Burners & Black Markets E-Book

Lance Henderson

• Herausgeber: Tektime
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 231

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

in days, not weeks.

Whether you're a burned CIA agent on the run or just tired of being spied on by your ISP, the government and nosy relatives, you need to communicate privately and securely. In this explosive yet easy to read book, I use true-life adventures (and grievous mistakes!) to show you how the Powers That Be steal your freedom, your assets, your guns, and even your identity without you knowing it.

Master the dark art of anonymity and get free access to thousands of dark net sites and see the Hidden Wiki, all for free

Tired of being spied on? This book is your golden ticket to Ultimate Privacy, Security and Hacker-Proof Phones, PCs and Secure Laptops. Even on iPhone, the NSA won't know who you are.

You need help to protect yourself from Big Data, Big Government and Big Brother. You need one book to keep your assets, data and records SECURE. Total mobile security. This is that book. I will teach you online privacy on the internet and elsewhere; master the art of anonymity in days, not weeks.

Whether you're a burned CIA agent on the run or just tired of being spied on by your ISP, the government and nosy relatives, you need to communicate privately and securely. In this explosive yet easy to read book, I use true-life adventures (and grievous mistakes!) to show you how the Powers That Be steal your freedom, your assets, your guns, and even your identity without you knowing it.

Master the dark art of anonymity and get free access to thousands of dark net sites and see the Hidden Wiki, all for free! This book is one of the most powerful ebooks to read and download and comes with free stuff you can acquire on the dark web and clearnet...and all in anonymous real-time. Just say no to evil hackings, spies and malware viruses. Time to take a stand!

Leseprobe

Burners & Black Markets

Lance Henderson

Copyright 2018 Lance Henderson

All Rights Reserved.

Table of Content

Preface: How Not to Be a Ghost in the Machine

Chapter 1: Cell Opsec & The Powers That Be

Why The Government Hates Anonymity

Anonymity and Privacy

Category 5: Katrina

8 Deadly Cell Phone Myths

How The NSA Spies On You

NSA Fingerprinting

Location, Location

 ...The IRS

 ...Google

 ...Windows 10

How to Tell if Your Phone is Tapped

How to Stay Anonymous Overseas... in ANY Country

Chapter 2: The 10 Best Phones for Anonymity

Blackphone

Blackphone 2

Boeing's 'Black' Phone of Self-Destruction

BlackBerry

Blackberry Security

Jailbroken Phones

Encrypting Files

Older Phones

Motorola EX-431G

Nokia Lumia

Motorola Moto G

Motorola i355

Samsung S150G (TracFone)

Disaster Preparedness

Craigslist

Scams

Where to get the Best Burner Phones

 Where to Store Them

Safety Deposit Boxes

Faraday Cages

Fridges

Batteries

Chapter 3: 20 Ghost Apps That Kill NSA Spying

Signal

Orweb/Orfox

Telegram

Chat Secure

K-9 Mail

OpenKeychain

KeySync

LastPass

Linphone

ObscuraCam: The Privacy Camera

Orbot: Proxy with Tor

Osmand: Offline Maps

Ostel: Encrypted Phone Calls

TextSecure

Pixelknot: Hidden Messages

Ghost Apps for the Black Market

 Grams

DuckDuckGo

NoteCipher

APG

Bitcoin Wallet

ChatSecure

Firefox Addons

 Ghostery

 FlashControl

 Privoxy

 TACO

 AdBlock Plus

 NoScript

 uMatrix

 uBlock Origin

Cell Keyloggers

 SpyBubble

 Spyera

 MobileSpy

 Flexispy

 MobiStealth

Detecting Keyloggers

Solutions

Chapter 4: Tor and Cell Phones

Tor & IP Addresses

10 Rules for Smartphone Users

Anonymous Android: Mission Impossible

How to Access Hidden Onion Sites on the Deep Web

Linux Darknet Edition (Tails)

Bypassing Websites That Block Tor

Government Tracking

Tor & SMS Verification

Tor Pranks & Cell Phones

Chapter 5: Black Markets on the Deep Web

Top Darknet Markets

Marketplace Invites

BlackMarket Superlist

 DarkNet Dictionary & Other Tools

Shipping & Receiving: Thou Shalt Nots

To Finalize Early

International vs. Domestic Orders

Blackmarket Arrests

OPSEC for Buyers

Silk Road Lessons

Psych Tricks

OPSEC for Vendors

Postal Drops & Controlled Deliveries

Escaping the West!

