“A team of six analysts will be here in less than ten minutes,” Lieutenant Winters informs Rees just as he is opening the first file. “They were already on-site, on secondment from GCHQ to analyse the data from Operation Denial. Two have a medical background and the others have experience in chemical and biological weapon data. It’s the best I could do within the time frame, Sir.”
“Very good, Lieutenant; that is better than I was expecting. And the equipment?”
“The computers will be here momentarily, Sir, including two floppy disk readers with USB connectivity. Our best tech guys will set them up and install the software to read the floppy disks. In fact, here they are now, Sir.” Winters goes over to the door and waves them in, with the hardware on two-wheeler sack trucks.
“Set the computer up there as quickly as you can,” Rees says, pointing. The three men in military uniforms say, ‘yes, Sir,’ and urgently get to it.
“Is there anything else you need, Sir?” Winters asks.
“Yes, an overhead projector; I have just noticed a file of films.”
“We really are going ‘old school,’ Sir.”
“The contents of that safe were in there for many years, Lieutenant, and the only thing that could play into our hands is that they have been well protected.”
“I’ll get on it, Sir,” Winters says, already scrolling through his phone.
Finally, Major Rees’s head goes down and he starts to analyse the data in the first file he picked up. This is his forte, crunching data in his head. Biological, chemical or physical makes little difference to him; he is a genius when it comes to understanding scientific data. The text, equations and chemical compound structures are his domain and that is why he has the rank of Major. It isn’t because of his people skills or fighting prowess.
Rees is virtually finished analysing the first file from page to page when the team of analysts from GCHQ arrives on the scene. The file has no data relevant to the virus and he picks up a red marker pen that arrived with the equipment to mark the front of the folder. He will have the file double and triple-checked even though he is confident it has no bearing. Each pair of eyes might see something from a different angle and come to a different conclusion. Rees does not think he is infallible, far from it, as the last few days have proven.
In rapid time, the computers are up and running, their fans working to keep them cool. And when the Tech guys, who actually consist of two women and one man, have the software installed and disk readers connected, their leader, Lieutenant Fiona Portman, stands to attention to inform the Major.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Let’s see if these disks are still readable?” Rees says handing her the plastic box containing the old technology.
“Yes, Sir,” she replies eagerly, taking the box as if it is a Christmas present.
In quick time, everyone is busy with their assigned tasks; three of the analysts sit around the table, sifting through the files, checking, double-checking before triple-checking the data. Flagging any data that could be relevant and passing it on, its final destination Major Rees.
Only one of the floppy disks is corrupted and unreadable and that disk is currently being taken apart, cleaned and reassembled to try and get at least some data off it. The data on the rest of the floppy disks is considerable and is going to take time to analyse, so there is no time to waste. Two analysts sit in front of the computers sorting the data, sending documents to the hastily set-up printer that’s constantly churning out paper.
Colonel Reed suddenly strides through the door, into the conference room.
All the military personnel in the room instantly stop what they are doing and stand to attention. The analysts from GCHQ give him a cursory look to see what the fuss is about and then get back to work.
“At ease men, carry on,” the Colonel orders, not wanting the work on his prize to be delayed. “Report, Major,” Reed says, striding over to Rees who stands with an open file in his hand.
“We have found no data connection to the virus as of yet, Sir. There is a lot of data to analyse, however. The computer disks are providing masses of data, Sir, all of which need to be sorted and analysed. With the amount of data there is, Sir, it could take hours, if not days to get through.”
“We don’t have hours, and days, Major, as you well know. I don’t want to hear excuses. I want to see results!”
“I understand that, Sir, we are getting through the data as quickly as possible, Sir, with the resources we have, Sir.”
“If you need more resources, Lieutenant Winters will provide you with them. I expect your report within the hour, Major.”
“Yes, Sir,” Major Rees says as the Colonel turns and leaves.
Rees turns away from the exiting Colonel and looks at the mound of files on the conference table. New files are being added to the table constantly as the printer works overtime. New data is collated, stapled together and brought over ready for analysis. The task is daunting and as a sinking feeling starts to develop in Rees’s stomach, he looks over to Lieutenant Winters, in the hope that he can offer some solutions.
Josh looks over to his little sister. Emily has hardly eaten any of her food. Her right elbow is perched on top of the table and her head is resting on its hand. Her left hand holds her fork which pushes food around her plate aimlessly. She stars down blankly at the food changing positions. She is in another world, and Josh knows what she will be thinking about; the look of sadness on her face tells him that if nothing else.
Josh had expected Emily to be much worse and more upset than she
