The Spy Who - The Spy Who Betrayed Bin Laden | Death Sentence | 4

Episode Date: June 24, 2024

Aimen Dean is now on a mission to thwart a deadly plot to release poison gas on the New York Subway. But when his British spymasters decide to alert the U.S. to the threat, Dean’s deception begins to unravel.Listen to The Spy Who ad-free on Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial by visiting wondery.com/links/the-spy-who now. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of The Spy Who early and ad-free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. November 2002. The Holiday Inn, London Victoria Station. In a beige meeting room with a scuffed blue carpet, Eamon Dean screws up his face in disgust as he sips the hotel coffee and reaches for another sachet of sugar. He's flown in from Bahrain for this meeting. Surely MI6's budget could stretch to some decent coffee. His new MI6 handler, Freddy, continues the debriefing. So they plan to hide the Mukhtaka devices in backpacks and plant them on the New York subway.

And the nerve gas it releases is a blood agent, correct? Yes. Victims experience convulsions, then lung and heart failure, 5 to 15 minutes after high-dose exposure. It's a pretty horrible way to die. Freddy pushes his floppy blonde hair away from his eyes. And how many of these chemical bombs are they planning to use in the attack? I don't know exactly, but it will be multiple. Most likely they will detonate them on a train when it's going through a tunnel or near ventilation shafts in the stations. Jesus. Couldn't you have played for time before confirming the design for the Mokhtar was correct?

Dean is irritated that Freddy is trying to second-guess him. Akil is a chemistry teacher. I can't fool him with false information. Okay, I get it. Dean misses his former handler, Richard. But now the war on terror is underway. Richard's been promoted to higher things. Dean gloomily prods a tired-looking sandwich on the buffet tray and wonders if the vague nausea he feels is hunger or tension. Freddie continues the questioning.

Any ideas on timescales for the attack? No. They are still waiting on permission from al-Qaeda's leadership. But I do know there are four Saudi men in Morocco being taught how to make the bombs. All four have ten-year US visas. That should be useful. Dean's attention is snapped away from the inferior sandwiches. Wait, are you going to tell the Americans? We can't keep them in the dark about a potential terrorist attack on their soil. Yes, but they're going to want to know where the information came from.

I don't trust the Americans. This is my life, Freddy. We're not going to identify you. We're only going to give them enough to persuade them that this threat is credible. Besides, if we're to stop this attack, we need their resources. Dean slumps into his conference chair. He knows Freddy's right, but in the pit of his stomach, he feels a deep unease about the CIA, knowing that he exists. From Wondery, I'm Raza Jafri, and this is The Spy Who. In the last episode, British intelligence agent Eamon Dean returned to Afghanistan

and learned of the creation of the Muqtada, a chemical bomb designed to kill thousands. Then, after the 9-11 attacks led America and its allies to go to war in Afghanistan, Dean relocated to Bahrain to infiltrate Al-Qaeda's networks there. Now he's out to stop a new Al-Qaeda plot to use the Mubtaha to unleash terror on the New York City subway. You're listening to The Spy Who Betrayed Bin Laden. Episode 4. Death Sentence. Late 2002. Washington, D.C. In the Oval Office, President George W. Bush sinks back into his chair as he absorbs the details of the New York subway terror plot.

He looks at the man who brought in the news, CIA Director George Tenet. And this attack is imminent? We think so. The intelligence is still hazy on the timelines. Tennant watches the blood drain from the president's face. It's only been a year since 9-11. And how do we know all this? The British have someone on the inside.

Can we trust their information? Tennant straightens. I believe it to be genuine, but we have no direct access to their source, so we cannot verify the information. Tenet straightens. I believe it to be genuine, but we have no direct access to their source, so we cannot verify the information. Tenet dislikes knowing so little about Britain's source. The British are trusted partners, but America's under attack from all sides every day. He needs as much information as possible. The president sits back up. George, these men are flat evil. I want them hunted down and stopped. Yes, Mr. President.

Tenet just hopes he has enough information to stop this nightmare coming true. January 2003. Bahrain. Eamon Dean sits on a low stool at a street food restaurant. Next to him is Akhil, the balding chemistry teacher who's helping plot the attacks on the New York subway. Dean looks at Akhil and feigns disappointment. The attack's been cancelled, Akil nods curtly. The Shura Council thinks it could be a gift to the Americans and help them justify the invasion of Iraq. Dean feels relief that the subway plot is off the cards, but he needs to hide his true feelings from Akil. So what do we do now? We've been ordered to keep all knowledge about the Mubtaha under tight control. But if we can't use it against the Americans, we should share it with Hamas.