Sniffer Dogs & Cash

Sailboats

Conclusion

Preface: How Not Be A Ghost in the Machine

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Scorned might be the wrong word choice here, since it was I who invited the Homeland Security agents into my house.

"Come on in, the water's warm," I told them.

They walked in like vampires. It felt queasy to walk behind them, like today was some kind of an initiation day or something. One of them (the female) hummed softly as she came in. Some death row harmonica tune as I recall, probably from Shawshank Redemption.

To be honest neither resembled Mulder or Scully like I thought they would (nor had a gun that I could see), but they were dressed for the job. Both agents sounded professional: suited up and as stone-faced as any statue on Easter Isle with little in the way of humor or human warmth. In fact the male agent looked every bit the consummate professional hitman Alberto the Shadow was in Scarface. You didn't turn your back on a guy like that.

Yet here I was contemplating asking them to leave after only inviting them in a nanosecond ago. Wasn't happening. Worse was the whiff of air my nostrils caught scent of as they passed. It was the scent of something dead. Or maybe just the last guy that asked them to leave prematurely.

As I poured out a drink I asked myself: Were they really agents? I couldn't tell. I suppose I should have asked for ID but I was still feeling jet-lagged from the Rio trip. With two days to go before Mardi Gras, I'd raced home from the New Orleans airport to get some sleep so I could meet my brother to fast-paint an Endymion parade float at mom's house. Only this time I'd be late. Terribly late.

A fitting end I suppose, since my brother Stephen and I have PhDs in lateness. Like clockwork I had waited until the 11th hour to do what Mom tasked us with: paint the Endymion float fast and neat and all cool like something out of Willy Wonka. Only fast and neat where we were concerned was like asking the Marx brothers to do a rush job on a Mona Lisa forgery. I could paint well enough, but my brother, like Groucho, painted single-handedly with one hand holding a joint as the other brushed. Hustling was his specialty, not painting. He hustled everything. Even me.

He'd often give me a list of places where his friends lay in wait along Veterans Blvd near New Orleans, friends who dressed the part but none of whom were actually veterans. The mission? Bomb them with the best booty and beads when our float came around. Only knowing my brother like I do, he'd brag down at Igor's bar long and loud like some train in the night and take all the credit. I'd get nothing.

The man never gave credit for squat unless he was in trouble with the law. Even as far back as sixth grade, he'd scoff whenever I said to knock off the bar bragging in the school yard. It never helped. Sooner or later, I warned, a shark would come along and sink a mouthful of teeth into those lying teeth of his.

Then one scorcher of a day in August (middle school, as I recall), a thresher shark showed up when he caught the attention of the local police. It seemed one freckled boy told every other boy in the school yard that my brother had bragged he owned a shed containing every automatic weapon imaginable, even (I kid you not) a suitcase nuke straight out of Fallout. They all bought this lie, of course, only one of the ugly kids he'd teased had ratted him out. Shocker, right? Next thing you know our puritan principal summoned him and the cops and when the boys in blue arrived, they cuffed him like he'd pinched every girl's bum in the yard.

I sat there mumbling and trembling in Ms. Needles math class like I was next on the hit list. Had I overheard the words 'search warrant'? And that odd scent that one of the cops dragged with her. Perfume? It reeked of dead shark.

Truth be told I was more worried about the secret stash. They'd steal my porn stash and take Suzanne Somers away from me forever, I was sure of it. Asses would sting (yours truly) and if not by Dad than surely that sharkey cop with the razor-thin mustache whose last name sounded an awful lot like 'thresher'.

