The Spy Who - The Spy Who Lived Inside Al-Qaeda| Jump in the Fire | 1

Episode Date: October 28, 2025

When an outlaw biker swaps crime for Islamic extremism, he finds himself on MI5’s radar. But as he gets closer to al-Qaeda’s inner circle, one decision will turn him from terrorist ally into their worst nightmare.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wonderry Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of the Spy Who early and add free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondry app. Please be advised. This episode contains depictions of violence, racist and religious hate speech and drug use. January 2012, the al-Qaeda controlled town of Yahr in southern Yemen. In a mosque, Morton Storm watches the jihadi fighters he's with get their rifles. The Yemeni military is attacking again. One of the fighters grabbed Storm's arm. Brother, wait here. We cannot lose you this day. Storm doesn't protest. He knows he's more useful to Al-Qaeda alive than dead.

As a pale-skinned Dane with a ginger beard and a hefty build, he doesn't look like he belongs here. But for years, he's been a valuable link between Yemeni and European jihadists. Or at least that's what Al-Qaeda thinks. In reality, he's a spy. He's here on a high-risk mission to learn where the terrorist group's local leaders are hiding. so U.S. drones can take them down. With the fighters gone, storm charges up the stairs of the mosque and onto the roof.

The sun is rising, turning the sky purple pink. Across town where the fighting is underway, a column of black smoke billows into the air. A Yemeni Air Force jet shoots overhead. Storm looks down. A pickup truck speeds away from the mosque carrying the armed jihadis he was praying with moments ago to the battlefront. On seeing it, a sickening realization brings Storm to his knees. His backpack is still in the cab of that truck.

Inside that backpack is a USB stick, and on that stick is a recording of his last meeting with the CIA. Unarguable proof that Storm is a Western spy. The noise of battle recedes against the blood pounding in his ears. Storm no longer sees the pink sky anymore. All he can see is that backpack being opened and the USB stick being found. When he thinks of what will happen next, nausea hits him. There is no extraction plan,

and he knows there will be no mercy. The memories of all those al-Qaeda beheading videos flood his mind. Only this time, He will be the hostage facing execution. From Wondery, I'm Razor Jaffrey, and this is The Spy Who. Beneath the veneer of the Every Day lurks the realm of the spy. It's a murky world full of dark corners, sinister motives and corrupted morals. A place of paranoia.

and infiltration, sabotage and manipulation. In this season, we track the adventures of Morton Storm, a rebellious Danish spy who risked everything to bring down Al-Qaeda's leadership in Yemen, only to fall out with his spymasters. What you're about to hear are dramatized reconstructions of events, based on the information that's been made public. But remember, in the shadowy realm of the spy, the full story is rarely clear.

This is episode one of the spy who lived inside al-Qaeda. Jump in the fire. 16 years earlier, December, 1996. Korsor, Denmark. 20-year-old Morton Storm sits in the passenger seat and peers at the small white house across the street. His long ginger hair is tied back in a ponytail, and his leather jacket bears the insignia of the bandido's biker gang.

Number 27, right? His companion nods and cuts the engine. Last night, a fellow bandido got beaten up by a nightclub bouncer. Now Storm is here to teach that bouncer a lesson. Storm takes a small bag of cocaine from his pocket and taps some of the powder onto the back of his hand. He blinks as euphoria brushes through his body. Then he pulls on a balaclava and tucks a baseball bat under his leather jacket. A large man in pajamas opens the door, yawning.

His eyes snap open on seeing them. Oh, shit! Before he can react, Storm shoves him to the floor and takes out his baseball bat. No one fucks with the banditos! Five minutes later, the two men race out of the house. Storm's baseball bat is now bloodied. They dive into the car and speed away. That night, Storm can't sleep.

The bouncer's groans of pain and his crunching bones play on a loop in his mind. And this time, the drugs won't shut out the shame he feels. A troubled childhood and a stint in jail led him to the bandidos two years ago. The gang offered the sense of belonging and family he longed for. But now, it's just a whirlpool of drugs, adrenaline and violence. The bandido's joke that he's Denmark's youngest psychopath. Storm used to find that funny. Now he wonders if it's true.

One month later, Korsesur, Denmark. Storm hunches his shoulders against the bitter winter wind. He's been walking the streets for hours. He can't rid himself of the hollow feeling that has taken root within him. He sees the local library up ahead. It's as good a place as any to warm up. Inside, he ignores the disapproving looks at his biker jacket and drifts aimlessly among the shelves.

