Day: February 4, 2024

Hong Kong — Scammers tricked a multinational firm out of some $26 million by impersonating senior executives using deepfake technology, Hong Kong police said Sunday, in one of the first cases of its kind in the city.

Law enforcement agencies are scrambling to keep up with generative artificial intelligence, which experts say holds potential for disinformation and misuse — such as deepfake images showing people mouthing things they never said.

A company employee in the Chinese finance hub received “video conference calls from someone posing as senior officers of the company requesting to transfer money to designated bank accounts,” police told AFP.

Police received a report of the incident on January 29, at which point some HK$200 million ($26 million) had already been lost via 15 transfers.

“Investigations are still ongoing and no arrest has been made so far,” police said, without disclosing the company’s name.

The victim was working in the finance department, and the scammers pretended to be the firm’s U.K.-based chief financial officer, according to Hong Kong media reports.

Acting Senior Superintendent Baron Chan said the video conference call involved multiple participants, but all except the victim were impersonated.

“Scammers found publicly available video and audio of the impersonation targets via YouTube, then used deepfake technology to emulate their voices… to lure the victim to follow their instructions,” Chan told reporters.

The deepfake videos were pre-recorded and did not involve dialogue or interaction with the victim, he added.
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Mosocw — Russian cosmonaut Oleg Kononenko on Sunday set a world record for total time spent in space, surpassing his compatriot Gennady Padalka who logged more than 878 days in orbit, Russia’s space corporation said.

At 0830 GMT Kononenko broke the record, Roscosmos said. Kononenko is expected to reach a total of 1,000 days in space on June 5 and by late September he will have clocked 1,110 days.

“I fly into space to do my favorite thing, not to set records,” Kononenko told TASS in an interview from the International Space Station (ISS) where he is orbiting about 263 miles (423 km) from Earth.

“I am proud of all my achievements, but I am more proud that the record for the total duration of human stay in space is still held by a Russian cosmonaut.”

The 59-year-old took the top spot from Padalka, who accumulated a total of 878 days, 11 hours, 29 minutes and 48 seconds, Roscosmos said.

The Soviet Union spooked the West in the early years of the space race by being first to launch a satellite to orbit the Earth — Sputnik 1, in 1957 — and then Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin became the first man to travel into space in 1961.

But after the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia’s space program grappled with massive funding shortages and corruption.

Officials under President Vladimir Putin have repeatedly vowed to turn around the decline of Russia’s space programs, though serious problems remain, according to officials and space analysts.

Life in space

Kononenko said that he worked out regularly to counter the physical effects of  “insidious” weightlessness, but that it was on returning to Earth that the realization came of how much life he had missed out on.

“I do not feel deprived or isolated,” he said.

“It is only upon returning home that the realization comes that for hundreds of days in my absence the children have been growing up without a papa. No one will return this time to me.”

He said cosmonauts could now use video calls and messaging to keep in touch with relatives but getting ready for each new space flight became more difficult due to technological advances.

“The profession of a cosmonaut is becoming more complicated. The systems and experiments are becoming more complicated. I repeat, the preparation has not become easier,” he said.

Kononenko dreamed of going to space as a child and enrolled in an engineering institute, before undergoing cosmonaut training. His first space flight was in 2008.

His current trip to the ISS launched last year on a Soyuz MS-24.

The ISS is one of the few international projects on which the United States and Russia still cooperate closely. In December, Roscosmos said that a cross-flight program with NASA to the ISS had been extended until 2025.

Relations in other areas between the two countries have broken down since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine nearly two years ago, to which Washington responded by sending arms to Kyiv and imposing successive rounds of sanctions on Moscow.
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WASHINGTON — One of the great interspecies love stories of our time has come to an end.

Walnut, a white-naped crane and internet celebrity, has died at age 42. She is survived by eight chicks, the loving staff at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute and by Chris Crowe, a human zookeeper whom Walnut regarded as her mate for nearly 20 years.

“Walnut was a unique individual with a vivacious personality,” Crowe said, in a statement released by the National Zoo. “I’ll always be grateful for her bond with me.”

The tale of Walnut (and Chris) has inspired internet fame and the occasional love song. It dates back to the bird’s 2004 arrival at the institute’s campus in Front Royal, Virginia.

