The Spy Who - The Spy Who Killed a Prime Minister | Cold Jungle | 3

Episode Date: December 10, 2024

While Patrice Lumumba battles to control his country, MI6 officer Daphne Park and CIA officer Larry Devlin are secretly battling to stop him turning to the Soviets for help.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.Have you got a spy story you’d like us to tell? Email your ideas to [e-mail] 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. It's July 1960, and inside a chauffeured black Cadillac, Congo's Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba stares out the window as the gilded streets and skyscrapers of Manhattan flash past. He landed in America full of hope, but now he feels his optimism leeching away. His country is in crisis. The province of Katanga has declared independence with tacit support from Belgium. And without resource-rich Katanga, Congo's economic future looks bleak. Lumumba came to New York seeking international help. But while the United Nations agreed to

send in peacekeepers to help restore order in Congo, it drew the line at fighting Katangan rebels. So Lumumba turned to the Soviet delegation at the UN. They offered vocal support but made no promises. Now he has just one last hope for military intervention in Katanga. US President Dwight Eisenhower. As Lumumba's car heads north alongside Central Park towards Harlem, he turns to the US official who's travelling with him. It is unfortunate that I will not have the opportunity to meet President Eisenhower.

I very much hope to thank him for the American people's continued efforts to bring about progress in Africa. Prime Minister, I already explained. The President sends his apologies, but is unavailable to meet you. Surely there must be a way. I am the Prime Minister of Central Africa's largest country. I am a world leader, and I have come here to meet with my United States counterpart. Prime Minister, state visits are usually planned months in advance and we were not given much notice of your visit. So, regrettably, the President has prior engagements.

But the Secretary of State very much looks forward to meeting you in Washington, D.C. Lumumba moves to reply, but then notices the change in the city outside. The well-maintained buildings are gone, replaced by worn, tired buildings. But on the streets, excited crowds now line the sidewalks. He peers at the faces in the crowd as they jostle for a clear view and wave at him. They're all Africans here. Is this Harlem? Yes, it is, sir. Hundreds of black

Americans have turned out to catch a glimpse of Lumumba. Many hold placards bearing his image and name. To black Americans struggling for equality, Lumumba isn't just a foreign leader. He's a hero. The man who ended white rule in Congo and living proof that change is possible. And they all want to see the man they've learned about from the newspapers and radio. A cordon of police holds the crowd back, allowing the car to pass down the street. But when it pauses at a junction,

Lumumba opens the door and it's out of the vehicle before the American official can object. Greetings, compatriots! Buoyed by his reception, Lumumba mounts the nearby steps of a brownstone townhouse to address the crowd. My American brothers and sisters, African unity and solidarity are no longer dreams. There may be an ocean between us,

but we are united in our struggle for dignity and justice. Before Lumumba can continue his impromptu speech, the crowd break through the police cordon and lifts him onto their shoulders. He grins as they carry him through the streets while chanting his name. By the time he gets back into his car, Lumumba's downbeat mood has vanished. Did you see that? These people, your people, are my allies. Surely the president will see me now. But the American official just shakes his head.

Sir, this changes nothing. The president remains unavailable. You'll be met by the Secretary of State. Lumumba doesn't answer. He turns to look back at the crowd receding into the distance and, along with it, his fleeting moment of triumph. Lumumba knows he can inspire the people. But it's becoming clear that it's what happens in the corridors of power

that will decide Kongo's fate. And his fear is growing that there are people working unseen to ensure these political games are rigged against him. From Wondery, I'm Indra Varma, and this is The Spy Who. In the last episode, Congo gained its independence, only to spiral into chaos as the army mutinied over pay and Belgium encouraged the resource-rich province of Katanga to break away. But while Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba battles to unite his country, MI6 officer Daphne Park and her CIA counterpart Larry Devlin are secretly working

to stop him turning to the Soviets for help. This is Episode 3, Cold Jungle. It's July 1960, and Larry Devlin, the CIA's man in Congo, is back in Washington, D.C. And he's barely set foot in headquarters before being summoned to the office of CIA Director Alan Dulles. Ah, Devlin. The Secretary of State wants me to brief him before he meets with Lumumba. You've met him. What's your assessment? Is he someone we can work with? Ah, I think that would be unwise.

