The sixth-floor conference room had been converted into a classroom where Zane DeWitt conducted classes in spycraft each morning and afternoon for ten promising new EIS recruits. Properly groomed and wearing the right-sized clothing, the new generation of Warrior Kings had cleaned up nicely, Novak noted as he replayed that day’s session on a monitor screen in his office.
“We know that the old man’s got a routine. You can set a clock by it,” DeWitt was saying. “It’s the younger Bascombs we need to nail down. That’s where you’ll come in. You’re going to be our moles — those are snoops who go inside one organization to spy for another.”
“When do we get to use weapons?” demanded one of the recruits, a tall, solidly-built boy about eighteen years old with heavy-lidded eyes. Novak searched his memory and came up with the kid’s name: Rufus Jaholovich. He would need a new identity, for sure. His birth name was much too memorable. So was his street name — Sluggo.
On the playback, DeWitt replied evenly, “You get weapons when you need them. But this isn’t that kind of mission. Being a mole means staying low. If you fade into the background, people tend to ignore you. After a while, it’s as though you don’t even exist. Their guard goes down when they think they’re alone, and sometimes interesting intel slips out. So, your job for the duration of this assignment is all about keeping your eyes and ears open without attracting any notice, then reporting to us what you’ve seen and heard.”
“But what if we get caught?” challenged another King, a little older and a lot thinner than Rufus.
Loudon Beecher sprang to his feet. “With a gun? Then you’re the dumbest ganger on the planet,” he said with disgust. “What have I been teaching you for the past ten years?”
“Don’t get caught holding,” the kid recited shamefacedly.
“The best spies are the ones that no one detects or suspects,” DeWitt pointed out, taking back control of the briefing. “So, if you’re found somewhere you’re not supposed to be, play dumb and pretend to be lost. Smile a lot. Ask for directions, and say ‘thank you’ when they’re given. Then get yourself to where people expect you to be. After that, assume that you’ve aroused suspicion, and that you’ll probably be followed around for a while.
“In any case, never come directly here from work. Stop for a java, or go for a walk in the park. When you’re certain you’ve thrown off anyone who might be hugging your tail, report in. We’ll check and decide whether it’s safe to send you back into the field. Not safe for you, by the way. Safe for the rest of us.”
“But what if we can’t talk our way out of it?” demanded another student. “What if we’re cornered and have to fight?”
“Then you’re of no further use to us,” DeWitt replied flatly.
The kid’s face fell.
“You were chosen for this program because you’re street savvy and have shown you know how to deal with Security. You’re able to look and act innocent, and you’re convincing liars. So, if you can’t talk your way out of a situation, it means someone was already looking sideways at you, and you never noticed. That’s strike one.
“If they come at you, you’ll need to escape. Run away if you can. But if you can’t run, then you’ll have to fight your way free. If you injure someone in the process, that’s strike two and a mess to clean up. But if you kill someone, or get arrested, that’s strike three. And that’s why we’re not issuing any of you weapons for this mission,” he concluded sternly. “We’ll provide each of you with a cover that will get you inside. After you’ve planted the listening devices — which we will be monitoring remotely — it’s strictly watch, listen, and report, all the while keeping your cover. And staying the hell out of trouble.”
Hearing a sound, Novak halted the playback and glanced toward the doorway, which was currently filled with Zane DeWitt.
“What do you think, boss?” the big man said with a grin. “Are they ready?”
“You’ve been at this for a month now. You tell me.” Novak leaned back in his chair and beckoned DeWitt into the room.
“Okay,” he said, dropping onto one of the guest chairs and counting off on his fingers. “I’ve taught them everything I know about tracking and following. Eastman has given them a crash course on how and where to plant the surveillance devices. Mendez says they’re scrappy fighters, with some acrobatic moves that even he’s never seen. They all know how to keep a secret, so no problem there. Rufus bothers me a little. He’s just so damn big that it’s impossible not to notice him, and what he really wants is to have an adventure, not disappear into the woodwork. He’ll be the weak link in whatever team we put him on.”
“And yet you kept training him.”
DeWitt gave a little shrug. “He kind of reminds me of myself, back when we started up the gang. And I think his size and strength could be useful in certain situations.”
Novak agreed. In fact, he even had a situation in mind.
