The Spy Who - The Spy Who Jailed the Omagh Bomb Plotter | The Reaping | 3

Episode Date: January 20, 2026

With the Real IRA accelerating its bombing campaign, FBI-MI5 spy David Rupert is under pressure and about to make a possibly fatal mistake.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

July 2000, Worcester, Massachusetts. Sitting in his room at the Holiday Inn, FBI and MI5 spy David Rupert recognises the knock of the door, the one that signals the arrival of real IRA assassin, Smith. Hey, big man. Hey, killer. Rupert's joke covers up his real anxiety. Of all the real IRA members he has met, Smith is the real the only one he feels killing would come to as naturally as drinking a beer. In fact, Rupert doubts

he'd even put his beer down while he was putting a bullet in your forehead. He tries to keep their meetings as short as possible. This is the rocket launcher software, McKevitt wanted you to look at. Rupert is still the real IRA's money mule, despite his name appearing in the Sunday Times newspaper a month ago. Some in the group wanted to cut ties with him after that, fearing he was now a liability. But real IRA leader Michael McEvitt decided the need for US money outweighed the risks of continuing to use him. But McEvitz also got Rupert helping Smith access weaponry. Smith pockets the software disc. Thanks. I'll organise to give it back to you in a week or two.

Uh, Kevitt also wants to know why you're not in Mexico, testing the weapons. Smith looks sheepish. I met a girl, she's bloody gorgeous, and I think she might be the one. We did a long weekend to go back, because I speak French for my days in the Legion. As Smith chats about his new girlfriend, Rupert is conscious the FBI is listening next door. They want recorded evidence linking Smith to real IRA guns, not details of his love life. So when will the weapons be ready? Smith looks offended at being cut off.

I'm working on it. I'll let you know. Rupert nods, unwilling to push any further. After Smith departs, the FBI enter the room for a debrief. Hours later, Rupert is finally free to go. He gets in his car to drive the 14 hours back to his home in Chicago. Luckily, his trucking years mean long night drives, don't bother him.

When he arrives back home, despite his tiredness, he heads to his computer to write a report of the meeting for MI5. He wants to get it done before he forgets the details. As he waits for his laptop to boot up, he spots the disc with the rocket launcher software, sitting on the table beside his computer. Cold dread grips his throat. It's the disc he thought he'd already given to Smith. Sweat breaks out all over his body. He's just given a trained IRA killer, the disc containing the notes about his last trip to Ireland. Notes intended for his MI5 spymasters.

From audible originals, this is The Spy Who. In the last episode, after the real IRA carried out the deadliest bombing of the troubles in Omar, FBI and MI5 sent in spy David Rupert to win the trust of the terrorist group's leader, Michael McCabit. But the group's threat to Northern Ireland's fragile peace is intensifying. And now, Rupert has made a potentially fatal error, handing the real IRA's sleeper assassin, a disc full of intelligence he's gathered for MI5. You're listening to The Spy Who Jail the Omar bomb plotter. This is episode three, The Reaping.

It's July 2000, and Rupert is dripped. driving back to Massachusetts. He grips the steering wheel hard. The muscles across the back of his neck are rigid and painful. It's been a few days since he gave the wrong disc to Smith, and during that period, he's been frantic. His wife, Maureen, tried to reassure him there was nothing to worry about. Many of the notes on the disc she wrote herself as Rupert dictated them to her after meetings.

She told him, there was nothing on it that would link him to MI5. He could claim they were simply notes so he would remember what he needed to do when he returned to the US. But Rupert isn't so competent. The speedometer creeps higher as Rupert thinks of all the real IRA members who are growing concerned

about the liability he represents and his influence over Mekhevitt. Rupert doesn't want to think about what happens if he loses Makevitz protection. The knowledge that he was secretly writing down all their conversations could tip the scales. against him. Rupert pulls into the car park of the Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Worcester.

