The Spy Who - The Spy Who Inspired the First Bond Girl | Evening Star | 1

Episode Date: March 31, 2026

When Hitler invades her beloved homeland, Poland, Countess Krystyna Skarbek signs up to go behind enemy lines as Britain’s first female undercover agent. She outwits the Nazis again and again. Also known by the name Christine Granville, her beauty and daring heroism inspired the character of Vesper Lynd in the first James Bond novel, Casino Royale. But tragedy would see her fade into obscurity. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who, add-free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. July 1944, the village of Saint-Agnon-Vercourt, southern eastern France. Christina Scarbeck sleepily opens her eyes and sees a glowing pink sky outside her broken hotel window. The dawn's beauty is at odds with the aerial bombing that's been raging all night. She gently wriggles out of the sleeping embrace of her spy chief, Francis Camarre, dresses quickly and crosses to the window to drink in the brief loveliness. Scarbeck's a pole who has been spying for Britain since the outbreak of World War II.

A few days ago, she parachuted into France to help Camar and his local resistance network. But yesterday, the Germans set out to obliterate that resistance in a massive offensive. A bomb explodes nearby, shaking the hotel and startling Gammaa awake. He leaps out of bed, dressing hurriedly. He stands beside her and watches the bombs drifting smoke darkened the dawn light. He takes her hand. I'd say good morning, but I'm not sure it will be. Scarbeck smiles and kisses his shoulder.

Now what makes you say that? They both tense at the telltale sound of a Luftwaffe bomber coming close. Scarbeck peers urgently into the sky. The plane banks as it comes into view and heads straight for them. Frozen in horror, they watch as the plane comes closer, so close they can see the pilot. The hotel is his target. Gamarroar drops to the floor trying to pull Scarbeck down.

If they release the bomb now, it'll come through this window. But Scarbeck resists, refusing to crouch. She watches the Beidors' own. open and the bomb begin its flight. She takes a deep breath. She will meet death on her feet, looking it firmly in the eye. I'm Indravama and this is The Spy Who, an audible original. Beneath the veneer of the every day lurks the realm of the spy. It's a dank, murky world full of dark corners, sinister motives and corrupted morals, a place of paranoia and infiltration, sabotage and manipulation.

In this season, we tell the story of Christina Scarbeck, also known as Christine Granville. Born a Polish countess, her childhood nickname, was Vespreil, meaning evening star. She was the first and most daring female spy of World War II. Her beauty, quick-thinking and numerous acts of heroism made her a legend within British intelligence. But while she survived the Nazis,

she couldn't survive the piece. Her story of heroism and tragedy inspired the character of Vespalind in Ian Fleming's first James Bond novel, Casino Royale. A quick note. We are using her real name, Christina Scarbeck, but some listeners may know her as Christine Granville, the cover name she adopted partway through the war and then kept.

What you're about to hear are dramatized reconstructions of events, based on the information that's been made public. But remember, in the shadow realm of the spy, the full story is rarely clear. You're listening to The Spy Who Inspired the First Bond Girl. This is episode one. Evening Star. December 1939, London, the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service, aka MI6.

Intelligence officer George Taylor, studies the attractive brunette in front of him and wonders what to make of her. She's pretty much forced herself into the chair opposite him by leveraging her contacts in British diplomatic circles. Now she's explaining why. I must do something to help my home country, and I think the British are my best hope. Scarbeck's husband is a Polish diplomat.

They were travelling to his new post in Kenya when Nazi Germany invaded Poland. They arrived in London a few days ago, determined to help the war effort. But Scarbeck's ideas are more ambitious than most. If you help me to get to the Tatra Mountains, I propose to ski from there into Nazi-occupied Poland. I will take propaganda materials with me

so the Polish people know they are not alone. Taylor's lips quiver in amusement. He's usually the one handing out the missions, but this forthright woman has already decided hers. I can be a courier between British intelligence and the Polish resistance, taking in messages and smuggling out intelligence. I see.

Despite his bemusement with Scarbeck, Taylor sees potential in the idea. He works in Section D, MI6's Irregular Warfare Unit, which organises sabotage and guerrilla warfare behind enemy lines. There's no doubt that someone who knows the territory, skis, and can speak several languages, would be useful. Britain wants to shore up resistance inside Britain. Poland and tie up the Germans there as much as possible. Skiing through the Tatra Mountains is treacherous.