He notices a book on Islam and picks it up out of curiosity. As a child, Storm used to envy his immigrant Muslim friends for their strong family bonds, his own family life was a mess. His alcoholic father walked out when he was four. The stepdad who replaced him was violent and menacing. By the age of 13, Storm was being kicked out of school and spiraling into a life of crime. Storm wonders if his immigrant friend's religion played a role in their family's stability.

He takes the book to an alcove and settles in to read. The story of the Prophet Muhammad absorbs him. The orphaned child who became a trustworthy trader, how he lived a simple and dignified life, and how he became a religious leader who was ready to fight for his beliefs against persecution. A religion that seemed to offer a path to a new life. Excuse me?

Storm looks up to see the librarian standing over him. Sorry to interrupt, we need to close. Already? You've been reading for six hours. Through the window, storm is bewildered to see the pale Scandinavian sun beginning to set. He leaves the library feeling disoriented, but also with a calm he has rarely felt in his life. Could Islam be the answer to turning his life around? 2004, Luton, England.

Storm races through the wide central square of the Arndale shopping centre. His head is now shaved beneath an Islamic kufi skullcap. His thorpe robe flaps open behind him and there's fury in his eyes. Ahead of him are two skinheads in jeans and combat boots. Just minutes ago, the men were harassing Muslim women in the street. Now they're running as fast as they can. They glanced behind in fear as they realize Storm is gaining on them. It's been seven years since Storm converted to Islam and adopted a new first name, Murad.

He then moved to Britain to escape the bandidos before going to Yemen to study the religion further. After Al-Qaeda's 9-11 terrorist attack, he became radicalized in response to the West's war on terror. Now he's married to a devout Muslim woman and follows the teachings of radical preachers. He even named his first son Osama after the leader of al-Qaeda. Along with his fellow militants, Storm roams Luton, tearing down posters of scantily clad women and defending Muslims from attacks by far-right groups. One of the skinheads peels off and dives into a boot's pharmacy.

Storm follows. He catches up with the skinhead in the cosmetic aisle. The skinhead starts lobbing jargon. of makeup at him. Bloody traitor! Say that again! Cuff here! Storm lunges at the man,

dragging him to the ground and begins hammering him with his large fists. Floods spatters his robe. He only stops when the skinhead stops resisting. Then he springs to his feet and runs away before the police arrive. It's a year later, and in his bedroom in Luton,

Storm sits at his desk, surrounded by religious books and papers. On his laptop, he's writing a pamphlet, urging every Muslim to help the global jihadist movement. He stops typing. Creeps to the window and peers through the lace curtains. A policeman at the door. His wife appears outside the bedroom. Why are the police here? Just tell them I'm not how.

Storm's wife scowls. things have been troubled between them for a couple of years he stays with her only for the sake of their two small children Storm listens from upstairs as his wife answers the door yes could we speak to Mr Storm he's not here no he's in Storm wonders if it's his pamphlets or the beating up of far-right thugs

that he's going to get arrested for But there's no point hiding. He heads downstairs. Ah, Mr Storm, could you come with me, please? We have some questions we'd like to ask you. No, I won't. What's the problem? Well, your car was seen at a petrol station.

Somebody put £30 of fuel in and then drove off without paying. Storm knows that's a lie. He grabs the car key from near the front door. Look at the gauge, if you like. No one's put £30 of fuel in it. I'll show you. Storm heads out. Gets into his car and turns on the ignition.

But when he looks up, the policeman has disappeared. The car's passenger door opens, and a young man in a suit slides into it. Mr. Storm, how do you do? I'm Robert. I'm with British intelligence. What do you want? Morton, there's a very general. dangerous situation in the UK with terrorism.

My name is Murad now. Why are you harassing Muslims? There's never been a terrorist attack by Muslims in the UK. Please, there's no need for anger. I just wanted to ask you a few questions. Storm says nothing. What do you think of Abu Hamza? Abu Hamza is a militant Egyptian imam who preaches at London's Finsbury Park Mosque.

Britain's tabloid newspapers call him Captain Hook because of his prosthetic hand. I've never met him and I'm not going to backbite him just to please you. You're a non-believer. He's a brother Muslim. I see. And what about Anjim Chowdra? Robert keeps asking questions. Storm keeps stonewalling him, expecting to be arrested at any moment.