Smith's car is already there. To avoid Smith thinking he was worried, Rupert left it a few days before getting in touch. He casually explained he'd handed over the wrong disc and suggested they could meet for the handover when he was passing by the next day as part of a business trip. Smith said he hadn't got around to checking it and had agreed to meet Rupert to exchange discs. Smith opens his car door. The sound of Irish rock music spills into the air. Rupert tries to relax his facial muscles into an apologetic smile. Sorry about this morning kept distracting me as I was packing. He hands over the rocket launcher disc, searching Smith's face for any sign of suspicion. But Smith seems as casual as ever. No problem. Lucky you caught me. I was just heading off to visit my

girl. Is that all? I'm running late. Yeah, yeah. No. Thanks, all good. And have fun, buddy. Rupert gives the assassin a wave and sends up a grateful prayer that Smith has a new girlfriend to distract him. Only after Smith's car disappears into the traffic does Rupert double over, suddenly breathless.

He realizes he hasn't breathed properly for days. Two months later, September 20th, 2000, Boxwell Gardens, London. It's 9pm and at a small park just a short walk, from the banks of the River Thames, two men kneel on the ground. They work swiftly in the inky shade of the trees, away from the street lamps. In front of them, the multi-story buildings between the park and the river are lit up brightly. Brightest of them all is the green glass and beige stone headquarters

are Britain's Foreign Intelligence Service, MI6. One of the men steps out of the shade. He hoists a grenade rocket launcher to his shoulder, The other man stands behind him. Safety off. Angle up five degrees. Phone when ready. The two men watch the grenade arc through the air until it disappears from view. They wait.

And then the noise of the explosion is followed by glass shattering and smoke rising from one of the windows of the MI6 building. Yes! The two men high-five each other before swiftly repacking the rocket launcher into its canvas kit bag. One hoisted over his shoulder and they both run towards the road where a motorbike is parked. In less than a minute, they disappear into London streets. Such a brazen attack on Britain's spymasters ensures the real IRA will be on the front of the world's newspapers tomorrow. It's the group's second successful attack in London following the bombing of Hammersmith Bridge earlier in the year.

There have also been bombings in Northern Ireland, including of the Dublin to Belfast Railway line and a police station in Stewartstown. All with the aim of shattering Northern Ireland's fragile peace. The following month, Dundalk, Ireland. In a restaurant owned by a real IRA supporter, David Rupert and Michael McEbbett are sat in a booth, partitioned off from the other diners. After the waitress puts their food down in front of them,

Rupert takes the opportunity to hand McEvitt an envelope of cash under the table. McEvitt takes it, then narrows his eyes. feels light. How much is there? 6,000. Why so little? Ruper shrugs as he tucks into his chips. Well, it's getting harder to raise funds now

that peace process has been voted through. People are just giving less. Also, Smith has been buying weapons with some of the money. McEbbott covers the envelope with his napkin. But his expression is distracted. We need more. We've got real momentum. We're gaining members every day.

McEvitz Berger lies untouched as he ponders his problem. All we need, Dave, is a state sponsor to help us take things to the next level. What do you mean? In the 1980s, Gaddafi and Libya sponsored us. They gave us money, weapons training. That's what we need. Maybe someone like Saddam Hussein. Rupert's eyes widened at the mention of the Iraqi dictator.

How would Saddam Hussein get involved? I don't know, but sometimes these things turn up once you put the word out. A few days later, MI5 headquarters, London. In a secure meeting room, Rupert's handlers from MI5 and the FBI are discussing the next steps in their joint operation. And MI5 is excited about McKevitz's desire for a state sponsor. This gives us a chance to further infiltrate McEvitt's operation. We're thinking one of our Middle Eastern officers could pose as an Iraqi. The FBI officer sitting opposite looks unimpressed.

And how long will that take? No, we need at least six months. The FBI man shakes his head. We need to move to arrest as soon as possible. That means in the next few weeks. The MI5 team are stunned. What's the hurry? My delay.

We've got a date when Smith is going to deliver the guns to Rupert. That's the final piece of our evidence puzzle. But it's not enough to convict McEvitt. The real IRA leader will be the first person tried under the Republic of Ireland's new anti-terror laws. To get a conviction, the Irish prosecutors will need more than Rupert's reports and a man buying guns in Massachusetts. The Saddam operation will give us robust evidence, but we need time to put it in place. If we move too soon, McKev will smell a rat. The FBI officer leans forward.