Are you sure you're up to it? I have skied through an avalanche in that area. I can handle the conditions. Taylor strongly suspects any man with a pulse would help Scarbeck if she asked. But her beauty could also be a risk. Well, there's merit in what you propose, but I would feel more comfortable if you had a man with you. What about your husband? Scarbeck shakes her head defiantly.

He's 20 years older than me and has been rejected for military service. He'll only slow me down. I have his support for this. Taylor grapples with his thoughts. Britain has already sent men behind enemy lines, but he recoils at the idea of sending a woman into the path of death or torture. Still, his job is to sabotage the Germans with all the tools at his disposal. Chivalry is less important right now than willing,

and able volunteers, wherever they come from. An hour later, St. Ermin's Hotel, London. Scarbeck looks around the hotel lobby searching for her husband, Jerje Gizitsky. He's at a table smoking and reading the newspaper, but on seeing her wave and approach, he gives the waiter an order. She kisses his lined face in greeting.

Hello, darling. I can see from your smile it went well. I've ordered you a vodka. Thank you. Scarbeck is irritated. that he's ordered her drink for her, but controls it. Despite his domineering habits, Jerset is still better than her first husband,

a wealthy businessman who expected her to cook and keep house for him. Your drink, madam. Scarbeck sips her vodka. I need to go in for a briefing tomorrow and then I leave in two weeks. If you're leaving that soon, we had better buy you some warmer clothes. Scarbeck smiles at him gratefully. His support right now makes her forgive all his full. flaring tempers.

Scarbeck was born into one of Poland's oldest noble families. She was taught to ride, shoot and ski before the age of seven and was then packed off to a religious boarding school. While she was there, her father lost the family fortune and estates. Scarbeck took a job as a receptionist and married her first husband out of desperation. Unfortunately, she disliked middle-class married life almost as much as typing and answering phones. Despite being so much older, Yerze was a fellow aristocrat, who offered her international travel, enough money for servants, and encouraged her taste for adventure. Yerze leaves a few

shilling coins on the table. Jawi, Skarbeck nonce and takes his arm. She knows she's lucky to have found two men in Yerjé and Taylor who agree that her talents are of more use behind enemy lines than on the sidelines. A few weeks later, Café Flourish, Budapest. Scarbeck weaves her way through the polished wooden tables and furtive conversations. This cafe is a popular hangout for Poles who've escaped the Nazis and a hub of secret activity. Although Hungary is on friendly terms with Nazi Germany, its historic ties with Poland mean many turn a blind eye to Polish resistance activities.

Scarbeck notices a large group at the back, and at its centre she recognises a childhood friend, Angey Koverski. He's recounting a story from the heroic last stand of Poland's army. They found me under one of the burned out German tanks and insisted on getting a doctor. I said, I don't need a doctor, you idiot. I need a blacksmith. Kovirski pulls up his trouser leg to reveal a prosthetic limb made from wood and iron. He stops abruptly as he catches sight of Scarbeck. There is no mistaking the instant admiration in his blue eyes.

Scarbeck can't help smiling flirtatiously in response. Andi Koverski, you have been busy since I saw you last. Which, as I recall, was after an avalanche had fallen on you. Koverski gets to his feet and takes her hand, kissing it with a roguish look. Countess Scarbeck, the bravest woman on skis I ever met. What happened with your leg? Ah, well, I'd like to say I'd like to say, I lost it in the defence of my country,

but actually a friend shot me in the foot during a hunting trip. Koverski grins beneath his movie star mustache and ushers her to a seat beside him. He's a few years younger than her, and she feels a wave of pity for the brilliant horseman and skier that is no more. Sensing it, he shakes his head at her. No need to feel sorry for me. I've discovered the joy of fast cars.

In fact, I recently acquired a lovely Opel Olympia from an obliging Nazi officer. He felt you deserved it, did he? I never asked, but it was a fair trade. He captured my brigade at the time. Now, tell me Vespriel. What are you doing in Budapest? Scarbeck eyes the animated conversations around her and lowers her voice so only Koverski can hear her. I'm here as a journalist, but in reality I'm working for the British.