“All right, then. Hold Rufus back and divide the other nine into three teams, one to surveille each of Bascomb’s sons.”
“Not the general?”
“He’s already got official eyes and ears on him. We’ll have to approach him a different way. The kid wants an adventure, you said?”
DeWitt’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure about this, boss? He’s not ready to solo yet.”
“He won’t be alone. Don’t worry, Zane — you’ll get him back in one piece.”
—— «» ——
General Bascomb had managed to avoid arrest for the murder of Juno Vargas, but he was by no means cleared of suspicion. That was the good news. However, there was bad news as well: Regional Security had taken over the murder investigation, and they had put him under tight, even intrusive surveillance, claiming that it was for his own protection until an arrest could be made.
This was going to throw a wrench into Novak’s plans. District Security Chief Ridout swore up and down that he’d had nothing to do with it. The order had come from the High Council and had to be obeyed. Everything Bascomb said and did was to be recorded and scrutinized. He was to have no privacy anywhere: not in public, not at work, not at home, and nowhere in between.
The more Novak thought about it, the more convinced he became that Patricia Chen had to be behind the order. Maybe she feared being implicated in a murder if Novak followed through on his earlier promise. Or maybe she simply wanted the satisfaction of boxing Bascomb in and watching him chafe. Either way, she’d made it nearly impossible for anyone to approach him without Security’s knowledge.
Nearly was the operative word here. Bascomb occasionally had to visit the hygiene room to relieve himself. Not even Regional Security was foolhardy enough to eavesdrop on a general’s bodily functions without damn good cause. So, Earth Intelligence had done it instead.
As far as Novak knew, the device he had installed during his earlier visit to Bascomb’s home was one of only two in existence. Specially designed by Naguchi and Nate Eastman, they looked and functioned like everyday objects, but were keyed to a particular individual’s DNA. Until touched by the right person, they were undetectable by a standard surveillance sweep. And they contained their own memory, which could be dumped remotely by keying a unique code into another device located within a five-meter radius of the first one.
One of these special objects — installed months earlier during a routine maintenance inspection of the surveillance system at Planetary Security Headquarters — was doing double duty as the “decrypt” button on the general’s office computer. His follow-up discussions after receiving classified messages had proven extremely enlightening. The EIS mole on the office cleaning crew was able to collect the intel every night or two and bring it back to Ops HQ for analysis.
The second device, planted in Bascomb’s house, had replaced the standard model thumbprint lock on the inside of the hygiene room door. This was where it was assumed he would go to have conversations that were none of anyone else’s business, including whoever might be spying on him via his home security system. Lately, to Novak’s chagrin, that someone had been Regional Security.
Not content with simply tapping into the system that Novak’s company had earlier installed in Bascomb’s residence, Security had used their own devices to hijack it completely. At SecuriTech, the dedicated monitoring screen was dark and silent. Meanwhile, sound and images were being fed to a field command center somewhere in Millbrook Enclave. The officers on duty had to be close enough to react immediately if a trespasser or an active signal jammer — or an unauthorized data download — were detected in the vicinity. (The general had opted for the deluxe watchdog package when selecting his system.)
For Novak, having his hands tied was frustrating. However, it had been weeks since the memory cache in Bascomb’s hygiene room had been cleared, and that was dangerous. Something needed to be done about it right away.
The SecuriTech receptionist looked up and waved at Novak as he passed her desk and pushed through the double plastiplex doors. He thumbed the lock on the entrance to the monitoring center and paused to let the metal panels slide apart. Then he stepped into a high-ceilinged area with enormous light screens that covered the walls and illuminated the room. In front of each screen sat a SecuriTech employee, keeping an eye on twenty or more “windows” onto spaces currently being surveilled by the company. As Novak scanned the multitude of images, his gaze alighted briefly on interior views of the District Administration Building, the stockrooms and counters of several large retail stores, and the triage area of a Medical Services center.
Clients paid extra for this level of vigilance, and SecuriTech was happy to provide it.
Novak crossed to the long work table that divided the room. District Security had sent them half a dozen malfunctioning InfoComm units to either repair or cannibalize for spare parts. Now the machines were lined up in a row, their screens dark, their cords dangling.
