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Undergound. Go to Table of Contents.

   heard the sound of a large vehicle pulling up outside. He looked out

   the window expecting to see the removalists. What he saw instead was

   at least four men in casual clothes running toward the house.

  

   They were a little too enthusiastic for removalists and they split up

   before getting to the door, with two men forking off toward opposite

   sides of the building. One headed for the car port. Another dove

   around the other side of the building. A third banged on the front

   door. Anthrax shook himself awake.

  

   The short, stocky guy at the front door was a worry. He had puffy,

   longish hair and was wearing a sweatshirt and acid-wash jeans so tight

   you could count the change in his back pocket. Bad ideas raced through

   Anthrax's head. It looked like a home invasion. Thugs were going to

   break into his home, tie him up and terrorise him before stealing all

   his valuables.

  

   `Open up. Open up,' the stocky one shouted, flashing a police badge.

  

   Stunned, and still uncomprehending, Anthrax opened the door. `Do you

   know who WE are?' the stocky one asked him.

  

   Anthrax looked confused. No. Not sure.

  

   `The Australian Federal Police.' The cop proceeded to read out the

   search warrant.

  

   What happened from this point forward is a matter of some debate. What

   is fact is that the events of the raid and what

   followed formed the basis of a formal complaint by Anthrax to the

   Office of the Ombudsman and an internal investigation within the AFP.

   The following is simply Anthrax's account of how it happened.

  

   The stocky one barked at Anthrax, `Where's your computer?'

  

   `What computer?' Anthrax looked blankly at the officer. He didn't have

   a computer at his apartment. He used the uni's machines or friend's

   computers.

  

   `Your computer. Where is it? Which one of your friends has it?'

  

   `No-one has it. I don't own one.'

  

   `Well, when you decide to tell us where it is, you let us know.'

  

   Yeah. Right. If Anthrax did have a hidden computer at uni, revealing

   its location wasn't top of the must-do list.

  

   The police pawed through his personal letters, quizzed Anthrax about

   them. Who wrote this letter? Is he in the computer underground? What's

   his address?

  

   Anthrax said `no comment' more times than he could count. He saw a few

   police moving into his bedroom and decided it was time to watch them

   closely, make sure nothing was planted. He stood up to follow them in

   and observe the search when one of the cops stopped him. Anthrax told

   them he wanted a lawyer. One of the police looked on with disapproval.

  

   `You must be guilty,' he told Anthrax. `Only guilty people ask for

   lawyers. And here I was feeling sorry for you.'