But my brother didn't rat. They suspended him and Dad hit the roof, but he didn't rat. Turned out that my father pulled some strings to keep him out of jail. The lucky loser.

Fast forward to now, in my living room, and that same shark cop from sixth grade eying me in perfect dark; eyes filled with wet Texas crude. She'd no doubt had eaten a few dinosaurs by now, slit a few throats on the way to the top, and now here she was staring me down like I was a fresh-born kitten meant for the grill. Come on in, the water's warm, I'd said.

My brother was in trouble again. A deep sea of trouble.

It seemed that he had targeted hidden Tor sites scattered around the Darknet, playing his usual lame pranks, when in one instance he took it too far. The two agents came because, well, Stephen just didn't know when to leave on a high note. He had told two undercover agents that he owned an underground storage bunker full of illegals that he sold off as sex slaves for a grand a pop. A side hustle, he called it. I knew this to be a prank, but they did not. How could they?

Only now the very shark I'd warned him about had come back to bite me. Oh irony. Teaching Tor when he didn't understand the risks posed by Google and all other social media tyrants was a colossal blunder of biblical proportions on my part. A terrible mistake and one I'd not likely recover from. It was like handing Frodo's Ring of Power to one of those guys down at the Bayou Swamp Tour that stick their heads into the mouths of crocs for a few dollars more. A lot of fat good it'd do.

Oh and he had used a cell phone. Brilliant, right?

It hadn't been hard to track the goober down. Google had helped them connect-the-dots. Now they were here for a side of beef off my backside, the only question being which side.

So I escorted the agents into my kitchen expecting to be butchered by my own knives. I politely I offered them a beer or a Coke or a steak. Hell even a three month old Twinkie, which they declined. I huffed and then straddled a bar stool and invited them to do the same. Once again they declined. They could not be bought, bribed or bamboozled for any price.

"This won't take long," the male agent said. It's what all agents said, everywhere. Even the census taker has said the same a year prior and as I recall it'd taken forever and a day. The next words he said cut like dry ice.

"We take every threat to this nation seriously, Lance. Your brother has made some serious threats," said the taller agent as he crossed his bulky arms. "He's in our custody now but whether he stays there depends on you. In this very instant."

Custody? I didn't believe him. "Do tell," I said as I folded my skinny arms.

"We'd like to see your phone."

My heart stopped as all color drained from my face, all monochrome.

"Ahem. Right now," added the female agent. It was then that I asked for ID. They showed it but it was too late. They were in like Flynn.

"Prostitution rings carry a hefty sentence as does issuing threats to federal law enforcement officers," the agent began to say, "... and even dumping manure on our department's front lawn."

He glanced around the kitchen, running his hand along the granite countertop.

"Asset forfeiture is a big industry these days." He knocked on granite.

No shit, I thought. Asset forfeiture, courtesy of the ATF and DEA, had been a very profitable industry for eons and all the more for the US government. I'd known guys with small basement grow-ops that lost their homes and land to the Feds both in Canada and the States. I took nothing for granted where those guys were concerned.

But I knew not to talk without a lawyer present... except I'd already invited them in and like true vampires it became apparent that they weren't keen on leaving without the item they came for. Why oh why me. With my voice quaking I let out a little protest that ended up sounding more like a mew instead of a roar. A cat going to the vet.

"I'm not giving you my phone," I squeaked. "I don't care what kooky story my idiot brother told you."

"Excuse me?" the lady asked. She giggled at this, a giggle that sounded like a cat chewing up a squishy mouse or toothpaste squeezed out of a tube. "You cannot win against the federal government. Hand it over."

"Hand what over?"

"THE PHONE."

" Oh, that. Err... No."

"No? Why not?" the thresher chick asked.

I stabbed a finger at her as I raised my voice. "Either make an arrest or leave! I'll not be bullied into submission without a warrant by a couple of federal thugs named Frick and Frack. My phone is encrypted so it'll do you no good anyway. But I've got a landline here and my lawyer on retainer so let me just call him up and get a recording going."

