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?'