The chick of two wild cranes who had been brought to the U.S. illegally and were later rescued by the International Crane Foundation, Walnut was hand-raised by people and bonded with her human caretakers. That preference continued when she came to the institute; she showed no interest in breeding and even attacked male crane suitors.

But white-naped cranes are considered vulnerable by the International Union for Conservation of Nature. Today, fewer than 5,300 remain in their native habitats in Mongolia, Siberia, Korea, Japan and China due to habitat loss, pollution, nest predation and poaching. And as the offspring of two wild-caught cranes, Walnut’s genes were not represented in U.S. zoos. So convincing Walnut to breed was regarded as a priority.

In stepped Crowe, who, according to a zoo statement, won her over by “observing and mimicking” the institute’s male white-naped cranes’ actions during breeding season.

Videos show Crowe offering Walnut food as well as grass and leaves for nest-building materials. When he flaps his arms in front of her, the tall majestic bird flaps excitedly in response and dances in a half-circle with her head bobbing. Once Crowe had gained her trust, he was able to artificially inseminate her using sperm from a male crane.

The unique arrangement proved wildly successful, and Walnut had eight chicks. The fertilized eggs were given to other white-napped crane pairs who tended to them as their own. Of the eight white-napped cranes currently living at the institute, one is Walnut’s chick and another is her grand-chick.

The relationship also seems to have been beneficial for Walnut’s health; at 42, she nearly tripled the median life expectancy of 15 years for white-naped cranes in human care.

Walnut was born in Wisconsin in the summer of 1981. She was named after a local Wisconsin restaurant’s popular walnut pie dessert.

Starting on the morning of Jan. 2, keepers noticed that Walnut wasn’t eating or drinking. Not even offers of her favorite treats — frozen-thawed mice, peanuts and mealworms — couldn’t spark her appetite. Veterinarians administered fluids and antibiotics and drew blood for analysis. But her health continued to decline and Walnut was eventually hospitalized. She died peacefully, surrounded by an animal care team; an autopsy revealed the cause of death to be renal failure.

“She was always confident in expressing herself, an eager and excellent dancer, and stoic in the face of life’s challenges,” Crowe said. “Walnut’s extraordinary story has helped bring attention to her vulnerable species’ plight. I hope that everyone who was touched by her story understands that her species’ survival depends on our ability and desire to protect wetland habitats.” 
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new york — This New York love story begins with a criminal act of sabotage. 

Under cover of darkness a year ago Friday, someone breached a waist-high fence and slipped into the Central Park Zoo. Once inside, they cut a hole through a steel mesh cage, freeing a majestic Eurasian eagle-owl named Flaco who had arrived at the zoo as a fledgling 13 years earlier. 

Immediately, Flaco fled the park, blinking his big orange eyes at pedestrians and police on Fifth Avenue before flying off into the night. 

In the year since his dramatic escape, Flaco has become one of the city’s most beloved characters. By day he lounges in Manhattan’s courtyards and parks or perches on fire escapes. He spends his nights hooting atop water towers and preying on the city’s abundant rats. 

To the surprise of many experts, Flaco is thriving in the urban wilds. An apex predator with a nearly 6-foot (2-meter) wingspan, he has called on abilities some feared he hadn’t developed during a lifetime in captivity, gamely exploring new neighborhoods and turning up unexpectedly at the windows of New Yorkers. 

“He was the underdog from the start. People did not expect him to survive,” said Jacqueline Emery, one of several birders who document the owl’s daily movements and share them online with his legions of admirers. “New Yorkers especially connect to him because of his resilience.” 

But as Flaco enters his second year in the spotlight, it can be easy to forget that his freedom is the result of a crime, one that has improbably remained unsolved. 

‘This was a crime’

The break-in happened steps from the shared headquarters of the New York City Parks Department and the Central Park Zoo, in the vicinity of at least one surveillance camera. 

But if they have collected any evidence on a potential suspect, police and zoo authorities have declined to share it. Since the zoo suspended efforts to re-capture Flaco in February 2023, there has been no public information about the crime. 

