The Spy Who - The Spy Who Rode with Warlords | The First Casualty | 3

Episode Date: September 29, 2026

The Battle of Qala-i-Jangi is underway. David Tyson is trapped with no way out and al-Qaeda moving in. And if help doesn’t arrive soon, America’s first victory in Afghanistan will also become its first defeat.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who, add free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. A note to listeners, this episode contains graphic depictions of violence, mental illness, and strong language. November 25th, 2001, Afghanistan. All right, we've got an ace on the river, boys. Who's in? Who's out? Bullocks, I'm out. Vold.

British Sergeant Paul Scruff, McGough, of the Spreeks. Special Boat Service sits watching as his men play cards. The Special Boat Service, or SBS, is often overshadowed by the SAS, but they are at least as highly trained, the absolute elite of Britain's armed forces. But right now, they are killing time in the classroom of a former Turkish school that's been turned into the US military headquarters in Mazay Sharif. Scruff's squad of eight have been in Afghanistan for over a week now. sent to support the US-led invasion, but so far their main duty has been to escort an American

Admiral on a visit to a local hospital. They're also operating under strict rules of engagement from the British government under orders not to open fire unless fired upon first. Watching them play poker for ration packs, Scruff can tell his men are bored. And to his mind, there's almost nothing as dangerous in the world as a bored SBS squad. Scruff grabs his satellite phone, rising to his feet as he listens to the frantic voice on the other end. Yeah? Yeah, all right. Bloody hell.

Yeah, I reckon about 30 minutes. On our way. Scruff walks over to his troops. They've abandoned their game and are looking at him expectantly. All right, lads. Seems the Americans have had some sort of prison break, and we've got to clean it up. Get to! The SBS squad is on their feet before he's finished speaking, grabbing their gear and sprinting towards their trucks.

30 minutes later, the SPS squad's two pickup trucks arrive outside the Kalajangi fort. They leap out, carrying their GPMG heavy machine guns. An American green beret sprints over. Scruff gives him a cursory salute. All right, what's the story? Where do you need us? The American motions the squad to follow him up a slope, where they can see over the walls into the fortress itself. We've got somewhere around 400 Al-Qaeda jihadis hold up in that large building there,

the pink house. They've got automatic weapons, RPGs, God knows what else. We've got one American down and another trapped inside in the headquarters building to the north, along with a film crew from Germany. The Afghan troops have been engaging, but they're overwhelmed and taking heavy casualties. Straff scans the fort's huge network of alleys, paths and courtyards. He sees dead bodies strewn around, horses loose from stables, and a team of Northern Alliance soldiers advancing on a pink-colored building,

only to be driven back by volleys of deadly accurate fire. It's obvious that the militants occupying the building are highly trained. He turns back to the Green Beret. Looks like you got yourself a right old cluster bug here. That's one way to say it, sir. We could really use you laying down some heavy fire here. Hey, aren't you Brits on restricted rules of engagement? Are you guys even allowed to engage on this?

One of the SPS soldiers frowns. Fuck that, mate. This is a shoot first questions later scenario. Scruff calls his squad together. All right, lads. I'm naming this Operation Save the Yankees. Stay focused. Don't get shot.

And let's fucking have it. Yeah? Yeah. I'm Lauren Malloy, the host of the podcast, My Mom's Murder. For 30 years, I thought my mom died of natural causes. That's what every day. Everyone told me, that's what I believed. Until one day, I got a phone call that changed everything.

A woman claiming to be my mom's best friend told me my mother was murdered and that no one had ever investigated it. So I did what the detectives wouldn't, pulled the threads, knocked on doors, and confronted the contradictions. And what I found, it's worse than I imagined. Something happened to my mom. killed her. And I won't stop until I find out who. The system may have given up on my mom, but I never will. Listen to my mom's murder wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can

binge all 10 episodes early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. Hi, I'm Lindsay Graham, the host of American History Tellers. In our latest series, a police raid on a New York City gay bar in 1969 ignites a series of demonstrations lasting six days and marks a turning point in the fight for LGBTQ rights. Listen to American history tellers on Audible or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Raza Jaffrey, and this is The Spy Who, an Audible original. In the last episode, the CIA's team Alpha helped the Northern Alliance take Mazay Sharif. And the Taliban agreed to surrender the pivotal city of Conduz.

and hand over hundreds of suspected al-Qaeda fighters. But then, those prisoners rose up, overwhelming their guards. Now, CIA officer Mike Span is dead, and his colleague, David Tyson, is trapped in the fortress of Kali-Jangi, overrun with armed al-Qaeda militants. This is episode three, the first casualty. November 25, 2001, two hours after the arrival of the SBS squad, Kalajangi Fort.