He's inexperienced, and if anyone's advising him, they're not advising him well. What makes you say that? His actions at the United Nations in New York. You mean his declaration to the Assembly that he sees no difference between us and the Soviet Union? Not just that. Right afterwards, he spent two hours holed up with the Soviet's UN delegation. Dulles opens a tin of tobacco, fills his pipe and lights up. Do you think he was making overtures? Whether he was or not, Radio Moscow is reporting that he accepted an invitation to visit the Soviet Union. Is he a communist? Unclear. But he is getting desperate. He lost control of his country within days of becoming prime minister. The UN peacekeepers might quell the unrest, but they won't get involved in territorial disputes. Lumumba needs help to

take back Katanga, and I'm not sure he cares who he gets it from. It'll still be a big step for Moscow to put men on the ground in Africa, but this would give them cover to turn their diplomatic and industrial presence in Africa into a military one. Exactly. And, sir, Congo's as big as the Midwest and borders nine other countries. If the Soviets do put down roots there, they could use it to project influence throughout Africa. If that happens, our NATO allies in Europe will be threatened from the south as well as the east. So we've got another Cuba on our hands. We need to make sure that scenario doesn't happen.

But the president is not going to send in troops. We need to keep Lumumba in check. And Devlin, I'm looking to you to make that happen. A few days later, Washington, D.C. In the State Department building, Lumumba is face-to-face with the U.S. Secretary of State, Douglas Dillon, in his fifth-floor office. The building is situated in an area known as Foggy Bottom.

But it's a bright day outside and shafts of sunlight pierce through the Venetian blinds as Lumumba addresses D Dylan and his officials. The people of the Congo, even in their remotest villages, have faith in the United States. They know that, like us, you have freed yourselves from the shackles of colonial oppression and built one of the greatest democracies in the world. We, too, are now an independent democratic state, but our Belgian oppressors refuse to leave peacefully,

and so I must appeal to you for help. We need funds, and we need troops to regain control of our country. I'm told you made a similar appeal to the Soviets while in New York. From where I'm sitting, one might imagine your sympathies are... aligned? Yes, I spoke with the Soviets. I am the representative of my country, a free, independent, African nation. However, talking to them does not make me a communist.

Any more than talking to you makes me a capitalist. We are neither. But we need help to remove the Belgium troops from our territory. If that's what you came for, I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. We feel these things you ask for are better handled by the United Nations than the United States. Lumumba's heart sinks. It's clear the US isn't going to help him. Two years ago, President Eisenhower sent troops into Lebanon to prop up its pro-Western government.

But he won't do the same for Congo. Lumumba can't tell whether it's because he refuses to snub the Soviets or because Belgium's a NATO ally of America's. But whatever the reason, neither the US or the UN

will help him crush the rebels in Katanga. And that means there's just one choice left. The Soviet Union. It's one month later, and in Congo's capital, Leopoldville, an uneasy calm hangs over the city. United Nations peacekeepers from Ireland, Morocco and beyond now patrol the streets in blue helmets. The Belgian troops that once threatened the city are gone, withdrawn under pressure from the UN. But spasms of unrest still rock the city.

And in the Prime Minister's office, the sense of crisis continues. Katanga remains in rebel hands. A second province, diamond-rich South Kasai, has also declared independence, and Belgium's providing support to both of these rebel states. But Lumumba's just received a lifeline, a letter from Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev. He sits at his desk and reads it aloud to Colonel Joseph Mobutu, the friend he put in charge of the army. The Soviet Union will not stand by

if the Congo remains under imperialist attack, but offer friendly and unselfish aid. Friendly and unselfish aid. Friendly and unselfish aid. No strings. Lumumba hands the letter to Mogutu, who scans its contents. Patrice, we have only just got rid of the Belgians. You could be inviting a new oppressor into our country. You need to be careful.

I have no proof, but I'm sure the Czechoslovakians had a hand in the army mutiny. Not this again. Wild accusations will not help us. The Soviets are the only ones willing to help us. We didn't fight for independence just to have another country recolonize us. If the United States won't get involved, why would Khrushchev? And more importantly, what will he ask for in return? We can only ask him. Lumumba takes a pad of paper from his desk and begins composing a request for urgent assistance. He pauses and looks to Mabutu. What do we need in terms of military assistance to enable us to take back Katanga? We need troop transport, planes and trucks. At the moment we

can't get our troops from where they're stationed to Katanga and South Kasai. Lumumba writes this down. And armaments. Also state-of-the-art military communications equipment. And food rations for the troops. Right. I will send this list to Khrushchev immediately. But while we wait for his reply, we must take action. What action? Tomorrow I will announce martial law.