I don't think you appreciate the political situation here. In January, President Clinton leaves the White House. Northern Ireland was his thing. The next administration will have a different agenda. Once the new president is sworn in, we'll be shifted onto new priorities immediately. We need to wrap this. Well, we could lose all our work over the past six years.

Not to mention the $1 million both our agencies have spent on Rupert. Yeah, my five team, exchange concerned looks. Oh, what if we sped up the Saddam operation? but we need more than a month. The FBI officer gives in. Fine. We'll wait a few more months. But if it starts heading south,

we will move two arrests in the US immediately. And then you're on your own with McEvitt. The MI5 team nod. They've got their chance to gather more evidence against one of the key men behind the Omar bombing. But time is not on their side. A few weeks later, November 2000. McEvitt's house, Black Rock, Ireland.

Sitting in McEvitt's study, Rupert taps quickly on a new desktop computer. Over time, he's let it be known to the real IRA that he's getting into computers and is now something of a whiz. So when McEvitt asked him to bring him a new one from America, he also asked Rupert to set it up for him. It is exactly what the FBI and MI5 were hoping for. Their computer experts had access to this PC before Rupert, delivered it to McCavitt and have most likely doctored its software.

McEbbett watch is impressed as Rupert's fingers fly over the keys. Glad you're doing this. I hate computers. There's you use a false name to buy it like I told you. Yeah. Anthony Blair. Please tell me you're kidding. No. You are now the owner of Tony Blair's computer.

That was foolish, Dave. Really foolish. Don't you do anything like that again. You hear me? Relax. I bought it in Hobart, Indiana. Not one there's going to make the connection. Rupert smiles and decides to take a risk. Are you sure you want me doing this? You know, I'm a spy. McEvitt grimaces. He knows Rupert is referring to claims by Mickey Donnelly, the man who introduced them. Donnelly's anger at being sidelined by McEvitt has combined with his suspicions over Rupert's addiction to receipts.

He's now telling everyone his former friend, is a spy and a traitor. But McEvitt refuses to believe him. Dave, ignore Donnelly. He's just bitter because he's on the way out and he can't deal with it. Rupert feels a pang at McEvitt's steadfast loyalty, when at this very moment he is installing encryption software onto his laptop that has been doctored by MI5. He puts it out of his mind.

Such thoughts are a good way to get yourself killed. Rupert looks up at McEvitt. By the way, I've been putting out feelers about your foreign sponsor plan. There's a few folks I know in the trucking world who might know someone who knows someone. Not had much luck so far, though. Good man, that's all we can do. McEvitt stands and gets his coat. Got to head off now. Just close the door behind you when you finish, yeah?

Bernard then should be back soon. Rupert nods, feeling again a pang of guilt of the trust, McEvitt is putting in him. But once alone, he makes no move to search the house. He knows McEvitt has CCTV cameras covering every square inch. Two months later, Worcester, Massachusetts. In the now familiar Holiday Inn, where all his meetings with Smith take place, Rupert clenches his fists in fury. Tonight, he meets the real IRA's assassin for what should be the final time. Smith is due to bring weapon. for Rupert to smuggle into Ireland.

All around him, FBI agents are setting up video surveillance devices to capture the moment. Rupert usually tries to relax ahead of these meetings, but a new senior agent from the FBI's New York office is pushing his buttons. Did you hear that? It needs to tell you where he got the guns. It needs to acknowledge these guns are for the real IRA, okay? The tension of the last few months suddenly erupts in Rupert. Don't tell me what to do.

The other agents stare in shock, but the senior FBI agent ups his own aggression in response. I'm asking you to do your fucking job, Rupert. All that money we pay you is worthless. If we don't get a conviction, yeah? Well, how much is it worth if I've got a bullet in my head? Rupert looms over the senior agent and jabs his finger into his chest. I've been doing this for six years, buddy.