David Tyson stares through the sights of his AK-47. He's lying on the floor, his rifle pointed out through a large window on the upper floors of the fort's headquarters. Behind him, a small wooden staircase leads down to where German TV reporter, Arnim Stout, is taking cover with his crew. Tyson's eyes are fixed on the small gateway that separates the northern half of the fortress from the southern half where the al-Qaeda fighters are. It's about 100 yards away.

The space between is strewn with dead bodies and injured fighters screaming for help. He breathes slowly, keeping his finger on the rifle's trigger. An al-Qaeda fighter in black robes breaks cover and sprints straight at Tyson's position. His rifle raised. Tyson squeezes the trigger. The fighter falls.

But then, from behind the same gateway, another fighter appears, kneeling down with an RPG rocket launcher on his shoulder. There's no time for Tyson to line up another shot as the man fires. Time seems to slow as the rocket swoops towards his position. Tyson flattens himself against the floor with the cold, matter-of-fact thought that he's about to die. The building shakes as the rocket strikes the floor below his position.

Tyson immediately crawls forward to try and get a shot off before the al-Qaeda fighter can reload his RPG, but he's already gone. Just as he's beginning to scan the courtyard once again, Tyson hears a violent commotion from below. He runs down the stairs to see Sayyip Kamal, Dostom's intelligence chief, bleeding heavily from his leg. Kamal locks eyes with Tyson, then collapses on the floor. Tyson rushes over and feels around with the wound, but it's almost impossible with the amount of blood welling up. Tyson is almost certainly the bullet has hit Kamal's femoral artery, and there's not much hope. But he rips up a piece of fabric and uses it as a tourniquet above the room.

Tyson looks down and realizes that Kamal is saying the Shahada, the declaration of faith that Muslims recite when they're about to die. He and Kamal's eyes meet again. And without thinking, Tyson reaches down to grasp Kamal's hand as he struggles for breath. Several hours later, Tyson once again scans the courtyard through the sights of his AK-47 Stout and his cameraman have joined him on the upper level and a recording a broadcast for German TV.

In the distance, Tyson hears bursts of heavy machine gun fire. Neither his team nor the Northern Alliance have that kind of firepower, so reinforcements must have arrived from somewhere. Then Tyson notices an elderly Afghan on crutches, silhouetted by the setting sun and limping along the parapet of the fort's northwestern wall. Then the man stops, lifts himself over the fort's wall and disappears. Tyson does the mental calculation in a flash. If that old man has found a way out, he and the civilians he's protecting can surely make it as well.

It will mean a dangerous hustle along the parapets. But with darkness falling soon, their current position will become almost impossible to defend. Tyson turns and grabs Stout's arm, interrupting his news report. Get everyone together. It's time to get out of here. Tyson stays low as he creeps along the fort's parapet, with his rifle at the ready. Behind him, the German TV crew mirror his actions. Tyson throws himself to the floor. As the gunfire subsides, he crawls forward again.

He has led the civilians on this escape attempt, but now bullets are ricocheting around them. Finally, they reached a place where the old man lifted himself over the walls. Tyson peaks over the edge. Behind the wall isn't a sheer drop, but a mountain slope leading to a valley below. Tyson takes a breath, then heaves himself over. Tyson leads the civilians in a fast scramble down the slope, his one concern, getting as far away from Kali Djangi as possible. They come to a rutted field at the bottom of the slope and run towards the road.

As they do, they see a small white van, the kind that serve as taxis between Afghan villages, trundling along towards them. It seems utterly incomprehensible that life as normal is still going on outside the fortress, but Tyson marches straight out into the middle of the road and raises his rifle.

Tyson approaches, and the driver lifts his hands but seems unfazed by having a gun stuck in his face. He looks at Tyson with curiosity. America? Tyson nods, motioning down the road. Mazai Sharif, the Turkish school. We go. The driver simply jerks his head towards the back of the van.

