The Spy Who - The Spy Who Killed a Prime Minister | One Gold Tooth | 4

Episode Date: December 17, 2024

New Prime Minister Joseph Mobutu’s grip on power is shaky. It’s Patrice Lumumba who has the people’s support. So the CIA and MI6 start plotting to oust him using any means necessary.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. October 9th, 1960, Leopoldville, Congo. In a noisy, sweaty beer hall, deposed Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba dances the cha-cha. In his shiny black shoes and a light suit, he looks much like any other young man on the dance floor. Tonight, he just wants to cut loose. But his life is in danger. Several weeks ago, his former friend and advisor, Joseph Mobutu, staged a coup. Ever since,

Lumumba's been under the protection of United Nations peacekeepers. As the song ends, Lumumba surveys the crowd woosily. He's been drinking for several hours already. He pulls himself onto a podium and sways gently. Some of the other drinkers realise the man in the bright suit is their former leader. Lumumba looks out to the crowd. As he smiles, the light catches on his gold tooth. Do you know who I am? Oh, yes, Lumumba!

I am your true leader. But I am also one of you. Raising his drink high above his head, Lumumba twirls on the podium. The jacket of his linen suit flits in the warm air. But then a cloud appears to descend upon him. His eyes darken. He furrows his brow as the reality of his troubles breaks through the revelry. He searches the crowd as if looking for assassins.

They want to kill me. Ungrateful schemers. Lumumba stares into a crowd of confused faces. He has lost his audience. The realisation snaps him back into the room. He smiles broadly. Who wants to party? Drinks are on me. Lumumba, Lumumba, Lumumba. A bodyguard helps Lumumba down from the podium. Members of the crowd stream past him toward the bar to collect their free

drinks. Lumumba almost loses his balance. He throws an arm around his bodyguard's shoulder to steady himself. As the larger man takes his weight, Lumumba drunkenly leans in and speaks directly into the man's ear. You see that? They love me. Mobutu could not do this. If he came here, if he came here, he would be killed like a dog. The bodyguard nods uncertainly. I created Mobutu with my own hands and now the United States uses him. The whole Western world is dishonest. The bodyguard hoists Lumumba across the dance floor through the mass of moving bodies. As the lights flash, Lumumba squints.

Finally, the bodyguard places Lumumba on a large padded seat at the side of the room. As the bodyguard tries to let go, Lumumba hangs on, pulling him in close, his eyes wide and wild. Listen. Listen to me. If I die, it will be because white men paid black men to kill me. So, get this. The Ontario Liberals elected Bonnie Crombie as their new leader. Bonnie who? I just sent you her profile.

Her first act as leader, asking donors for a million bucks for her salary. That's excessive. She's a big carbon tax supporter. Oh, yeah. Check out her record as mayor. Oh, get out of here. She even increased taxes in this economy. Yeah, higher taxes, carbon taxes. She sounds expensive.

Bonnie Crombie and the Ontario Liberals. They just don't get it. That'll cost you. A message from the Ontario PC Party. From Wondery, I'm Indra Varma and this is The Spy Who. In the last episode, MI6 officer Daphne Park joined forces with the CIA's Larry Devlin to help Colonel Joseph Mobutu seize power in Congo and purge the country of Soviet agents. But Mobutu's grip on power remains shaky and deposed Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba still has popular support. So now the CIA and MI6 are plotting to get rid of Lumumba using any means necessary.

This is Episode 4. One Gold Tooth. October 10th, 1960. The CIA station in Leopoldville. CIA officer Larry Devlin glances at the encrypted message on his desk. It's another cable from his superiors in Washington, D.C. Devlin lights a cigarette and gazes out of the window, psyching himself up for what he suspects will be an infuriating message. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and starts to decrypt the message. Letter by letter, he reveals the name of its sender.

Just as expected, it's from Alan Dulles, the director of the CIA. Devlin reads the rest of the message with a vacant expression. Dulles wants to know why Lumumba's still walking the streets of Leopoldville making anti-Mabutu speeches. Devlin takes another drag on his cigarette. The implication is clear. The CIA wants Lumumba to disappear,

so the 29-year-old Mabutu can rule uncontested. Devlin signed up to be an intelligence officer, not an assassin. But the order came from the president himself. Devlin screws up the message, drops it in an ashtray and uses the hot end of his cigarette to set it alight. He watches as the paper catches.