I never ask questions I don't need to. You were going to get me killed. One of the other FBI agents steps between them. The target will be here soon. We need to get out of here. The senior FBI agent backs down as the others pack up and leave. Once he is on his own,

Rupert takes deep, calming breaths, trying to move past the arguments he just had. Through the chiffon curtain, he sees Smith pull up in the car park. Here we go. All right, big man? Yeah, good, good. Smith,

is carrying two long, large canvas holdalls. He puts them on the bed and unzips them to reveal gun components. Two dozen Uzi's, as ordered. You need me to put them together for you? Rupert represses a shudder at the thought of two dozen working Uzi's and a trained assassin in the same room as himself. No, no, don't worry. I can do that.

It's a lie, but Rupert wants to get rid of. rid of Smith as soon as he possibly can. Smith is doing his habitual search of the room for bugs. Anything else I need to tell McEbbett or the real IRA boys want to take them? Smith gives him a quizzical look. No. I think they know what to do with them. Rupert feels he has pushed his luck too far.

He nods. Yeah, well, of course. I've not heard back from McEvid about the plan. to get the bomb parts to Ireland. Can you check he's approved it? Yeah, we'll do. Great. I'll be off then.

Rupert and Smith shake hands. He watches from the window as Smith drives away and then sits heavily on the corner of the bed, light-headed with relief. The FBI agents enter the room, grinning. They start congratulating him, even the senior agent he had had the argument with. Smith must have said enough for them to feel confident.

of a conviction. Well, does it feel? Six years of spying at an end. Rupert gives a tight smile. He doesn't know how to feel. Against the odds, he's managed to survive. One month later, January 12, 2001, Blackhawk, Ireland. It's the early hours of the morning,

and Rupert is squeezed into a small, unmarked car with three Irish police officers. He spent the last few days at a police station in Dublin, giving his statement for the case against Michael McEvitt. Now he needs to direct them to each of the locations he spoke about in the statement to help verify the truth of it. The car turns onto the street where the McEvitz live. There, the two-story house in the corner with the logo.

Rupert is tense. An unknown car loitering near McEvitt's house at this time of night will only ever be enemies or the police. If McEvitt happens to check his CCTV cameras, or look out of the window, they could get ugly. The Irish police officer makes a note, and nods to the driver. Okay, let's head to the bomb-making house. They drive north onto the town of Dundalk.

Take the next left, and then the first right. Since his first visit to the bomb-making house, when he felt hopelessly lost, Rupert has visited numerous times. He made a point of trying to memorize another bit of the journey each time. He's now confident he knows. where the house is. But he hadn't counted on roadworks. Shit. The road is closed.

The driver holds the car and turns to him expectantly. Now we're... Well, I guess, back to the main road and take the next left. Rupert feels a flutter of panic. He only learned the one route to the Bomb Maker House. The rows of grey identical in houses start to confuse him as they drive into unfamiliar roads. million roads. So,

uh, take the, this left, no, no, no, maybe the next one. The police officers look worried. Rupert knows they're not allowed to help him. He wonders if they're also starting to think he's made it all up. After all, it's common knowledge where Michael McEvice house is, but the bomb maker's house is a closely guarded secret. And for Rupert's story to stand up in court,

it will need to be raided for evidence. He starts to feel sick. How could everything be in doubt because of roadworks? Then he recognises a turning. This one, take the right here. The car turns into the road, and with relief, Rupert sees the house ahead of them. A few days later, Indiana.

David Rupert's wife, Maureen, looks up at the apartments they've parked in front of. She's nervous. Her daughter, Dory. lives here. The last time they saw each other was Dory's graduation ceremony for her law degree. It had been a deliriously happy moment for all of them. But a few weeks later, the Sunday Times article came out, identifying Rupert as a member of the real IRA. Well, guess I better do this. Rupert squeezes her shoulder in sympathy. He knows how hard this will be. Moorin's family did not

react well to the article. There have already been heated words between her parents and Rupert. It's been made harder by the fact that they haven't been able to reveal the truth. But now, Maureen is here to do just that for Dory. Dory emerges from the front door as her mother walks up the path. Her arms are crossed and her eyes flit coldly from Rupert sitting in the car to her mother approaching her. If you've come to tell me about the IRA stuff I already know, we all do. Maureen's eyes spontaneously filled with tears at her daughter's harsh tone. Before she met Rupert, it was just her and Dory.

