The Spy Who - The Spy Who Sold Codes and Cocaine | The Party Line | 2

Episode Date: February 10, 2026

Christopher Boyce and Daulton Lee’s plan to sell spy satellite secrets to the Soviets is working. But Lee’s also using his role as the courier between Boyce and the KGB to keep the majority of their espionage earnings for himself. But for how long can he get away with it?See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This episode includes depictions of drug use and addiction. Please be advised. July 1975, Dalton Lee shuffles down Avenida de los Insohenthes in the heart of Mexico City. He glances at the traffic roaring by, then slips behind a lamppost. He pulls a small glass vial from his pocket and taps a small pile of the white powder inside it onto his hand, then leans down and snorts it. Lee feels an immediate surge of power and excitement as the cocaine courses through his body. He takes out a roll of adhesive tape, tears off two strips and sticks an X on the lamppost. Then, checking nervously over his shoulder, he darts back down the street.

His signal has been sent. The next evening at 6pm, Lee leans against a palm tree outside the Polyphoram cultural centre. He gazes up at the famous March of Humanity mural, his mind, a blurred mix of anticipation and fear. Lee has been snorting cocaine and smoking marijuana all afternoon, and now shuffles nervously on the spot to contain his twitchy energy. Then, as if from nowhere, he sees his KGB contact, Vasily Okana, approaching on foot. The signal on the lamppost has worked.

Do you know the restaurant in San Francisco? Lee is surprised that Okinaa insists on going through their password protocol, given they already know each other, but he plays it long. No, but I know the restaurant in Los Angeles. Okina nods in approval and motions for Lee to follow him. Okinaa leads Lee to a small park. Palms and jacaranda trees sway overhead as a local taco seller plays mariachi music from his tinny radio.

A man steps out of the shadows and walks towards them. Okana smiles. Mr. Lee, this is Colonel Muzankov. He will be your point of contact from now on. Muzankov stands with military stiffness. When he smiles, Lee sees his two front teeth have been replaced with shining steel tensions that glitter menacingly in the streetlights.

Come, sit. Lee recognizes something in the colonel's commanding manner. Mozankov is obviously Okinaar's superior. Lee has seen this before in his drug dealing business. If Okana is the guy who deals in ounces, Mozankov is the guy who traffics kilos. Lee smiles to himself.

He's moving up in the world. He follows Mozankov to a bench, then holds out the folder of documents he is carrying. Okay, I've got good stuff for you guys right here, And you need to make it worth my time. Muzankov flips through the file, then turns back to Lee. We need to meet your friend, the one who gets all this information. Come on, man, I already explained. That isn't possible.

You tell me what you need? I can get it. There are certain technical issues. Detailed scientific matters that are too complex to be transmitted through you. The material you have brought us is useful, but they are friends. fragments. To piece these fragments together, we need to be able to tell your friend exactly what we need. What can I say? Write a list then. I can give it to him, but he won't ever meet you. Lee knows that he holds the upper hand, because only he knows how to get to Christopher Boyce. Muzankov frowns.

You're both taking unnecessary risks transporting actual documents. From now on just take pictures of them and bring us the film. That is much safer. Sure, good thinking. If anyone asks, so I just say I'm a photographer. But Mr. Lee, we need all the technical details we can get about the American satellites, manuals, technical codes, and especially the frequency codes the NSA uses. I will make a list. I'll get you what you need, Colonel, but you have something I need too. Muzankov's scowls at the naked greed in Lee's expressions. but holds out an envelope stuffed with dollar bills. Lee's face breaks into a grin as a wave of cocaine-fuelled euphoria courses through him.

From audible originals, I'm Raza Juffrey, and this is The Spy Who? In the last episode, Christopher Boyce landed a job in The Black Vault, a top-secret facility processing communications from America's spy satellites. But after discovering how the CIA was spying on, on US ally Australia, he teamed up with his falconry pal, drug dealer, Dalton Lee, to flip the bird to the intelligence services by selling their secrets to the Soviet Union. You're listening to The Spy Who Sold Codes and Cocaine. This is episode two, the party line.