The flames rise, then quickly fall again. Devlin here, yes? On the other end of the line, Devlin hears the panicked voice of one of his informants. Devlin listens as the informant tells him that Mobutu is about to arrest Lumumba. Devlin's panic rises. If Lumumba is imprisoned, it will be near impossible to kill him without starting an international incident.

For Christ's sake! Devlin springs up and rushes out the door to his waiting card. A few minutes later, Devlin pulls up by the side of the road, a hundred meters or so from the entrance to the Prime Minister's residence. He pulls a pair of binoculars from the glove box and peers through the eyepieces. Several hundred Congolese troops have surrounded the UN troops who are guarding the two-storey colonial villa. Devlin scans the soldiers' faces until he spots Mobutu. He seems to be having a vicious row with a man who's standing on a balcony inside the compound.

Devlin angles the binoculars upwards. It's Lumumba. One of his children is peering out from behind his legs. The two men continue their argument. Lumumba appears to be challenging his former friend to a duel. As the fight reaches an impasse, Mobutu turns on his heel. He barks some orders at a Congolese officer, climbs into a nearby jeep and accelerates away. But instead of leaving with him,

the Congolese troops surrounding the villa stay put. Devlin curses under his breath. He figures Lumumba is now under a kind of house arrest. If the ring of UN protection breaks, there'll be nothing to stop a thousand or so of Mobutu's troops seizing the former prime minister. Devlin sighs. How will he get near enough to Lumumba to kill him now? Later that week, Leopoldville. In a side street near the Prime Minister's residence,

Devlin sits in his car listening to the radio. He's arranged to meet a man named Shotrov, a European advisor to one of Lumumba's ministers. Devlin has bribed Shotrov to pass him information. Finally, a furtive-looking man approaches the car He ducks down to look through the windscreen and, seeing Devlin, climbs into the passenger seat Devlin, I presume? You didn't think to check before you got into the car

Pleased to meet you in person Devlin switches off the radio Devlin can see that Shotroff looks nervous He's not done this before I mustn't be away for long My boss will grow suspicious What do you need? Don't worry, I won't keep you long

And look, we don't need much from you Devlin knows he must play this meeting carefully He doesn't want to spook his new recruit We don't need much from you. Devlin knows he must play this meeting carefully. He doesn't want to spook his new recruit by revealing the CIA's intentions to eliminate Lumumba. But equally, he's running out of options. He needs to know whether Shotroff is useful for anything other than providing vague intel on agricultural policy or what Lumumba ate for breakfast.

Do you have access to the Prime Minister's residence? Maybe the kitchen or even the bathroom? Devlin's brought the tube of poisoned toothpaste with him. He hopes he can convince Shatroff to take it and plant the poison. What? No. What is this about? I thought you wanted intelligence. Since the lockdown, nobody goes in or out of his personal quarters. Well, not me at least. I see. Not to worry.

Devlin tries to hide his disappointment. Besides, Shotroff could still prove useful later down the line. We just need to know if Lumumba has any plans to move on. Move on? Have you seen the army outside the compound? Yes, but please keep your ear to the ground anyway. We pay well. Keep in contact. Devlin sighs. It might be time to ask headquarters to send him a sniper rifle. Six weeks later, November 27th, 1960. Inside the pitch black crate in the back of a car, Lumumba tenses as he feels the car draw to a standstill. He's just been smuggled past the Congolese troops laying siege to his home.

He assumes they've now made it out of the city and to the car that will take him from here. As Lumumba's men lift the lid of the crate, he straightens his back and looks up toward the night sky. The stars are obscured by thick clouds and the warm smell of rain is in the air. But he is, for now, free. As he takes a deep breath, one of his men places a hand gently on his shoulder. Sir, it's time to switch cars.

Lumumba stretches his arms upwards. Give me a minute. It was cramped in there. The car has been on the road for more than an hour, smuggling Lumumba out of his compound and through the streets of Leopoldville. Did my family make it out too? Yes, but we will travel separately for now. It's safer that way. Good news though, now we're out of the city, there's no need for the crate. Why don't you lay out on the back seat? Oh, thank God. Although, are you sure it's safe? As the car pulls away, Lumumba lays on his back, stretched out under a blanket.

