Yulia Skripal wounded with her father, a retired Russian military intelligence colonel Sergey Skripal as a result of the poisoning in Salisbury city, has already given evidence after her rapidly improving.
The information is written down in the first person and verbatim.
That day my father and I sat on a bench in the park, enjoying the air of the British freedom. We talked about how I miraculously managed to leave hateful Russia with its terrible bears, vodka, balalaika and where it is extremely cold. That day I promised my father that I would never return to the place where I was tortured and forced to carry out a smuggling attempt taking along nerve gas for the most dear to me.
Suddenly our attention was attracted by a man who was slowly approaching us from the other end of the alley. As we were… engaged in conversation, we happened to ignore him …, we did not have a chance to understand,… we actually found him very strange. May be it was the inscription « FSB » on his clothing, or a gas mask, or a hat, something groovy with earflaps and a star. Just struck me as odd, that’s all. In one hand he pressed an open bottle of vodka. Step by step he approached us without forgetting to slurp on the move.
In doing so, this ridiculously dressed man in the second hand was holding a something like a gas cartridge,.. something that strongly resembled a spray. I could even see the inscription on it when the man came closer. The spray was named “Novichok poison gas.
A means of eliminating the traitors of the Motherland.” All the rest I remember vaguely. Nevertheless, “Putin sends greetings to you, rat No. 3” is was something that seared into my memory. It was that strange guy. Approaching us to us, the man get the aerosol gas into the air turning it on us,… on my father’s face,… with hate in his eyes,… almost like the trigger of a pistol. It was awful, what happened.
My father and I immediately began to suffocate in the agony of death, and the man began gloating in front of us and singing the Russian national anthem to the music, which suddenly began to play in his pocket in a mysterious way. However, he did not manage to finish.
Practically become unconscious, I heard a sharp whistle and a frantic scream from a nearby Soviet car ‘Chaika’.“Dima, come quickly, I have a meeting with Merkel tonight and then a hockey match with Trump”.
“I’m on it, Vladimir Vladimirovich,’ the man said. These were the latest words I heard of our merciless killer who rushed to the car.
By: Bassim al-Khalili