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Dushko Popov wakes from his alcohol-drenched slumber. Gestapo! Open up! It's 1937 and Popov's studying law in Freiburg, Nazi Germany. Open up! Popov drags himself out of bed. He's in his mid-twenties with short black hair.
Yawning, he unlocks the door. Four Gestapo officers barge past. One confronts Popov as the others ransack his flat. "Dushko, Popov, you are under arrest." "On what charge?" The Gestapo officer punches Popov in the stomach. Popov crumples under the blow. Before he can recover, two officers grab him. They drag him outside to a waiting car, throw him into the vehicle's boot and slam the door shut.
Admit it. You're a communist. That's ridiculous. You can't think... Listen, my father, he owns coal mines and factories. Why would I support communism?
But I'm a Yugoslav citizen and I want a lawyer. The interrogator takes a step back. If you're not a communist, why are you dating one? Because she's pretty. The interrogator's face flashes with anger. A split second later, Popov sees his fist hurtling towards his face. A train blasts its whistle as it thunders through the Swiss Alps.
On the road running alongside the tracks, a Mercedes burns rubber. The man at the wheel checks he's keeping up with the train. He's Johnny Jebsen, Popov's best friend. He's a wealthy German with a pencil moustache and he's on a rescue mission. Jebsen screeches to a halt outside Basel train station just as Popov exits the station. Popov runs over.
"'Johnny, what are you doing here?' "'We can't have you taking a taxi after all you've been through!' "'But how did you know I'd be here?' Yebsen smiles. "'Who do you think got you out?' "'I got wind that you'd been arrested and called your father. He got the Yugoslav government to step in.' Popov climbs into the passenger seat. "'They were going to ship me out to a concentration camp. Well, you're here now.' "'No, seriously. I thought I was done.'
Don't be silly. I owe you. Good. You can pay for dinner. I'm being serious. I owe you. Jebson smiles. He won't forget that promise. And when he calls it in, Popov will be transformed into one of the greatest secret agents of World War II.
From Wondery, I'm Indra Varma, and this is The Spy Who. Beneath the veneer of the everyday lurks the realm of the spy. It's a dark, dangerous world full of shadowy corners, sinister motives, and corrupted morals. A place of paranoia and infiltration, sabotage and manipulation.
Every week, the Spy Who will take you inside that twilight realm. You'll hear true stories about the work of the world's intelligence services and follow spies on daring missions packed with danger, deceit and double-crosses. And we begin by retrieving the files on Dusko Popov. He's a Serbian playboy who outfoxed Nazi Germany while living a life full of cocktails, women and casinos.
And he also helped inspire the most famous fictional spy of all time, James Bond. What you're about to hear are dramatized reconstructions based on real events and the information that's been made public. But remember, in the shadow realm of the spy, the full story is rarely clear. This is The Spy Who Inspired 007. Episode 1, A Friend Among Foes.
God, no!
I work for the Abwehr, German military intelligence. Nothing like those secret police thugs in the Gestapo. The Abwehr's totally separate. Popov scrutinizes his friend and sees a shadow of the charismatic playboy he used to know. It's only three years since Jebsen helped Popov escape the Gestapo, but the world's changed beyond recognition. Back then, the Nazis were only cementing their control of Germany. Now, Europe's at war.
Poland's already fallen and German forces are invading France. Yugoslavia is officially neutral, which makes it a hotbed of intrigue and espionage. Popov arches an eyebrow. But why get involved at all? What would you do if Yugoslavia was at war? I'd fight. Exactly.
"'I still despise the Nazis, but my country's at war. "'It was a choice between this or military service. "'Also, in the Abwehr, I still get to travel outside Germany.' "'Okay, but aren't you supposed to keep this secret? "'Why are you even telling me this?' "'Because I need your help.' "'The Ebsen lights a cigarette, his hand slightly shaking. "'Popov can see the desperation on his friend's face.'
When you saved me from the Gestapo, I said I owed you. I didn't mean helping those bastards. You won't be helping them. You'll be helping me. And what exactly would I be helping with? Jebsen's face brightens. Well, France is about to fall. Even the German command was surprised by how quickly they collapsed. I've been tasked with identifying French politicians who are sympathetic to Germany and can be put in charge.
I thought you could get the right names. Why do you need me for that? You were schooled in Paris. You have unique contacts in the French political establishment. Also, you're a commercial lawyer from a neutral country who advises on international trade. You can ask around without arousing suspicion, unlike me. And you know what will happen to me if I give bad information. Popov is deeply conflicted.