They both looked at each other. "We'll be back," the man said. As they closed the door I heard the lock slide into place like a jail cell slamming home. My cell phone was about to become my jail cell. Had I hammered the last nail into my own coffin?

Furiously I sped over to my brother's house, so fast I nearly hit a dog peeing on a fire hydrant and didn't stop to look back. I was livid. Beyond livid. I had no clue if Agent Frick would be back, warrant in one hand and a noose in the other, but I'd be damned if I was going to swing from the nearest tree without knowing what stupid thing my brother'd done to bring on this level of heat.

I found him parked outside his spooky old house in that fire-engine red truck I'd hated for years, AC-DC blaring Back in Black. He was twirling his pornstache, no worry in the world about his fate or mine. Typical. I wanted to smack him. Hard. Right upside his head the way Rick James did to a few tag-a-longs back in the 80s. But I stopped when I saw Facebook front and center. Not only that abomination but Twitter, Google Plus, Skype, Viber and Whatsapp, with Tor running in the background.

Tor! Sweet lawd almighty.

I grit my teeth and shouted "DUMMY!" into his ear and watched as his phone fell into his Bud Light glass under the hot pink fuzzy dice. He cursed me out brothers only can.

"Azzzzhole," he yelled. He wiped it off, waterproof. Gangly and unshaven, he resembled the skinny gyro captain from Road Warrior who believed in the concept of shared wealth - as long as it belonged to someone else.

"Couple of goons hassled me today," he mumbled. "Same here... brother." I replied. "Somethin' about you making threats? And... a manure dump on a federal building's front lawn?"

After a long sigh, a belch and a few coarse threats I finally dragged the intel out of him. How he'd not only issued threats over Tor but that he'd put in an order for a dump truck to pile a ton of manure on the FBI and Homeland Security's front lawn using a credit card over Tor. My credit card. He pulled it from his wallet and frisbeed it into my face with the stupidest comment I'd ever heard.

"Tor didn't work with your card. You ain't paid up or somethin'?"

It was here that I went dark on him.

I pulled the knuckle-dragger out and inside the house kicking and screaming before letting loose with every curse I knew. He flailed like the swordfish we caught in the Gulf of Mexico, fins everywhere like a crazy person, swinging and sweating and stabbing.

When we finally simmered down I noticed the state of his living room. The place was ransacked more than usual. Beer cans piled high with a vacant space where the PC had been lie visible. Three guesses as to who took it. The FBI had come and let it slide but apparently they had friends in Homeland who needed a fresh piece of meat. Two slabs actually, order up.

When I pressed him on it he replied that Homeland carted it away while powered on using a portable power source. I knew about such things, but did he? Nope.

He tried to get up so I shoved him back down and yelled, "You stay in that spot and don't you move a muscle until I'm finished!"

I threw everything I'd said the week prior into his face again (opsec stuff mostly), and swore I'd take mom's house back in a New York minute if he didn't listen this time. It wasn't enough that his ass and ego stung. He needed a lobotomy.

"You're good at that nekkid Tor stuff. I ain't! 'Sides, you talk too fast how in hell can I keep up with that technical mojo?"

He was right. I always talked too fast even back in sixth grade and on a few sweaty occasions I could swear that I could literally see my words flying over and around his uncombed head; like if you shined a flashlight through those ears you'd see his eyes flash. So I went slow. Turtle slow. Talking with my hands like some Italian piano player before a grand performance.

"Look," I began. "If you're going to play the Riddler and prank alphabet agencies then the absolute least you can do is to muck it all up in your own name and do so with some residue of competence. It's embarrassing when my name comes into it. Why'd you use my card for it? Why bring me into it at all?"

Nothing but deadbeat excuses came back.

My voice went as low and deadly serious as a neurosurgeon when discussing a terminal patient. I wanted to take a red hot searing iron of opsec rules to his butt cheeks but knowing him he'd forget they were there. So instead I decided what he needed was a foundation of the basics, the why, the wherewithal, the way, the whole enchilada when it came to cell phones and anonymity. Why we do this instead of that and what happens if we don't.

