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December 1941, New York City. In the FBI field office in the Rockefeller Center, Dushko Popov examines his fingernails. He's here to debrief the FBI about his trip to see the Abwehr in Rio de Janeiro. But he's still fuming about how they failed to act on his warnings about a possible attack on Pearl Harbor. FBI field office chief Sam Foxworth presses him again for more details about what happened in Rio.
Let's go over this again. The Abwehr are sending you radio equipment via a steamboat from Rio. That steamboat is going to arrive next month in Toronto and you're going there to collect the equipment. But you don't know anything about its captain. Not the vaguest description of what he looks like. Popov shrugs. The British want him to withhold that information.
MI6 plans to arrest the steamboat captain and turn him into a British agent, and it doesn't want the FBI interfering with that plan. Perhaps I can provide that detail when he arrives. Now, I have a question for you. What happened with Pearl Harbor? Foxworth frowns. It's been a week since Japan's surprise attack on Pearl Harbor forced America into World War II. We got attacked. That's what happened. Popov scowls.
Four months ago, I gave you intelligence that the Japanese were going to attack. Why wasn't that information acted upon? I don't know how you do things back in Yugoslavia, but you don't come to America and tell the FBI how to do its job. I'm not telling you how to do your job, but you're making it impossible for me to do mine. I need to send information back to the Germans to maintain my cover, and you won't give me any.
You're destroying my whole network while also ignoring the intelligence I'm bringing you. Foxworth crosses his arms. Listen, Popov. I'm telling you to back off. Your job is to bring us information, not to make decisions or to ask questions. You better learn to walk the line. Mr. Hoover doesn't like you. Keep pushing and things might start to get dangerous for you.
Popov sits and stews. The FBI has reduced him to an impotent bystander in a war that's far from over. But he can't just quit. His family and his friend, Johnny Yebson, live under Nazi rule. To blow his cover now would put all of them in danger. He must fight on, even if it's no longer just the Germans that stand in his way, but the very people who are meant to be his allies.
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From Wondery, I'm Indra Varma and this is The Spy Who. On the last episode, Dushko Popov was sent to America to recruit spies for the Abwehr and the British intelligence loaned him out to the FBI. But his new American spymasters disregarded his warnings of a Japanese plot to attack Pearl Harbor. And now the trust between Popov and the FBI has hit rock bottom.
What you're about to hear are dramatized reconstructions of events based on the information that's available. But remember, in the shadow realm of the spy, the full story is rarely clear. This is The Spy Who Inspired 007, Episode 3, Back in the Game. January 1942, the Rockefeller Center, New York City. Bang!
In the FBI field office on the 44th floor, Popov settles into his chair. On the other side of the desk sits his FBI handler, Charlie Landman. Popov's still keen to repair relations with the Bureau and return to his role as a double agent, feeding misinformation to the Germans. And Landman called him here with what sounds like promising news. Popov smiles at Landman.
So it's true. You are building the Abvers radio transmitter. Popov's smile isn't returned. Instead, Landman looks subdued, almost uncomfortable. Yeah, it's true. We've assembled it using the blueprints you got in Rio. It's in a safe house in Wading River. That's fantastic! Popov cuts in, eager to get back in the game. When do we start?
Landman raises his hand to slow Popov down. "Dushko, I'm sorry, but this is going to be a bureau operation. Orders are that you're not to be involved in the transmissions or informed of their content." "Wait! You're going to use my name to transmit information to the Abwehr, but you're not even going to tell me what that information is?" Landman looks away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, this comes from the highest level.
J. Edgar Hoover himself. "Charlie, if I go back to Europe and my Abwehr commander asks me about those transmissions, and I don't even know what's in them, they'll know I've turned. You're putting a bullet in the back of my neck. I don't know what to say. Hoover's got it in for you. There's nothing to be done." Popov's head sinks into his hands. He's spent two intense, dangerous years living a triple identity in the midst of war,
Now, everything's crashing down around him. One month later, the Gold Coast, New York State. In a plush bar, Popov nurses a cocktail. Following the FBI's decision to shut him out, he's trying to party away his frustration in this fashionable haunt of movie stars and celebrities. He stares at the ice, bobbing around in his drink, and then hears a familiar voice. Across the room, he sees the French actress, Simone Simon.