He loathes the Nazis, and not just because the Gestapo arrested him, but because of their desire to wipe out individual freedom and replace it with unthinking obedience. But Johnny is his dearest friend, and he owes him. Okay, I was trying to stay out of this blasted war, but for you, okay. Relief spreads across Jebsen's face.
He retrieves an envelope from his inside pocket and slides it across the table. "Here's the information I need, but be discreet. This isn't a game. There are always people watching. The British would love to know what the Abwehr's thinking." Popov feels a surge of fear, but also excitement. A dangerous new world is opening before him, and something in what Jebsen just let slip about the British has sparked a wild idea.
Maybe he can help Jebsen and act against the Nazis. Three weeks later, Popov's chauffeur-driven Jaguar rolls to a stop outside the British Embassy in Belgrade. Popov's driver, Bojidar, opens the door for him. Thank you, Bojidar. I'll be a few hours. Popov adjusts his tuxedo and heads inside. Tonight, the embassy is hosting a soiree and Popov's used his status as a well-connected commercial lawyer to wrangle an invite.
He takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and joins the crowd of dignitaries and socialites. He hones in on a group of young ladies. "Excuse me, I just had to come over. You ladies remind me of my years in Paris." Popov holds court, charming the women with effortless small talk. But all the while he's watching one man. Armin Dieu, the British Embassy's first secretary. At last, Dieu slips out onto the terrace.
Popov sees his opportunity. Popov follows Dew onto the terrace, checks no one else is nearby, and approaches him. "Mr. Dew?" "Ah, Popov, thanks for coming." "Thank you for the invitation. I wanted to discuss something... delicate."
Can I count on your discretion? Of course. Go on. Say I had come into possession of some precise information being used by the Abwehr to plan Germany's administration of France. Would that be of interest? Well, the first thing I would ask is how you came by this information. Let's say the Abwehr consider me an asset. Dew gives Popov a look that sits somewhere between interest and suspicion.
"Well, then I would be extremely interested, yes." Popov moves closer to Dew and discreetly passes him an envelope containing a copy of the information he gathered for Jebsen and the Abwehr. Dew slips the document into his pocket. "His Majesty's government is extremely appreciative. And if you ever do more work for the Abwehr, I'm sure we'd also be interested in that." Dew nods goodbye and slips back inside.
Popov drains his glass of champagne, then returns to the party and the group of young ladies. I'm relieved you're all still here. I was convinced you'd all be thrown out for making everyone else look dull. Two months later, Belgrade. It's an early autumn morning, and in his Belgrade home, Popov wakes to the sound of his friend Johnny Yebson bursting into his bedroom. Dusko, wake up! Huh?
Johnny, what time is it? Forget about the time. You... We've got a serious problem. What problem? What are you talking about? Yebsen waves a bundle of papers in Popov's face. Yesterday, my commander ordered me to collect some evidence from an asset. That asset turned out to be your driver, Bojidar.
They got him spying on you. He gave me this. A list of everywhere you've been in the past two months. Popov spent the past few months working for the Abwehr while keeping MI6 informed of everything he learns.
Bozidar's betrayal is deeply worrying, but Popov doesn't dare confess to Jebsen. So the Abwehr now know where my girlfriends live. What do I care? Dusko, you made six visits to the British Passport Office. I'm a lawyer. I do business with British clients. I am allowed to work, aren't I? Don't give me that. This is me you're talking to. The Abwehr know the British Passport Office is MI6's headquarters in Belgrade.
"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, and it's better I don't, but you have a serious problem here. And that means I do too." Popov walks over and grasps his friend's shoulder. "Alright, alright. I get it, I do. Leave Bozhedar to me. Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Popov and Yebsen share a glance. Each of them knows they must now trust the other with their lives.
Three days later, Popov is leaving his house with that morning's newspaper tucked under his arm. But as he opens the door, he sees Yebsen racing towards him, motioning him back inside. Johnny, what's wrong? What's wrong? Yebsen snatches the newspaper from under Popov's arm and points to a small article on the front page. They found Botidar's body by the rail yard.
He was shot. Yes, I heard. It's very sad. I've offered to pay the funeral expenses. This isn't what I meant when I said take care of Bojidar. Stop. You said yourself it's better there are things you don't know. Bojidar was a criminal. Everyone knows he was involved in black market business. What happened at the rail yard is just a burglary gone wrong. Jebsen leans in close to Popov. And if I ever play dirty with you...