Tyson and the TV crew get into the van. The other passengers already inside shuffle up to make space for them. Tyson finds it surreal to be sitting in a shared taxi. When moments before, he'd been battling Al-Qaeda terrorists with rocket launchers. On the bench opposite him sits a woman in a burqa. Tyson glances down at the AK-47, now resting between his legs. He looks up at her. It's okay.

don't worry. But the woman is impassive, sitting completely silent amidst the shaking of the van as it drives towards Mazay Sharif. One hour later, Ergonak Pass, west of Kunduz, Afghanistan. Team Alpha leader J.R. Seeger and CIA paramilitary officer Scott Spelmeyer watch as Northern Alliance warlord Abdul Rashid Dostum raises a bottle of vodka and swigs deeply. Dostum wipes his mouth with his sleeve before turning to the the two Americans with a manic gaze. That bastard Faisal, son of a goat herder, he betrayed me. We made an agreement he surrendered then this, this!

Since learning that Mullah Faisal had reneged on his surrender, coordinating simultaneous uprisings at Kalijangi and West of Konduz, Dostom has been drinking himself into a self-pitying rage. It's a side of him that Siga hasn't seen before. Calls himself a mullah. I know his father was a goat herder, and the bastard thinks he can trick me? There's no honor.

The snake! As Dostom staggers aggressively around the room, Spelmeyer pulls Siger aside. He's falling apart. You need to get him to man up and figure this out. If his men see him like this, Siger knows that Spellmire is right. If Dostum goes haywire,

the entire fragile alliance with the other anti-Taliban leaders will collapse. Siga takes a breath and then steps forward. General Dostom, it's time to rally your troops. We still have air superiority. It's time Faisal learned what it means to betray Dostom. Somewhere through the boozy haze, Dostom's eyes swim into focus. Suddenly he lurches forward, grabbing Siga's lapels. His face is so close that Siga can smell the vodka.

Yes! Yes! We will... Bomb them all to dust. They will know. The bastards will all know. Give me the radio. Siga pushes the radio transmitter towards the Dostom, still swaying unsteadily, but with a murderous look of revenge in his eyes.

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You have to find out what happens next. Then it's over. The universe seems bigger. You feel different. You feel like you have nervous. I have no idea where you are. Audible. Stories that speak to you. November 26th, 2001, early morning.

The day after Tyson's escape from Kalijangi and Dostom's drunken rage. Green Beret master, Sergeant David Betz, stands in the gateway of Kalijangi, watching a battered Soviet-era tank struggle up the slope towards the fort. The Northern Lions have brought one of their few armored vehicles to the fort, But now, the tank is being followed by several freelance TV crews, and Afghan soldiers who seem more interested in posing for the cameras than taking cover from incoming fire. Betz turns to the men next to him,

Green Beret, Major Mark Mitchell, and Sergeant Scruff of the British SBS. Okay, and what's the actual plan here? Mitchell glances at the chaotic scene behind the tank, equally unimpressed. Here's my call. The prisoners have barricaded them. themselves in the Pink House, so all we have to do is keep them there and call in an airstrike. One J-DAM missile could solve the whole problem. But a team will have to get close enough to call in the strike.

So, if the SBS get up to these tower, they can provide suppressive fire. Then, Dave, you can lead a small team into the North Tower and call in the strike. Scruff looks at the two Americans and grins. Oh yeah. We'll keep them pinned down. Betts salutes in confirmation. The previous day he saw the SPS in action, and he's got no doubt about their capabilities.

He's beginning to think his plan might just work. At the base of the fort's eastern tower, Betz crouches behind a low wall with his radio operator and a few Northern Alliance soldiers. From inside the Pink House, the Al-Qaeda fighters are laying down a brutal rain of fire, making movement almost impossible. Ed sprints out from behind his cover, racing across the North courtyard followed by his team.

A few bullets pepper the ground on their feet, but the cover fire from the SPS seems to work. The whole team makes it into the Northeastern Tower unscathed. Betz leans out of a low window, scoping the Pink House through his rifle side. Betz frantically scans the area. Then he sees that the prisoners have set up on mortar and are shelling the SBS position. His team may be about to lose its cover fire. Fet's fires to keep the prisoners at bay, as others on the team use a laser targeter

to mark the precise coordinates for the Pinkhouse. Then, the radio operator calls in the airstrike. Shasta 22, this is Boxer 81. You're clear to engage. Over. This is Shasta. Your danger closed, Boxer 81. You sure you want the 2,000 pounds, J-DAM? We've got 500. The radio operator shakes his head.