Koverski's face darkens. Why? The British have abandoned Poland. No, they haven't. But it's complicated. Why don't we discuss it privately? Perhaps tomorrow evening over dinner? Skarbeck looks at Kovarski coyly through her eyelashes. She feels breathless at her own daring.

She has always felt a connection and attraction to Koverski, but it has intensified in just a few minutes. She knows she must see him again. Their eyes lock and she feels electric. Crackle. He kisses her hand again. Being asked to dinner by a beautiful woman, how could I refuse? Two months later, Budapest. Skarbeck sits alone in her flat, waiting impatiently for Koverski to return. After their first dinner together, Skarbeck and Koverski surrendered to passion. Since then, they've spent every second they can together. Koverski works for the Polish army in exile,

running escape lines to get as many men as possible out of Nazi-occupied Poland. Scarbeck has been helping him over the past month, because her own mission has stalled. She's made contact with Poland's resistance network, the Zet Vu Zet. But for reasons she doesn't understand, they don't trust the British and have refused to help her get to Poland. Understanding her frustration, Kovetsky promised to introduce her to someone who could help her reach. Poland. She hears men's voices downstairs and quickly opens the door, beaming at Koverski at his friend Jan Marusash. Come in! The vodka is waiting. A few moments later, the three of them are around the table

clinking glasses. Nisrovia. Skarbak downs her shot in one and feels its fire slip down her throat. She eyes Maruzas with a determined look. He is a former Olympic skier, who now takes information and people across the Tatra mountains. Jan, could you take me into Poland? Marusash is taken aback. He thought this was a social visit. Sorry, I'm working with British intelligence, and I have pamphlets that tell our people Britain has not forgotten them.

Sure. Would you like me to take a cow on my skis too? This isn't a joke, she stands angrily, glaring at the Olympian. I've been waiting months for the Zetvuzet to organise my passage. Will you help me or not? Are you mad? Even without the German patrols, it's too dangerous. It's the worst winter we've had in years. The temperatures are minus 30 and the snow has buried many of the huts.

Even for me, it's a nightmare. You will never survive it. I'm stronger than you think. Marusasch looks to Koverski. Do you think this is a good idea? Koversky shrugs and throws back another vodka. If anyone can make it, she can. And she's very stubborn, as you can see.

You're both mad, but I'm not. I won't do it. A few weeks later, the Tatra Mountains near the border between Poland and Slovakia. Scarbeck follows the dark shape of Marusas through a raging blizzard. It's so cold it hurts to breathe. It even hurts to blink as ice clings to her eyelashes. The shadow of a hut looms out of the fog. Using the last of their strength, Scarbeck and Marusash push the snow away from the door and collapse inside.

inside. Scarbet is unable to get up again. Marusash looks at her worried. He starts a fire and helps her into bed. By the time he puts a blanket over her, she is already asleep. She wakes sometime later with a gasp. Disoriented, she blinks and listens to the furious storm outside. There it is again. A cry for help. Someone's in trouble. She leaps up and runs for the door, or yanking it open. But Marusasch is too quick found. He drags her back and slams the door shut. No, you'll die out there.

Someone's in trouble. They need help. It's the wind or Germans. Go back to sleep. Scarbeck gets back into bed, but cannot sleep. The next morning. The blizzard has cleared, leaving a bright blue sky and a sea of glittering snow.

But Scarbeck feels haggard after her sleepless night, and Maruzasch is anxious. Clear visibility means more chance of being spotted by German patrols. They push off on their skis, zigzagging down the final descent on their journey. A few hours later, she sees Marusas stooped to pick something out of the snow. It is two mountaineering rucksacks. A stomach drops as she scans the area for the owners. Scarbeck's worst fears are soon realized when she sees two bodies half buried in the snow.

No, no. She scrapes the snow from their faces. It is a fair-haired young couple frozen in their final embrace. Wiping away her tears, Scarbeck turns on Marulsas. Look, here are your Germans. She covers the two bodies with pine branches and draws across in the snow next to them, the best graves she can manage.

