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TERRE HAUTE, Ind. (AP) Minutes before he took his final breath
Monday, Timothy McVeigh raised his head, strained his neck slightly
and tried to acknowledge everyone who would watch him die.
It was a quick, methodical and intense look, as though he had to
count each person, had to make sure they looked into his eyes. They
were the same eyes that have been burned into the American
consciousness, the eyes of a man who killed 168 people with one act
of rage.
After panning the room, pausing to squint toward the tinted
window shielding the 10 survivors and victims' representatives,
McVeigh rested his head and stared straight up, seeming to
concentrate on the closed-circuit video camera beaming the
execution to about 230 witnesses gathered 620 miles away in
Oklahoma City.
McVeigh was strapped to a gurney, covered to his neck by a light
gray sheet. He was dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants, an IV
carrying the deadly drugs already inserted into his right leg.
Warden Harley Lappin, standing with his arms crossed, almost at
attention, asked McVeigh if he had any final words. There was a
one-minute pause. McVeigh's head remained fixed, his eyes still
staring into the camera, rarely blinking.
Breaking the silence, the warden began reciting the charges
using a weapon of mass destruction, conspiracy and eight counts of
murder, stemming from the deaths of eight law enforcement agents in
the federal building. Again, no change in McVeigh's expression,
just a focused stare.
"Marshal, we are ready, may we proceed?" the warden asked U.S.
Marshal Frank Anderson, the only other person in the death chamber.
Anderson picked up a bright red phone off a metal tray attached
to the wall. Someone on the other end spoke, Anderson hung up the
phone and said simply, "Warden, we may proceed with the
execution."
Then, again, silence.
McVeigh swallowed hard. His eyes moved slightly from side to
side. His chest moved up and down and his lips twice puffed air
out, as if he was trying to maintain consciousness.
A guard in the witness room announced the first drug had been
administered. Ten minutes had passed; it was 8:10 a.m. EDT.
McVeigh's eyes remained open, but they began to glass over,
started rolling up just slightly. His pale skin began to turn
slightly yellow.
At 8:11 a.m., the guard said the second drug had been
administered. The warden looked straight ahead, glancing down at
McVeigh just occasionally.
The convicted bomber's lips began to turn the slightest tinge of
blue. He was still.
It was 8:14 a.m.
It was over.
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