But then, Robert thanks him for his time and leaves. storm wonders what this was all about did robert hope to recruit him as a spy but one thing is certain british intelligence has got eyes on him now and that puts storm in a dangerous position Late 2005, Sanar, the capital city of Yemen. It's nearly six months since storms face-to-face with British intelligence, and he's back in Yemen. He walked through the city's narrow streets with his three. three-year-old son Osama at his side. Much has changed since MI5 visited him in Luton. The July 7th suicide bombings in London brought the war on terror to Britain's streets and heightened

his fears of arrest. Then came a messy separation with his wife that led to a fight for custody of Osama with social services. So now he's returned to live in Yemen to reconnect with the jihadis he met there when he first studied Islam. He looks down at Osama. Remember, best behavior, okay? Osama nods and looks anxiously at the house in front of them. Storm double checks it's the right address. The house is bigger than he expected, with a new car parked in front of it.

Storm is here to meet his close friend, Abdul. They first met in the late 90s during Storm's visit to Yemen. Back then, Abdul was a wiry teenager with short. curly hair. Nowadays, he is a well-connected jihadist who even served as courier to al-Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan. Before storm can knock, the door opens and Abdul is there with a wide smile splitting his dark beard.

Murad, my friend, it's so good to see you. And what, this must be Osama, the littlest jihadi warrior, yes? Come in, come in! Inside, a woman in a knikab greets them before taking Osama with her, so Storm and Abdul can talk. Storm claps Abdul on the shoulder. Married, brother, and doing well for yourself too. The house is impressive. Yes, praise me to God.

Please, sit. Abdul gestures to the living area, where large cushions are spread on the floor. But I'm sorry that your marriage didn't work out. Mm, me too. But this is a fresh start for me and for Asama. Besides, England has been uncomfortable since the bombings, but surely they struck fear into the Khorfah's hearts. Yeah, but I'm also tired of the blowhards that preached there. Yeah? We hear the cause is authentic, and I want Asama to grow up to be a god-fearing Muslim. Hopefully I'll find a new and better wife here. May Allah bless you. So now you're back. What do you

plan to do. I'm working with a filmmaker from Denmark. He wants to make a film about the brothers in Yemen. I think he could help spread the message. I wanted to ask, could you help us find people to interview? Leave it with me, brother. I will ask around and make some introductions. It's six months later, and in his new home in Sana'a, Storm is hosting a religious study group for other foreign jihadis. The man instructing them today is a tall, thin cleric with round glasses and a neat beard. Muslims must fight against their enemies

until the day of judgment. It is our duty to fight those countries who seek to repress our religion. The cleric's name is Sheikh Anwar al-Aulahi. Storm first met him at a dinner for other foreign nationals living in Sana'ar. Al-Aulaki was born in the U.S. to a rich and influential Yemeni family. He studied engineering in Colorado before becoming an imam.

He publicly condemned the September 11 attacks, but was added to the FBI's watch list after it emerged he had met two of the hijackers. Al-Aulaki returned to Yemen and turned more extreme. But as someone who has also lived in the West, he and Storm rapidly became friends. On finishing his lecture, Al-Aulahi smiles at the group. Now I believe Murad has prepared a feast.

Let us enjoy. And give thanks to God or his brotherhood and the food. Storm directs everybody to the adjoining room, where there's a table laid out with the food. But Al-Aulahi doesn't follow. You will not eat with us, Sheikh? Ah, thank you. But no.

My cooking's not that bad, is it? No, you mention it. No, no, I joke. I must get on, but Murat... Yes? There's something I've been meaning to say to you. About your friend, Abdul. About Abdul?

Just... And be careful what you tell him. I'm not sure he is trustworthy. Storm is shocked. He now regards Aulah Lahi as a friend, but Abdul is the person he's clear. closest to in Yemen. May I ask why, Sheikh? Abdull lost $25,000 while he was on a mission for the brothers in Djibouti. Storm is surprised at Al-Aulaki mentioning the brothers. It's a reference to

Al-Qaeda. And while Al-Aulaki's been supportive of the terrorist group in his sermons, Storm didn't know he was directly involved with the organization. You think Abdel stole the money? He disappeared for six months and the money has been. has never been recovered. Abdul now has a very expensive house. What I'm saying is be careful around him. It's a few days later, and Storm is walking to evening prayers with Abdul.

He's been unsettled by Al-Aulahi's warning and decides he needs to confront his friend. Abdul, I don't know how to say this, but there are rumors about you. Rumors? What rumors? that you stole the brother's money when you were in Djibouti. Is it true?

I swear by Allah, I did not steal that money. The claims are unjust. Then what happened? I was arrested. Djibouti's intelligence services took the money. Where did you go for six months? That's how long I was in their jail. I swear it, brother.