Negative Shasta, we need the 2,000 pounder. We're taking fire here. Pacturates braces himself into the wall, taking cover from the incoming fire, and waiting for the bomb to fall. The Northern Alliance soldiers cluster around the window. No matter the danger, they always want to see American air power at work.

Betts, here's the whine of the incoming missile. Then... He is thrown across the room and slammed into the wall. Beds his lungs burn as he pulls himself to his knees. His right side of his face is in agony. Frankly, he checks his limbs. Two arms, two legs, still there. He sees his radio operator staggering through the clouds of brown dust

that now fills the room. Several Northern Alliance fighters lie dead, and several more are horrifically injured. Amidst the chaos and death, the thought comes to him with horrifying clarity. This was the bomb they called in. The bomb hit the wrong target, them. Later that day,

Team Alpha leader J.R. Seeger clings to the pickup truck's assist grip as it speeds along the dirt track road leading to Kalijangi. He has to get there fast. The Northern Alliance Commanders are furious about the misfired bomb, and Seeger has to make things right before they abandon the fight. The truck slows to a stop outside the fort's east gate. SIGA jumps out and walks to where one of Dostum's commanders, Fakir, is standing with an aid. Commander Fakir, I must apologize.

The United States must apologize for what happened this morning. This was a terrible mistake. Fakir pauses, almost as if trying to read in Siga's eyes whether this apology is sincere. We have lost many men today and our tank. This is war. It is what happens. But now the men are of... afraid of American bombs. For now, we cannot use them again here.

Seeger nods. There are alternatives to bombs. I can bring in a couple of AC130 gunships, no bombs, but it can fire up to 6,000 rounds per minute. They'll blast those terrorists to dust. 6,000 in one minute. Honesty, commander, these planes are the end of the world, with wings. Fakir approaches, grasps Seeger's shoulder and looks him in the eye. Okay, bro these plates. Around the same time, Washington, D.C.

CIA director George Tenet watches President George W. Bush read David Tyson's report on Mike Spann's death. They're in the Oval Office for the president's daily intelligence briefing, along with Vice President Dick Cheney and National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice. Grim resolve spreads across Bush's face as he finishes reading the report and looks up at Tenet. So, Mike Span? You're saying he's now confirmed dead? Yes, sir, I'm afraid so.

But this prison uprising at Calajangi was just the case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The air is heavy, as everyone in the room grasps the significance. Span is the first confirmed American death. in the post 9-11 fight back. Bush in particular seems to register that this is the inevitable consequence of the mission he ordered. He faces Tenet once again. Mike Spahn. Did he have a family?

Yes, sir. A wife, Shannon. And three young children. Shannon's also an officer with the agency. Tenet can see the hint of a tear glisten in Bush's eye. All right. I need to call Shannon. This one's on me.

November 26, 2001, two hours after Siga agreed with Fakir to call in strikes with AC130 gunships. Siga presses himself against the wall in a room in the northeast tower of Kalijangi. Beside him, our Major Mitchell and a small team of green boys. The room shakes as the Al-Qaeda mortar team

in the Pink House maintain a steady barrage with increasing accuracy. Even though Knight is falling, the prisoners inside aren't letting up. Despite himself, Siga can't help but almost admire the ferocity with which these militants are fighting on. Mitchell leans forwards towards Siga, keeping his head below window level. These are some tough bastards. How the hell are they keeping going in there? And whoever's bright idea it was to put the prison right next to the armory in this place needs their head examined. The two men fall silent, listening to the low rumble of an approaching

plane. I reckon this is it. Graeme 11. We're inbound to carry the area and light up the target. Roger that, Grim 11. Mitchell twists his body and fires a green flare through the window. This is the signal for the Northern Alliance fighters in the courtyard to fall back, out of harm's way. Then, Mitchell kneels, raises his head above the window frame and uses a laser targeter to paint the pink house for the aircrew. He ignores the bullet. He ignores the bullets whipping by, he has to keep the plane on target.