She and Popov had a brief but intense relationship in Paris before the war. He strides over. "Simon!" Simon spins around. Her hair's cut fashionably short and her bright eyes flash in excitement on seeing him. "Dushko! What are you doing here?" "I could ask you the same question." "I'm filming. It's a horror movie. I play a wicked temptress sent by the devil." "I'm sure you do. It's so good to see you again.
Do you remember that night at Chez Josephine in Paris, dancing on the tables? How could I forget? It seems like a different world, doesn't it? War changes everything. Can I tempt you to dance now, though? You can tempt me to anything. Popov takes her hand and leads her towards the dance floor, both feeling the flame of romance beginning to burn once more between them.
It's five months later, and at the ultra-exclusive Stork Club in Manhattan, Popov and his film star girlfriend are out on the town again. Since his romance with Simon reignited, Popov stepped out of the shadowy world of espionage and into the spotlight. His world is now one of film star glamour, with lavish skiing holidays, trips to Hollywood, and regular tables at the most fashionable celebrity hangouts.
But tonight, Popov's mood is far from celebratory. He holds a copy of that day's newspaper, scowling into his drink. Simon looks on, slightly irritated at being upstaged by a newspaper. Darling, I just don't see why it's such a big deal. Popov brandishes the paper at Simon, pointing at the Daily Showbiz gossip column. Walter Winchell mentioned me by name.
He is the most popular gossip writer in America. The people I work for are going to see this. Sweetheart, I'm an actress. If I'm seen with someone, it makes the gossip pages. It's no big deal. It is a big deal. In the column, the writer jokes about Popov and double talk. Popov knows that anyone involved in espionage will be able to read between the lines. The newspaper's outing him as a spy.
And Popov can only think of one man who would feed this information to the gossip columnist. FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover. But it's already too late. That article is now running in dozens of newspapers across the United States. And the consequences for his loved ones back in Europe could be dire. Popov throws down the newspaper in despair. He picks up his drink and drains it.
Simon reaches out and clasps his hand to try and console him, but Popov just gazes into the distance. His thoughts are thousands of miles away. One month later, New York. Popov walks through Central Park. By his side is Ian Wilson. He's an MI5 officer who's been sent to New York to extricate Popov from the FBI. Wilson offers Popov his sympathies. I know this isn't easy after all you've done, old boy.
But the FBI have really done a number on you. Your cover is almost certainly compromised. It's Hoover. He disapproves of how I live. So much so, he'd rather hurt me than the Germans. Well, after that gossip column and this business with the radio transmitter, the real question is, what now? Popov stops to light a cigarette, deep in thought. I don't know.
Popov sighs and starts walking again. He can picture that future before him. A life of peace, safety and Hollywood glamour. But then he sees the Gestapo officer who interrogated and beat him all those years ago.
He imagines the horror of his cousin crucified on a barn door and thinks of his friend Johnny Jebson at the mercy of German intelligence. He lifts his head. No, I'm not walking away. This war isn't over. I'm going back. Dushko, that's brave. But I have to warn you, I put your chances of survival at about 80 to 20 against.
They'll interrogate you, and if you don't answer every question right, you'll wish all they'd do was shoot you. My mind is set. Don't try and scare me. Just give me what I need to win. Wilson looks impressed at Popov's courage. Okay. Well, we'll have to cook up a story to explain why you haven't given the Abwehr any decent intelligence for the last year. MI5 will gather what scraps of intel we can here in the US, but I warn you, they will just be scraps.
As Wilson speaks, Popov nods. He can already feel a plan coming together in his mind. The odds of success are slim, and the price of failure is deadly. It will take every ounce of cunning and spycraft he has, but he's getting back into the game.