Then she puts her skis back on and angrily pushes on towards enemy territory. March 1940, Warsaw, Poland. Scarbeck walked through Warsaw in shock. Whole blocks have been raised to the ground, including many of the city's most beautiful buildings. She parted ways with Marusash at the foot of the Tatra Mountains and continued her journey to the capital alone by train.

Now, with a headscarf-tied peasant style around her hair, she picks her way down streets she no longer recognizes. Huge piles of rubble are on either side, with pieces of furniture and the remains of walls poking out of them. Around her, people carry water in buckets or clutch food to their chests, and everywhere she looks are the huge red, white and black flags of the Third Reich. At the end of the street, a group of German soldiers are shouting at a crowd of people carrying suitcases. The very old and very young are being shoved onto trucks.

The others are beaten with batons to hurry them along the street. All wear armbands with the star of David. Scarbeck knew the Germans were forcing Jews to live in ghettos, but seeing the brutality firsthand sends a cold chill down her spine. Alarmed, she ignores her instructions to only make contact with the Polish resistance. Instead, she turns and runs as fast as she can to her family home. Forty minutes later, and out of breath, she's relieved a front of her. find the elegant four-story apartment building intact.

She rushes up the stairs and hammers on the apartment door until it is opened by a tall, elegant woman in her 60s. Mama, thank God. Christina! Her mother ushers her inside before embracing her tearfully. But later over tea, Scarbeck frowns at her mother. Mama, why have you not left Warsaw? Don't you know what the Germans are doing to the Jews?

Scarbeck's mother is the daughter of a wife. well-known Jewish banker. She shakes her grey head stubbornly. I am a Scarbeck. I converted to Catholicism when I married. They would not dare touch me. Mama, the Nazis are animals. They do not care about our family's history. It's a miracle you've not been denounced. What of our gold-fed her relatives? Her mother turns away sadly and Scarbeck knows, without being told, they have already been sent to a ghetto. But they registered themselves as Jews. I have not. I have not. I have a many friends in Warsaw who will protect me. Besides, where would I go? I can get you to Britain. Mama, please, we have to get you out as soon as possible. No, my darling. I appreciate your concern,

but I will be fine. Now, after dinner, we should light a candle at St. Alexander's Church. For two days, Scarbeck tries to convince her mother to leave Warsaw. Eventually, she slips away defeated and resumes her mission. Two days later, Warsaw. Scarbeck is ushered into the small kitchen of a workers' cottage. She's here to meet members of the Zet Vuzet, the largest of the Polish resistance networks, and the only one officially working on behalf of the Polish government in exile. Two men in workers' clothes greet her with faces of stone.

She smiles. Hello, my name is Madame Marchant and I know it's not. Scarbeck stops, confused by the curt interruption. You are Countess Christina Scarbeck. You've been in Warsaw, for three days, you visited your mother, a well-known Jewess, and told everyone about a dead couple you found on the mountain. Scarbeck's face reddens. She hadn't realised how indiscreet she had been. The second Zetvuzet fighter leans forward. We told you not to come. Why would we want someone

who can't follow orders and has no idea how to operate covertly? I'm sorry, I realize that now, but please, I want to help and I will learn. No, you're working for the British. They knew Hitler was going to invade, and they stopped us building up our army. We don't need you or them. Go back to Budapest. Skarbeck blinks away tears, but at being directed towards the door, she feels a surge of anger. You are foolish. Poland needs all the help it can get. The Germans have torn apart our country. I think it's time you left, Countess. Scarvec stalks past them with her chin thrust up and then slams the door behind her in fury. A week later, Scarbeck knocks hesitantly on the door of an apartment in a wealthy part of Warsaw.

It belongs to a woman called Teresa Lubyenska. Ah, Madame Marchant, I'm so glad you have visited me. Come in, come in. Lubyenska is also an aristocrat, but older than Scarbeck. The women know of each other, although they've never met. So Scarbeck was intrigued when Lubyenska sent a message asking her to visit. I want to introduce you to a very dear friend of mine, Stefan Wittkovsky. In the lounge is a man in his late 30s wearing a threadbare suit and a childish smile.