Then suddenly, the AC-130 is directly above. Seeger can feel the roar of the engines and his bones, the huge plane banks so that its entire port side faces down towards the Pick House as it circles the fortress. Then it lets rip. Multiple auto cannons and howitzers all firing at once, unleashing thousands of rounds straight at the building. As he ducks back behind the wall, Siga catches a glimpse of the building's facade torn to shreds like tissue paper under the hail of fire. Then, the building is robbed by an enormous explosion, echoing through the guard.

The force is so huge the entire northeast tower shakes, Siga grabs Mitchell's arm. They must have hit the goddamn armory. The next morning, November 27, 2001. David Tyson stands at the gateway of Kalijangi, frozen to the, the spot. It's two days since he escaped and got a taxi back to the team Alpha's local headquarters. Since then, he's been trying to process what happened while writing reports for Langley about how the uprising began. But now, he's back outside the fortress. In his head, he knows the battle is effectively over. He knows he is safe, but his legs just won't move to carry him over the

threshold. CIA paramilitary officer Scott Spelmeyer, who was meant to guide him on this mission. walks back over. Dave's cool, man. They got the last of those Al-Qaeda fuckers pinned in the basement. They're still shooting, but we can go around them. Tyson just stares at Spelmeyer, stricken, motionless. A look of understanding flashes across Scott's face.

He places a hand on Tyson's shoulder. Look, man, I know. But we've got to get in there and recover Mike's body. You're the only one who knows where he is. Mike's family, they'll want him back home. We'll be quick in and out. But we need to do this, man. Tyson knows that Scott is right.

He pauses for a moment, then steals himself, takes a breath, and walks back into Cali Djangi. By the early 2000s, college admissions in America were more competitive than ever. For students and their parents, it was an ordeal to be endured. But for college counselor Rick Singer, it was a chance to get rich. Which. Exploiting the desperation of his clients, he invented what he called the side door, a new way into elite schools for those wealthy enough to pay the entry fee. Hi, I'm Lindsay Graham, host of the podcast American Scandal. We bring to life some of the biggest controversies in U.S. history, presidential lies, environmental disasters, corporate fraud. In our latest series, a college counselor

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Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. Moments later, inside Kali-Jungi. David Tyson presses himself against a wall. Each burst of gunfire, however distant, makes him freeze to the spot. Last night's AC130 barrage decimated the prisoner uprising, but now the most hardcore, fanatical survivors have barricaded themselves in the Pink House's basement, preferring to die rather than to surrender. Tyson follows his colleague Scott Spellmeyer to the base of a ladder.

Scott quickly climbs up. Tyson grasps the wood, but finds himself motionless. Come on, man, you can do this. We'll just get over to the north side. You point out where Mike's body is, and we'll get out of here. Tyson feels the struggle inside himself. He wants to climb the ladder. He wants to help find Mike, but his body just won't do it.

I can't. I'll direct you from here. Tyson feels ashamed, even as he says the words. He leans his head against the ladder. I think I'm really fucked up. It feels somehow lighter just to have spoken it out loud. Scott extends his hand down. Dave, I know we have to do this for Mike, for his family.

Come on, I'll be with you every step of the way. Tyson breathes deep, then climbs the ladder. At the top, he and Scott flatten onto their bellies and crawl along the parapet. A few bullets crash into the stonework around them, each one making Tyson flinch, but he pushes on. Everywhere Tyson looks, he sees death. Bodies are strewn all around, some horrifically mangled. In the courtyard, a northern alliance tank is rolling over the bodies of the dead, crushing them under his treads. He sees one of Dostom's fighters using a corpse as a sandbag, his rifle perched on the dead man's torso as he hides from enemy fire.

A pungent smell hits his nostrils. He looks directly beneath him and sees three Northern Alliance fighters hidden behind a wall, smoking hashish, and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from US military ration packs as the bullets whizz around them. He grids his teeth and pushes on,

just trying to get a view of where he thinks Mike may have fallen. The next day, Tyson leans against the outside wall of Kalajangi. He watches the earth. early morning light spread over the sky and tries to breathe deeply. His nerves are still ragged. Dostom's lieutenant, Fakhir, approaches. David, Mike, he was wearing cowboys? Cowboys is Afghan slang for blue jeans. The image gives Tyson a jolt.

