He was now sweating from withdrawal sickness. Normally by this time he’d be smoking opium and his body’s desire for the drug overpowered all other sensations, including the emotion any normal person would be feeling in these circumstances – fear. His trousers were soaked where he’d wet himself. His wrist was hurting as the metal dug into his skin. He could no longer move his fingers. The photographs of Jesse Austin and the Russian girl had been taken and Osip’s initial impression of Agent Yates had proved to be correct: the man was extremely dangerous.In his dazed state he became aware of someone outside the office. Slowly the door opened. He blinked at the light. Standing over him was the Soviet operative who’d given him the camera. As Osip’s eyes adjusted to the light he saw that the man was holding a gun.— Trusting the FBI was a poor decision, an unexpected misjudgement considering how shrewd you have been in the past.Osip did not have the energy to resist – he did not even have the energy to fight for his life.— I’ve ben running from you for thirty years.— No more running, Osip.The man picked up a bottle of hydroquinone, one of the chemicals used to develop film, highly flammable, and poured it over Osip’s clothes and face, splashing it down his throat and into his eyes.
