abilities. He is unquestionable the mos t gifted hacker I have ever met. And I've met quite a few.

Finally, sprinkled in among the computer criminals I met in prison were the curious criminals. On countless occasions I found myself explaining at great length the art of hacking or the nature of technology. I've enjoyed these encounters almost as much as I did those with hackers. Computer hacking is a science and a way of thinking that captures the imaginations of many and criminals are no exception. But please allow me to quell your fears by saying that I never gave away the bank. Indeed, a good magi cian never reveals his best tricks.