Seated at the far end of the table, with a loupe in one eye and something small balanced on the tip of his index finger, was Nate Eastman, SecuriTech’s Head of Research and Development. Without so much as a glance in Novak’s direction, he said, “Don’t ask. I’m good, but I can’t perform miracles.”
Novak came to stand beside him. “And what did you think I was going to ask?”
Still not looking up, Eastman replied, “You want to be reconnected with the system in Bascomb’s house so we can loop in a decoy feed while one of our agents sneaks close enough to dump the memory of my superbug. That trick may have worked before, but it won’t work now. Not with Regional Security’s firewall in place. So, unless you’ve got a plan B…”
“It’s more of an idea, actually. What if we had a legitimate reason to send someone inside Bascomb’s home with a toolkit?”
Eastman considered for a moment. “Oka-ay. But it couldn’t be just that one home, or even just homes that we service. Regional Security would be suspicious of us right away. In fact, to prevent us from tapping back in, they’ve set up their command base outside our monitoring network altogether. They still need to be close by, though … so I’m guessing their stationary surveillance gear would have to be inside one of the houses either next door to the general’s or just across the street. What did you have in mind?”
“Tell me what you think of this: Whichever house they’re in will be drawing power from the same source as all the other homes in the vicinity. The nearest energy distribution box is located on a street corner just a block away. If it were physically damaged, say by a vehicle ‘accidentally’ hitting it at low speed, what would happen?”
“Actually, that wouldn’t be a huge deal. The power system has failsafes to isolate faulty components from the rest of the grid, and emergency backups in each affected home would kick in. However, the local power disruption would set off security alarms all up and down the street.”
When Eastman paused, Novak continued, “And to remain under warranty, every system would then have to be visually inspected and rebooted by the company that installed it. They would have to let us inside the Bascomb residence to do that.”
“Meanwhile, our agent could clear the memory cache, right under Security’s noses,” Eastman concluded. “That’ll work. So, when do you want this ‘accident’ to occur?”
“How about yesterday?”
—— «» ——
Four days later, the braking system mysteriously failed on a delivery vehicle that had been left idling on a street in Millbrook Enclave, causing it to collide with a power distribution box. That same day, SecuriTech received alarm notifications from five houses, including the one belonging to General Bascomb. The agents on duty followed standard protocol and were able to generate work orders for four of them.
“But not Bascomb’s place?” DeWitt said doubtfully. “I thought that was the whole point of this exercise.”
“Don’t worry, Zane. It’ll happen. But first we’re going to have some fun.”
The big man shook his head in puzzlement. “If you say so, boss.”
Feigning ignorance, Novak then contacted District Security, at the Millbrook Enclave Precinct. The officer who took his commcall confirmed that the alarms were false, the result of a minor traffic mishap in the neighborhood. He concluded with, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Novak?”
“Yes. We’ve been able to obtain authorization to enter premises from only four of our five affected contractees. We may need a constable to give us access to the fifth residence.”
DeWitt’s eyes went saucer-wide. He looked about to say something. Novak silenced him with an off-screen hand gesture.
“House number and street name?”
“Seventy-nine Willowbranch Way.”
“That’s General Bascomb’s address.” He paused, frowning. “I’m afraid we can’t help you, Mr. Novak. Regional Security has instructed us in no uncertain terms—” Another pause. The corners of his mouth were twitching. “Tell me, is the alarm still sounding?”
“Loud and clear. We can’t turn it off until we’ve ascertained that all is well inside the building, and since Regional Security redirected the audio and video feeds, leaving us blind and deaf…”
They heard a deep chuckle from the other end of the transmission.
“Yeah, Regional does seem to enjoy elbowing us lesser beings out of the way. I wish you good luck in your quest for authorization, Mr. Novak. However, since there’s already Security on site, perhaps you should just leave this situation to them to take care of.”
“Well, thank you anyway, Officer…?”
“Jones.”
“Of course.” Novak nodded at the screen as it blanked. Turning to DeWitt, he continued, “And now that we’ve fulfilled the letter of the law, we can sit back and wait for Regional Security to contact us.”
“Are you certain they will, boss? Their techs are the ones who diverted the feeds in the first place. What’s to stop them from going over there and dealing with the alarm themselves?”