He leaps forward and shakes her hand energetically. Pleased to meet you, very pleased indeed. Vitkovsky's name sparks a memory for Scarbeck. I remember a story about a Wittkovsky who managed to destroy a car. while building a death-ray machine, I think it was. You're not related, are you? Vidkovsky reddens and rubs a hand through his thick, wavy hair, making it stand on end. That was a slight miscalculation of the electricity required for, anyway, it doesn't matter. Scarpec looks at him round-eyed. He is the eccentric military design engineer she remembers laughing about at parties.

Vidkovsky paces the room with a feverish energy. These days, I use my business in Switzerland as a cover for an intelligence network across Poland. And I hear through my contacts that you are a British agent offering help. Yes, but the Zet Vuzet doesn't want my help. The Zetruzette are control freaks. They hate me because I won't count out of them. So perhaps we can make an arrangement. Yes, that sounds ideal.

Good. We call ourselves The Musketeers. If I give you intelligence to smuggle to the British, then you need to return with funding. How are you funding it now? Ah, that is where our friend Teresa comes in. Lubyenska smiles wistfully. I am selling my jewelry.

My only son is dead, so my money may as well help Poland. But it will soon run out, I'm afraid. Scarbeck touches the older woman's hand in sympathy, but Wittkovsky interrupts the moment by lifting Scarbeck to her feet. Your codename will be fly. You must wait in Warsaw. I will be in touch when I have intelligence for you. He smiles and guides her out the door.

Scarbeck is walking on air. At last she can achieve her mission. But as she walks back to her lodgings, it occurs to her that she never mentioned her propaganda materials. She also agreed to all of Wittkovsky's terms without asking for anything in return. She bites her lip. She must get better at this.

But soon she is smiling. again. At least she has a purpose and is truly helping her country. The following week, in a crowded Warsaw cafe, Scarbeck sips a coffee and reads a newspaper when she hears her name. Christina Scarbeck! What are you doing here? Without thinking, Scarbeck turns her head. She recognizes a pre-war acquaintance waving at her from across the room. A few people's heads turn to look at them both. Fear grips her as the woman approaches. I heard you went abroad. Africa wasn't it? Scarbeck resists her instinctive civility. I'm so sorry. I think you have me confused with someone else. Don't be silly. I'd know your face and figure anywhere. I've always been so envious of them. That's kind,

but I don't think we've ever met. Her acquaintance looks puzzled, then hurt. I'm so sorry. Please excuse me. Her acquaintance moves away. Scarbeck steals every nerve to return to her newspaper and coffee as if unconcerned. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see women whispering and staring at her. The Zet Vuzet were right. She's far too visible. It's only a matter of time before the Nazis learn that the half-Jewish daughter of a well-known Polish nobleman has mysteriously reappeared in the city.

But she can't leave until Vittkovsky hands over his intelligence, and she has no idea when that will be. or how to contact him. A few days later, April 1940, the border region between Poland and Slovakia. Scarbeck sits in a train carriage and feels the tiny, reassuring lump of hidden microfil in the tips of her gloves. She glances at the tall blonde man in a dirty trench coat

pretending to sleep in the corner of the compartment. He is Count Vladimir Ledukovsky, one of the Zetvuzet's most experienced couriers. After a chance meeting at a resistance safe house, he agreed she could accompany him on his return to Budapest. Beneath his hat, pulled low over his eyes, Lederofsky watches the corridor. He twitches his index finger.

It's the sign she's been waiting for. Scarbeck turns her head and pretends to watch the countryside outside the window. Lederovsky yawns, gets up and leaves the compartment. She waits, counting to 100 in her head, before also leaving the compartment. She meets Ledukovsky near the luggage racks, where they both grab their hiking rucksacks. Remember, doing exactly what I do.

The train begins slowing as it approaches the Slovakian border station. Ledukovsky opens the carriage door. Now, Ledukovsky jets from the moving train, gracefully rolling as he hits the earth. For a moment, Scarbeck thinks she cannot do it, but then the adrenaline takes over. She jumps, hitting the ground hard. Before the earth has time to write itself,

she's pulled up by Ledukovsky and they sprint for the nearby forest. She hears shouts and then gunshots. She ducks and sprints for her life. Lungs burning. She follows Ledukovsky zigzagging through trees and leaping hazards sure-footedly. Through the fear, Scarbeck feels a sudden surge of pure happiness. This is what it means to be alive.