Under your leadership, the army will impose order on the streets. Then, once the Soviet supplies arrive, we can take back South Kasai and Katanga. We also need to root out the spies in our ranks. Mobutu raises his eyebrows. Behind Lumumba's back, he's been meeting with Western diplomats, some of whom he thinks are spies. He needs to play innocent. Spies? Yes. We discovered Damien Candolo has been meeting with the Belgians. Mobutu feigns a look of anger.

Candolo is Lumumba's personal secretary, but he and Mobutu are close. They're both part of a cabal of political insiders who are uneasy about Lumumba's flirtations with Moscow. It's no surprise to Mobutu that Kandolo's also talking to Western spies. Where is he now? Being questioned. But that doesn't matter. What matters is ensuring there are no more spies.

Mobutu says nothing. Lumumba's already surrounded himself with more advisers who seem to be in the pocket of Moscow. Now he's declaring martial law, hunting for Western spies and inviting the Soviets into the country. And Mobutu doesn't like that at all. That night, Leopoldville. MI6 officer Daphne Park tightens her grip on the steering wheel of her Citroën 2CV as

it putters through the deserted nighttime streets. She checks out the rearview mirror again for signs that she's being followed, but there's only darkness and rain. Up ahead, she sees her destination, a collection of small huts that serves as a local hospital. She just hopes she's not too late. It's been an hour since she got a panicked call from her best-placed agent, Lumumba's personal secretary, Damian Candolo. He's been telling her about the growing communist influence on Lumumba and providing her with copies of his government's communications with Moscow. But now his cover's blown and he's on the run from Lumumba's security service.

He told her he's hiding out in one of the hospital huts and it's down to her to save him. Park stops next to one of the huts. The lights are off and there's no sign of life. She leaves her car engine running. A fast getaway might be needed. She checks her surroundings one last time, then enters the darkened hut. The first punch hits without warning. The force of the blow sends her crashing to the floor. Then the attack is upon her, delivering punch after punch as she tries to shield her face. Candolo, stop! It's me, it's me! The beating stops. Park looks up and sees Candolo's mortified face. Miss Park, oh my, I'm so sorry. I thought one of Patrice's men had found me. Oh, not yet, they haven't. Ah, help me up, will you? Oh, yes, of course Are you hurt?

Park rubs her already swelling cheek And notices Candola's left arm hanging limp Not as badly as you What happened? Patrice's men beat me up I escaped, but not before they broke my arm Tell me, is my family safe? Yes I put them on the ferry myself, just as you asked.

Now, we must get you to safety. Candolo looks at Park's tiny car. In that, I said I'll get you to safety. I said nothing about getting you there in comfort. Now, into the boot you go. Candolo winces with pain as he squeezes into the car's cramped boot. Park then covers him with blankets and slams down the door. Ten minutes later, Candolo's on a ferry heading across the Congo River to the safety of the city of Brazzaville, in what was the French Congo. Park lights a cigarette and watches the ferry leave. She's saved Candolo. But losing such a well-placed agent is a setback. Without him, it's going to be much harder to keep tabs on how cozy Lumumba's getting with the Soviets.

But she also knows that Candolo is now indebted to her, and that could prove useful. Two days later, President Dwight Eisenhower's summer residence, Newport, Rhode Island. In a grand room overlooking the bay, Eisenhower sits at the head of a large wooden table ready for another meeting with his National Security Council. Around the table are 20 other men from the CIA and various other departments.

At a separate table in the corner of the room, a typist takes notes. As Secretary of State, Douglas Dillon updates everyone on the latest developments in Congo. It's a grave situation, sir. Lumumba is now threatening to force the UN out of the country. We believe the USSR is behind the move, possibly via the Belgian communist who is now his chief of cabinet.