“I’m sure they’ll try it, with or without a warrant. However, legalities aside, you and I both know there’s no neat and tidy way to silence one of our alarms once it goes off, not even by cutting the power. The general likes to throw his weight around. If he wasn’t willing to let Security physically enter his house for the purpose of keeping an eye on him, how do you think he would react if he found out that they’d broken in and ripped his wall apart because of a false alarm?”
“He would probably have a fit, and then he’d have their jobs,” DeWitt responded, visibly warming to the idea.
“Yep. Wait for it. They’re not stupid. They’ll be in touch.”
One hour later, SecuriTech’s service department received a priority request via Regional Council commconnect. The expression on the face that appeared on the screen looked chiseled out of granite and had a gravelly voice to match.
“Are you Barry Novak?” demanded the face.
Novak counted the bars on his caller’s epaulet and replied, “I am. What can I do for you, Captain?”
“Your company installed the security system in General Bascomb’s home. Now you can damn well get someone out there to shut it up.”
For the next ten seconds, Novak pretended to be calling up the account information. Then he said evenly, “You’re referring to 79 Willowbranch Way in Millbrook Enclave?”
“Yes!” The other man’s jaw muscles were working hard. It was fascinating to watch.
“First of all, I’m afraid we can’t enter that building without authorization from the legally registered homeowner. To do otherwise would be trespassing.”
“Even with an alarm going off?”
“Even then. If there were a genuine emergency — which we would determine using the surveillance technology we’d installed — then we would follow the legally mandated protocol by alerting District Security to handle the situation,” Novak explained patiently. “Once they’d arrived on the scene — again, ascertained by means of our surveillance technology — then we would silence the alarm. Unfortunately, by depriving us of both the audio and the video feeds, you’ve made it impossible for us to do that.”
The captain looked as though steam would be coming out of his ears any moment. Off screen meanwhile, DeWitt was convulsing with silent laughter, and the shoulders of every employee in the room were shaking as well.
“You already know that it’s a false alarm, Novak,” grated the captain. “What do you want?”
Novak squared his shoulders. “With respect, Captain, until your people let me see what they’re seeing inside the house right now, I’m afraid I know nothing of the kind.”
The officer exhaled gustily. “Fine. Keep this channel open. I’ll have them show you their screens. And then will you turn off the goddamned alarm?”
“Of course. There’s just one more thing.”
Wearing a martyred expression, the other man said, “And what is that?”
“Just one of those legal details that can trip us up so easily,” Novak replied with a shrug. “In the absence of an emergency, I’ll need the general’s permission before my technicians can enter his home to perform the safety inspection and reboot that are required by the terms of his warranty with us.”
“And if you don’t get it?”
Another shrug. “Then his warranty is invalidated, and we are under no further obligation to provide service free of charge. I don’t think he would appreciate that,” he added unnecessarily.
“Can he authorize this through a third party?”
Novak arranged his features into a portrait of regret. “I’m afraid not. It’s a legal matter and requires the transmission of a living thumbprint.”
“All right,” snarled the captain. “You’ll have it within the hour.”
As instructed, Novak kept the channel open. But he muted the sound so that no one at the other end would hear the laughter that erupted when he stood up and spread his arms in a silent ta-dah!
It was like old times, except that no laws had been broken. And it felt good. Novak had missed this.
“Where are Croft and Rufus?” he asked DeWitt.
“Already on site, briefed and waiting for our signal. I told them to stretch things out, take long lunch breaks, stuff like that, in case there was a hitch. And may I say, boss, it was an education watching you work.”
“Thank you. And now I would like the privilege of watching you work.”
“Yes, sir,” said the big man, displaying a toothy grin as he spun on his heel and strode out of the room.
—— «» ——
Early the next morning, a van emblazoned with the logo of SecuriTech Security Solutions made the turn onto Willowbranch Way and parked at the curb in front of number 79. There was supposed to be no one home. The general lived alone. According to the surveillance reports, he arrived at his office every morning at six o’clock sharp, without fail. And yet, in the driveway sat an unmarked vehicle with darkened windows, so obviously from a Security transportation pool that it might as well have borne an insignia.
“This could be trouble,” Croft murmured.
Sitting in the passenger seat beside him and clad in a service uniform identical to his own, Rufus frowned in confusion. “He’s still at home?”