Two days later, On a steep forested mountain path, Ledukovsky glances back and sees Scarbeck is still keeping up. He knows he's set an ambitious pace, but she has not once asked to stop. Do you need a break? Scarbeck catches up, and in between her heaving breaths, grins at him.

No? Do you? As she passes him, Ledukovsky gives her an admiring look. He was worried she would be a burden, but now he dreads the end of their journey. She is tough and beautiful with a smile that lights up the air around her. He tries to ignore his feelings. She's already told him she's in a relationship with Angey Goversky, who happens to be a close friend of his.

He catches her up and points out concrete blocks ahead of them in the forest. That's the border with Hungary. You've made it. Scarbeck smiles delightedly and despite her tiredness, hauls herself on top of one of the blocks. She spreads her arms wide and lifts her face to the sky. What are you doing? She twirls and then looks down at him shining with happiness.

This war has liberated me. Ledukovsky can't help feeling shocked. Their home country is conquered and thousands are dying every day. Scarbeck shrugs at his expression. You don't understand how bored I was. Now I am alive. Anjee feels the same. Without the war, he'd be a one-legged, fat.

farmer on his estates, and me, some old diplomat's wife. She jumps down from the block. Ledukovsky instinctively puts out his arms to catch her. Finding her in his arms, he can't help kissing her. She kisses him back, hard. June 1940, Budapest, Kelletty train station. Two months later, Ledukovsky sits on a train watching Scarbeck and Kovsky share a tender parting on the platform. The past month has felt torturous. Owing to his close friendship with Kovsky, Ledukovsky has had ample time to witness the strength of his friend's love for Skarbeck. Unfortunately, it's also made his own desire for Skabek more intense.

So when she received a package of money and propaganda from the Polish consul to take into Poland, Ledukovsky invited her to join him on his next mission to Warsaw. Now he's regretting that offer. He looks away as the pair kiss passionately, and even after boarding the train, Scarbeck keeps her eyes on Kovsky as she waves him goodbye. By the time the station is out of sight, Ledukovsky is in a foul temper. Finished? What's wrong with you? I thought you said you were only with him out of pity for his leg. I never. You implied it on a walk from the Slovak order and with your actions to me. Maybe that's what you wanted to believe. You think I'm jealous?

Yes, Leduhofsky's scowls out of the window. Fine. Yes, I'm jealous. I can't think of anyone but you. I want you to be mine, not his. But his words trigger a haughty look from Scarbeck. I am not his, and I am not yours. I am nobody's.

You need to accept that. Why should I? Because you want a man for each part of your life? Idiot. Don't talk to me. With pleasure. Both stare out of the window, fuming for the rest of the job. journey. Two days later, Slovakia. Sweat trickles down Scarbeck's back and her burning cheeks

tell her she's caught the sun. She lets her pack drop from her shoulders with relief. She admires the scene in front of her, green pastures, the chime of cowbells and blue mountains stretching into the distance. It would be idyllic if it wasn't so hot, and Ledukovsky wasn't being so prickly on this journey. She shades her eyes and looks towards the farmhouse to see. see him emerge with a jug in hand. But instead of looking pleased at getting them some milk, his expression is grave. What is it?

He hands her the milk with devastated eyes. France has fallen to the Germans. Scarbeck stumbles backwards in shock. It's not possible. Britain will be next, and then there will be nowhere safe for us. Scarbeck feels the tears streaking through the dust and sweat on her face. She feels dizzy and sick.

Worried, Ledukovsky coaxes her into the shade of a tree and forces her to drink the milk. But even after an hour, she still feels as heavy as lead and nauseous. The mountains stretching into the distance now seem insurmountable. I'm sorry, I can't go on. Can we catch a train to the Polish border? Ledukovsky doesn't like the idea. It's dangerous. Slovakia is little more than a German puppet state.