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It's October 1942, and Popov's back in Lisbon for the first time in over a year. Popov once again sits outside a Lisbon café, waiting to be picked up by the Abwehr. But this time, Popov knows that he's under suspicion. He has only a few scraps of intelligence from MI5 to offer the Abwehr, and if he falters for even a moment in this interrogation, he's a dead man. A car pulls up.
In the passenger seat he sees Elizabeth, the winking blonde who he met when he first came to Lisbon. She beckons him and Popov slides into the back. Once again, both Elizabeth and the driver maintain absolute silence. Gradually, Popov begins to notice that they are not driving the usual route towards the villa in Esteril, but along an entirely new road. Popov has no idea where he is being taken. He feels the panic rising.
Are we not going to the villa? No, there's a new location. This lack of detail does nothing to calm Popov's surging anxiety. He struggles to maintain his composure as the car weaves through the Lisbon traffic, wondering if he's being driven to his own execution. The car pulls up next to a nondescript apartment block. Elizabeth motions for Popov to follow. She leads him into one of the flats.
Inside, his Abwehr case officer, Ludovico von Karsthoff, is sitting with a man Popov's never met before. Their faces are stony, unreadable. Von Karsthoff gestures to a chair. Popov, sit down. Von Karsthoff looks Popov up and down. So, what is this crucial intelligence that you couldn't transmit by radio?
Popov picks up his bag, opens a secret compartment and withdraws papers containing the misinformation prepared for him by MI5. You'll see these are photographs of documents. They're mainly concerning the movement of American troops in Britain. The 1st Armoured Division, the 8th Air Force. The unknown Abwehr officer gives the papers a cursory glance and raises his eyebrows. This is very thin.
Why couldn't you just send this by radio? It wasn't the intelligence that was the problem. It was the radio operator.
I was afraid he might have been turned by the Americans. And who was this radio operator? Popov recites the cover story he has carefully worked out with MI5. He was an Indian fellow. He'd been involved in the independence movement in Delhi, but came to New York to study engineering. I was able to recruit him because he despises the British. So what happened? The other Abwehr officer cuts in aggressively. Why did you suddenly decide he was a risk? Look, I don't know how much work you've done in the field...
But it's different than sitting behind a desk in Lisbon. You have to read people. I just sensed something was wrong. That the Americans had got to him. Okay?
But how did you even get this information? There was a naval attaché. He drank too much and liked women, so I found him a chorus girl. And while they were busy in the bedroom, I was able to snap these pictures on the camera you gave me. It was seedy, but I did what I had to do. Von Karsthoff is about to speak again, but before he can, the other Abwehr officer slams his fist on the table. Enough of this dancing around!
There are people in Berlin who think you haven't been gathering information for us at all, that you've just been swanning around America with film stars, and there are some who believe that it's you who is working for the Americans. Popov freezes. There it is, the accusation that could lead to his death. Everything rests on how he reacts in this moment. He scans the faces of the two men opposite and in one split second makes a decision.
He discards all his well-rehearsed plans with MI5 and instead of pleading and playing safe, he risks everything. I've been turned? How dare you? Popov brings his own fist, smashing down on the table. Von Karsthoff, I told you not to send me to America, that I had better contacts in Britain, but you sent me anyway, with no network, no protection from the FBI and no money.
Popov sees both officers turn pale.
He realises that he's hit on the one thing that truly terrifies them. If he causes a scandal by writing to Berlin, both of them could be punished by being sent to the brutal Eastern Front, where millions of Germans and Soviets have already died. Von Kasthoff raises his own hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Dushko, come, come. No offence was meant. We are all working under pressure.
Everyone recognises the sacrifices you have made. Let us smooth things over with Berlin. I'm sure you will be able to work to your full potential when you're back in London and reconnected with your network. These are the words Popov has been waiting to hear. He immediately feels a surge of relief. Not only will he be safer in Britain, out of reach of the Abwehr, but it means he's back in the spy game.
It's July 1943, and Popov sits with Johnny Jebsen in a deserted restaurant in the fishing village of Cascais, Portugal. It's the first time they've met since Popov's return from America. Popov's regular trips to London have made it hard for the two friends to catch up. But the reunion is tense. Jebsen has just arrived from Berlin and carries an urgent warning. The situation in Germany is awful. Since Stalingrad, it's gone insane.
