The Road to Afghanistan - George Washington University

the woman away and approached the prisoner, reaching for his firearm. The prisoner understoodhis captor’s intention, approached the ditch, and got on his knees with his hands on the back of hishead. The officer shot through the head. The body shook and collapsed face down into the ditch,still wet from yesterday’s rain. The woman, hysterically sobbing and wailing, threw herself to thecorpse, pulling it back onto the road while the lieutenant and his men quickly disappeared intoone of the side streets.When Valery entered Osadchiy’s office, he noticed that his chief was in a hurry. ViliorGavrilovich was stuffing papers into a folder with extreme irritation. He looked bad. His face wasswollen, with bags under his bloodshot eyes. A cup of unfinished tea sat on his desk. Lumps ofsugar and an open pack of cookies lay on a stack of cables from the Center. A roll-away bed with aflattened pillow and wrinkled blanket occupied a place near the bookshelf filled with referencematerials.“Anything urgent?” asked the resident. The question could be interpreted as “Leave mealone. I have more important things to deal with.”Starostin could report a few things to his chief, but understood that the information wouldbe better communicated in a calmer setting, and in writing. He responded, “No, nothing urgent.”“I am running to a meeting at the ambassador’s. Don’t leave the embassy and tell the groupto stay put. We’ll have a meeting once I return,” said Osadchiy.Then Valery went to see the deputy resident, Orlov-Morozov, who, elegant and calm, sat atthe desk holding a silver handmade Parker fountain pen. He was reading a cable. As was hiscustom, a smoking pipe hung from his mouth, exuding a sweet aroma.Vladimir Khotyaev, analyst at the Residency, sat at a smaller desk to the right, staring at thetext that Alexander Victorovich was studying. Disheveled Khotyaev was smoking a cigarette. The91