He allows himself a moment to enjoy his freedom and even to dream. If he can make it to Stanleyville, where he has a solid base of supporters, he can start to rebuild. Stanleyville is Congo's second biggest city and Lumumba's adopted hometown. And it's been loyal to him since his days as a post office clerk. There, he will be safe and able to rally his supporters to stand up to Mobutu. Only one and a half thousand miles to go. A few hours later, Leopoldville. MI6 agent Daphne Park startles at the sound of urgent knocking on her front door. She pads along the corridor as quietly as she is able and checks the peephole. Her face relaxes. Larry, what's happened? You're soaked. We should do this inside. Park steps aside to let Devlin in. She quickly checks the street

outside to see if he's been followed. Then she closes the door and follows him into the front room, a little worried he's dripping water on her furniture. Before she can say anything, Devlin starts talking. Daphne, it's Lumumba. He's fled. What? How? He'd have to get through a thousand of Mobutu's men, not to mention the UN Guard. I know, but he's gone all right. We have to assume he's on the road. Everyone knows his face. Where can he possibly go? Stanleyville, I assume. Devlin looks at Park meaningfully. Oh, you want me to go there? We have to head him off before we lose him for good. I checked. There's a flight out tonight. Park's eyes narrow as she makes a hundred rapid-fire calculations. You can think again if you expect me to carry out the CIA's

dirty work. Of course not. But if he makes it to Stanleyville, I want you there so you can find out where in the city he's hiding. We'll do the rest. But if we lose track of him there... Fine, I'll go. But what about you? I'm headed to Mobutu. I'll help him organize the pursuit. With a two-pronged attack, there's a decent chance we won't lose him. Daphne, you know what is at stake here. You mean apart from African democracy, nuclear war, and communist rule? Our next, I suppose.

Precisely. So, get this. The Ontario Liberals elected Bonnie Crombie as their new leader. Bonnie who? I just sent you her profile. Check out her place in the Hamptons. Huh, fancy. She's a big carbon tax supporter, yeah?

Oh yeah. Check out her record as mayor. Oh, get out of here. She even increased taxes in this economy. Yeah, higher taxes, carbon taxes. She sounds expensive. Bonnie Crombie and the Ontario Liberals. They just don't get it.

That'll cost you. A message from the Ontario PC Party. November 27th, 1960. Mobutu's office, Leopoldville, 1960. Mobutu's office, Leopoldville, Congo. CIA officer Larry Devlin unfolds a map of the Congo across the desk of Joseph Mobutu, chief of staff of the army. Mobutu runs his finger along the main road that leads out of the capital city, tracing the likely escape route Lumumba might have taken.

Realistically, there are only a couple of roads they could have taken out of the city. Devlin rubs his eyes wearily. They escaped hours ago. They could be anywhere by now. Not anywhere. Their convoy will have to stick to major routes, else risk becoming stuck. Many of these smaller roads are dirt tracks. The rain will have turned them to mud. Okay.

Then you need to mobilize your troops. Have them establish roadblocks. Here, here and here. No vehicle to pass without a thorough search. Three days later. Masi Manimba, a small village 1,200 miles from Stanleyville.

At a gas station in the Congolese countryside, a European man who works in the palm oil trade is filling his car with petrol when he hears a commotion around the corner. He replaces the fuel cap on his vehicle, pays for the petrol, then wanders toward the source

of the noise. He sees a Chevrolet station wagon with a canoe strapped to the roof, and straddling the canoe is the unmistakable sight of Patrice Lumumba. He appears to be giving an impromptu speech to the villagers. Friends, I have travelled many miles through rain and mud just to be with you this morning. The European listens in as Lumumba explains his plan to hole up in Stanleyville. Mobutu believes he and his army have already won, but there is another army

rising, a greater army, the Congolese people. And we are driven not by the empty promise of wealth and rank, but by justice and hope. Do you believe me? Lumumba, sensing the crowd is on his side, admits that he must evade capture. To this end, he will not be taking the more direct route via the city of Kikwit. The European hurries back to the gas station and his public payphone and calls his boss. Sir, you won't believe this. Lumumba is here in Masi Manimba. He's on the run, heading for Stanleyville. Yes, I know. But he says he's planning to avoid the route through Kikwit. No, he seemed genuine. The following day, December 1st, 1960. 870 miles to Stanleyville.