The only person who actually believes the war can still be won is Hitler, but he'll burn the whole country to the ground rather than give up. Is there any hope of an uprising against him? That's what the Nazis are afraid of. They're coming down hard. Anyone who questions them gets sent to a concentration camp.
Jebsen lights a cigarette before continuing. "And Dusko, the talk in Berlin is that you are hiding in Britain and not delivering any useful intelligence." "Easy for them to say." "This doesn't just concern you, you know. I need you to do more. I need information to send up the chain of command. I don't care where you get it or who you have to speak to." The two friends look at each other. Popov thinks there's a hidden message in Jebsen's words,
that maybe Jebsen knows he is in contact with British intelligence and that he doesn't care. But Popov knows it's too risky to come clean. They must both maintain the pretense that they are loyal German agents. Popov tries to get clear on what his friend is really saying. "Johnny, what's going on?" Jebsen leans closer.
There were some high-ranking Gestapo officers. They asked me to help them move some currency to Switzerland. It was their insurance for after the war. They're not people you can say no to. Jebsen glances around and then continues. But they were involved in counterfeit money. And now I'm caught between the Gestapo and the Abwehr. That's why I need any information you can get. I need the Abwehr to consider me a valuable enough source that they will protect me.
Popov looks at his friend and then speaks very carefully. Well, there are certain people I could make contact with in Britain to increase the flow of information. And Johnny, if you wanted to, there are ways that you can help. The two men eye one another cagily until Jebson replies. Contact anyone you need to. I don't care where the information comes from.
Popov and Jebsen share one last meaningful look before Jebsen breaks the tension. Oh, one more thing. You should be careful in London in the coming months. Why? What's happening? We have a new weapon. A bomb that doesn't need a pilot. Hitler hopes this will scare the British into submission. That sounds like Nazi propaganda. No, it's real. Very real. Stay safe, Dusko.
Popov nods. He's more convinced than ever that Jebsen's giving him a coded signal to contact British intelligence. He's also sure that Jebsen's warning about Germany's new weapon is also meant to be passed on too.
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LinkedIn, the place to be, to be. Summer 1943. Ten months since Popov regained the trust of the Abwehr. In the sitting room of his house in London, Dushko Popov edges forward in his armchair. He's in a hurry to relate the latest intelligence he's gleaned about the Nazis to his MI5 case officer, Tar Robertson. The Germans have a new weapon, some kind of bomb that doesn't need a pilot.
Robertson nods solemnly. Yes, that tallies with what we've been hearing elsewhere. Let's go over the details later. We have something more important to discuss. What's more important than a secret new weapon they're going to be firing directly at us? Robertson gives Popov a look before replying. I'll tell you what's more important. The invasion of Europe. Robertson gets onto the sitting room floor and unfolds the large map of Western Europe he's brought with him. Popov kneels next to him.
Robertson begins pointing out positions on the map. It's been decided that a joint Allied force will attack the Germans here in Normandy. Your job is to make the Germans believe that we will be attacking them here at Padukele so that they concentrate their defensive positions there. It takes Popov a moment to absorb what he's just been told. You hope to fool the entire German military? Wow. But the Abwehr will need more than my word if they're to buy into this. Yes, we're aware of that.
The invasion won't happen until next year, but you and other agents will begin feeding the Germans misleading information now. In isolation, the faked intelligence will be partial and unconvincing, but taken together, it will form a convincing picture. Popov stares at the map as Robertson continues. This will be the most complex amphibious invasion ever attempted. Our soldiers will be jumping into freezing water facing a wall of machine gun fire.
You can help make sure they have the best chance of making it to the shore by convincing the Germans that the invasion will start somewhere else. This operation could determine the course of the war. It will be the most important thing either of us ever do. Popov looks up at the map and thinks of Johnny Jebsen trapped in Germany, under suspicion from the Gestapo. He turns to Robertson. If I'm going to pull this off, there's someone I need to bring in as an agent. Who? My friend, Johnny Jebsen.