October 1975, Los Angeles. Christopher Boyce pushes open the door of Dalton Lee's Falts. home in Palos Verdes to see a group of semi-clothed young men and women dancing to loud funk music. The ground is strewn with empty bottles and through the thick clouds of marijuana smoke, Boyce can see people huddled over tables, chopping lines of cocaine. This party has obviously been going on a while. He pushes through room after room, looking for Lee. He has seen Lee's parties before, but this is a new level of excess.

He marvels and has been how to have a new level of excess. He marvels in how Lee gets away with it. Lee's wanted by the police, but still manages to slip in and out of the country with ease, using a false passport. Boyce also wonders how his friend can afford to lay on such epic quantities of free coke, pills and weed for his guests. Boyce slides open the glass doors leading to the outdoor swimming pool

and spots Lee on the other side. Lee is using a camera to snap a photo, of a pretty young woman who smiles and poses provocatively. Then, to his horror, Boyce realizes the camera is the tiny Minox spy camera. They bought for taking pictures of the secret documents at the Black Vault. Lee grins at the girl, obviously showing off. See this little camera? That's the one all the spies use because it's so small.

Oh, wild. Like James Bond? Boyce strides over, ignoring the bikini-clad woman, and grabs Lee by the arm. Lee looks surprised. Oh, Chris. Hey man, get over here. Boyce drags Lee into the poolhouse and slams the door shut.

What the hell are you doing, flashing that camera around and talking about spies. Are you crazy? Relax, man, the girl didn't know shit. Lee shrugs off Boyce's hand, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glass vial. He taps out some powder and snorts it up. Boyce notices that the powder. is not the usual white of cocaine, but a light brown. Dude, is that...

Are you on heroin again? Get off my back. It's not like I'm doing it every day. You need to be careful with that stuff, man. You need to keep quiet about what we're doing. Boyce waits for Lee to react, but Lee just stares at him, glassy in his opiate haze. Boyce stares back at his friend in horror, a new plan forming in his mind.

A few days later, the TRW conference, Round. Redondo Beach, Los Angeles. Boyce is alone in the black vault, with a sheet of paper in front of him. He scribbles down a series of seemingly random numbers, reads it over to check he's got it right, then raises the Menox camera. The numbers he just photographed aren't random at all. They're a coded message to the Soviets. Once decoded, the message will give them the number of a pay phone where they can contact him directly without going through Lee.

Boyce is certain that the KGB will be able to crack his simple code. What he's less certain about is his decision to go behind Lee's back and make direct contact with the Soviets. But now he's taking the photo, it's too late for second thoughts. When the Russians develop this film, they'll find his coded message, along with a few other surprises that Boyce has thrown in. Three weeks later, Lee sits at a table in a restaurant in Mexico City. His eyes flick nervously from the door to his wristwatch.

He's waiting for Colonel Muzankov. The day before, he stuck an X to a lamppost and waited all evening. But the Soviets never showed. This is their backup meeting place, but once again, no one has arrived. On a sudden impulse, Lee jumps up, grabs his briefcase, and walks fast out of the restaurant. 30 minutes later, Lee stands to be able to. across the street from the Soviet embassy. The KGB told him to never, ever come to the embassy.

But the Soviets have never missed a meeting before, and paranoia surges through Lee's mind. What if the KGB has soured on their deal? Lee plans to use the money from this exchange to finance his drug trafficking, and he's getting desperate. He snorts a bump of coke to steady his nerves. Then he sees the metal gates of the embassy swing open,

as a car pulls in. Lee sprints across the street, narrowly avoiding the oncoming traffic and slips in behind the car just before the embassy gates glanced shut. He immediately turns to the nearest embassy guard. The guard's hand snaps to his gun,

a look of shock on his face. Auto, auto! Lee's hands go up in surrender. Muzankoff, I need to see Muzankov. The guard's eyes widen at the mention of the Colonel, and gestures for Lee to wait. then grabs his radio. A moment later, Muzankov emerges from the embassy building.