So they can use it against the Israelis. Dean frowns. You have no right to do that. The council said not to share it. Akil stands angrily, knocking over some dishes in his haste. The Jews are killing our people in the West Bank. They deserve it. As Akil storms off, Dean realizes that the cancellation of the plot doesn't mean the danger's passed. February 2003, Bahrain. A Bahraini passport inspector sits in his booth and watches the long line of cars from Saudi Arabia

that are headed towards the checkpoint. On the small desk in front of him are photos of four young men, along with a description of their car and its registration number. His instructions are to order a random security check on their vehicle. He gets a call. Hello? Yes. Which car?

The inspector squints at his CCTV monitor and sees the vehicle he's been told to send for a security check. Yes. Yes, I see it. Yep, I'll make it seem like a random check. The identified car reaches the front of his queue. The inspector adopts his usual bored tone. Passports. As he examines their documents,

the passport inspector notices the man in the passenger seat is gripping a backpack particularly tightly. He's sure he would have been suspicious of them even without his instructions. His face remains impassive as he directs them to the security check line. He notes with satisfaction the look of panic on their faces.

That evening, in his flat in Bahrain, Eamon Dean receives a coded email from MI6. He copies the message onto the communications device his handlers gave him and decrypts it. It's a message alerting him to the arrests of four men involved in the New York subway plot at the border with Saudi Arabia. Dean quickly types out a reply.

Thanks. Is Akil one of those arrested? Dean quickly types out a reply. Thanks. Is Akil one of those arrested? Can they trace it back to me? The device encrypts this message and sends it back to MI6. A few minutes later, MI6 replies. Dean decodes it and reads the message. No, Eamon.

Akil's not one of them. He will be arrested in a few weeks' time as part of a general sweep of al-Qaeda sympathizers in Saudi. They think today's arrests are just bad luck. There's nothing to connect them with you. In other good news, Israeli security services stopped them from uploading the Mubtaka blueprints to Hamas. Dean smiles. The plots to deploy the Mubtaka in both New York and Israel are history.

One year later, Bahrain, March 2004. In a meeting room attached to a mosque, Ayman Deen stands before a large group of al-Qaeda members, ready to say a few words about his childhood friend Khalid. Khalid died a few days ago, shot dead by Saudi security forces after months of conducting terror attacks across the kingdom. Dean addresses the room.

Khalid was my friend. We shared so many things. A desire to make a difference. A love of poetry. He was, at heart, a romantic. Dean thinks back to him and Khalid as teenagers, sitting in a McDonald's in Vienna, dreaming of dying as martyrs. Khalid pursued martyrdom like a lover chasing the object of his desire.

And the elixir of jihad only became more potent to him over the years. But for Dean, that elixir is now just poison The poison that led Khalid to gleefully behead a Serbian prisoner in Bosnia And to consider the lives of ordinary Muslims expendable Dean's eyes well with tears as he thinks of how Khalid's youthful idealism became so twisted. Dean finishes his eulogy and joins his brother Mohedin, who has been listening with his nine-year-old son Ibrahim at his side. Mohedin smiles at Dean.

That was a beautiful speech, brother. I'm sure God will be pleased with Khalid's sacrifice. Ibrahim looks up at Din. His eyes full of admiration for his uncle. I want to do jihad too. I want to be just like you and Khalid, Uncle Eamon. I will go to Afghanistan and fight with the Black Banners. Din hides his dismay at his nephew's words. Oh, you will, will you? But how will you fight when you won't eat vegetables to make you strong? Dean tickles his nephew. No, stop. Please.

Please. Uncle, tell me more about Bosnia. No stories are for another day. Come, let us play hide and seek. Yes. Moedin places a hand on Ibrahim's shoulder. No. Ibrahim, you'll need to play on your own for a bit.