“Dunno. If he is, he’s picked a bad day to deviate from his schedule. And if he’s not, we may have picked a bad day to deviate from ours. I guess we’ll find out which one it is pretty soon. I’ve got the work order,” he added, patting his shirt pocket. “You remember all the signals we practiced?”
Rufus swallowed audibly. “Yes, sir.”
Croft spotted a tic in the kid’s left eyelid and sighed inwardly. “Listen,” he said, “there’s no need for you to be nervous, not today. Today you’ve got one job to do, and that’s to be an apprentice technician. I’m the one working the con. You’re the one following the work order. You know how to do this. I watched you all day yesterday, and you’ve got the aptitude to be a very good technician. There’s nothing in your toolkit that shouldn’t be there, nothing to arouse suspicion. So just relax and do what you did yesterday in those other houses, and don’t react to anything I do or say. If you find something different or puzzling about any of the securecams or mics, call me over to have a look. Understood?”
“What if someone asks me a question?”
“If it’s strictly about the work that you’re doing, answer it if you can. If it involves the work that I’m doing, or if you’re not sure what’s safe to tell them, then refer the question to me. Remember, you’re an apprentice. You’re not expected to have all the answers.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, then! Grab your kit and let’s go inside.”
They were halfway up the driveway when the front door swung inward. A tall man wearing a dark blue business suit and a forbidding facial expression emerged from the house. He stood on the porch, watching them approach.
Selecting his strategy, Croft was the first to challenge. “Are you the homeowner?” he called.
“I’m his son, Hugh Bascomb. And who are—?”
“Good! I was hoping someone would be home today,” Croft declared briskly. If Bascomb wanted to call them something, he could use the names embroidered on the front of their uniforms. Meanwhile, it was important that Croft take control of the conversation.
“Oh? Why?”
“Because there’s nothing routine about this routine inspection, not with a gang of cops camped out next door. They could have mucked things up any number of ways. And I may need a witness besides my apprentice here to testify that I had nothing to do with it. How’s that for a reason?” he bristled.
Bascomb took a step backward and raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “It’s a good one,” he conceded. “But before we go inside, I’ll need to see your copy of the work order.”
Wordlessly, Croft pulled up the document on his compupad and handed him the device.
“Your boss gave Captain Worth a hard time yesterday,” Bascomb remarked, his gaze fixed on the screen.
“He gives everyone a hard time. Novak’s a stickler for the rules and doesn’t much care whose feathers he ruffles. Especially when they’ve ruffled his first.”
“A stickler? Funny. That’s not what I’ve heard,” he muttered under his breath, then continued in a normal voice, “I understand his position. Really, I do. And you can tell him that the general’s not too happy about this ‘protective detail’ arrangement either.” Bascomb handed the compupad back. “Shall we enter the premises?”
Casting a glance at his apprentice, Croft saw a new level of respect in the youngster’s eyes. And not a trace of apprehension.
“Lead the way, Mr. Bascomb.”
—— «» ——
“What sort of intel are we gleaning from our moles?” Novak asked.
DeWitt closed the office door and came to stand in front of his desk. “At first, not much, but things are getting interesting.” Gestured to sit down, he settled onto a guest chair and continued, “Beecher’s cell reports that the new Chief Adjudicator is pleasant and accessible and genuinely cares about the people in the District. In fact, it sounds as though he may be the only honest politician in Americas. Perhaps even the world.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“He has enemies, mainly in his own family. They don’t contact him at the office, only at his home, on a private channel. Eastman has been monitoring the feed from our audio surveillance there and has already recorded a couple of openly threatening conversations.” The big man narrowed his gaze. “You already knew about that, though, from talking to him.”
“I knew what he told me. Now that it’s been confirmed, I know it’s the truth.”
“Uh-huh. So, are you thinking of changing careers once the EIS closes up shop, boss? Getting involved in politics, maybe?”
Novak pretended to consider the idea. “I wouldn’t want to be a public figure, but it would be a shame to waste all the skills and resources we’ve managed to gather over the years. Perhaps we could work behind the scenes, helping to make things happen. Or preventing things from happening. What do you think, Zane? Is that something our crew might be interested in besides keeping SecuriTech going?”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but it’s something I would be interested in. Certainly worth keeping in mind for later, after the dust settles.”
“If it settles. What about the other two brothers?”