Maureen scrimped and saved everything she made in the trucking business to make sure Dory had the life and education she had missed out on when she became a teenage mother. I know you do, love. But I've come to tell you the truth. David isn't with the IRA. He's been spying on them for the FBI and MI5. We both have.

for the past six years. What? Dory's arms fall to her side as a kaleidoscope of emotions pass over her face. Maureen comes closer and takes her hand. It's all over now.

But I'm afraid that means we have to go into hiding. And I'm so sorry, darling, but for your own sake. I'm not sure we're not allowed to see you again. But why? How? As Dory struggles to make sense of it,

Maureen folds her daughter into a hug, tears streaming down her face. One week later, FBI officers, Chicago. Maureen reaches over and puts a calming hand on David Rupert's leg. It is twitching uncontrollably under the table, a sure sign of stress. Opposite them is their FBI handler, Mark, and two Irish police officers who have flown over for the meeting. They want Rupert to testify in court against real IRAs. founder Michael McEvitt, and Rupert is furious. I told you before, I am not testifying in any court case.

One of the Irish policeman leans forward. Look, David, this law has never been tested in court. It might be our one and only chance to take McEvet out of the game. A statement just isn't as strong as testifying. No way. There's nothing in my contract about testifying. I've done enough. He got what you paid for.

Rupert's FBI handler, Mark, intervenes. I know what your contract says, but we still haven't negotiated your post-spy contract. We're prepared to be very generous if you do this. Rupert glares back at Mark. They'll kill me. Before the trial, or after it, ten years from now, every Irish Republican in the world will know my face.

You will have the highest level of witness protection, David. I promise you, they won't find you or Maureen. Rupert jumps to his feet and leans across the table threateningly. I have finished. I got you everything you wanted. You lot won't be happy until I am dead.

Rupert storms out. In the awkward silence that follows, Mark looks at Maureen. Can't you persuade him, Maureen? It listens to you. Maureen shakes her head. Rupert has become increasingly paranoid after a persistent journalist managed to track him down.

The trial could bring him to breaking point. Mark moves to the seat Rupert has just vacated and takes Maureen's hand. Look, outside of David's testimony, we've only got phone calls. But McEvitt uses aliases. We need David to identify him and his voice.

Maureen, if we don't nail McEvitt this time, then the real IRA will keep killing people. There could be another Omar bombing. Maureen looks at him, stricken. The faces of the children who died in that bomb still haunts her at night. But can she really ask her husband to put his head into a potential noose? If he testifies, his face will be splashed across the world's media as an IRA traitor. They will never feel safe again.

Two months later, March 28, 2001, London. MI5 agent Samir watches the mobile phone on the table in front of him, waiting for it to ring. For weeks, he's been reeling in the real IRA by pretending to be an envoy for Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein. Now, he's expecting McEvitt to call to hammer out a mythical arms deal with the Iraqis. The two counter-terrorism police officers sitting next to Samir give him the thumbs up that the recording has started. Hello, this is Samir. It's Karl. Karl is the pseudonym McEvitt is using for these calls.

Samir knows each call the real IRA makes is on a burner phone that is then thrown away. Hello, Carl. We are two to three days away from having your shipment ready. I need to come to burn out to inspect them. If you think that is necessary, you must tell me when you expect to arrive so I can have everything ready at the airport. Why's our money? I'm promised one million euros, but it hasn't ever moved yet. Many people are involved in this decision, I'm afraid. There's nothing I can do. do. We need your money now. I got everything ready to attack London. I delay and we lose momentum. I understand. I promise, we're working as quickly as possible. Please be patient.

After the call, Samir breathed a sigh of relief. McKevitt sounds irritated, but not suspicious. He's not made the connection between his chats with Rupert and Samia's conveniently timed arrival. And now, MI5 has enough evidence to greenlight the arrests. Dawn the next morning. McEbbett's house, Black Rock, Ireland. Michael McEvitt leaps out of bed and runs to his bedroom window. Outside is a sea of police cars and officers with semi-automatic weapons. His wife, Bernadette, hurriedly puts on a dressing gown

as the police run up the stairs towards their bedroom. Armed Garda! Michael McEvitt, you are here by charge with membership of an illegal organisation and directing terrorism. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be written down and used in evidence. A few hours later, police interview room, Dublin. In a sparsely decorated grey room, McEvitt leans back in his chair and smiles at his interviewer. No, I am not a member of the IRA.