Privately, the zoo has sought to soften descriptions of Flaco’s former living conditions, in a minivan-sized structure decorated with a painted mountain vista, barely twice the width of Flaco’s extended wings. 

In internal emails obtained through a Freedom of Information request, zoo officials urged the Parks Department not to publicly describe Flaco as “raised in captivity.” Likewise, the term “escape” should be avoided. 

“That puts the blame on the animal rather than the perpetrator,” the zoo’s then-communications director, Max Pulsinelli, wrote in one email. “This was a crime.” 

In the absence of official information, theories of the crime abound — a youthful prank, perhaps, or an attempted owl heist gone awry? For many invested in Flaco’s fate, the most plausible explanation is that he was freed for ideological reasons. 

Proponents of the animal liberation theory point to the seemingly targeted nature of the crime, as well as the limitations of the owl’s modest enclosure. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone who loved Flaco and wanted him free,” said Nicole Barrantes, a wildlife campaign manager with World Animal Protection, who started a petition against Flaco being returned to the zoo. “His habitat was ridiculous. It was the saddest thing ever.” 

Break-ins and vandalism have long been tactics some activists have used to free animals. Such actions are often made public by the North American Animal Liberation Press Office, an anonymous online database. 

The group’s spokesperson, Jerry Vlasak, said no one had come forward to claim responsibility for Flaco’s escape. “We never received a communique,” he said. “But we’re certainly glad it happened.” 

A spokesperson for the Wildlife Conservation Society, which has operated the zoo since 1988, did not respond to the claims that Flaco’s zoo habitat was inadequate. 

“This was a criminal act that jeopardized the safety of the bird,” the zoo said in a statement, adding that they are continuing to monitor reports of Flaco’s activity and wellbeing and are “prepared to resume recovery efforts if he shows any sign of difficulty or distress.” 

Threats in the city

Even with his proficient hunting skills, Flaco faces many threats in the city, including a grave risk of consuming rodenticide through a poisoned rat. In 2021, another beloved Central Park owl, Barry, was fatally struck by a truck after ingesting a lethal dose of rat poison that may have impaired her flying. 

“All the hazards are still there,” cautioned Suzanne Shoemaker, the director of the Owl Moon Raptor Center in Maryland. “He’s shown some good instincts to be able to make it this far. He’s also lucky.” 

Flaco spent his initial months of freedom mostly in Central Park, which is loaded with wildlife, but has lately preferred more urban sections of Manhattan. There has been some speculation that he has been looking for a mate, though he most certainly won’t find one. Eurasian eagle owls aren’t native to North America. 

Stories of zoo animals breaking loose in the middle of the country’s densest city have long captured the public imagination, while often ushering in calls for reforms. 

Following a series of bird thefts and “senseless” animal beatings in the 1970s, administrators ordered immediate security upgrades and the redesign of some pens at the zoo, which the city’s parks commissioner at the time described as “Rikers Island for animals” because of poor living conditions. 

A few years later, when a group of vandals made off with a boa constrictor and a parrot named “Peanuts,” officials accused the perpetrators of stealing the animals for “voodoo rites.” 

Since those days the zoo has been substantially redesigned. 

Wildlife groups have long warned that owls can be used as sacrifices in certain religious ceremonies — particularly birds like Flaco, who boasts prominent ear tufts. The Eurasian eagle-owl is also commonly used in falconry, selling for as much as $3,000. 

But while some have suggested Flaco was targeted for either financial or spiritual purposes, such speculation would seem undermined by the fact that he emerged from his damaged cage and into the bustling cityscape unscathed. 

On a recent night on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, one of the Flaco’s most dedicated observers, David Barrett, struck an ambivalent tone when asked how New Yorkers should think about the crime that made him an avian celebrity. 

“To me, the folk hero is Flaco,” said Barrett, who runs the X account Manhattan Bird Alert, documenting the bird’s whereabouts in real time. “It’s an amazing thing: He lives his whole life in captivity and in a matter of days he taught himself to fly and to hunt rats.” 

Tuning his ears skyward, Barrett listened for the signature hoot that had echoed across Broadway on so many recent nights. 

“It’s not our business to try to solve crimes,” he said. “We’re just glad he’s here.” 
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