Would something that looks like a burglary happen to me? Popov takes hold of Jebsen's upper arms, looks him straight in the eye and grins. No, because I know you would never play me dirty. Sometimes I'm sorry I ever asked for your help. Well, at any rate, the Abwehr are actually very happy with your information. In fact, they've got a new assignment for you in Lisbon. Oh, now that is interesting. Be serious, Tushko.
You'll be on your own. One mistake and it'll be you found by the rail yard. Then your family, and then me." The two friends look at each other once more. The mission to Lisbon is a clear escalation that will make Popov more valuable to both the Abwehr and MI6. But Jebsen won't be there to protect him. December 1940. Lisbon, Portugal. Popov sits outside a café, sipping an espresso and pretending to read a newspaper.
Portugal is a neutral country, and that's made Lisbon a haven for the wealthy and connected to escape the war. And that in turn has attracted an influx of spies from all sides. It's an ideal place for a double agent. As he finishes his espresso, a woman with blonde hair and a figure-hugging dress approaches. She passes close by and winks. It's the signal Popov's been waiting for.
Popov calmly folds his newspaper and follows her through the crowds. She leads him to a waiting car, and they both slip inside. The car motors through the Lisbon traffic before stopping to let the woman out. Then the driver turns to Popov. Lie face down on the seat so you can't be seen. Popov does as he is told, but now his fear's mounting. He doesn't know why the woman left the car or why he needs to stay hidden, but he does know that if the Abwehr have discovered that he's double-crossing them...
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December 1940. Popov lies face down on the back seat as the car pulls into a garage. The driver speaks. "You can get out now." The driver motions him towards a darkened corridor. Popov heads into the darkness. Then the corridor opens into the drawing room of an elegant villa.
Before Popov stands a tall man in an expensive suit. Mr. Popov, welcome to the City of Spies. I'm Ludovico von Karsthoff, Abwehr commander here in Lisbon. I trust you're enjoying the Hotel Palazzo? Popov doesn't allow himself to show any surprise that the Abwehr know where he's staying, but it's now clear he's under surveillance. Von Karsthoff leads Popov into his study.
So, Mr Popoff, your mission. We need you to go to London. London? You're wasted in Lisbon. We're preparing to invade Britain. We need intelligence from the centre of London's war planning, and you're a man who moves in those circles.
Do you think you'd have trouble travelling to London? Popov knows entering Britain won't be a problem. MI6 can make it happen for him. Not that he can tell von Karsthoff that. Yugoslavia is neutral. As far as the British are concerned, I'm just a businessman. I can pull some strings with the Yugoslav legation and get the paperwork. Excellent. This is precisely why we need men like you. Men with contacts.
So you can send information back to us.
"'You'll receive training in how to use them before you leave.' "'Very impressive. But to mix with London society, I will also need money.' "'Von Karsthoff nods. "'Of course, you will be appropriately compensated. Just don't let us down.' "'The two men eye each other as Popov considers the dangers of his new mission, "'a mission that will take him out of neutral territory and onto the front line.'
Popov sits in the passenger seat as his driver weaves through the rubble-strewn streets of London and past burning buildings. Bombers roar overhead, air raid sirens wail and bombs rain down. This is the Blitz. Night after night, German air raids are pounding London into a wasteland.
Popov's not returned to England since being sent to a prestigious but stuffy boarding school at the age of 16. He lasted three months before getting expelled for breaking the teacher's cane in two. But while his memories of England are far from happy, seeing the devastation up close only strengthens his resolve. The car stops outside the Savoy Hotel, somehow unscathed and glittering amidst the destruction.
Popov leaves the car and strides through the hotel doors. Inside, a tall, refined commander from the British intelligence service MI5 is waiting for him. Mr. Popov? Tar Robertson. I believe we have mutual friends at the embassy in Belgrade.
Let's have a drink." Robertson leads Popov to the Savoy's American bar and orders two whiskies. Robertson then turns to Popov. "My colleagues overseas think highly of you, Mr. Popov. But, if I'm honest, I have no reason to trust you. Or to believe you are not actually working for the Germans against us." Before Popov can reply, the entire room shakes as a huge bomb explodes nearby. Popov freezes in shock.
Robertson doesn't bat an eyelid. Popov quickly regains his composure and moves to answer Robertson's doubts. But Robertson raises his hand. Save your breath. You won't win my trust with a few words. I'll be assessing you over the next few days. But I'm not the only one you need to convince. It is now Popov's turn to maintain his composure. If he fails to convince the British that he's on their side, he's going to prison or the gallows. Surrey, England.