The UN Secretary General considers Lumumba an impossible person and believes his up-and-down behaviour may be because he takes dope. Eisenhower's scowls. He hates dope smokers almost as much as commies. Dylan continues with his update. The UN will find it difficult to remain if the Congolese government actively opposes its presence. And if the UN is forced out, we might face a situation where the Soviets intervene at Lumumba's invitation. CIA director Alan Dulles cuts in. Lumumba is in the pay of the Soviets.

I have here a cable from our man in Leopoldville, Larry Devlin. Embassy and station believe Congo experiencing classic communist effort takeover. There may be little time left in which to take action to avoid another Cuba. Eisenhower huffs at the mention of Cuba. Fidel Castro's pro-Soviet island off the coast of Florida is enough of a headache. The last thing he needs is a pro-Moscow regime in the heart of Africa to worry about too. He looks at his advisers. The possibility that the UN is forced out of Congo is inconceivable.

We should keep the UN there even if Luumba wants them gone. We should keep them there even if that's used by the Soviets as the basis to start a fight. Secretary of State Dillon nods. I agree, sir, but our ambassador to the UN doubts the UN troops can stay if the Congo puts up really determined opposition to their continued presence. He's wrong. The Congolese want UN support and order maintained. We are talking about one man forcing us out of Congo.

Of Lumumba, supported by the Soviets. I want Lumumba eliminated. Dulles and the rest of the room stare open-mouthed at the president. Did he really just order the assassination of a foreign leader? Eisenhower glances at his watch. He's eager to finish and fly to Maryland to play golf at the whites-only Burning Tree Club. Eventually, a council member breaks the stunned silence.

Maybe we could throw out Lumumba by peaceful means. The conversation moves on. But Eisenhower's call for Lumumba's elimination hangs over the proceedings unresolved and unchallenged. Eisenhower just put a target on the African leader's back, and it's now down to the CIA to carry out the president's order. late august 1960 leopoldville mi6 officer daphne park brushes cigarette ash from her blouse as she waits in her car for her CIA counterpart, Larry Devlin, to show. She spots him in the wing mirror, approaching the vehicle from behind. He opens the passenger door and climbs in. Park takes a final drag on her cigarette and

tosses the butt out of the window before closing it. She looks at Devlin expectantly. So? It seems we are to work in tandem. I assume London has been in touch. Yes. I got a telegram first thing this morning. My instructions are to work with the CIA in bringing a swift end to Lumumba's government. Park lights up again and waves her cigarette in the air.

I'm told you're calling this plan Project Wizard. Does this mean we are supposed to wave a magic wand and make him disappear before our very eyes? I don't get to choose the names, but you're not far off the mark. Headquarters wants him out of office and, so long as there's no political blowback, they're not worried about what happens to him after that. Park takes a long drag of her cigarette and exhales slowly. So if Lumumba is to vanish in a puff of smoke, who's to replace him? Mobutu is the obvious choice.

He's got control of the army, and he's not happy about Soviet involvement in his country. But we need to weaken Lumumba first. And what do you have in mind? Devlin reaches into his pocket and takes out a wad of Congolese francs. My budget for this operation is generous. $100,000. I'm certain there are plenty of politicians who will help and return for a fistful of these. Bribery.

I suggest we also stage some demonstrations against Lumumba, undermine his reputation as the man of the people. Agreed. The upcoming Pan-Africa summit would be a good place to start that. Lumumba's hosting it, and there'll be a lot of dignitaries from other African nations and journalists, exactly. A big protest outside the summit will definitely get attention and make people question how popular

he really is. Especially if it turns violent. Park takes a puff on her cigarette and looks directly at Devlin. And if that's not enough? Devlin shifts a little uncomfortably, but he holds her gaze. Park draws heavily on her cigarette. She doesn't need Devlin to say it. It's clear to her that the Americans want Lumumba gone at all costs. And London's ordered her to support the CIA in its quest for regime change. That is a shame. I'd rather like Lumumba. He's very charming and a wonderful orator to boot.

A few days later, the Palace of Culture, Leopoldville. In a crowded conference hall, Patrice Lumumba addresses the gathering of foreign dignitaries who've assembled for his Pan-Africa Summit. They've come here from across the continent to debate how the new nations of post-colonial Africa can work together to forge a shared future. And Lumumba is keen to position himself as a flag bearer for African unity. Dear comrades, this is our year. The world knows that Algeria is not French. Angola is not Portuguese. And Kenya is not English.