There is someone who wants to meet your uncle. Okay. Moedin nods towards a young man with a well-groomed beard and thick eyebrows who's been watching them. The man approaches them. Brother, this is Yasser Kamal. Dean wistfully watches his nephew run outside. Just for once, he would have liked some uncomplicated family time. Kamal smiles at Dean. I wanted to meet you for some time. I've heard much of your great deeds in Afghanistan with Abu Khabab. Dean's ears prick up at the mention of Abu Khabab,

the Jihadi bomb maker he trained under in Afghanistan. May I visit you tomorrow? Dean nods. Kamal looks pleased, but Dean's pleased too. If Kamal's talking about Abu Khabab, he must be planning something. And Dean's determined to find out what. A few days later, on the outskirts of Bahrain's capital, Manama. Dean sits in the passenger seat of Kamal's van with the window open.

It turns out Kamal's a fishmonger who uses this van for deliveries. But even with the air blasting in Dean's face, there's no escape from the overpowering smell. Kamal turns off the highway and parks on a deserted road next to the sea. Dean opens the door to get out. Kamal stops him.

Leave your phone in the van. Dean stows his phone in the glove box, follows Kamal across the sand to the shoreline. Kamal stares out at the misty sea. Do you know how many Americans celebrate New Year's Eve in the cafes and nightclubs in Draffair and Exhibition Road? I know it's a lot.

And all the Americans in the Gulf go there to get drunk? Yes. And it's time we head back. Look at what the Crusaders are doing in Iraq. The massacres of Fallujah. We need to cleanse our lands of them.

Kamal turns to Dean. I brought you here because I have been authorized to seek your help. Who authorized you? Kamal's face shows his sense of self-importance. Sheikh Osama bin Laden and his advisors themselves. They are planning a big operation, and we need your expertise on bomb-making and chemicals. Are you with us? Dean doesn't hesitate. If he's to stop this plot, he needs to be at the center of it.

Of course I'm with you. Kamal grins. Wait here. Kamal races back to the van and returns clutching a Quran. Swear on the Quran that you will manufacture the devices for our operation. Dean doesn't waver. He will make Kamal's bombs. Whether the bombs will work is a different matter altogether. June 2004, Bahrain.

Eamon Dean leaves his apartment and strolls towards a nearby phone booth. It's been four months since Yasser Kamal asked him to help with a plot to blow up Americans celebrating New Year's Eve in Bahrain. And he's just received an encrypted email from MI6 asking him to call immediately. Dean reaches the payphone and dials the number. Dean's MI6 case officer, Freddy, answers Eamon? Thank goodness Freddy, you sound surprised I'm alive

Listen, you and your associates will be arrested by Bahraini security services early tomorrow morning What? Don't resist, just make sure your apartment is clean I don't understand, it's too soon for arrests, why now? We don't know, just get rid of everything, we'll figure out what to do next Dean races back to his apartment. He grabs his computers, hard drives, USB sticks, CD-ROMs, and his MI6 encryption kit, and starts smashing them to pieces

before sweeping the debris into bin bags. Next, he heads downstairs to his brother Moadine's apartment and begins searching for anything incriminating. Dean's nephew suddenly appears. Uncle Eamon, what are you doing? Dean thinks quickly. Ah, just the person I need. Your father told me to clear some things for him.

Could you help? An ice cream if you take these bin bags. But you must put each bag in a different dumpster. Now? Yes, now. His nephew takes the bin bags and disappears outside. Dean spends the rest of the night watching the street from his apartment window and guzzling Coca-Cola to stay awake.

As the first rays of light appear, a convoy of SUVs pull into the courtyard below his apartment. Armed police leap out, dressed head-to-toe in Kevlar and carrying semi-automatics. As they move towards his building, Dean finishes his Coca-Cola, puts his hands behind his head and waits for them to arrive. It's a few hours later and Dean is in a Bahraini jail cell with plot ringleader Yasser Kamal. But Dean's still baffled by the arrests. The timing's all wrong.

He's yet to find out where the chemicals for making the bombs are stored. Shutting down the operation now makes no sense. No sense at all. And all this thinking is giving him a really bad headache. Then he sees Kamal staring right at him. Eamon, are you okay? You look pale and you're sweating. Dean looks down and realizes his clothes are drenched with sweat.

He suddenly feels very thirsty. The room spins and he falls to the floor. As everything fades to black, he hears Kamal kicking the cell door. Doctor! We need a doctor! No! Two weeks later, a bland hotel suite in West London. MI6 officer Freddy takes a step back as Dean lets rip. I was days away from meeting the plot's ringleader. I was about to find out where they were storing the chemicals. Dean landed at Heathrow a few hours ago, and the past two weeks have been rough. After collapsing in prison, he was diagnosed with diabetes.

