, and could have legally seized the machines of anybody who
subscribed to Phrack. However, there was no copy of the E911 Document
on Jackson's Illuminati board. And there the Chicago raiders stopped
dead; they have not raided anyone since.

It might be assumed that Rich Andrews and Charlie Boykin, who had
brought the E911 Document to the attention of telco security, might be
spared any official suspicion. But as we have seen, the willingness to
"cooperate fully" offers little, if any, assurance against federal
anti-hacker prosecution.

Richard Andrews found himself in deep trouble, thanks to the E911
Document. Andrews lived in Illinois, the native stomping grounds of
the Chicago Task Force. On February 3 and 6, both his home and his
place of work were raided by USSS. His machines went out the door,
too, and he was grilled at length (though not arrested). Andrews
proved to be in purportedly guilty possession of: UNIX SVR 3.2; UNIX
SVR 3.1; UUCP; PMON; WWB; IWB; DWB; NROFF; KORN SHELL '88; C++; and
QUEST, among other items. Andrews had received this proprietary
code--which AT&T officially valued at well over $250,000--through the
UNIX network, much of it supplied to him as a personal favor by
Terminus. Perhaps worse yet, Andrews admitted to returning the favor,
by passing Terminus a copy of AT&T proprietary STARLAN source code.

Even Charles Boykin, himself an AT&T employee, entered some very hot
water. By 1990, he'd almost forgotten about the E911 problem he'd
reported in September 88; in fact, since that date, he'd passed two
more security alerts to Jerry Dalton, concerning matters that Boykin
considered far worse than the E911 Document.

But by 1990, year of the crackdown, AT&T Corporate Information Security
was fed up with "Killer." This machine offered no direct income to
AT&T, and was providing aid and comfort to a cloud of suspicious yokels
from outside the company, some of them actively malicious toward AT&T,
its property, and its corporate interests. Whatever goodwill and
publicity had been won among Killer's 1,500 devoted users was
considered no longer worth the security risk. On February 20, 1990,
Jerry Dalton arrived in Dallas and simply unplugged the phone jacks, to
the puzzled alarm of Killer's many Texan users. Killer went
permanently off-line, with the loss of vast archives of programs and
huge quantities of electronic mail; it was never restored to service.
AT&T showed no particular rega