His face twisted with ice-cold rage. Ten minutes later, Lee is in a dimly-lit room in the basement of the Soviet embassy. On the other side of the room's wooden table, sits Muzankov. What did we tell you? Never come to the embassy. Never! Look, man, I gave you the signal you never showed. If nobody arrives, you'd.

leave. In any case, what signal we never got any signal from you? What do you mean? I stuck the X on the lamppost like we said. Which lamppost? Which intersection was this? On Juarez and Reforma? Mazankov slams his fist down on the table. Idiot! It is Juarez and Rosales. You've got the wrong intersection! Lee squirms in embarrassment. This whole catastrophe is down to his own schoolboy error. Then, Muzankov seems to master his anger and becomes suddenly calm. Okay, it's just a mistake these things happen. Muzankov walks to a wooden cabinet, retrieves a bottle of vodka, and pours them each a drink.

Come, we drink. To peace. They down their glasses. Muzankov immediately refills them. It's good you got the camera, much safer than carrying documents. Man. You're going to dig what we've got for you. It's got to be worth 50,000 at least.

Lee handed over the role of film Boyce gave him earlier. He knows the photos are being developed as he and Muzankov drink. A warm glow of relief spreads across Lee. He feels back in control. So, you know what? I wanted to talk to you about an idea anyway. You guys use diplomatic pouches, right? No one can look in those.

Well, you've got people in Colombia too, yeah? How about we arrange pain? by you taking cocaine from Colombia to the states in your diplomatic pouches, and I'll pick it up there. It could be pretty neat, huh? Mozankov looks stunned at the audacity of Lee's proposal, but manages to control himself. I would have to consult my superiors about any such proposal. At that moment, the door opens, and another KGB officer enters, holding the freshly developed photographs that Boyce took. Mozankov begins leafing through them.

There is some good stuff in there. It'll be worth the trouble. But Lee's hard cell is interrupted, as Mozankov's face once again tightens in anger. What are these? Some kind of joke. What do you mean? What's wrong with it? Lee stands to get sight of the photos spread out before the colonel.

And to his horror, he sees several blurry photos of a nude woman. Her face lit up in obvious sexual ecstasy. I assure you, I have no idea what this are. Lee feels panic rising. What the hell has Boyce given him? What game is his friend playing, sending him to the KGB with a bunch of porno shots? But by now, Muzankov is on the warpath. This is trash.

Trash! Come on now, they're not all that bad. There are some valuable documents in there, too. What do you mean? These are illegible. Lee sees that even most of the shots, Boyce has taken, of actual documents, are largely over-exposed and impossible to read.

He sees Muzankov's eyes flick to one of the few documents which has actually come through in focus. It looks different to any Lee has seen before, a seemingly random series of numbers. But then, the colonel's eyes flick away from it just as quickly. But you're still going to pay, right? We had an arrangement. You bring us something we can use and then we pay.

Lee feels another surge of panic as he thinks of the cocaine deals he has ready to go. Come on, I took a big risk in coming here. If you ever want to see any more of these papers, then you better treat us right. Otherwise, you'll never see me again. The threat of totally withdrawing from their arrangement seems to slow Muzankov. It makes a visible effort to calm himself. Of course, we will pay you for your time. and for any of these photographs we can actually use.

Your friend in California, he should come to Vienna so we can train him and using the camera. I told you, man, he can't leave America. With his security clearance, he has to apply for permission to travel outside the country. Well, in that case, why don't you come to Vienna? I can train you, and you can teach your friend.

A few days later, Lee hammers on the door of Boyce's house in Redondo Beach, California. Boyce swings the door open, blinking in the early evening light. What the fuck do you think you're doing? Sending me to the KGB with a bunch of nude shots! Lee pushes past Boyce into the house. Boyce follows with a laconic air,

totally at odds with Lee's fury. Oh, they found those? Well, they wanted to see what's in the black vault at TRW, and in the vault there's a copy of Hustler magazine. Funny fucking joke, man. It's my ass in the line down there. Not yours. Hey, did they cough up or not? Those assholes will take anything we can give them.