It then took two weeks of behind-the-scenes maneuvering until MI6 was able to get him out of Bahrain. Dean glares at Freddy. Could you not have waited five more fucking days? I was the one making the bombs. We had complete control. Freddy knows the shock and stress of the last fortnight is now being vented in no uncertain terms. I'm sorry. We tried to get the Bahrainis to hold off, but US Vice President Dick Cheney

picked up the phone to the King of Bahrain. He demanded immediate arrests. Why did you tell the Americans? They always overreact. There are rules about intelligent sharing. You can only pick and choose so much. Yes, they compromised the operation. Yes, we will make representations.

But if the White House phones the king, there's nothing we can do. It's way above our pay grade. Well, I hope no one minds that 55 kilograms of cyanide is sitting somewhere by the sea in Bahrain. Freddy stays silent, hoping Dean's temper will burn out. Dean paces the room before sitting suddenly. He sullenly opens a bottle of Diet Coke, a concession to his diabetes diagnosis. So now what? I'm afraid you can't go back to Bahrain. You'll be arrested again. We'll set you up in London helping MI5 again if that's okay with you. Freddie looks anxiously at Dean. He's usually remarkably cheerful and resilient, but for the first time, Freddie can see the toll the work's taking on him.

June 2006, two years later. Paris, France. On a pleasure boat cruising along the River Seine, Dean takes in the views and enjoys the feeling of the warm summer sun on his skin. It's his first holiday ever. A respite in his ongoing work to help MI5 monitor the activities of jihadis on British soil. He watches the majestic sight of Notre Dame Cathedral drift into view. The other tourists on the boat move in, cameras at the ready. Dean tries to remember when he last felt this relaxed and calm. Dean feels his phone vibrate in his pocket

and moves to check the text message. But in the bright sunshine, Dean cannot see it properly. He shields the screen from the sun with his hand and reads the words. Brother, go into hiding. There is a spy among us. He shields the screen from the sun with his hand and reads the words. Dean's calm evaporates. The text is from an Al-Qaeda associate in Bahrain. He re-reads the text. Is the message about him?

It can't be. If his cover was blown, why would they warn him? But something must have changed. What do they know? His sense of foreboding now makes the slow pace of the boat torturous as he waits for it to dock. Finally the boat docks. Dean rushes down the gangplank, pushing past the other passengers. Excuse me, sorry. Dean runs through the streets.

He has to get to an internet cafe and find out what Time has published. But the first cafe he finds is closed. Damn it. The next one he spots is full. Finally, at a third cafe, he finds a spare computer. He types in the web address and the headline jumps out at him. Exclusive book extract. How an Al-Qaeda cell planned a poison gas attack on the New York subway.

Dean scans the article. planned a poison gas attack on the New York subway. Dean scans the article. It details how terrorists came within 45 days of releasing poison gas on the New York subway. Someone, somewhere, has talked about the Muqtada bomb plot. Dean reads on, then his heart nearly stops. The article reports that US agents were tipped off by an al-Qaeda operative called Ali. No! Dean stares at the screen in disbelief.

Ali is his birth name. And he's the only Ali in al-Qaeda with inside knowledge of the Muqtadaqa and the subway plot. His cover has just been blown. A few days later, the Randolph Hotel, Oxford. In a chintzy Victorian-styled hotel suite, Dean is huddled with his MI6 case officer, Freddie, and the other British intelligence officers examining a copy of Time magazine. They've spent most of the night trying to work out how Dean's identity got leaked to the magazine. Aside from the fact they think I work for the CIA, they've got it all.

How? How? Freddie checks an email he's just received and runs his hand through his thick, foppish blonde hair. Our analysts now think it came from the White House, specifically the Vice President's office. Dean Scowles. Are you kidding me? Dick Cheney? Again? Well, we don't know, but maybe somebody in his office. Let's see if I'm understanding this right. I'm one of the only people Western intelligence has inside Al-Qaeda, and I've just been outed so some White House flunky can feel important and help a journalist sell books.

There is an uncomfortable silence in the room. That's not quite how I would put it. Shall I put it another way, Freddy? MI6 likes to show the Americans it punches above its weight. So you threw more information at them than you needed to. Freddy looks away. Dean feels a pang of victory, but then he realizes it changes nothing.