In the air above the town of Mweka, a Congolese military reconnaissance helicopter flies low. Inside, a lookout uses binoculars to check the roads below. There! In that clearing! I see a canoe! Through light tree cover, the lookout spots a convoy of four cars parked up. A Chevrolet station wagon, a blue Peugeot, a Fiat and a truck. Take us back around! The pilot swings back round. Through his binoculars, the lookout sees a small crowd gathered around a man

who is waving his arms as if delivering an impassioned speech. Lumumba. The pilot picks up his radio. Sir, we have eyes on the target. It seems he's headed east to Luluhabur. A few hours later. Lumumba has left the station wagon in which he has been travelling for five days, parked up under a tree. He stands on the banks of the Sankuru River,

flanked by his rescuers. In his arms, he holds his two-year-old son, Roland Gilbert. The group watches the water stream past in the moonlight. Well done, everyone. We made it. Lumumba feels hope rise in his chest. Over the water lies staunchly pro-Lumumba territory.

The roads are tarmacked and well-maintained, too. It will be easier to travel quickly, and Mobutu's forces will find it harder to reach them. One of Lumumba's men squints into the darkness. But we still need to cross this river, sir, and it appears we missed the last ferry for the night. Lumumba smiles at his aid. No matter. We brought our own boat, remember? I'll cross and convince the boatman to come back and pick you all up. Lumumba gently passes his son to his wife, climbs into his canoe. His entourage push the vessel into the river and Lumumba begins paddling hard. Lumumba digs his paddle deep into the water. He is working against the fast-flowing river, its height raised by the night's rain. On reaching the far shore, Lumumba climbs eagerly out of his canoe and

pulls it into the reeds. Then he races toward the ferry. It's a basic vessel. Two dug-out canoes rope together with an outboard motor. But's his only hope he finds the boatman reclining in a deck chair drinking a bottle of beer by a glowing fire greetings my family is on the other bank will you collect them with me the boatman looks at Lumumba with a bemused expression tomorrow morning I can pay anything you want please please. My children will have nowhere to sleep tonight. With great effort, the boatman pulls himself out of his chair. Anything, you say? Yes, but quickly. The boatman untethers the rope securing his ferry.

He climbs aboard and starts the outboard motor Let's go! As the ferry nears the shore Lumumba hears Mobutu's army jeeps Closing in He calls to his family and supporters on the shore Get ready to jump in! Leave behind anything you can't carry!

The ferry is almost at the shore when Lumumba sees the bright lights of a 4x4 sweep across the scene, blinding his family and their supporters in a blaze of white light. January 14th, 1961, Leopoldville. CIA agent Larry Devlin sits with Joseph Mobutu at a table in the Congolese dictator's office. A two-way radio crackles to life. Mobutu, how can I help you? Devlin has arranged a call with Moise Shombe, the leader of the breakaway province of Katanga,

where the Congo's most precious natural resources are found. It's nearly two months since Patrice Lumumba was captured on the banks of the Sankuru River, and he's been in prison ever since. Mobutu had hoped his rival would concede defeat and officially relinquish his claim to the role of prime minister. But even in captivity, Lumumba shows no signs of backing down from what he considers to be the democratic will of the people. And that makes him an ongoing threat to Mobutu, Congo's new government and everyone else who wanted him removed from power. So, the Belgians have proposed a solution. They will give Congo more than $2 million a month in foreign aid,

but only if Mobutu deals with Lumumba for good. Mobutu needs those funds to keep Congo's mutinous soldiers subdued with a pay rise, but ordering Lumumba's murder could tear the country apart. So, at Devlin's suggestion, he has called Shombe to ask for a favour. Moise, my dearest friend, how have you been? What is this about? Mobutu looks at Devlin uncertainly. Devlin gives him a slight nod.

You have heard about my problem? I thought your problem was behind bars. Yes, but you know this is not enough. The Belgians require a permanent solution. So I hear. This involves us both, Moise. You want him gone too. That's what you said when you declared independence for Katanga. So? So we both want the same thing. But I cannot be seen to be involved. Can you help? We can get him to you. The radio remains quiet for a few moments.

Finally, Shombe responds. Katanga is an independent state, but I can see that this course of action will benefit us all. The people need clear leadership. Lumumba is disruptive. Removing him will stabilize us all. The people need clear leadership. Lumumba is disruptive. Removing him will stabilize us all. Get him to us. We will do the rest.