This stops Lee in his tracks. It's true that he did return with a modest envelope of cash. But Boyce didn't see the look of rage on Muzankov's face. Look, Chris, they're not going to pay for anything forever. They want more than code cards. They want to know about the satellites. And they're goddamn crazy about getting the frequencies the coded messages are broadcast on. Man, they even want me to go to goddamn...

Vienna for training. You should go. You want to be the big tough spy. Vienna, man. That's close to Czechoslovakia. They could like kidnap me or something. They're not going to kidnap you, Dalton. They want what I have to give them. Lee and Boyce lock eyes. Lee needs this business.

But now, his partner and supplier seems to be losing interest and endangering the entire operation. March, 1976, Austria. Lee shivers in the spring air as he gazed over the Danube River. The sunset illuminates the city of Vienna in a golden haze. It's taken months for the KGB to convince Lee to come here for training, but Lee is nervous.

This city is the setting for many of the spy novels he loves, and their extravagant plots now wheel through his mind. What if the Soviets have somehow made direct contact with Boyce and now intend to kidnap him into the eastern block? What if all this is an elaborate trap? Then he sees Colonel Muzankov walking out from under a small stand of birch trees, his steel teeth flashing in the waning sun. March, 1976, Vienna, Austria.

Dalton Lee is exhausted. It's been two days since he met Colonel Muzankov on the banks of the Danube. And he spent almost all of that time in the basement darkroom of a KGB safety. safe house being schooled in photography. Lee's clothes and hair stink of the dark room's developing fluid. All he wants is to be back in California with a little heroin to take the edge of the stress. His KGB trainer spreads the photographs he has taken and developed over the table. See, no good. Out of focus. We must try again. Lee looks down at the blurry grey photographs and slumps in his chair.

Then the trainer holds out a small metal chain. No worry, it's getting better. Here, we brought you this. It's exactly 40 centimetres long. Your friend can use it to judge the distance of the camera. Fine. How much longer do I have to stay here? The trainer leans forward with an urgent, almost hungry expression.

We must teach you photography. Then we must teach you how to avoid being followed. We need this information. you were bringing. We need to know about the Rhylight satellite program, about the infrared technology, and most of all, we need the frequencies the National Security Agency uses to communicate. Mr. Lee, this information is crucial for us. We will pay whatever it takes. Lee can see the man's desperation. He's seen that kind of hunger before. In the eyes of the addicts he sells drugs to when they need a fix. Lee leans back in his chair.

He now realizes that as the dealer, he holds the power in this relationship, but also that if his addict customers get too desperate, they might kill to get what they want. The following month, Redondo Beach, California. Christopher Boyce sips a margarita in the back room of the Black Vault at TRW. It's 4.30pm, and he's just been handed his first cocktail of the afternoon by his colleague, Gene Norman, whipped up using the office's document poll.

Blender. In the main section of the vault, Norman is drinking with the systems analyst. Boyce has taken the opportunity to slip into the backroom and replace some top secret cipher cards that he snuck out of the building to photograph at home the day before. Each card needs to be slipped precisely into its own plastic folder, and Boyce works quickly to hide them away. He hears Norman pick up the phone in the next room. Yeah? What now? You're kidding? Like, right now? Holy shit.

Boyce hides his folder as Norman runs into the back room. Chris, holy shit, man. We've got an NSA inspector on the way up here right now. We've got to clean this place up. Stats! The vault explodes into a rush of activity as Boyce, Norman and the other employees rush to get the facility ready for inspection. Norman frantically hides tequila bottles. and the marijuana plants he's been growing. The systems analyst wipes down the code destruction blender and frenetically sticks files back into their places.