“There’s plenty of blackmail fodder there, but to be honest, I can’t see us turning either one of them, boss. Darren’s ex-husband, Saul Stuebing, is an event promoter, with controlling interest in several live sports and entertainment venues. Darren’s joining the Space Installation Authority was apparently Stuebing’s idea, to make it easier for him to expand his business off-world. And the general most likely saw an advantage in it for himself and twisted an arm or two to make it happen. After the war, Stuebing invested heavily in Vegas Hub. He must have figured that it would be up and running fairly quickly. But it’s still under reconstruction, and the delays have already cost him a fortune.”
“Delays that were the direct result of Daisy Hub getting priority treatment from the High Council?”
“Yep.”
Novak grimaced. “So, now there are two powerful people with grudges against the station: Stuebing and George Bascomb.”
“And Darren’s been taking a lot of pressure from both of them. In fact, getting the Hub reclassified was his attempt at appeasement.”
“Did it work?”
“Not according to the audio from the mics we planted.”
“And you’re certain we can’t turn him?”
“Boss, he makes regular trips to Ginza Hub, where he likes drugging and raping little boys. This man is blackmail bait for so damn many people that we’d never be able to trust him. In my opinion, it would be foolish to bring him anywhere near the organization.”
“Does Stuebing know about his ex’s off-world activities?”
“He does. In fact, I checked out Saul Stuebing, thinking he might be useful.”
“And?”
DeWitt made a face. “That son of a bitch has some unsavory habits of his own, involving the grooming of young athletes and entertainers. And don’t even start me on how he and Darren met. Like I said, there’s lots of blackmail fodder.”
“Just not for us,” Novak concluded. “All right, then. What about Hugh Bascomb?”
“Hugh’s the oldest son. He used his inheritance from his grandfather to start up a deal brokerage firm. Basically, he plays with companies. Buying, selling, building, dismantling … and everything he does is for profit.”
“Including destroying Forrand Pharmaceuticals?”
“We’re still looking into that. It’s not like him to waste the assets of a perfectly good corporate enterprise. One of the moles reported overhearing the end of a commcall that suggests to me Hugh might have plans to either parcel it out to other pharma labs or build it back up under a different name.”
“Thus pleasing his father and turning a profit at the same time?”
DeWitt shrugged. “It is what he does. When he’s not threatening to have his youngest brother murdered, that is.”
Novak perked up. “Sounds like you saved the best for last.”
The big man grinned. “We have the audio from Hugh’s end of the conversation as well. It was very specific. There’s apparently a piece of legislation relating to corporate taxation on the table at District Council, and Hugh wants it killed. If it passes in any form, he’s promised that Richard will end up just like Juno Vargas did. His words.”
Novak leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. “Now, that I can work with.”
“It gets better. Our team has returned from the mission to Willowbranch Way. You should have a look at the report Croft uploaded after he and Rufus left the general’s residence.”
“They pulled off the memory dump?”
“Yes, while having a very interesting conversation with Hugh Bascomb. I won’t spoil it for you, but I think you’ll love where it ends up.”
With that, DeWitt got to his feet and left the room.
Curious now, Novak pulled up the relevant file on his screen. The more he read, the higher his eyebrows rose. And the more he thought about it, the broader his smile became.
Hugh Bascomb had evidently gone digging for dirt on both Dennis Forrand and Juno Vargas and now thought he had something on their “fixer”, Barry Novak. That was why he’d met Croft at the house — to send a message to SecuriTech’s owner.
All the veiled references to rumor and hearsay that Bascomb had slipped into his remarks to Croft were almost certainly the preamble to a blackmail or extortion demand. Novak had a pretty good idea what it might be: Rick Bascomb was an obstacle to his brother’s plans and therefore needed to be removed. Who better to take him out than Forrand’s private hit man?
After all, companies weren’t the only thing that could be parceled out or repurposed.
A soft bell tone announced the arrival of a message in one of Novak’s EIS inboxes. The transmission was from Angeli, meaning it concerned something important. Novak pulled it up onto his screen, saw the three word confirmation — “Dear Uncle Henry” — and activated his decrypter. As he read the decoded text, a sick feeling invaded the back of his throat. He cleared it with a colorful expletive. Then he got busy on his keyboard.
The three documents from the Directorate’s backup server were disinformation.
Townsend needed to be warned not to trust their source.