I can show you the stamps in my passport. Storm wonders if he should ask about the new house. But Abdul seems genuinely distressed, and he doesn't want to ruin their friendship. I believe you, brother. I didn't know you were in East Africa. What were you doing there? I was a courier for Abu Tala al-Sahdani.

Storm was impressed. Abu Tallah is one of Al-Qaeda's leading operatives in East Africa. Mashallah. That's amazing, Abdul. You were doing God's work. I too hope to go there, to carry out jihad in Somalia. What does your new wife think of that? I have four already told Fadier I'm going.

What, in the first week of you? your marriage? Haven't you always told me, Jared, in these times, it's an obligation. She understands, and we'll be good to Osama if God wishes to take me. Abdul laughs and grips his shoulder. This is a glorious day, brother. When will you go? I need to raise enough funds first. So I'm going back to Denmark. It'll be easier for me to find work there. Ah, I understand. I shall miss you, brother.

But tonight we celebrate, eh? You are no longer a scholar, but a warren. The two friends smiled at each other. Storm feels elated. It's as if his whole life has been preparing him for this decision. That December, Copenhagen, Denmark. Amid swirling snow, Storm loads his purchases from a military surplus store into the back of his car. camouflage gear, water bottles, and Swiss army knives. After months of saving up, Storm is ready to leave for Somalia.

He's bought his one-way ticket to the war-torn country's capital, Mogadishu. He's now stocking up on supplies his jihadist friends there asked him for. Storm feels happy and confident. His marriage to Fadja is going well, and he's reached a custody settlement with his first wife, which means he can now see both Osama and his daughter regularly. He feels at peace and blessed. Storm checks his phone.

It's his contact in Somalia. He pulls over and answers. Salam, brother. I just bought the supplies you wanted. He is abruptly cut off by his friend. You mustn't come, Barad. You hear me? Don't come. They surround at the airport. Then you need every fighter you can.

and get. No, I'll arrest you the moment, you lads. Do all right. Storm is left stunned. His peace and purpose eviscerated. He slams the steering wheel in frustration.

Why? Why, Allah? Why won't you let me go? Why stop me serving you? Leaning his forehead against the steering wheel, just one thought circles in his fevered brain. Why would God let the Mujahideen lose. Three months later, the outskirts of Arhus, Denmark.

Storm sits alone on a small boat in the middle of Brabrandt Lake, waiting for fish to bite his fishing line. A light mist hangs above the water. Patches of ice drift and swirl in the bays of the lake. The past three months have felt dark. to storm. He dedicated his life to the cause. It cost him his childhood friends, put him on the radar of intelligence services and strained relations with his mother. So the devastation of not being able to go to Somalia to fulfill his jihadi duty has plunged him into depression and doubt. He cannot understand why Allah would allow defeat upon defeat to be inflicted upon his holy warriors just when they are fulfilling the prophecies.

Seeking answers, he Googles contradictions in the Quran. The flood of results he gets back brings his extremist beliefs crashing down. The religious justifications his fellow jihadis used for killing civilians don't hold up. He feels lost and depressed. Nothing makes sense anymore. He has re-read the Quran and prayed in mosques, but his faith remains shaken to its core. He keeps wondering,

what if the cause he embraced is a lie? Because if it is a lie, then nothing about the jihadi cause is right or righteous. He thinks about his mother and grandparents. His radical beliefs condemn them and all other unbelievers to death and hellfire. His fellow extremists claim that to kill them with bombs or a knife in the street is God's work.

Did he deceive himself for ten years? Or did he let others deceive him? Rage surges. through him. He stands and throws his rod with all the strength. Fuck these lies! Steadying himself against the violent rocking of the boat, Storm watches the rod splash and sink beneath the lake water,

taking his faith with it. But what now? He is now the enemy of his friends. The only thing jihadis hate more than non-believers are apostates, those who renounce the faith. And it's not just Storm who's at risk. His wife and family will be in danger too, because Storm knows too much

to be allowed to just walk away. March 2007, Arhus, Denmark. Morton Storm enters the presidential suite of the Radisson Hotel. A handsome Danish intelligence officer greets him. He looks like George Clooney in his designer clothes. Welcome, Mr. Storm. It's good to see you again. You can call me Clang and this is my colleague, Buddha.

Please, sit down. Storm glances at Buddha and scoffs. Clang and Buddha, is this a Marvel comic? Storm's bravado conceals his nervousness. Ever since he's brushed with M.I.5 in the UK, Storm suspected he was under surveillance. So he wasn't shocked when Clang tried to recruit him as a spy shortly after he returned to Denmark from Yemen.