Popov follows Tar Robertson through a New Year's Eve party at a sprawling country house. He grabs a glass of champagne as he navigates his way past the high society guests. Robertson leads him away from the party to an isolated oak-panelled library. Inside the library, a balding man sitting in a leather chair is smoking a pipe by the fireplace. Sit down, Mr. Popov. We have much to discuss.
Popov sits opposite in another leather chair. "'You can call me C. I run MI6. We handle foreign intelligence. Mr Robertson and his friends at MI5 have asked me to help decide if you're trustworthy.' "'And what's your assessment?' "'Well, most of what you've told us has proven correct. That's in your favour. You're a wealthy man with a taste for adventure and beautiful women. You're ambitious, capable of extreme ruthlessness, and thrive on a touch of danger.'
I went to Eton. I know the type. Would you say that's a fair assessment? Yes, that's fair, though I thought I was speaking to a spy, not a psychoanalyst. The distinction is less than many think. You're clever and willing to take risks, and that gives you the makings of a very good spy. But you're not just a spy, are you? You're a double agent, and that's much more dangerous. So you better learn to follow orders, or you'll soon be a very dead spy.
The question is: can you follow orders? Listen, C. I've been in a Nazi prison. I despise them with their brainwashing and desire to make everybody do what they say. Also, they hate all Slavs. They think I do this for money, but I have money. What I want is for them to lose this war. And I'll do whatever it takes. So, yes, I follow orders. C. pauses to light his pipe before speaking. Well, we shall see, won't we?
What we're going to do is create a fake spy network for you. A set of contacts who the Germans can verify exist. Through them, and through you, we will feed the Abwehr whatever information we choose. That sounds ideal. Nonetheless, this is a face-to-face business. No matter how much invisible ink you've been given, the Abwehr will expect you to go back to Lisbon to be debriefed. You'll need to keep your wits about you. One slip is all it takes.
It's January 1941 and Popov is back in Lisbon at the nightclub of the Palazzo Hotel. He lounges at a table with a beautiful French marquise with whom he's recently struck up a relationship. But right now, he's only half paying attention to her. And that's because the tall man in a grey suit who's been tailing him for days is skulking in the corner of the room. Popov and the marquise turn as microphone feedback fills the room.
On the stage, an obviously tipsy woman from a nearby table starts singing. The Marquise rolls her eyes. Mon Dieu, I thought the war was bad. Popov winks and waves the waiter over. Please, present this with our compliments to the singer. Popov places the cork from their champagne bottle on the waiter's tray. The Marquise gives him a quizzical look. Popov smiles. I'm giving her a message. Put a cork in it.
Oh, you're wicked. The singing stops as the waiter presents the singer with the cork and the room bursts into laughter. The singer runs off crying. A heavyset man from the singer's table rises and stomps towards Popov. Hey, buddy, my wife didn't appreciate your little joke.
We didn't appreciate your wife murdering that song. What did you say? The man lunges at Popov, who pushes him away. The man staggers back and trips over. The other men at the singer's table get up to come to his aid. Popov suddenly remembers that he's got both the Abwehr's instructions and MI5's replies in his jacket pocket. If he gets arrested for brawling, he'll be searched and outed as a spy.
Popov turns to his date and stuffs the incriminating papers into her bag. "Get back to our room. Now!" The Marquise senses the urgency in Popov's expression and races out the door. Popov turns back to face the group closing in on him, ready to fight. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the man in the grey suit follow his date out of the door. Popov isn't sure who he's working for, but whoever it is, if he gets the papers she's carrying, Popov is a dead man.
Popov turns and runs towards the exit. The men he was about to fight jeer in triumph. Yeah, you better run, chicken! Popov ignores the taunts. He has only one concern: getting to the marquees before the man in the grey suit. Popov bursts out of the nightclub into a deserted courtyard. He looks one way, then another. Popov runs towards the sound.
In the moonlight, he sees the man in the grey suit struggling with the Marquise trying to rip her bag away from her. Popov sees the bag split open, spilling its contents over the floor. In a flash, the man in the grey suit is on his knees, pawing after the papers. Popov picks up the pace, runs towards him and kicks the man in the head with full force. Blood and teeth scatter across the stone floor. The man in the suit collapses on the ground.
Popov snatches up the envelopes, grabs his date, and the two run off into the night. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.
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Popov and his spymaster, von Karsthoff, are working their way through a bottle of wine. Popov handed over the false information from MI5 weeks ago, but von Karsthoff still not revealed whether Berlin has fallen for the deception. ''I understand you had an encounter with one of our men at your hotel?'' Popov stiffens, realising von Karsthoff must be referring to the man in the grey suit whom he kicked in the head.
