Read Kill Process for Free Online Page B

originator. The tech is almost there. For now, it’s still a pipe dream.
    I keep reading, working my way backwards chronologically, hoping I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it.
    Boom.
    He used to play racquetball with a friend, although he stopped for a while after his pacemaker was implanted four years ago. His pacemaker . . .
    I switch computers. I’ve got another machine, connected via another onion route entirely, running a VPN to an exit node in Brazil. I connect to Tuned to a Dead Channel, the latest incarnation of a community so old it dates back to the pre-Internet BBS community. There isn’t a group much more exclusive than this. Even among these select few, I’ve got something they don’t: a page sysop link rendered in green monospaced type, PR Number 3 for the font geeks out there.
    Nathan9 is online.
    SysOp> What’s up?
    Angel> Pacemaker attacks still viable?
    SysOp> Not really. You can’t sniff the data anymore. Although...if you have the device ID, anything is possible. Unfortunately, it’s only stored in PMA.
    Damn. Permanent Medical Archive, the centralized medical data store, was one of the few systems with legitimately strong protection.
    Angel> Known PMA exploits?
    SysOp> BWB claims access. Data for 50K, changes for 100K.
    Nobody knows if Beef with Broccoli intends to insult the Chinese or if he’s actually Chinese. Since he tends toward Chinese tools, Nathan9 and I suspect the latter. I can’t afford five thousand, let alone fifty thousand, and BWB isn’t known for exchanging favors.
    I disconnect from Dead Channel, shut down my connection, and start a new one. No point in letting anyone watching connect the dots. I spend the next hour researching pacemaker manufacturers. There are a dozen manufacturers, four of which are common in the United States. I know who Erik Copley works for, and a bit of searching turns up their healthcare plan. From there I find eligible cardiologists in Tucson.
    I search Erik’s Tomo geolocation data from four years ago to find a time when he would have spent most of a week in his home recovering from surgery. Once I’ve found that, I examine the location log from the days prior to his homestay. There! He was in Southern Medical Center for twenty-four hours. I visit each of the eligible doctors’ websites to find out who would perform surgery at SMC. There are three and they’re all part of the same practice.
    I’m going to need access to their email. Not their personal email, which would be easy to read using the extensive permissions the Tomo app demands on installation, but their work email, which may be harder to obtain. I send a message to a non-existent email address at their domain, receive a bounce message, and examine it to see who their provider is. Armed with that, I look up all the doctors, nurses, medical clerks, and receptionists, and grab their Tomo passwords.
    We don’t store passwords in the raw. We use a salted hash, among the best possible ways to safely store a password. Of course, most attackers don’t possess an army of half a million high performance servers and inside knowledge on how the salt is generated.
    A few minutes later, I’ve obtained the passwords for all twelve employees, and I try them on the email server. I’m counting on someone foolish enough to use the same password on multiple accounts. Sure enough, one of the medical clerks has. I breathe a small sigh of relief. Legitimate password access beats having to backdoor my way in.
    Even with all this work done, I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. I’m still phishing for some weakness I can exploit.
    I wedge my thermos between my knees and twist off the cap to pour myself another cup of coffee. I’ve been in the van for hours. My vertebrae pop as I stretch. I take a sip of coffee, stretch again, and then do my business.
    That means pulling out a five-gallon bucket from Home Depot, prying the lid off, and perching on the rim while my urine splatters