At the time, Storm swore at him, but took Clang's business card all the same. Then three days ago, he rediscovered. covered the card and realized it could be the answer to his problem. If he must pretend to still be a jihadi to protect himself, then maybe he can turn it into a purpose and atoned for his involvement with these terrorists. So he called Clang's number. Buddha hands Storm a room service menu.

Order anything you like. It's on us. We can ensure it's halal. Storm ignores the menu. I want a bacon sandwich and a Karlsburg beer. Clang and Buddha look shocked, but Storm feels a weightlift. I'm no longer Muslim. The religion that was my life means nothing to me now. I'm ready to help you fight terrorism. A few months later, Birmingham.

Storm is back in England. Because of his extensive jihadist contacts there, Danish intelligence. have loaned him out to MI5. Now, he and Fadiah live in a small house in Alam Rock, a majority Muslim area of the city, and Storm works as a taxi driver. This morning, after prayers at the local mosque, Storm got invited back to the house of a Syrian refugee

and chemistry graduate, Hassan Tabakh. Tabach, ushers storm through the front door, and then excuses himself hurriedly. Wait here. Storm suspects Tabakh will be a person of interest to MI5. During their conversations on Islam, Tabach was impressed that Storm was friends with Anwar al-Aulaki. He revealed he had been following the US-born clerics online sermons for years. Tobach returns looking excited.

His hands shake as he lays in a array of drawings, plans and maps on the dining table. Storm peers at the documents. What is this, brother? Targets, Oxford Street and the area around Parliament, and these are sketches of the devices I'm building. What do you think? Will it work? Storm feels his adrenaline surge. His loss of faith came with a newfound desire

to stop jihadi terrorists from killing and maiming civilians. And now, he stumbled onto a terror bomb plot. He needs to learn everything he can and get word to MI5. You need to be careful, brother, this is good, but who else have you told about this? Only you, I swear, I thought perhaps you could ask Sheikh Allah al-Aulahi for his blessing. Storm feigns enthusiasm, while learning all he can about Tabach's plans. He knows Tabach is MI5's worst fear, a lone wolf terrorist.

He dreads to think what would have happened if Tabach revealed his plans to someone else. But now, he will be taken out of action before he gets a chance to act. and storms getting a taste for his new life as a spy. It's six months later, February 2008. And Storm is driving through Yemen, near the city of Atak. On one side of the road, a sea of sand dunes merge into the reddening dusk sky. He reassures his wife who's in the passenger seat. Not much further, my love.

He can only see her cold-rimmed eyes, but they look tired. They have been driving for nine hours to meet Anwar Al-Aulahi. Officially, it's just a social call. But for Storm, this trip is essential for his spy work. A few months ago, the CIA learned that Storm was friendly with the radical preacher. So they asked Danish intelligence if Storm could make contact with him. and MI5 reluctantly agreed he could take a break from his UK work. Since storm was last in Yemen, Al-Aulahi's notoriety has grown.

His sermons are linked to terror plots in both the US and the UK. He was recently released from prison, where the Yemeni authorities held him without charge for 18 months. Now, Al-Aulaki has disappeared into his family's tribal heartlands, and the CIA have lost all trace of him. It didn't take Storm long to reconnect. Within days of returning to Yemen, Storm had an invitation to meet Al-Ollahi

at his new home in the southern city of Atak. Storm drives into Atak, and spots Al-Aulahi waiting for them on the street. The cleric's face lights up with genuine pleasure. It is so good to see you, Murad. I have been in dire need of intellectual company. Al-Aulahi now dresses like a tribal chief. He wears a Yemeni turban and has a traditional curved bronze dagger sheathed into an embroidered waistband.

As they talk, Storm can see prison has made him harder and more bitter towards Yemen's government and America. On entering his house, Fadirr disappears with Al-Aulaki's teenage second wife. Storm turns to Al-Aulaki. How is your new wife coping here? Al-Aulaki shakes his head. She's not happy. All she wants to do is watch Turkish soaps on television. Storm laughs, but Al-Lau-Lucky remains serious.

Marad, have a request. Could you find me a third wife? Me? I'm thinking perhaps a convert from the West. I need someone who will share in the hardships of my life here and who can discuss topics intelligently. Would you help me with this, brother? Storm suppresses a smile.