Africa is not French or British or American or Russian. It is African. We refuse to be an arena of international intrigues, a hotbed and stake in the Cold War. The delegates applaud him. But to get here, they've all had to pass the angry crowd outside that's protesting against his government. And even now they're inside the building,

the protesters' chants remain audible. The Mumba struggles to maintain his concentration. We are acutely in need of peace and Congo. Lumumba stops. He assumes the gunshots are the sound of Congo's soldiers doing their job and dispersing the protesters. But the unrest outside has unsettled his audience. He wanted to use this summit to show other African rulers that order has returned to Congo.

Now it's threatening to do the exact opposite. He tries to regain his audience's attention. Comrades, those people outside are not true Congolese. They are the representatives of imperialism. They have been organized by the Belgians to undermine our goals. It's a week later, and in his office, a furious Lumumba rages at his military chief, Colonel Joseph Mobutu. You take your orders from me! You had no right to make this decision without first consulting me!

Mobutu's just ordered the army to retreat from the rebel province of South Kasai in the face of strong resistance, and Lumumba's livid at having his authority undermined. You're just a simple colonel. I am the one who made you. I decide whether there will be a ceasefire, not you. I order you to reverse the retreat. You don't know what you're talking about. You can't begin to imagine the difficulties of such an operation. We need trucks, food, equipment. Keep the troops there without it and they are as good as finished. I have asked the Soviets for aid. Your men need to hold their positions while we wait for it to arrive. We don't even know if the Soviets will send this aid.

Even if they do, it's not here yet. And if I send the men back in, they will be dead by the time it arrives. Le Mumba slams his fist on the table. You are sabotaging me. You give me no choice but to fire you. Mobutu stands very straight. Gladly. Mobutu turns and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Lumumba is left alone in his office. He listens to Mobutu's footsteps disappearing down the corridor and wonders what to do next. He still runs the country, but he's running out of allies fast. A week later, in a CIA safe house in Leopoldville, MI6 officer Daphne Park sits at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. Nearby, her CIA colleague Larry Devlin leans against the wall and they're both watching an anxious Mobutu pacing the room. Park and Devlin know Mobutu's their best chance at removing Lumumba from power without getting their own hands too dirty. They just need to persuade him to use his influence over the army to stage a coup. Park focuses on Mobutu, her face deadly serious. Do you really want the Soviets running Congo after all you have done to gain independence? That's what will happen if Lumumba remains in office. Mobutu stops pacing and looks at Park.

He's already invited them into our country. He is a pawn in their political games. I agree that our country cannot be used in this way, but how do we stop this from happening? What should my next move be? Park eyes Mobutu carefully. He's not the orator that Lumumba is, but he has other qualities. Steeliness. And what she thinks is an appetite for power. So? What should my next move be? You must act, Colonel. You are the only man with the power to stop the Soviet takeover of your country.

Mobutu turns to Devlin. If I convince the army to overthrow Lumumba, will the US recognize my government? I will only form it for as long as it takes to get the Soviets out and establish a new and stable democratic regime. Park smiles to herself while stubbing out her cigarette. She was right about him.

Like so many before him, his lunge for power is wrapped in promises of democracy and how he will one day relinquish control. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mobutu is a leader who will keep Congo out of communist hands. And who else will be part of your temporary government? I have several men in mind, some you know, like Damien Candolo. Park doesn't respond.

But the prospect of her agent returning to the Congolese government is further reassurance that replacing Lumumba with Mobutu would be a welcome step. Devlin clears his throat. And what will happen to Lumumba? He will need to be removed from the political arena. Mobutu presses Devlin again. So, if I do this, can I rely on your president's support? Will he recognize my government? Park watches Devlin with curiosity. She knows he cannot make U.S. foreign policy on the hoof. But it's clear that Mobutu needs this reassurance.