"Why?" he'd ask.

"Because guys who never sweat the small stuff as long as the power button is greenlit get burned, that's why."

Then along comes some taffer with a badge and a gruff voice who hits him with one small threat and then another and another, and all in a friendly 'knock and talk' and at that point he might as well slap the cuffs on himself. He doesn't see the overall context, the trap being set, and ends up like Gulliver with the Lilliputians, pinned to the ground by a million tiny threads he can't even see.

I talked about the giants: Google. Twitter. Facebook. How the lying scumbags were little more than modern-day witch hunters who cooperated with cops to enforce a gazillion laws no one cared about but made them millions every year.

I droned on about encryption, explaining how it always worked it's wonders if it was automatic and running under the hood. I told him he had lazy man's opsec, a clown's, and that sooner or later someone would throw a grenade into that clown's wardrobe and it'd make all the papers with nice colorful photos of his private stash all laid bare. I told him of the types of encryption most used, HTTPS in the browser and cell to tower connections for his cellular calls, that they performed so well because he was unaware of their presence.

"Encrypt everything," I repeated. I hammered this over and over, especially on cell phones no matter if he had something to hide or not. "It should be there and working its magic under the hood without you having to hit the ON switch."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because if you're only going to flip that encryption switch when and only when you need to secure your data, you relay that data's significance as though you'd pulled a fire alarm."

We talked about Tor and it's brother Freenet and how both are used by Chinese dissidents but that since every Chinese dissident uses those apps that this has caused problems for anyone wanting real anonymity. If its only used for committing dissident-like things then China's ruling elite class can cherry-pick anyone off one by one and all by that one lone homing signal. The same that the FBI had done (with a little help from my credit card).

Then I said that the reverse is equally true.

"If everybody employs encryption everywhere, then instead of it being a signal to the fire department to come put out a fire, it becomes impossible to tell who is using it to chat about Leonardo DeCaprio's latest round of clubgirls from someone intent on sparking a revolution. Use encryption for every little thing you do and you'll save lives on the other side of the planet without even knowing it."

He shot me a dumbfounded look like encryption had nothing to do with cell phones or Tor.

"If you'd bothered to pay attention in sixth grade, you'd have learned all about state-sanctioned liars like the Gestapo in Nazi Germany and KGB in Soviet Russia, enough to see through that agent's lies." I pointed to the door. "Like Agent Frick. Didn't her name seem familiar to you?"

"You shut your mouth!" he snapped. "They had a no-knock warrant what was I supposed to do, tell em' to get lost?"

"You just answered your own question."

"Huh?"

"You shut your mouth. You said it brother. You don't say squat without an attorney."

He thought on this for a long while before I continued.

"Something else, too. You also failed on account of having an unencrypted phone and PC. If the encrypted data is in your hands and not theirs you're in less danger of being bullied around. You have more leeway. Do China dissidents? In China once they take away encryption and guns, they'll seize your property rights, birth rights, your progeny and what follows after that is a bloody mutiny or complete slavery where all legal rights are changed so that you cannot resist. You cannot fight back."

"And after that?" he asked.

"Who knows. The Stalinist regime may enact a murder campaign to eliminate anyone perceived as an enemy of the state. That's anyone with a gun or encrypted files. You saw what happened to all those screaming Muslims over there in Beijing a few years back. They rounded up all those fools and shot them at dawn and didn't look back."

"Probably didn't wait till dawn I reckon," he said. "They ain't used encryption though is what I heard."

I smiled. "Might not have helped anyway. But thank God for the 5th amendment in the United States."

A long silence. I needed one more example. Something modern.

"Look at Apple and the FBI. The Feds wanted to set a precedent in breaking that terrorist's phone."

"Precedent? Why's that?" he asked.

"Take any random shooter's phone. The FBI already has the chat logs, flash drives, and iCloud data from them. They just make those statements to get public support for backdoors since there's nothing the data on the iPhone can tell them that they don't know already."

"But if that happens..."