He can no longer be a spy, and there's nothing anyone here can do about it. Freddy breaks the silence. Let's focus on next steps. You need to let your contacts know you're leaving the UK and then cut off all communication with them. Then what? I'm 28. I've got no qualifications and I've been a jihadi since I was 16.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that looks good on a CV. Well, you like books. Perhaps we could get you a job in a bookstore and make up the financial difference. Dean looks at Freddie in disbelief. Are you joking? After all I've done, I'm supposed to stack books and man a cash register. Oh, okay, not that, but we'll figure something out. Obviously, we'll provide a new place for you to live.

You'll also need a new name. A few days later, he picks the name Eamon Dean. Eamon because it could be anything from Pakistani to Irish. Dean because his grandfather's name was Muheddin. But a new name is the easy part. He must now build a new life. He can feel the cold withdrawal of MI5 and MI6 from an agent who is no longer of use. He feels bereft and isolated in a country that is not his own. The American Pronunciation Guide Presents ''How to Pronounce Dean'' November 2008, two years after Dean was exposed as a spy. In a quiet cafe near Trafalgar Square, Dean sits with a senior MI6 officer called Rachel.

For two years he's lived in limbo, searching for a new purpose. And he's had very little contact with anyone in the intelligence services. Until the urgent request for this meeting arrived. Dean's not sure what to expect. He watches Rachel warily, noting her quiet air of authority and the expensive Hermes scarf. Tea, Eamon? Yes, thank you. Dean wonders if the British do anything without a cup of tea beforehand.

Rachel looks at Dean with sympathy. This isn't easy, I'm afraid. But the Americans have intercepted a message. A message to senior Al-Qaeda members in the Gulf. At the moment, we believe that is the limit of its circulation. It is a fatwa against you. It says you have betrayed the cause, as it were, and that anyone who encounters you should kill you. It says you have betrayed the cause, as it were, and that anyone who encounters you should kill you. Dean takes a deep breath. He expected something like this,

but it still feels like a punch to the face. Rachel continues. We believe Yasser Kamal requested the fatwa. Figures. The message does suggest they still think you were in the Gulf somewhere, which is a small ray of good news. Obviously, we'll keep across this and keep you updated.

Rachel sips her tea, watching Dean's reaction. Seeing no sign of panic or distress, she moves on to practicalities. You should exercise caution in your daily life. Change your routines. Perhaps shave off your beard. Avoid the Northern Line entirely, especially Tooting and Finsbury Park areas. And it goes without saying that going back to the Gulf for family events like birthdays or funerals is a very bad idea. After Rachel leaves, Dean stays put.

Through the window, he sees a group of schoolchildren walk past. The children remind him of his nephews. He wonders if he will ever see them again. He envies the people outside with their normal lives. He must now always look over his shoulder. It's three days later, and in High Street Kensington tube station, Dean races up the stairs towards the exit.

At the top, he glances back and sees that his pursuer also made it off the train. Dean bolts towards the ticket barriers and inserts his paper ticket into the slit on the gate. The barrier spits the ticket out. He tries again. The words SEEK ASSISTANCE flash in red on the barrier's LCD screen. Dean hears the man chasing him bounding up the stairs. No, no, no! Dean tries the ticket again.

The barriers open. Relief floods through him as he races out of the tube station and onto the streets His MI6 training kicks in He dives into a nearby Boots pharmacy He hides behind the furthest aisle and studies the people moving past the shop window He sees no sign of his pursuer Dean wonders if he is collecting reinforcements or a weapon. He pretends to take a long time to choose deodorant. After ten minutes, he feels safe enough to leave the store.

He moves cautiously, watching reflections in shop windows. Then he crosses a couple of side streets and slips into a branch of the Hotel Chocolat cafe chain. The woman at the counter looks in his direction. Good afternoon, what can I get for you? A Diet Coke, please. I'll bring it over. Dean sits in a corner near the back, watching the street through the windows and thinking. He's a marked man. How long does he have left before someone gets him? Dean feels his adrenaline subside. But as it dies away, it's replaced by clarity. MI6 will warn against it, but if he is to die

soon, then he needs to see his brother, Mohedin. He needs to tell him face to face why he betrayed the cause his brother still holds so dear. Dean feels he owes this to the man who stood in the place of his parents since he was 14. One month later, Bahrain. In a crowded fish restaurant, Dean waits for his brother Moedin to arrive. He's sitting with his back to a wall and repeatedly checking the faces of everyone in the restaurant. He's already worked out how he will make a quick exit if his brother brings someone else with him. Fear is now such a constant part of his life, he no longer notices the tensing of his stomach. Moeddin arrives with a delighted smile, excited at the unexpected appearance of his youngest brother.