Devlin looks Mobutu in the eye. I can offer you my assurance that the United States government will recognize a temporary government. Good. I will need $5,000 to pay my senior officers. If this coup fails, we will all end up in prison or dead. The money will provide for our families. Devlin doesn't bother to haggle. In Congo, the average worker earns less than $250 a year. For just $5,000,

Mobutu can keep his officers' families flush for years and still have money to burn. I'll bring you the money this afternoon. Good. The coup will take place within a week. Park notices the beginnings of a smile on Mobutu's face. He's promised to give the West everything it wants. And in return, he's about to get a country to rule. And soon Park and Devlin are going to find out

if he can make good on those promises. September 17th, 1960, Leopoldville. Soviet ambassador Mikhail Yakovlev fumes as the red hammer and sickle flag is lowered from his embassy's flagpole. The white-haired ambassador arrived in the country just last month, hoping to finish the task of winning the trust of Patrice Lumumba and his government. Now, all that work is ruined. Three days ago, Colonel Joseph Mobutu staged a military coup and Lumumba's missing in action. Some say he's dead. Others think he's on the run, in prison or hiding in Guinea's embassy.

Not that it really matters to Yakovlev right now. Mobutu's given him and his team until noon to get out of Congo and that deadline's just ten minutes away. An aide hands him the folded-up flag. Yakovlev nods and turns on his heel. We must move. Yakovlev hurries through the embassy's corridors. His last remaining aides hurry to keep up behind him. The rest of his staff have already gone.

The building is now silent and bare. Even the air conditioning units have been loaded onto trucks and spirited to the airport. Yakovlev marches out the embassy's front door. A black limousine is waiting, engine running. It's guarded by United Nations peacekeepers in blue berets. And a few yards from them are the steel-helmeted Congolese soldiers sent by Mobutu to make sure he and his comrades leave on time. Yakovlev opens the limousine door and slides into the back seat. He pulls at the door to close it, but it doesn't budge. He looks up to see a Congolese army officer holding it.

The officer grabs him by the suit jacket and tries to drag him out of the vehicle. No! No! Suddenly, a UN soldier barges the Congolese officer out of the way. Go! The limousine lurches forward, heading down the gravel driveway. Yakovlev leans over and pulls the door shut. The limo pulls out of the embassy grounds and onto the city streets. Yakovlev turns to look out the back window and sees a swarm of Congolese army jeeps loaded with soldiers zooming after them.

Step on it! Don't stop for anything! The driver hits the gas, speeding through the streets and then swings into the airport. Up ahead, Yakovlev sees the gleaming white Soviet propeller plane waiting at the airport's apron. The limo stops beside it. Yakovlev jumps out and hurries towards the stairs leading up to the plane followed by his aides. He passes a crowd of jeering Congolese that's come to see him off. Oh, get out, you dirty communist, get out. He passes a crowd of jeering Congolese that's come to see him off. Yakovlev bounds up the steps and sees a news photographer move in to take a photo.

Yakovlev shields his face. No pictures! As he steps into the plane, he hears the aide behind him shout to the crowd below. Wait till next time! we will be back. A few moments later, Yakovlev is in his seat and the plane is speeding down the runway to get him out of Congo and back to Moscow. But Yakovlev knows that once he's home, he's going to have to explain how he fumbled the USSR's opportunity to position itself as Africa's new ally in the struggle against European imperialists. The following week, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, London.

Britain's Foreign Secretary, Alec Douglas-Hughes, paces the room while his secretary connects a transatlantic phone call. President Eisenhower is on the line for you now, sir. Hume takes the receiver and ushers his secretary out of the room so he can speak to the US President in private. Mr President, I appreciate your time. We here in Britain remain concerned about the situation in Congo. It is a concern, but with Mobutu in charge, things are changing.

Yes, but Mobutu hasn't imprisoned Lumumba, only removed him from power. Therefore, Lumumba and his Soviet friends still pose a serious risk to the stability of the region. Mobutu's dealt with the Soviets. Their trucks and armaments are on their way back to Moscow along with their diplomats. Indeed. But internally, Lumumba still has popular support in many parts of the country. If he can marshal that support, he might well be able to retake power. If he does, he'll surely invite the Soviets back to help him stay there.

I wish Lumumba would fall into a river full of crocodiles. The next day, Leopoldville. Mobutu travels with a convoy of 20 soldiers to the Prime Minister's residence. Under pressure from CIA officer Larry Devlin, Mobutu's come to arrest his former friend. Lumumba has been on the run since he was removed from power last week. But the United Nations still recognises him as Congo's rightful leader. So now, with protection from a platoon of UN peacekeepers, he's returned home with his pregnant wife and four children. Mobutu approaches the gates and addresses the UN soldiers standing guard.