But Scarbeck's hope has gone and with it her strength. Finally, he nods and helps her to her feet. That night, near the Slovakian and Polish border. Wake up! Scarbeck jerks awake to find the barrel of a loaded rifle facing her. She curses internally. They must have fallen asleep on the train platform bench. Ledukovsky already has his hands in the air

as the sergeant in charge of the Slovakian border guards points a pistol at him. Who are you? What are you doing here? Please. My sister and I have escaped a Hungarian internment camp. We are trying to get back to Poland. Scarbeck adopts her most frightened expression. You have no idea what we have been through in that internment camp. Please, I just want to go home.

She sees the sergeant soften. He tucks his pistol back in its holster and nods at them to follow him to the border guards hut. Those Hungarians are beasts. If this is true, you have nothing to fear. But the Germans will need to speak to you. Skarbeck and Ledukowski share a glance. They must get rid of the incriminating material they're carrying before they are handed over to the Nazis.

They enter the hut and the sergeant retreats to his office to phone the Germans. The other guards relax a little. Scarbeck and Ledukovsky moved to the open fireplace, stretching their hands to the warmth. With the skill of a magician, Ledukovsky drops his forged travel papers into the flames without being noticed. He's also clicked the tiny torch in his pocket,

one that instantly wipes the microfilm hidden inside it. But Scarbeck's problem is more difficult. In her pack are glossy photos of General Shikorsky, the head of the exiled Polish army. The photos show him decorating Polish officers in Paris and shaking hands with British Prime Minister Winston Churchill. They were meant to boost morale among resistance fighters. Now they could be her death sentence.

But the photos are too big to drop in the fire unnoticed. Scarbeck still hasn't found a solution when the sergeant returns. We will take you to the police station. The Gestapo will interview you there tomorrow morning. Come. Back on the street, they follow the sergeant's torchlight accompanied by guards. But on hearing the sounds of a fast-flowing mountain river, Scarbeck has an idea.

Crossing the bridge over the river, she falls to the ground pretending to twist her ankle. The guards lift their rifles as Ledjofsky rushes to her. Are you all right? It's my ankle again. I'll need the bandage from my pack. But there are no bandages in her pack because he carries the first aid kit. He nods in understanding and turns to the Slovak sergeant.

May I get her bandage? We need to strap her ankle so she can walk. The sergeant nods. He gets out a cigarette and leans against the iron railings of the bridge as he waits. Ledukovsky uses the darkness to pretend he cannot see inside the pack. He rummages for just long enough that the guards lower their rifles and boredom. Damn it. Where is it? Faking temper, he suddenly grabs the package of photos from the pack and flings it over the iron railing of the bridge into the water below.

Chaos erupts. What did you throw? Get it. They are spies. Get it out of the reef. Don't shoot him! The guards pin them against the bridge railings. One jumps into the water to grab the water.

photos, but he's too slow. The package quickly disappears into the bubbling black stream. The sergeant pulls his pistol and places it against Ledukovsky's temple. What was it? It was just some nature photos I took. They were taking up space in the pack. Your story stinks. The guards drag them across the bridge and up against a wall while their packs are emptied onto the ground. But now the photos are gone. Scarbeck feels relaxed. But then one of the guards holds up Ledukovsky's black box. Madonna medallion. Scarbeck is confused. She's seen Ledukowski wearing it. She assumed it was just a good luck charm. The sergeant grabs it and with a triumphant smile, he swings it in front of Ledukovsky's face.

We have seen this medallion many times. It is a Z-Voset tag. Proof that you are spies. Follow the Spy Who on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes The Spy Who ad free by joining Audible. You have been listening to The Spy Who, an Audible original. Have you got a spy story you'd like us to tell? Email your ideas to The Spy Who at audible.com. 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 used many sources in our research for this season, including The Spy Who Loved by Claire Mully and Christine by Madeline Masson. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Indra Varma. The producer was Vespucci, with writing and story editing by Yellowant. For Yellowant, the writer was Judy Cooper, research by Louise Byrne with thanks to Inna Bro.

The managing producer was Jay Priest. For Vespucci, the senior producer was Holly Aquilina. The sound designer was Alex Port Felix. Natalia Rodriguez is the supervising producer. Music supervision by Scott Velasquez or Friss-on-Sync. For Vespucci, the executive producers were Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turcan. For Yellow Ant, the executive producer was Tristan Donovan. For Audible, the executive producers were Estelle Doyle and Theodora Lulu.

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