But then Popov decides that if the Abwehr wanted to punish him for that, he'd already be dead. Oh, he was one of yours? All I knew is someone was following me, then attacked my date. Next time, perhaps let me know if you're keeping me under surveillance. Well, not to worry. We can clean up the mess. In any case, I don't think that will be an issue anymore. The information you provided, Berlin has checked it through and is impressed.
Your network in Britain is the most extensive we've ever achieved. You are now considered to be one of our best agents. Well, I find the British are very susceptible to a combination of charm and hard currency. Von Kasthoff smiles and pours more wine. In fact, they are so impressed that we now have a bigger mission for you. We need you to establish a spy ring in the United States.
America? But why? It's a neutral country. I'm not at liberty to say. But assessing the Americans' military preparedness is a top priority. I don't have contacts in the US. I would be much more effective in Britain. Come, come. You've already proven how resourceful you are. We don't get to choose our missions, Dusko. This is where Germany needs you.
Popov struggles to stay calm as he contemplates this potentially catastrophic development. His position as a double agent depends on the support he gets from British intelligence. But in America, he will be alone and without protection. Two months later, Portugal. Popov walks along the beautiful Boca de Inferno cliffs with his friend Johnny Jebson.
It's the first time they've seen each other in eight months, and Popov's reeling from the Nazis' successful invasion of his homeland, Yugoslavia. I should go home. My family are in danger. Don't be so stupid. You'll be throwing your life away. You may as well leap off these cliffs right now. There's nothing you can do there. So I just go to America and hope that the Nazis' fascist Croat puppets leave my family alone? I'm pulling strings inside the Abwehr to try and keep them safe.
But if you stop working for the Abwehr, they'll have no reason to protect them. You have to go for their sakes. Popov falls silent. Jebsen uses the opportunity to change the topic of conversation. You know there's a lot of focus on America now. They've just had me in Italy gathering intelligence on how the British sunk the Italian fleet at Taranto.
They want that information for the Japanese. The Japanese? What on earth for? The word is the Japanese want to attack the American fleet. That's quite a rumour. Still, I would much rather stay in Europe. I'm sure you'll find ways to entertain yourself in New York. Even as the two friends laugh, Popov's mind is racing. He knows Jebsen shouldn't be sharing this information about the Japanese military's plans. He wonders if his friend suspects he's passing secrets to the British...
And perhaps this is why he's giving Popov this top-secret information. One month later, von Karsthoff's villa, Eshteril. Popov listens carefully as von Karsthoff runs through the final details of his mission to America.
On the table in front of him is a microscope and several sheets of paper. When you get to New York, you will have to be most careful of the FBI. They've already broken up one of our networks there. And now that Yugoslavia's conquered, you're no longer a citizen of a neutral country. They'll be watching you. That's why you'll need this.
Von Karstorff takes a pair of tweezers and picks up a scrap of paper smaller than a fingernail from the table. What do you see? A slip of paper. Von Karstorff slips the paper under the microscope. Now look at it. Popov presses his eye to the viewfinder and gasps in astonishment. Under the microscope, the lone full stop on the paper transforms into an entire document. Thousands of words over many pages. Von Karstorff grins.
No more invisible ink for you. These are called micro dots, advanced photo technology. We can squeeze entire documents onto a pinprick. All your instructions for America are hidden in that dot.
Extraordinary, indeed. Now, while you're in America, we need you to go to Hawaii. Hawaii? What's in Hawaii? There's a naval base called Pearl Harbor. We need information about it. How many anchorages does it have? What are its defensive formations? Popov looks through the microscope again, and the hundreds of questions about Pearl Harbor's defenses. Suddenly, he remembers his conversation with Jebson about Japan attacking the American fleet.
In an instant, he puts two and two together. Germany isn't even fighting in the Pacific. Is this for the Japanese? I can't comment on that. Just do your job. Von Karsthoff's lack of denial is as good as a yes. Popov looks down the microscope at the questions about Pearl Harbor. Questions that will arm the Japanese with the intel they need to launch a devastating surprise attack.
An attack that could put the US Navy out of action in the Pacific. Popov has to get this information to the Americans. Not just to stop the attack on Pearl Harbor, but to convince America to abandon neutrality and join the fight to defeat Adolf Hitler and his Nazi death machine. A quick note about our dialogue.
We can't know everything that was said or done behind closed doors, particularly 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.