I wish to access the Prime Minister's residence and those who are hiding in it. Our orders are to protect Prime Minister Lumumba. He is no longer Prime Minister. I now run the country, so let me pass. Colonel, the United Nations regards Patrice Lumumba as the rightful democratically elected leader of Congo. Our orders are to protect him from external threats. External threats? This is an internal matter. Humiliated, Mobutu spins round to face his own troops.

As your commander-in-chief. But then Mobutu stops mid-sentence and reconsiders. If he orders his men to storm the Prime Minister's residence, he will start a firefight with the United Nations forces. It's the kind of incident that could cost him the support of his British and American allies. He changes tack. I instruct you to lower your weapons. We have no argument with the United Nations.

For now, their job is to protect the man who invited Soviet forces onto Congolese soil. But rest assured, he cannot hide forever. With that, Mobutu and his men retreat, leaving Lumumba at large. For now. One week later. Devlin leaves the US embassy in Leopoldville and walks to his car.

Across the street, some of the city's few remaining Europeans sit outside a café. He notices one of them glance in his direction, a dull-looking man with neat hair and glasses. Devlin keeps walking. In his peripheral vision, he sees the man at the café get up and begin to follow him down the street. Devlin gets into his car and watches as the man approaches. The man matches the description Devlin's been given. A man with a club foot and a pronounced limp.

He's also carrying a large briefcase. Devlin switches the radio on and waits for the man to join him. He's been told to expect Joe from Paris, an alias for the CIA's chief chemist, Sidney Gottlieb. Gottlieb gets into the passenger seat and nods briefly at Devlin. Shall we go? Devlin starts his car and heads for a nearby safe house, stealing the odd glance at Gottlieb as he drives.

His passenger keeps taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping beads of sweat from his brow. But as they wind through the streets of Leopoldville, he appears detached, staring at the road ahead. Already, Devlin is finding Gottlieb's presence unnerving. A few minutes later, the CIA safehouse on Boulevard Albert, Leopoldville. Gottlieb takes a seat and places his briefcase on the table between him and Devlin. Devlin hasn't been told much about Gottlieb,

but he does know he's been sent from CIA headquarters to issue Devlin with fresh orders. Devlin watches as Gottlieb takes several small containers from his briefcase and places them on the table. These are the poisons with which to kill Lumumba. To kill? Whoa, whoa, wait, wait, wait. Who licensed this operation? Kotlieb looks at him, but his face is expressionless. The president. President Eisenhower gave direct orders that I'm to poison the Congolese prime minister. I was not there when the order was given.

My instructions were from the deputy director for plans, but it came from the top. The president wants Lumumba eliminated. Devlin fumbles for a cigarette and lights up. He's unsure what to say, so instead he just watches Gottlieb place protective gloves, a mask and a syringe on the table. It's your responsibility to carry out the operation, yours alone. The details are up to you. But the operation has to be clean. It must not be traced back to the US government.

And how exactly am I supposed to do that? Gottlieb holds up a tube of toothpaste. This contains a chemical which mimics the effects of polio. All you need to do is to get the toothpaste into Lumumba's bathroom. If that is not possible, then you may need to access his food or drink. Gottlieb taps the table alongside the items. These poisons are all deadly. You must take care to protect yourself. Wear the gloves and mask when handling them. You don't want to kill yourself by mistake. Devlin stares at the

poisons on the table in disbelief. He has a direct order from the President of the United States, and it's to break international law and assassinate another country's prime minister. If he's caught, he'll go to prison. Or worse, and he might end up killing himself in the process too. 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 third episode in our series The Spy Who Killed the Prime Minister. 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 The Lumumba Plot by Stuart Reid, Chief of Station

by Larry Devlin, and Queen of Spies by Paddy Hayes. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Indra Varma. Our show is produced by Vespucci with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Wondery.

For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by Lizzie Enfield and researched by Louise Byrne. Our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producers are Natalia Rodriguez, Ashley Clivery and Philippa Gearing. Our sound designer is Ivor Manley. Rachel Byrne is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frisson Sync. Executive producers for Vespucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turkin. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan. Our producer for Wondery is Theodora Leloudis. Our managing producer is Rachel Sibley.

Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Chris Bourne, Morgan Jones and Marshall Louis.