But once he sits, Dean struggles with how to begin his confession. He chose a crowded, public place in the hope it would mute Moeddin's response. Now he worries about what will happen if Mohedin begins shouting at him. So, how is my favorite nephew? Ibrahim? You'd be proud of him. He studies the Quran every day. He knows all the famous jihadists of history.

He really reminds me of you. The thought of Ibrahim following the same path of jihad steals Dean's nerve. Mawadin, there is something you need to know and you won't like it. For several years now I've been an agent of the British government. I lost faith in al-Qaeda in the course. I couldn't stomach the civilian casualties or the butchery. Mawadin looks hurt. For a moment it seems as if he might cry.

I didn't know, yet somehow I suspected you had left. Moadin looks away. Was it because Al-Qaeda didn't know how to use your abilities, your leadership potential? Dean shakes his head but can see his brother still searching for more reasons. He simply cannot understand why Dean would betray Al-Qaeda. Remember that morning in 2004 when we were arrested? I knew they were coming and I got rid of stuff that I feared could have incriminated you.

I protected you. Imagine never seeing your boys again. Then they would grow up without a father like we did. I don't know whether to say thank you or to tell you to go away. But now it makes sense. Dean feels a weight lifted from his shoulders. His brother's upset and confused.

Dean knows they will perhaps never see eye to eye on religion. But given his brother's reaction, he's sure he would never betray him or cut off contact. Already, he feels less isolated. Five years later, September 2013. On the edge of a small village in northern Syria, Dean stands on a hill as the sun sets behind him. In the distance, he can hear the Syrian civil war raging, the dull thud of artillery and the distinctive thrumming of helicopters. But right now, this place is a patch of quiet. It's been five years since Dean told his brother he spied on al-Qaeda, and these days he works as a security consultant for governments and banks.

But it's not work that's brought him to Syria. This is personal. Dean looks at the simple gravestones that surround him. The bodyguard who reluctantly brought him here stands near their car, checking his watch and their surroundings. He calls to Dean. The sun's going down. We don't want to be here after dark. Dean doesn't reply. Instead, he continues to check the hastily painted names on the simple headstones. Finally, he finds the one he is searching for. The grave of his favorite nephew, Ibrahim. Seduced by jihad, dead at 19, Mohedin was right.

Ibrahim was just like him, except he got his teenage death wish. Dean falls to his knees in the dust and says a small prayer. His nephew will never have the luxury of maturity. Instead, he lies silent like thousands of other young jihadists, each drawn by the belief that this is what God wants for them. But all Dean sees here is a futile waste of the life God gave them. The sound of helicopters grows nearer.

The bodyguard calls to Dean again. Eamon, seriously, we need to go, now! It's okay, it's okay, I'm done. Dean stands, and with a sigh, he turns and leaves. On the next episode, I'll be chatting with the man himself, Eamon Dean, to hear about some of the surprising stories from his life that didn't make it into this series. Until being outed as a spy, Eamon Dean was the West's most important spy inside Al-Qaeda. The intelligence he gathered saved hundreds of lives. Today, he is married with children

and works as a security consultant for governments and organisations worldwide. He also tries to educate others about the politics and history of Islamic fundamentalism as co-host of the podcast, Conflicted. Wondery Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of The Spy Who early and ad-free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. From Wondery, this is the fourth episode in our series, The Spy Who Betrayed Bin Laden. 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 various sources to make this series, including Nine Lives, My Time as MI6's Top Spy in Al-Qaeda, by Eamon Dean.

Throughout his life, Dean has used other names, including his birth name and the name he used while a member of Al-Qaeda. Eamon Dean is the name he adopted after finishing his spy career, and we've used it throughout this series for clarity. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jafri. Our show is produced by Vespucci,

with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Wondery. For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by Judy Cooper and researched by Marina Watson and Louise Byrne. Our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producer is Natalia Rodriguez and our sound designer is Ivor Manley. Thomas Currie is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frisian 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.