Mike had been wearing jeans when the uprising started. He nods at Fakir. Then I think we found him amongst the bodies. He's exactly where you're pointed out. Tyson steps forward. If Mike's body has been found, they need to get him immediately. Fakir grabs his arm. David, let us do this. You stay. An hour later. Tyson stands in the gateway of Kali Djangi with his boss J.R. Seeger and other members of Team Alpha. They watch four Northern Alliance fighters running with Mike Spann's body held between them, zigzagging clumsily to avoid possible sniper fire. Team Alpha's weapons lead, Justin Sapp, leans into Tyson and Siga. Shouldn't it be us out there getting my back? Siga shakes his head. It's fine. Let the Afghans do

that bit. Before Sap can respond, the four Afghans reach them and place Spann's body on the ground. Tyson can't help but kneel to inspect the injuries. There are two bullet wounds in his head, but no signs of torture or extreme suffering. Tyson can only assume that the prisoners grabbed Span's own pistol and shot him in the first few moments of the uprising. Knowing this, somehow a small weight seems to lift. One of the team Alpha members unzips a body bag and the squad maneuvers span into it. Another pulls an American flag from his pack and drapes it over the bag. Then Tyson, Seeger and three others lift the body onto their shoulders in a makeshift guard of honor

and walk my expanse remains out of Kalajangi. Several hours later. Oh, whoa, whoa, it's okay, my beautiful friend, it's okay. You're safe now. Northern Alliance General Abdul Rashid Dostom grasps the mane of his favorite horse, trying to calm the terrified animal as it rears and barks amidst the chaos. Dostom has just arrived at Kalajangi and is confronting the devastation.

He has lost more than 50 fight. and several of his most trusted commanders. But the one piece of news that has cheered his heart is that his favourite horse miraculously survived. Whoa, calm, calm. We were a fearless warrior. His dalyves don't scare you. One of Dostom's lieutenants taps him on the shoulder.

Dostom turns, and the lieutenant motions towards a small group that has just entered the courtyard. Dostom's expression darkens as he sees Mullah Faisal, the Taliban commander whose false surrender led to this rebellion, now under armed guard. He feels a wave of hatred and bitterness on seeing the man who deceived him. But he refuses to let it show and approaches him with feigned nonchalance. My friends, you see, we treated the prisoners humanely, but they betrayed us.

Now we have had to defeat them twice. Dostom gestures to the Pink House. The facade is scarred by explosions and bullets. Sunlight shines through huge holes, torn like gashes in the masonry. The last of the fighters have barricaded themselves in the basement there. We have offered them amnesty, but they shoot back. Perhaps you can command them to stand down, and we can avoid further killing. Mullah Faisal straightens his back and narrows his eyes.

I do not know these men. They do not know me. This is your affair to deal with, Nostom. Nostom meets Faisal's gaze with a stare of ice-cold hatred. He won't show his anger, but inside, Dostum makes a promise to himself that he will hand this arrogant, deceitful Taliban commander over to the Americans. November 30th, 2001, Mazi Sharif. Tyson stares blankly out of the window of the Turkish school

that is now the CIA's local base of operations. The street outside is full of its usual bustle of mopeds and roadside traders, but Tyson barely takes it in. Other members of Team Alpha lounge around, flipping through magazines or cleaning their weapons. Siga enters the room with a worn-out expression. Well, looks like the battle's over. Siga lowers himself into a chair as the rest of the team turned towards him, except Tyson, who keeps staring out the window. Those jihadis in the basement wouldn't surrender. So, Dostom's guys diverted an irrigation stream down there.

They flooded the whole damn cellar. They all surrendered after that, at least the ones who didn't drown. Justin Sapp looks over. His pistol and cleaning rag still in his hands. So what's next? Where we headed? Well, I just spoke with Langley. They don't want us doing any more interrogations than Afghan prisons. They don't want to lose them.

another officer. What? God damn Langley. Seeger registers the team's anger. They came here expecting not just to liberate cities from Taliban control, but to gather information that could help America find Osama bin Laden. Now that part of their mission is suspended. Seeger notices Tyson is still staring out of the window. Hey David, want to know something? That Al-Qaeda guy you saw, the one you thought was Irish. Turns out he's American. John Walker Lind. Rumor is, he's from California. He's a goddamn American Taliban. Bastastard, you've got to be used to me. Tyson can hear the fury of his comrades, outraged that an American would choose to betray his country and fight with its enemies. But he just feels

numb. Through the window, he sees life going on in Mazay Sharif, as if nothing has happened. Somewhere inside him, the thought registers that for those people out on the street, the old man leading mules towards the market, the kids begging for change, this is all just another war, another foreign army burning through their country, another set of warlords fighting over the scraps. These families have seen this before and probably expect to see it again, no matter how many bombs are dropped or how many promises are made. Suddenly, Tyson just feels exhausted. He wants no more of the dust, no more of the blood. No more of the killing.

