Internet
scams abound in cash flow wars
How
to be insincere in the dialect of high tech: Have your modem access
my modem, and we'll do lunch...
Will
you be able to access your internet service provider, come Monday?
It's
a good question, for some; for many, it's a vital inquiry. Money,
marbles, and chalk are on the line. It's a place where the buck stops
24/7, 365 days a year.
The
FBI estimates that when they turn off the servers that have been
enabling more than a quarter million internet users – an estimated
64,000 of them Americans - to come and go freely from the worldwide
web, their internet companies will be able to give them the
meticulous service required to go into their hard drives and remove
the malware infection that plagues their computers, and all its
manifestations propagated throughout their systems.
But
you don't have to wait until the hog's in the ditch. There are a
couple of remedies available that might just avert the disaster
before the feds throw the switch.
What's
it all about?
Hackers
infected servers worldwide with DNSChanger malware, a nasty little
doo-dad that fools your computer into using their rogue server
instead of the one your internet provider furshishes.
How
does it work?
The
DNS – an acronym for domain name system - changer simply converts
the plain language domain name you type into your web search engine
into a numerical – or digital – code that enables your computer
to talk to another computer.
So
a DNS changer that controls your internet navigation rather than
helps you do what you want to do is not only bogus, it's capable of
ripping you off for your medical records, your banking information,
your e-mail traffic – anything of high personal value that can be
resold for a profit.
When
the FBI caught and shut down a group of Eastern European hackers who
were doing exactly that for profit earlier this year, they were able
to replace the bogus DNS servers with a temporary setup that would
enable folks to go on as if nothing was wrong.
All
that comes to a halt at 12:01 a.m. on Monday, July 9, when the G-men
intend to shut off the temporary system.
Can
you tell if your computer is infected?
Yes,
and no. Here's why.
Though
there is a quick test you can run to see if everything is all right,
it's not totally reliable.
That's
because if your internet service provider has been re-routing your
internet traffic to one of the temporary servers, running the simple
test at http://www.dns-ok.us/ (click here to perform the test) would show that your computer is not infected, in any case.
There
are more elaborate measures that may be taken by visiting an FBI
website -
http://www.fbi.gov/news/stories/2011/november/malware_110911/DNS-changer-malware.pdf (click here to go the site)
which
gives detailed instructions on how to test your computer and remove
the malware before they shut off the servers on Monday morning.
What
was the point of the hacking?
It's
a way for bogus organizations to raise money – a quick booby trap
to snare cash and information worth cash with which to supply and
re-supply troops and technicians from the terror armies of the ight
who are suffering through hard times. Worldwide recession affects
them the way it does anyone else. It makes a buck hard to come by.
But
the tide turns hectic during holidays. For instance, hackers broke
into the files of the Austin-based private intelligence network
Stratfor during the Christmas-New Year's rush to party hearty.
When
Stratfor's chief George Friedman learned what had happened to his
customers' valuable financial information, he hired a computer
forensics outfit to track the damage and put a quietus on bogus
transactions made through gleaning credit and debit card information
from his corporation's files.
The
Legendary got hit with a fraudulent order of $500 worth of Buffalo
wings for Super Bowl Sunday from a Cleveland-area caterer who
specializes in sports parties. There were additional charges of about
a $1,000 for a total of $1,500 – all of which were quickly stopped
through the services of the outfit Mr. Friedman hired to protect me
and his other customers.
And
now the ugly problem has reared its head again.
Last
week, smack dab in the middle of the Fourth of July party, I got an
e-mail from someone calling themselves Wiki-Leaks – at this point,
when it's spy vs. spy vs. spy, who knows - who approached me as a
member of an elite crowd of editors and university professors who
might like to get in on the ground floor of an exciting new program
culling through millions of e-mails generated by Stratfor.
Say
what? You sure you're talking to me?
The
offer contained the intelligence that Stratfor does business with CIA
and the Defense Intelligence Agency. Now, there's a brick through the
window.
Furthermore,
the letter said, many of Stratfor's executives are retirees from
those agencies, and that there is a fascinating plethora of material
to be had – if I would only give them a secure e-mail box address
to contact me – and fill out a handy application form.
Of
course, the application form asks for all kinds of personal
information. I guess The Legendary isn't so important, after all. You
would think that a prominent editor of my caliber, the kind of guy
who gets worn out sleeves rubbing elbows with tenured professors and
assistant professors from universities all over the known world,
would be an open book.
Question:
Since when is it such a controversial act to do business with CIA and
DIA? Furthermore, what would I have to gain by going through Mr.
Friedman's e-mail? After all, he's the guy who helped me when the
wolves were at the door back in January, trying to hit my bank
account for $1,500.
The
wars come and go, but the Earth abides forever, and the people
scratch, bite and fight for her resources on any given day, be it the
King's game, Caesar's water, or the full faith and credit of the U.S.
Treasury.
Then
there was the filling station on I-35 where the card reader wouldn't
take my debit card as such and requested that I enter my scan as a
credit card.
I
was in a hurry, said why not, and clicked on the bossy little
machine's request.
Then
the pump would not turn on. No way. No how. The machine had my
information, but it wouldn't dispense any tiger into my tank.
Bummer.
A
quick check of my mobile banking records showed two charges for a
dollar each, neither of which sums was final because the bank was
awaiting final word from the merchant.
Inside
the station, a young man with mideastern looks and a pronounced
accent had a laptop hooked up to the pump controller.
I
raised hell, and within minutes, the bank showed the merchant had
reversed the charge.
Stand
by to stand by. It's going to get real before we get over all this
here.
-
The Legendary
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