"Everyone's screwed a hundred ways from Sunday. Apple gave the them access to everything that exists and still gave them additional forensic advice on top of that. That fact alone proved it was a backdoor fishing expedition."

"Yeah. Yeah yer right I figger."

"And it's impossible for a backdoor to target just one phone. Any new backdoor will target everyone's phone, every class, at a minimum, such as one iPhone 5c affecting all the others. The FBI wants Apple to code in a backdoor that's signed by Apple without messing up the decryption keys. Do that and it would almost certainly escalate international tensions about European privacy too, not just the US."

He nodded slowly.

"They'd blot out any hope of Safe Harbor for good by proving that safe harbor is anything but 'safe'."

Underneath his long-sleeved shirt I could see he was wearing a that hideous Lord of the Rings tee, still grey and ragged and reeking of the same cheap Bud Light Lime he'd swigged on opening night. At the tip I could see it was either Gandalf or Saruman peeking over the mountaintops. I couldn't tell which.

"This isn't Saruman tinkering around. This is global Sauron, creating his Ring."

"But I'm just one guy. One peon."

"You only need one guy, one peon."

I pointed out the window, up at the clouds. "See that? Picture yourself way up there in a grand hall with your great-grandfather and several generations of your lineage going back eons when they're all telling their brave tales. Imagine telling them with a straight face that you left it up to some other peon because you weren't up to learning how to evade not only Google but the NSA and the FBI because it's easier to just focus on you and your late nights blowing money on anti-freeze daiquiris and Angry Birds or Facebook updates and pranking the FBI building with a truckload of bullshit."

"Now imagine them shaking their heads in disgust at this overgrown kid too proud to build out a fortress of doom - a guy whose only concerns were for his own hide and to hell with what his forefathers fought for. They'd view you as lacking courage and any sense of ethics. They'd look upon you as a lesser human being. A joke to humanity. A sheep. Can you imagine Frodo doing that to Elrond, Gandalf, Legolas and the rest of the crew and giving them a three-fingered salute as he slid that ring down his finger and snuck off into the night?

"Hale no."

"Me neither. When push comes to shove it's our nonactions and not our actions that bury us. We dig our own graves far too often enough, brother, so let's not pay others to do it while we're still breathing. In the meantime I'll show you how to smooth that ring down your finger so you can give whoever else wants to spy on you a nice three-fingered salute."

I looked over and noticed a few synapses misfiring. But a little confusion wasn't the end of the world. So I showed him something from his favorite social media outlet. Youtube. The very same he'd used with Tor, something even he could see the wisdom of employing. It was a classroom lecture called 'Don't Talk to Cops'. Nothing to do with cell phones, mind you, but everything to do (or not to do) when a couple of G-Men show up at your house making unruly demands.

The day after that, I beat him to death with every opsec trick I knew on how to truly be anonymous on a smartphone, be it Android, Blackberry, iPhone... anywhere, at any time.

And what I showed him that day is what I'm about to show you. Right now.

Chapter 1: Cell Opsec and the Powers That Be

"No one cared who I was until I put on the mask."

- Bane, The Dark Knight Rises

Why The Government Hates Anonymity

Most governments hate anonymity. They hate encryption too, but mostly anonymity since it covers a much broader range of the mutiny they fear. Every time someone learns how to communicate anonymously, that iron death-grip that they hold on a person's life loosens like you wouldn't believe. The media paints it a different color, of course. They say that it's anonymity that drives all the internet's ills.

You've heard it all before. Sexual harassment. Bullying. Date rape. Hackers. Identity thieves. Flying purple monkeys. And that if only we give the powers that be more reach or a longer vine into our private lives, then every bully and ogre'll burst into pillars of salt (instantly!) while the world trips right into a land of rainbows, unicorns and yellow submarines with a lofty lolling Ringo Starr leading the charge.

You already know it to be fake, of course. As fake as Data's artificial thumb.

But, I'll let you in on a secret not many know. And that is this. Anonymity encourages objectivity. Seriously, it does. It forces you to judge a person by the merits of their words alone.