Mobutu looks at Devlin. He knows that officially the US has urged the Congo to treat Lumumba humanely. Mobutu wonders if Devlin will object. But instead, Devlin just lights a cigarette and looks away. His and Daphne Park's work here is almost done. Two days later, Ninjile Airport, Leopoldville. In Sabina, Air Congo's headquarters,

Damien Candolo is in the director's office and making plans with representatives from the state-owned airline. This must be done quickly and secretly. The soldiers at the military base where we are holding him are getting restless about their pay. We need Lumumba and his aides transferred before the security problem intensifies. Can we make the transfer tomorrow at dawn?

It is around five months since Daphne Park helped Candolo escape Lumumba's men, and much has changed for him. His broken arm is now healed, and following Mobutu's coup, he's been appointed Interior Minister. And it's his job to get Lumumba into Katangan hands. Air Congo's director examines a map of the country on the wall. Coloured pins indicate the location of the state airline's fleet.

We have a Dragon Rapide that could get to this airstrip near Lucala. Can you get him there? Candolo nods. Lucala's a 90-minute drive from the base, but if they remove Lumumba quietly, that won't be a problem. We can, but can a Dragon Rapide even make it to Katanga? No, it's too small. The Dragon Rapide, it will fly west to Monda. There I will have a DC-4 waiting. It will take the prisoners to Katanga. Where do you want the transfer to take place? Bakwanga in South Kasai, but not if the UN troops are present. In that case, the prisoners should go to Elizabethville instead. We cannot have the UN finding out about this transfer. Air Congo's director stares at his map, trying to divine an alternative plan.

After a few moments, he speaks. OK, here's what we do. We have a DC-3 here. It could fly ahead to Bakwanga and radio back on whether the UN is there. And if they are, the DC-4 carrying the prisoners will change course for Elizabethville. Candolo gives a nod of approval. And what about your pilots? They need to know not to talk. This transfer is top secret. I will make sure of that. This transfer is top secret.

I will make sure of that. Good. Make the arrangements. We will have the package ready for collection at Lucala at 7am tomorrow. The morning after. The pilot of the lightweight Dragon Rapide aircraft grips the controls hard as the plane rocks. Not with turbulence, but from the ferocity of the beating soldiers are delivering to Lumumba and two of his aides in the cabin of the plane. Shit! They're going to bring us down! The pilot turns back to look behind him.

Knock it off! You're destabilizing the plane! The pilot sees Lumumba kneeling on the floor of the cabin. His wrists are tied behind his back. Blood and saliva drool from his mouth. Lumumba looks up. One of his eyes is obscured by swelling. The pilot shakes his head and returns to the controls. The next day, Katanga.

In a remote part of the bush near Elizabethville, a father and son cautiously approach a small clearing amid the trees. The previous night, they were walking back soldiers, watched over by Belgian officers, drag three men in handcuffs out of the cars. The prisoners were barefoot and bruised, wearing nothing but blood-soaked trousers and undershirts. In the glow of the car headlights, the hunters watched the soldiers line their prisoners up one by one against a tree.

Then they shot them with submachine guns and automatic rifles. The two men stand in silence, surveying the evidence of last night's violence. Bullet casings lay scattered in the red dust around them. Dad, look. Over there. The 20-year-old son points at a spot in the ground a dozen or so metres away. Several pairs of feet stick out of the earth, loosely covered with dirt. Two days later, night. Near the shallow grave where Lumumba's body lays, two Belgian mercenaries lean against their truck guzzling whiskey.

One is Gérard Sauté, a 40-year-old police commissioner. The other is his younger brother, Michel. Why are they making us do this? Gérard holds out the bottle. Don't question it. Just think of the money. Here, drink. Katanga's government decided that killing Lumumba is not enough. All proof of the former prime minister's fate must be erased.

His supporters must never know what happened to him. There can be no shrine. He is to disappear without a trace. And the grisly job of dispensing with the evidence has fallen to these Belgian brothers. The rear of their truck is laden with a variety of saws, hammers and other sharp tools. Beside them sit several plastic barrels, all filled with acid.

On the ground, there are heavy bundles of blankets. The younger brother drains the last of the whiskey and tosses the bottle aside. There's not enough whiskey in the world for this job. What's that in your hand? Gérard grins and holds a glinting nugget up to the moonlight. A souvenir? Our guy had a gold tooth.