Boyce slips the file of cipher cards he's been returning back into its storage unit. Norman flips the radio off, just as the inspector from the National Security Agency swings open the bolts door and strides into the room. Good afternoon. I'm Agent McAvoy from the NSA. I'm here to take a look around. Boyce keeps his eyes glued on McAvoy as the inspector circles the vault,

picking up files and flipping through them for discrepancies. Can you open this storage unit for me, son? McAvoy is pointing towards the exact cabinet where Boyce just stash the file of cipher cards. There's no option but to comply. Boyce watches McAvoy scrutinize each file in turn. Then his blood runs cold. He realizes that in his haste to clear things away, he slid one cipher card into its plastic folder upside down.

Images flash into Boise's mind. The inevitable confrontation with McAvoy is arrest for espionage. Prison. McAvoy flips the file over to the upside down card. There it is right in front of him. McAvoy's eyes scan the file. Then, he flips over the page and carries on, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Boyce's body slumps in relief. There's no way that McAvoy missed the upside-down card, so he must have simply not realized its significance. But there's no way that Boyce can ignore how close he just came to disaster. Two months later, Lee sits across from Boyce at his family home in Palos Verdes. The two are sipping beers,

but the mood is tense. Lear leans forward with a twitchy, nervous. energy. The Russians want more. They're saying we've given them scraps of useful info in the past, but they need those NSA frequencies. Farquham, they'll take what they're given. Man, they are not going to take that anymore. They are really putting on the pressure. Just tell them you're working on it. Come on, why don't you just take some pictures of this Raiolite satellite and get them off our backs? Dalton, I'm not doing it. No way. I'd have to get into a whole different facility. Now this, Lee snaps. He jumps to his feet, staring down at Boyce in Ray.

I'm the one out there risking my ass. I actually have to face these people. In a flash, Boyce is on his feet, looming over his much shorter friend. Yeah. And you get paid for that, don't you? The Russians told me how much they've given you, and I definitely didn't see half. Oh yeah, I know about that. Lee feels almost an electric shock at hearing that Boyce must have somehow established a direct contact with the KGB, and now knows. knows he's being shortchanged.

Man, that is bullshit. That's just those Russian assholes trying to drive a wedge between us. Look, man, you're going to have to decide. Are you in this or are you out? Voice pauses. Then his aggressive posture softens. Maybe I'm out.

I don't know, man. You go play James Bond if you want. Lee Gulp's. He needs the KGB's money to pay the Mexican traffickers who supply his drug business. Oh, you think you can just walk away? I still have copies of some of the stuff

you gave me. How about I go show those to your dad, the big FBI man, and let him see what his son's been up to, or I could give the Russians your name and they'll hunt you down? You think they're ever going to let you and me go? Boyce freezes at this direct threat. The two friends regard each other in silence, all memories of a camaraderie between them lost in a frozen sea of bitterness and hatred. A few days later, the outskirts of Los Angeles. Boyce keeps his hand on the steering wheel of his yellow Vokesfog, lost in thought as the suburban sprawl outside rolls past. What do you think? Chris, Chris, are you even listening to me? Yeah, sorry, I, um, uh, Boyce and his girlfriend Alana are driving out to the Mojave Desert for a

camping weekend. In the backseat, in his cage, is Boyce's Falcon. Chris, I thought this weekend was going to be for us, but you've barely said a word since we left. Sorry, I've just, I've had a lot of pressure. Voice's heart sinks. For months, he's been wrestling with his feelings for Alana. He loves her deeply, but as things have gotten more involved with the KGB, he wonders whether it's fair to drag her further into his life. At night, he lies awake, picturing himself being arrested,

terrified of what that would do to Alana. Come on, Chris, you're so angry and on edge all the time. I barely know you anymore. Alana, what do you want me to say? I don't know. Maybe that you love me? Voice almost chokes. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. He longs to tell Alana that, of course, he loves her, that she means everything to him. But he knows that if he does, it will only ever lead to harm for her. The pressure builds within him until he can't take it anymore.

You know what? I don't... I don't think I do. What are you saying? I think it's best if we stop. seeing each other. Alana turns pale. Tears streamed down her face. Ahead of them is a gas station. Pull over.

