Mendax's problems weren't confined to the beehive disks. The last
thing he had done on the computer the day before was still on screen.
It was a list of some 1500 accounts, their passwords, the dates that
Mendax had obtained them and a few small notes beside each one.
The hacker stood to the side as the police and two Telecom Protective
Services officers swarmed through the house. They photographed his
computer equipment and gathered up disks, then ripped up the carpet so
they could videotape the telephone cord running to his modem. They
scooped up every book, no small task since Mendax was an avid reader,
and held each one upside down looking for hidden computer passwords on
loose pieces of paper. They grabbed every bit of paper with
handwriting on it and poured through his love letters, notebooks and
private diaries. `We don't care how long it takes to do this job,' one
cop quipped. `We're getting paid overtime. And danger money.'
The feds even riffled through Mendax's collection of old Scientific
American and New Scientist magazines. Maybe they thought he had
underlined a word somewhere and turned it into a passphrase for an
encryption program.
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