He's been feeding me information from the Abwehr. I think he's ripe to be turned into an agent. He's Abwehr. Can you really trust him? I would trust Johnny with my life. He's the one who gave me the intelligence about this new German weapon. But I want him given full protection, both during the war and after. Dusko, you're one of our very best agents. If you think he is trustworthy and that it's necessary, then we will try and make it happen.
As Popov stares at the map of Europe, he feels exhilaration. This is what he returned from America for: the chance to really influence the course of the most crucial battle of the war. A few weeks later, Spain, Johnny Jebson scurries through the streets of Madrid in a state of extreme panic.
He's been ordered to return to Berlin to make a report, but his mind is in terror that he's actually being summoned so he can be eliminated by his Gestapo enemies. He turns the corner and rushes into the British embassy, grabbing one of the attaches. "My name is Johnny Jebson. MI6 knows who I am. I need immediate evacuation to Britain.
The attaché overcomes his initial shock at Jebsen's wild entrance, and the mention of MI6 becomes deadly serious, dropping his voice quiet. Sir, I understand, but I cannot authorise anything here. I will contact the appropriate authorities in London. Tell them to move fast. They'll know who I am. Jebsen turns on his heel and exits the building, leaving the bewildered attaché to pick up the phone to London. That evening, Surrey, England.
In the oak-panelled library of his country house, MI6 Chief C listens as MI5 officer Tar Robertson briefs him on what's been happening in Madrid. Apparently, Jebson burst into the embassy, demanded immediate evacuation and claimed we'll know who he is. C raises his eyebrows in alarm. The bloody fool.
And the blasted thing is, we know from our Ultra intercepts that he's just being recalled to Berlin for a routine report. All this panic is for nothing. Well, you can't tell him that. Or you'll be revealing that Ultra exists. No individual's life is worth the risk of it becoming known that we can read all of Germany's encrypted messages. Agreed. But we can't have Jebsen running around Madrid making scenes like this. CE taps his pipe thoughtfully.
Then continues. This Jebson fellow. He's important to Popov, isn't he? Yes. They're very close. Popov trusts him totally. Then the best way to reassure Jebson is through Popov himself. Get Popov to cable him and calm him down before he does something really stupid. Two months later, Cascais, Portugal. Popov walks with Jebson along the clifftops of Boca de Inferno. Jebson struggles to light a cigarette in the wind.
Popov can see from Jebsen's shaking hand just how much of a nervous wreck his friend now is. You need to relax, Johnny. This job we do, it doesn't work if you're on edge. That stunt you pulled in Madrid could have finished us both. Jebsen frowns. You don't know what it's like in Berlin. The Gestapo are taking over. Anyone they suspect isn't completely loyal to the Nazis gets shot or sent to a camp. But you've protection now. The British will get you out if necessary, and...
Doesn't it feel good to finally be a team again? Jebsen gives a wry smile. He's now a British agent too, and at last the two friends can finally be honest with each other. Sure, who'd have thought all those years ago we'd both end up working for the British? War changes everything, Johnny. But all we need to do now is keep our cool and do our jobs. With what is coming from the Allies, we need to think about where we'll stand after the war.
I'm glad you can think that far ahead. You've always been more optimistic than me, I suppose. Both men walk along in silence, watching the waves and wondering how they got here. December 1943, London. Popov's MI5 case officer, Tar Robertson, sits in a cramped, smoke-filled room in Whitehall. The walls are covered with huge maps of Europe. With him are MI6 Chief C and the other members of the so-called Double Cross Committee.
The Double Cross Committee is in charge of Allied espionage operations. They have gathered to make the final preparations for Operation Fortitude, the campaign to mislead the Germans about where the Allied invasion will begin. Robertson leads the discussion. Gentlemen, from what we are observing in German troop movements, our efforts to mislead them are having some effect, but we need to do more.