McEbbett feels relaxed. He's been arrested many times. He knows the drill. He refuses to answer anything except to deny membership of the IRA. It's a strategy that has served him well. He has never once been sent to prison. The counter-terrorist police officer interviewing him, locks eyes with him.

Michael, I know that's not true. I put it to you that you've been a member of the provisional IRA since 1969. You are the head of the dissident group, known as the real IRA. McEbbett shakes his head. Michael, I have to warn you that under new laws, enacted in the Republic of Ireland, inference can be drawn from your silence. McEvitt rolls his eyes and leans forward to speak into the microphone on the recording device. I am not a member of the IRA.

The counter-terrorism officer lets the silence drag on for a moment as McEvitt folds his arms smugly. The officer picks up the manila folder he's had unopened on the table next to him. Tell me, Michael, do you know a David Rupert from the United States? McEbbett narrows his eyes as a photo of Rupert is slid across the table to him. In the folder, he can also see receipts he signed personally when Rupert handed him the money from the US. For the first time, he senses he may be in trouble. A year later, April 2002, Wisconsin. In a lakeside resort, David Rupert and Maureen stand on their balcony and hold hands.

Below them, families enjoy a huge pool. In the distance, speedboats sit past with waterski as weaving behind. They step back into the hotel apartment with its luxurious decor. Mark, their FBI handler, smiles at them both. Nice, huh? Rupert scowls. The FBI are on a charm offensive. Two Irish police officers are arriving soon

to once again try to convince Rupert to testify at McEvitt's trial. Not nice enough to tempt me to take a bullet for you. Maureen picks up a beach bag. She's managed to get Rupert to this meeting, but she's agreed the final decision about testifying must be his. I'll leave you two to it.

I'm heading to the pool. Mark sits on the sofa and gestures for Rupert to take a seat. Look David, I said we were prepared to be just. generous, and I meant it. We know how difficult the trial will be and the risks you feel you are taking. Rupert pointedly refuses to sit down. He stands four-square with his head dangerously close to the low wooden ceiling. I'm authorised to offer you and Maureen just over $19,000 a month for the rest of your life. Rupert is startled. It's far more money than he expected. Mark, sensing his advice, Purses on.

And MI5 will pay you a handsome bonus on top of this, if you testify. Rupert paces the room distractedly. It's a lot of money. He'd be set for life. Such an amount would also mean financial security for Maureen if he were to be killed. That is a generous offer. Mark leans forward. That's not all.

We're also willing to negotiate a deal with the Inland Revenue Service on your tax bill. Rupert's often complained about his ever-increasing tax bill that has risen in line with his spy earnings. He is currently trying to pay it off in installments. We'll reduce it to the level it was in 1994 before you became a spy. The US government is agreeing to forego more than $700,000 in tax. Without that hanging over him, he and Maureen could finally buy their own house on a patch of land, something they always dreamed of. Mark cocks his head to one side.

What do you say? Rupert chooses lip, but he knows the fee has finally outweighed the risk. He'd be a fool to pass up this deal, even if it kills him. One year on, June 18, 2002, Dublin, Ireland. Michael McEvitt paces his holding cell beneath the courthouse. His trial starts today. Helicopters are circling in the air above, and outside he can hear the shouts and camera clicks of the world's media.

Although he's not been charged with anything relating to it, the trial has been linked to the real IRA's role in the Omar bombing, and he knows that will work against him. He spins round at the sound of the key in his cell door, glad to have the waiting over with. As he enters the historic wood panel courtroom, there is a commotion lie up in the public gallery that overlooks them. You're fucking murdering, bitch!

