`There have been a lot of people over the years running around impersonating you--using your handle,' he said. Mendax could see Day was trying to manipulate him but by this stage he didn't care. He figured that the police already had plenty of evidence that linked him to his handle, so he admitted to it. Day had some other surprising questions up his sleeve. `So, Mendax, what do you know about that white powder in the bedroom?' Mendax couldn't recall any white powder in the bedroom. He didn't do drugs, so why would there be any white powder anywhere? He watched two police officers bringing two large red toolboxes in the house--they looked like drug testing kits. Jesus, Mendax thought. I'm being set up. The cops led the hacker into the bedroom and pointed to two neat lines of white powder laid out on a bench. Mendax smiled, relieved. `It's not what you think,' he said. The white powder was glow-in-the-dark glue he had used to paint stars on the ceiling of his child's bedroom. Two of the cops started smiling at each other. Mendax could see exactly what was going through their minds: It's not every cocaine or speed user that can come up with a story like that. One grinned at the other and exclaimed gleefully, `TASTE TEST!' `That's not a good idea,' Mendax said, but his protests only made things worse. The cops shooed him into another room and returned to inspect the powder by themselves. What Mendax really wanted was to get word through to Prime Suspect. The cops had probably busted all three IS hackers at the same time, but maybe not. While the police investigated the glue on their own, Mendax managed to sneak a telephone call to his estranged wife and asked her to call Prime Suspect and warn him. He and his wife might have had their differences, but he figured she would make the call anyway. When Mendax's wife reached Prime Suspect later that night, he replied, `Yeah, there's a party going on over here too.' Mendax went back in to the kitchen where an officer was tagging the growing number of possessions seized by the police. One of the female officers was struggling to move his printer to the pile. She smiled sweetly at Mendax and asked if he would move it for her. He obliged. The police finally left Mendax's house at about 3 a.m. They had spent three and half hours and seized 63 bundles of his personal belongings, but they had not charged him with a single crime. When the last of the unmarked police cars had driven away, Mendax stepped out into the silent suburban street. He looked around. After making sure that no-one was watching him, he walked to a nearby phone booth and rang Trax. `The AFP raided my house tonight.' he warned his friend. `They just left.' Trax sounded odd, awkward. `Oh. Ah. I see.' `Is there something wrong? You sound strange,' Mendax said. `Ah. No ... no, nothing's wrong. Just um ... tired. So, um ... so the feds could ... ah, be here any minute ...' Trax's voice trailed off.