Let me out. Boyce guides the VW to a stop. You really are an asshole, you know? It's a few hours later, and in a remote spot in the Mahawi desert, Boyce sits in his VW, looking out of the landscape, tears running down his face.

In his hand is a 38 revolver. He knows that breaking up with Alana was the right thing to do to protect her, but his heart is still broken. But now his thoughts move back to the other subject he's been circling for weeks, that maybe his only way out of this nightmare is to kill his friend Lee, who was threatening to spy. This spot in the desert would be the perfect place. He and Lee could come out here for a falconry trip,

like they used to. The desert scavengers would get rid of the body in no time. It feels like the only way. But then images of himself and Lee as altar boys flashed through his mind. Two friends bonded by falconry. He knows he can't do it. He may have betrayed his country, but he's not a murderer. Boyce stares down at the gun in his hand.

Then the thought comes to him. He doesn't have to kill Lee. but maybe he could cut him out. Perhaps the answer is to meet with the Russians face to face. Ten days later, September 4th, 1976. Dalton Lee is asleep in his hotel room in Mexico City when he starts awake to loud knocking on his door. Lee's up in an instant,

his mind flashing to the stash of heroin, cocaine and weed in his room. Could this be the police? Canistai? Open up, asshole, it's me. Lee swings open the door to see Christopher Boyce illuminated in the hallway light. What the hell are you doing here? Well, I thought maybe I should come meet some of these Russians I've heard so much about. A bolt of panic shoots through Lee's mind.

Is Boyce suddenly trying to make contact with the KGB in order to cut him out of their deal? Oh, well, you know, you've missed this month's meeting. Maybe we can try again next time. Well, you're a smart guy. I'm sure you can arrange another meet tomorrow. The following evening. Boyce grips the inside door of a limousine as it speeds through the Mexico City traffic.

Lee is sitting next to him. In the front passenger seat is their KGB handler, Boris Guicheen. The limos swerving through traffic so recklessly, it's making Boyce's head spin. Lee catches his discomfort and gives a smirk. That looks a freaking scared, man. It's to get rid of surveillance. Boyce doesn't appreciate his friends patronising tone

and his nerves aren't calmed by the knowledge in the back of his mind that Lee has been snorting heroin and smoking marijuana all afternoon. Then the limo makes a sharp turn and Boyce sees the cocky grin disappear from Lee's face. He's obviously scared of something. Hey, I thought we were going to dinner. Boris gives Lee a cold glance over his shoulder. Dinner is at the embassy tonight.

The car pulls to a stop outside the Soviet embassy. The large metal gates clang open, and they creep through, coming to a stop. Boris slides out, followed by Lee. As Boyce emerges, Lee surreptitiously grabs his arm and pulls him close. A look of fear creeping over his face. Remember, Chris, whatever they ask you to get, just tell them you can get it.

You have to keep stringing them along. Ten minutes later, Boyce follows Lee and Grishin into the basement of the Soviet embassy. Lee walks straight to the bottles of vodka sitting on the table. Grishin pours them each a shot, and they raise their glasses. To peace.

To peace. To cash. Both Boyce and Grishin give Leah's sour look, but Grishine quickly recovers. Comrade Chris, I have to salute you. The work you have done, it's invaluable to the cause of socialism. I just wanted to balance things out with what the CIA gets up to. Grishin pours them all another drink as he shifts tone again. Indeed.

But what is now essential is that you provide us with the frequency codes, so that we can decipher the NSA messages. Yeah, well, sorry, Boris, I can't get those there held at another facility. Lee's head snaps around in horror. At the same time, Grishin stares straight at Lee, addressing him in shock. You said he could get these frequencies. You promised that for months and were paid well for the promise. Lee says nothing and just throws back his shot at vodka.

