The time flew as Scott learned what a tightly knitted clique the hackers were. The ethos 'honor among thieves' held true here as it did in many adolescent societies, most recently the American Old West. As a group, perhaps even a subculture, they were arduously taming new territory, each with their own vision of a private digital homestead. Each one taking on the system in their own way, they still needed each other, thus they looked aside if another's techno-social behavior was personally dis- tasteful. The Network was big enough for everyone. A working anarchy that heralded the standard of John Paul Jones as their sole commandment: Don't Tread On Me. He saw tapping devices that allowed the interception of computer data which traveled over phone lines. Line Monitors and Sniffers were commercially available, and legal; equipment that was nomi- nally designed to troubleshoot networks. In the hands of a hack- er, though, it graduated from being a tool of repair to an offensive weapon. Small hand held radios were capable of listening in to the in- creasingly popular remote RF networks which do not require wires. Cellular phone eavesdropping devices permitted the owner to scan and focus on the conversation of his choice. Scott examined the electronic gear to find a manufacturer's identification. "Don't bother, my friend," said a long haired German youth of about twenty. "Excuse me?" "I see you are looking for marks, yes?" "Well, yes. I wanted to see who made these . . ." "I make them, he makes them, we all make them," he said almost giddily. "This is not available from Radio Shack," he giggled. "Who needs them from the establishment when they are so easy to build." Scott knew that electronics was indeed a garage operation and that many high tech initiatives had begun in entrepreneur's basements. The thought of home hobbyists building equipment which the military defends against was anathema to Scott. He merely shook his head and moved on, thanking the makers of the eavesdropping machines for their demonstrations. Over in a dimly lit corner, dimmer than elsewhere, Scott saw a number of people fiddling with an array of computers and equip- ment that looked surprisingly familiar. As he approached he experienced an immediate rush of d ja vu. This was the same type of equipment that he had seen on the van before it was blown up a couple of months ago. Tempest busting, he thought. The group was speaking in German, but they were more than glad to switch to English for Scott's benefit. They sensed his interest as he poked around the assorted monitors and antennas and test equipment. "Ah, you are interested in Van Eck?" asked one of the German hackers. They maintained a clean cut appearance, and through discussion Scott learned that they were funded as part of a university research project in Frankfurt.