His brother shakes his head in disbelief. Don't tell anyone you have that. Come on, you use that barrel. I'll take this one. Let's get this over with. Five days later, the VIP lounge at Brazzaville Airport in the former French Congo. CIA officer Larry Devlin enters the VIP lounge clutching a plane ticket to London. His bosses in Washington want an in-person briefing about the elimination of Lumumba, and after the past few months, he's glad to get out of Congo for a while. He removes his sunglasses and notices a

familiar figure sitting in the corner of the room, his MI6 counterpart, Daphne Park. He gives her a warm smile. Park pats the empty seat beside her. Devlin sits down. Daphne, I thought you might be here. Ready for a well-deserved vacation? Yes, indeed. I have some rather overdue Christmas presents to deliver. I hope you gave one to your friend Candolo. He really came through, didn't he? Yes. He rather did, didn't he? The two spies sit in quiet contemplation for a moment.

At last, Park turns to her friend. Hell of a few months we had there. Yes. I didn't get we had there. Yes. I didn't get much golfing. No. I imagine coups rather interfere with one's swing. The pair share a moment's laughter. Then Devlin's smile dissolves.

What we did, do you think it helped? Park considers his question for a moment. A bit late for regrets now, Devlin. But we did our jobs. We got the communists out and we served our countries. That is enough. Perhaps. In the slightly surroundings of a 16th century palace, a group of Patrice Lumumba's family members solemnly approached the Belgian Prime Minister, Alexander de Creu. It's been six decades since Lumumba's murder.

The truth of his fate only recently came to light after Belgian police commissioner Gérard Sauté confessed that he had dismembered Lumumba's body and dissolved the remains in acid. D'Acrou presents the family with a light blue case. The box is empty, except for a single gold-capped tooth. D'Acrou quietly addresses the family. This is a painful and disagreeable truth, but it must be spoken. A man was murdered for his political convictions, his words, his ideals. Le Mumbus' son, Roland Gilbert, was two years old when soldiers killed his father. Now 63, he takes the box. He carefully lays it down inside an empty casket. Later that week, that casket will be repatriated to the Congo as the first step toward justice. A justice that's been six decades in the making. With tears in his eyes,

Lumumba, the first prime minister of the Democratic Republic of Congo, had profound and lasting impacts. It set the stage for decades of political turmoil, economic exploitation and social upheaval in the country. After Lumumba's death, Joseph Mobutu established a dictatorial regime that lasted until May 1997, when he was finally overthrown by rebel forces. It was a period marked by corruption and authoritarian rule.

Daphne Park's agent, Damien Kandolo, held several senior positions in Congo's government. He died in 1978 in Kinshasa, as Leopoldville is now called. The killing of Lumumba remains the first and only documented case of the CIA orchestrating the assassination of a foreign leader. The CIA's role in Congo remains one of the most controversial aspects of its Cold War history, not least because it precipitated support for a long-term dictatorship. Park received an OBE for her work in Congo. She returned to London in October 1961 and later went on to postings in Zambia, Vietnam and Mongolia. After retiring with MI6 in 1979, she became the principal of Oxford University's Somerville College.

In 1990, she was made a life peer as Baroness Park of Monmouth. Park and MI6's precise role in Lumumba's overthrow and murder remains unknown. Shortly before she died in March 2010, Baroness Park met a friend at the House of Lords. Over a cup of tea, he asked her if MI6 had played a key role in Lumumba's killing. Park reportedly replied, We did. I organised it. To this day, Lumumba remains a symbol of the struggle for independence and self-determination in Africa.

Belgium has only recently begun to address the legacy of its exploitation of Congo's resources and the millions who died from starvation, violence and disease during the country's rule. Join us next episode where we discuss Eisenhower's unprecedented decision to order the assassination of another world leader. We explore the ethics of foreign interference in another nation's politics and question where exactly is the line between rescue and control? Wondery Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of The Spy Who early and ad-free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. From Wondery, this is the fourth episode in our series, The Spy Who Killed a 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 Simon Parkin

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. Our producer for Wondery is Viadora Leloudis.

Our managing producer is Rachel Sibley. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Chris Bourne, Morgan Jones and Marshall Louis.