Grishin recovers his composure, turns back to Chris. and hands him a sheet of paper. Well, there is still other work to be done. Mr. Boyce, this is a list of some of the employees at TRW. Can you tell us about them? They're ages, marriages, any drinking or drug habits, any adultery or sexual deviancy. Chris stares down at the paper, his heart sinking. It was one thing to give the Soviets technical details of satellites and code ciphers,

but now he's being asked to set up his co-workers for blackmail and manipulation. Boyce is beginning to realize that the KGB are no better than the CIA. Three hours later, Lee raises himself from the sofa where he's been slumped and walks unsteadily back to the table with the bottles of vodka, pouring himself and Boyce yet another. They've been drinking heavily for hours. On top of the weed and heroin, Lee is now feeling, very hazy, but there is also an anger welling within him. The whole time down here, Grishin

has focused his questions on voice and Lee feels ignored. But now Grishin has left the two alone together for a moment, giving him an opportunity to talk to his friend. You shouldn't have told them. You couldn't get those frequencies. I told you to just say you could get anything they wanted. Why are you whispering? Because they're fucking listening, man. This whole place is Bugged. Lee's paranoia rises within him. He has to show Boyce that the KGB can't be trusted. Lee staggers over to the wall and begins tapping the paintings, looking for bugs. Eventually, he comes to a large medieval style coat of arms and spots something behind it. You see? See this? They've got this whole place. Bugged!

Lee holds up the microphone and cables that he's just ripped from the walls. voice just shrugs. They're spies, man. Of course they're listening. At that moment, the door swings open and Grishin re-enters. He looks furiously at the microphone and mess of wires in Lee's hands.

What are you doing? You spying on us, man. We can't trust you. You can't trust us. For months, you say, you will get us to frequency codes. But now, I hear that is impossible. Grishin has also been drinking.

And now he and Lee square off, almost nose to nose. We risk our asses to bring you this stuff, and you never pay what you promise. Lee reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few strips of photo negatives, which Boyce had given him months earlier, but he has been holding back to squeeze more money out of the Russians. He relishes the look of shock on Boyce's face. Here, look, how much for these? Without the frequencies, This is all worthless.

Everything you give us is trash. Suddenly, Lee feels his head begin to swim. His legs almost give way. The drugs, the alcohol, and now the adrenaline of this argument are catching up with him. Lee staggers away, falls back onto the sofa,

and passes out. An hour later, Boise is exhausted. He's now been questioned for hours while Lee lies passed out on the sofa. Seeing his chance, Boyce grabs a sheet of paper and scribbles a note. The courier is a drug addict and unreliable. He's endangering the whole operation.

This is why I'm here. Boyce slides the note over to Grishin, who reads it impassively. Grishin's eyes flick to Lee, prone on the sofa. He can't be helped, but you. You are young and a little. intelligent. Tell me, have you ever thought about working in the security services? Maybe at the CIA? They asked me to apply for a job, but I said no, and I have to take a polygraph. Grishin smiles. There are ways to beat the polygraph. We could teach you easily.

Tell me, how much would it cost to finish your education? I don't know, about 40,000 bucks, maybe. They will pay for that. You just to do. study politics and languages, then you get a job in the government. You could be of great service to the Soviet Union one day. Boyce feels a chasm opening beneath him. He came to Mexico to retake control over his life, but now he realizes that he is in the grip of the KGB, and they will never, ever let him go.

From Audible Originals, this is the second episode in our season, The Spy Who Sold Codes and Cocaine. 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 used many sources in our research for this season, including The Falcon and the Snowman

by Robert Lindsay, and American Sons by Christopher Boyce, Kate Boyce, and Vince Font. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jaffrey. Our show is produced by Vespucci, with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Audible. For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by J.S. Rafaeli and researched by Louise Burr, with thanks to Marina Watson and Russ Avery. Our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producer is Ashley Clivery. Our sound designer is Alex Port Felix. Natalia Rodriguez is the supervising producer.

Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frisson Sink. Executive producers for Vespucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turcom. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan. Executive producers for Audible are Estelle Doyle, Theodore Oluldus and Marshall Louis.