دانلود کتاب شکستن و وارد شدن – تجربیات هکری به نام alien

It’s Saturday night at Bally’s Las Vegas and I follow a woman in black leather—jacket, skirt, boots—down the center of the casino floor. Her hair —also black—is twisted atop her head and held in place with chopsticks. She has on red lipstick and knee-high red polka-dot socks. A portable speaker clipped to her purse plays “The Girl from Ipanema.” The woman—thirty-three years old? thirty-four?—passes tables for blackjack, three-card poker, and craps. Players turn from their chips to the source of the music. Several smile, entreating her to join them, but she continues through a thicket of ringing, whirring slot machines, emerging again in front of the casino elevators. There’s a long line here, perhaps two hundred people, stretching to the end of the hallway and around a corner. Almost everyone is trying to get to the pool party a floor below or to the dozen other parties in Bally’s Skyview rooms twenty-five floors above. Making sure no one cuts are two huge bouncers with crossed arms and dark red badges that say GOON. The woman does not join the line. She smiles at the bouncers. The bouncers do not smile at her. They do recognize her, however. The woman is a hacker. The bouncers are also hackers. And so are the two hundred people in line, and the several thousand already partying above or below. In fact, there are close to twenty thousand hackers in Vegas this weekend. “Access approved,” the bouncers say to the woman. They part—special treatment—and the woman passes between them: first in line. The next elevator is hers alone. Or ours. “I’m with her,” I tell the bouncers, and squeeze through before they can stop me. A door opens and the woman and I step in together. “This is crazy,” I say. “Is it always this crowded?”