Their hack enables surveillance too: They can track a targeted Jeep's GPS coordinates, measure its speed, and even drop pins on a map to trace its route.All of this is possible only because Chrysler, like practically all carmakers, is doing its best to turn the modern automobile into a smartphone.As I tried to cope with all this, a picture of the two hackers performing these stunts appeared on the car's digital display: Charlie Miller and Chris Valasek, wearing their trademark track suits. The Jeep’s strange behavior wasn’t entirely unexpected. Louis to be Miller and Valasek's digital crash-test dummy, a willing subject on whom they could test the car-hacking research they'd been doing over the past year.The result of their work was a hacking technique—what the security industry calls a zero-day exploit—that can target Jeep Cherokees and give the attacker wireless control, via the Internet, to any of thousands of vehicles.Instead, they merely assured me that they wouldn't do anything life-threatening.Then they told me to drive the Jeep onto the highway.I could see an 18-wheeler approaching in my rearview mirror.
In the summer of 2013, I drove a Ford Escape and a Toyota Prius around a South Bend, Indiana, parking lot while they sat in the backseat with their laptops, cackling as they disabled my brakes, honked the horn, jerked the seat belt, and commandeered the steering wheel.
I spun the control knob left and hit the power button, to no avail.
Then the windshield wipers turned on, and wiper fluid blurred the glass.
As an auto-hacking antidote, the bill couldn’t be timelier.
The attack tools Miller and Valasek developed can remotely trigger more than the dashboard and transmission tricks they used against me on the highway.