Ignore the birdie. Akevitt realizes the benches are packed not only with press, but with the relatives of the 200-plus victims of the Omar bombing. They've surrounded his stony-faced wife, Bernadette Sands, who sits with a small group of supporters. He raises a clenched fist salute to her. There are tears in her eyes as she returns it. He's immediately pushed forward by the unimpressed police officers behind him. The dock is over there. I am a Republican.

Criminal. Before the officer can respond, McEvitt deliberately sits next to the dock, not in it. The police are used to this from IRA prisoners. They shrug and sit on either side of him. Three scarlet robe judges enter and take their places. There is no jury for trials involving terrorism and organized crime. As the lawyers begin their opening addresses, McKevitt senses the anticipation in the air.

Everyone is waiting for the first and star witness. I now call David Rupert. Rupert enters the court. The huge American dwarfs the witness stand and squeezes into it with difficulty. McEvitt has never wanted to shoot a person so badly as the traitor sitting only a few metres away from him. A man he had trusted, defended,

even thought of as a friend. Mr. Rupert, for the court, could you please identify Michael? Mackevitt. Rupert's eyes swivel and meet McEbbots. With satisfaction he sees a flash of fear, ripple across Rupert's face. That's him in the body of the courtroom between the two guarder. Rupert looks away quickly and McEvitt vows to himself that Rupert will be hunted down

and his body dumped in a ditch. The only fitting end for snitches. But as Rupert's testimony continues, McEvitt begins to feel a knot of worry. Despite Rupert's sometimes shady past, his defence team are failing to land any killer blows. His barrister begins attacking Rupert over the issue of unpaid debts to his first father-in-law. And you thought that was an appropriate way to behave to your own family, did you?

Knowing he had lent you a considerable amount from his own savings. Non-payment of a loan is pretty far short at murder. Rupert turns and looks deliberately at McEbbett and the look is steely. With a shock, McEvitt realizes Rupert was no friend and snitch, but a man sent to bring him down from the start. With a bitter taste, swelling in his mouth, he realizes he should have listened to Mickey, bloody Donnelly.

Michael McEvitt became the first man ever convicted in the Irish Republic of directing terrorism under laws drafted in response to the Omar bombing. He was sentenced to 20 years in prison, but released in 2016 after contracting kidney cancer. He died in 2021. David and Maureen Rupert still live in hiding, somewhere in the United States. Rupert's testimony is thought to have been the chief factor in securing McEvitt's conviction. While no one has ever been convicted of the Omar bombing, Rupert's evidence helped the victims' families bring a civil case that found McEbbett and three other men liable for the atrocity. At the time of recording in late 2025, the public inquiry is underway in Britain into whether

MI5 and other government agencies could have done more to prevent the Omar bombing. The real IRA assassin, James Smith, was arrested in Boston, but the FBI did not charge him with terrorism offences. Instead, he was deported to Ireland and barred from the US. After McEbbett was convicted, the real IRA lost momentum and members. In 2012, it merged with other dissident Republican groups to create the new IRA, which has struggled to mount a large-scale paramilitary campaign. Despite many challenges, the Good Friday Agreement has held for more than a quarter of a century. Join us for the next episode as Charlie Higson sits down with author and investigative journalist Kara Mukugan.

Together, they uncover the astonishing scale of espioners during the troubles, including how deeply the IRA was infiltrated with spies, and what happens when agents become killers. From Maudible Originals, this is the third episode in our season, The Spy Who Jailed the Omar Bomb Blutter. A quick note about our dialogue. We can't know everything that was said or done behind me. 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 of a dramatic effect, it's still based on biographical research. We use many sources in our research for this season, including The Accidental Spy by Sean O'Driscoll. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jaffrey. Our show was produced by Vespucci With Writing and Story Editing By Yellow Ant for Audible For Yellow Ant This episode was written by Judy Cooper

And researched by Louise Byrne Our managing producer is Jay Priest For Vespucci, our senior producer is Ashley Clivory Our sound designer is Alex Port Felix Natalia Rodriguez is the supervising producer Music supervisor

is Scott Velasquez for Frisson Sink Executive producers for Pesbucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turcan. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan. Executive producers for Audible are Estelle Doyle, Theodore Laudis and Marshall Louis.