If the landings at Normandy are going to succeed, we need the Germans to move more of their armoured divisions along the coast. What more do you want? A committee member puffing on a cigar replies. We already have all our double agents feeding information to the Germans. If I may... C interjects. There's only so much we can do to convince the Germans with letter writing and radio transmissions. Ultimately, to make them truly believe, they're going to need a warm body in the room.
Someone who can look them in the eye and make them believe that Calais is the invasion point. Who exactly do you have in mind? We can't just send anyone. If they break under interrogation, Operation Fortitude will unravel. To my mind, the only double agent who could pull this off is Popov. Robertson, do you think Popov is equipped for that sort of assignment? We know it's getting ever more dangerous over there. Robertson doesn't hesitate. If anyone can do it, Popov can.
The only worry I have about him is his soft spot for this Yebson character. The cigar-puffing committee member nearly chokes. That Yebson is an utter liability. He is certainly unstable. We could extract him to Britain, but that would render him useless as an intelligence asset, and we do need him right now.
Besides, he recruited Popov into the Abwehr. If we extract Jebsen, it would make the Abwehr question Popov's loyalties too. So you're suggesting we just leave Jebsen in the field and hope for the best? Robertson pauses before proposing his next thought. Well, there's a third option. We could take Jebsen out of the game entirely. You mean have him eliminated?
The committee members start talking over each other. C clears his throat, restoring order. Gentlemen, assassinating one's own assets is never a pleasant part of this job, though sometimes it can become necessary. But this Jebsen is important to Popov, and if Popov's to be our warm body, we need him operating at his best. I propose we keep a close eye on Jebsen and keep all options on the table.
C's words seem to sway the room, but the double-cross committee's only priority is ensuring the success of the invasion. And to do that, they're prepared to act with utter ruthlessness, even towards those on their own side. It's Christmas Eve 1943, and Popov's celebrating at von Karsthoff's country home in Sintra, Portugal. But no amount of decorations, champagne and carols can lift the sombre mood.
There is a growing sense that Germany will lose the war and that the Allied invasion is near. Von Karsthoff in particular seems to have had too much to drink. "We all know they're going to invade France." "But where will it happen? That's what matters." Another Abwehr officer looks concerned and puts his hand on von Karsthoff's shoulder. "Come, let's talk about something else." Von Karsthoff shrugs off the man's hand. "Nonsense. It'll be fun."
Von Karsthoff spreads a map of Europe on a table. Let's take bets. Where will the invasion come? I say it'll be around Calais, the shortest route over the Channel. As von Karsthoff draws a circle around Calais on the map, his secretary, Elizabeth, chimes in. I think they'll be sneaky and come at Cherbourg. Von Karsthoff turns to Popov. Dusko, you're our man on the ground in Britain. You know them best. What do you think? Popov considers his options carefully.
His mission from MI6 is precisely to persuade the Germans that the invasion will come at Calais, not Normandy. But he also cannot overplay his hand just yet. "Well, I'm still getting a read on troop movements in England, but Dover to Calais is the shortest route, so in a casino, that's where I'd put my money." "Well, we all know you are a gambler." Amidst the laughter, Popov scans the faces in the room.
These are the exact people he will need to deceive about the D-Day invasion. In this gamble, the stakes could not be higher. And if Popov blows it, the whole sham of Operation Fortitude could unravel. A quick note about our dialogue. We can't know everything that was said or done behind closed doors, particularly that far back in history, but our scenes are written using the best available sources.
So even if a scene or conversation has been recreated for dramatic effect, it's still based on biographical research. We've used many sources to make this series, including Into the Lion's Mouth by Larry Loftus, Codename Tricycle by Russell Miller, and Spy Counterspy by Dushko Popov. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Indira Varma.
Our show is produced by Vespucci with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Wondery. For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by J.S. Raffaelli and researched by Marina Watson and Louise Byrne. Our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producer is Thomas Currie and our sound designer is Matt Peaty. Matt Willis is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frisson Sync.
Executive producers for Vespucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turkin. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan. Our managing producer for Wondery is Rachel Sibley. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Jessica Radburn and Marshall Louis.