Of all the tasks he expected as either spy or jihadist, matchmaking was not one of them. One month later, Houston, London. Storm sits at a conference table in a small room without windows. He's just returned from Yemen after four months. Now, he's debriefing representatives from the CIA, Britain's Foreign Intelligence Service, MI6, and the Danish intelligence agency, P-E-T. CIA officer Jed takes control.

Who's Al-Olaki meeting in Attack? Who are his supporters? I didn't ask. I told you, since leaving prison he's become paranoid. He suspects everyone of being a spy. Jed paces the room. He's a balding man with ice-blue eyes and a pair of black cowboy boots poking beneath his suit trousers.

The MI6 man, Matt, coughs politely. You do the right thing and not asking, Morton. You shouldn't visit Yemen again for some time to avoid suspicion. There's plenty of work here finding homegrown terrorists. Jed rolls his eyes. That's rolling up the druggies. Al-Olaki is the drug dealer. We need to cut the head off that snake.

And Storm is our way to him. Storm glances at Matt apologetically as he shares his next piece of information. I had an email from Al Al-Olucky, just as I arrived back. He asked if I could bring supplies the next time I visit. Jed perks up. Supplies. Like what? Storm takes out a scrap of paper from his pocket and reads. A laptop, night vision goggles, solar panels and, uh, 20,000 dollars in cash.

He's suggesting I could raise it in the mosques here in Britain. Jed looks at Matt triumphantly. What did I tell you, the guy's moving on from just words. We need to be inside his compound. Matt frowns. We can't just send him $20,000. If it gets out, we've been funding terrorism, we'll be flayed alive in the press.

If it puts a target on our lucky's back, it's cheap at twice the price. As the British and Americans argue, Storm looks at Clang, his Danish handler. Clang just grins, as if the disagreement between the two bigger spy agencies is no big deal. But Storm wonders what it will mean for him if MI6 and the CIA can't agree on how to use him.

Spying on a well-connected radical Al-Aulahi in a volatile Arab country like Yemen is far riskier than watching for new threats in England. It's a few months later and in Helsinger, Denmark. Storm arrives for another meeting with his spy handlers. But today, only Jed and Clang are in the room. Matt not coming?

Jed curls his lip. There's no need for our British friends today. We've already agreed the details. Storm wonders if Jed's learned that MI6 had been making a play for his services behind the CIA's back. Ever since the meeting, in Houston, British intelligence has been on a charm offensive, trying to persuade Storm to focus on the UK rather than getting sucked into overseas missions for the CIA. They've even hinted

that the Americans can't be trusted to look after him. Jed hands Storm a thick envelope. That's the money for Al-Aulahi. Tell him you couldn't raise the full amount. Storm looks inside the envelope. I guess you guys won the argument on how much to give him. This is more than Matt told me I'd get. Jed evades the question. Instead, he shifts to the chair next to storm. Morton, did you and your wife ever go on honeymoon?

No, I've not had the time during the last two years or the money. Then after this trip to Yemen, you should take one. Not us. Just say where you want to go and I'll make it happen. Stammering out his thanks, Storm feels even more torn. After Jed leaves, he seeks advice from Clang. Feels like I'm being forced to choose between the Brits and the Americans. I don't know what to do.

Clang shrugs. I'd go with the Yanks. They pay more and it's overseas work. It'll be much more exciting than hanging around in Birmingham. Storm agrees, but MI6's warnings that the C-Rex. might not always have his back, worries him. One of his jihadi contacts recently said he cut the head of a spy in Somalia. Now, the CIA are sending him on his most dangerous mission yet,

a trip back into al-Qaeda's Yemeni heartlands to find al-Aulahi. But can he really trust them and his Danish spymasters? Wondery Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of The Spy Who early and add free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. Have you got a spy story you'd like us to tell? Email your ideas to The Spy Who at Wondery.com. From Wondery, this is the story. the first episode in our season, The Spy Who Lived Inside Al-Qaeda.

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 a dramatic effect, it's still based on biographical research. We used various sources in our research for this season, including Agent Storm, My Life Inside Al-Qaeda and the CIA, by Morton Storm, with Paul Cruikshank and Tim Lister.

The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jaffrey. Our show is produced by Vespucci, with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Wondering. For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by Judy Cooper and researched by Louise Byrne. Pronunciation guidance from Rekker Kierstein and Paula Richardson. Our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producer is Ashley Clivery. Our sound designer is Iva Manly. Natalia Rodriguez is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frist and Sink.

Executive producers for Vesbucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turkin. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Theodora Leludis and Marshall Lewy.