He turns back to Siga. Sir, when do we go home? One year later. December 12, 2002, Shannon Span grasped the hand of Mike's eldest daughter, Allison. They are sitting in the back of Dostom's armored Cadillac as it approaches the fortress of Kali Djangi. From the front seat,

Dostom, now Deputy Defense Minister for Afghanistan's new American back. its government turns to them. Mrs Span, this is the fortress. Dostom jumps out to open the door for Shannon and Alison. Shannon looks up at the walls of Kalijangi, a name she only knows as the place her husband was killed, and her legs almost buckle.

It's only by grasping Allison's hand that she remains standing, but in her head she wonders what the hell she is doing here. The invitation came from Dostum himself to come and see the memorial, built for Mike, the first American to fall in the liberation of Afghanistan. The CIA and the State Department had both opposed her coming. They told her that Dostom feels he is being sidelined with the new administration, and the ceremony could be seen as promoting warlordism. But something inside her had to see this.

Dostom motions her forward, and they step into Kalyzangi. As they walk through the fortress' courtyards, still pockmarked with bullet-holds, Dostom turns to her and Alison. This is a moment of great change for Afghanistan. What Mike did helped to create this new era. We are making a new country. Here, meet these two friends. Dostom guides them to where two Afghan women are standing,

both in dresses, smiling, with their faces uncovered. Hello, Mrs. Span. We want to thank you. Before we were trapped at home, we could do nothing. Now we are teachers. We work and have freedom. Your husband did very important thing for us here. We say thank you.

Thank you. Thank you. Shannon almost bursts into tears as the two women clasped her hands, before Dostum leads her on. Then she sees it. a large marble memorial. The inscription reads, A hero who sacrificed his life

for freedom, for Afghanistan, for the United States of America. David Tyson continued to work for the CIA but struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder. Mullah Faisal was handed over to the US and taken to the Guantanamo Bay Prison. He remained there until 2014 when he was freed in a prisoner exchange with the Taliban.

Dostom became a minister in the new Afghan government, but was suspended in 2008 after being accused of kidnapping and torturing a political rival. After the U.S. withdrew from Afghanistan in 2021, David Tyson, Shannon Span and others from Team Alpha sought to help Afghans they worked with leave the country. Dostom's forces tried unsuccessfully to defend Mazzai Sharif from the Taliban. He now lives in exile in Turkey. Paula Faisal is now a minister in the Afghan government. Next time on The Spy Who with Charlie Higson. I'll be talking to David Tyson about his heroic turn as part of the US military's team Alpha and what he's doing now to help his former allies in Afghanistan. Follow the Spy Who on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who add free by joining Audible. You've been listening to The Spy Who and Audible original. Have you got a spy story you'd like us to tell? Email your ideas to the spy who at audible.com. A quick note about the scenes you've been hearing. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said. Those scenes are dramatizations, but they're based on rigorous research and the best available sources. If you'd like to know more about this story, we recommend First Casualty by Toby Handen and the documentary Good Morning Afghanistan. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jafri.

Produced by Audible with Yellow Ant. This episode was written by J.S. Rafael and researched by Louise Byrne. The senior producer was Jay Priest. The sound designer was Damian Pace. The lead sound designer was Joshua Morales. For Yellow Ant, the story editor and executive producer was Tristan Donovan. For Audible, the executive producers were Estelle Doyle and Theodora Lilludis. Head of Production, Audible Europe, Chris Jones.

Senior Director of Originals, Lisa Higgins. Higginson. Head of Audible Originals International, O'Alee, the Troire. Sound recording, copyright 2026 by Audible Limited. Hey, I'm Cassie Depeckel, the host of Against the Odds from Audible Originals. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival, putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale. In our latest series, it's 1910 and a blizzard has stranded two trains carrying more than 100 people on an isolated stretch high up in the Cascade Mountains of Washington. The relentless snowfall has made it impossible to clear the tracks, but as snow piles up,

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