The Spy Who Duped Hitler | From Zero to Hero | 1

Summary

The Spy Who Duped Hitler | From Zero to Hero | Episode 1

Introduction In the premiere episode of "The Spy Who" titled "Duped Hitler | From Zero to Hero | 1," hosted by Raza Jaffrey and Bentley Purchase, listeners are transported into the clandestine world of World War II espionage. The episode delves into the intricate planning and execution of Operation Mincemeat, one of the most audacious deception operations in history that significantly impacted the Allies' invasion strategy against the Axis powers.

Setting the Stage: The Plight of Glyndor Michael The episode opens on January 24, 1943, in King's Cross, London, introducing Glyndor Michael, a destitute man struggling to survive. Homeless and rejected by the army, Michael's desperate situation sets the backdrop for the operation. His death, presumed to be suicide due to rat poison ingestion, piques the interest of Bentley Purchase, a coroner at St. Pancras morgue.

The Discovery At [05:12], Bentley Purchase uncovers Glyndor Michael's death and becomes suspicious of the circumstances, noting the improbability of rat poison leading to a quick death. This curiosity leads him to contact the Military Intelligence Service, hinting at the beginning of a covert mission that could alter the course of the war.

Conceiving Operation Mincemeat The core of the episode revolves around the creation of Operation Mincemeat. In a meeting set three months earlier on October 31, 1942, RAF intelligence officer Charles Cholmondeley and barrister-turned-intelligence officer Ewan Montague propose an elaborate plan to deceive the German forces. They aim to convince the Germans that the Allies will invade Greece and Sardinia instead of Sicily, thereby diverting German troops and resources.

Key Discussion: The Blueprint of Deception Cholmondeley outlines the necessity of planting fake intelligence on a corpse dressed as a British officer:

"What if we plant fake intelligence on a corpse dressed up as a military officer and find a way of making sure it does get into enemy hands?" ([10:45])

Montague, intrigued by the idea, suggests using Operation Trojan Horse, which eventually evolves into Operation Mincemeat. The plan involves sourcing a suitable corpse from the morgue—someone without family ties to prevent public inquiries—and ensuring the fake documents reach German intelligence without suspicion.

Assembling the Team and Crafting the Identity Montague collaborates with Coroner Bentley Purchase to select Glyndor Michael as the ideal candidate. The corpse must appear to have drowned, minimizing visible injuries to prevent detection of poisoning. The team devises a persona for Michael, naming him Major William Martin, a Marine officer with fabricated backstory elements such as an unpaid bill and a romantic engagement, enhancing the credibility of the deception.

Handling Logistics: Transport and Documentation The episode details the logistical challenges of transporting the corpse to Spain via submarine without alerting the crew. Charles Fraser Smith from the Secret Intelligence Service is enlisted to create a specialized thermos flask to keep the body preserved during transit. Additionally, the team meticulously prepares the fake intelligence documents, ensuring they withstand scrutiny by German codebreakers.

Approval from Churchill and Final Preparations In a pivotal scene at [32:25], Colonel John Bevan presents Operation Mincemeat to Prime Minister Winston Churchill in his bedroom, securing the highest level of approval. Churchill emphasizes the operation's potential to save 160,000 Allied lives by misleading Hitler about the invasion plans:

"It's what will help us win the war. The Germans are far too literal to do anything but take it seriously." ([35:11])

With Churchill's endorsement, the operation proceeds despite residual doubts about the Spanish government's potential interference.

Conclusion: The Countdown to Execution As the episode concludes, the team finalizes the preparations for Operation Mincemeat. The corpse of Glyndor Michael is transformed into Major William Martin, complete with authentic documents and personal items to support the false narrative. The meticulous attention to detail underscores the high stakes and the thin line between success and failure in espionage operations.

Notable Quotes

• "Operation Mincemeat is going ahead whether he likes it or not." — Colonel John Bevan to Winston Churchill ([35:11])
• "Our man needs to be in uniform, so it's obvious he's a soldier." — Ewan Montague ([25:30])
• "Dignity in death and all that. It's for the good of your country." — Ewan Montague handling the corpse ([32:25])

Key Takeaways

• Ingenuity in Espionage: Operation Mincemeat exemplifies the innovative strategies employed by intelligence services to outsmart the enemy.
• Teamwork and Collaboration: The successful execution required seamless collaboration between various departments, including MI5, MI6, the Royal Navy, and the Coroner's office.
• High Stakes and Precision: The operation highlights the critical importance of attention to detail and the potential impact on the broader war effort.

Conclusion Episode 1 of "The Spy Who" masterfully reconstructs the planning and initial execution phases of Operation Mincemeat, offering listeners a compelling glimpse into the secretive world of wartime deception. Through engaging storytelling and meticulous research, the episode underscores the pivotal role intelligence operations play in shaping historical outcomes.

Transcript

[Raza Jaffrey]

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[Bentley Purchase]

Free on Apple podcasts or The Wondery App. January 24, 1943. King's Cross, London. 34 year old Glindor Michael forces the door of an abandoned canalside warehouse. Inside he sees cats scurry across the stone floor. Bloody hell. Michael waits by the door as his eyes adjust to the dark. He's cold and hungry, but in the gloom he spots some wooden crates. Maybe they contain food. He searches the crates but finds nothing. Michael pulls a crate to the wall and sits on it. He can sleep for a bit like this. Another rat scurries out of the darkness. Michael feels it brush against the bare skin exposed by the holes in his boots. He makes a half hearted attempt to shoo it away, but the rat starts nibbling his boot. God help me. Michael remains still. His life's not been much better than a rat's. A poverty stricken childhood in a Welsh mining town with no CO left to mine and all his immediate family now dead. He came to London in search of something better, but even the army rejected him. He's homeless, destitute and starting to feel detached from reality now. What's the point? No one would notice if I died. He speaks to the rat. Go on then. They might as well have a bit of leather for dinner. At least one of us won't go hungry. What's that? In the corner of the warehouse, Michael sees a soft luminous glow. Take no notice. He thinks his mind's playing tricks. But the rat seems to have noticed it too. Michael goes to investigate. Behind the door of the warehouse, several crusts of bread appear to be glowing. Almost as if they're calling out to him. He moves quickly, scooping up the crusts before the rat can move in and begins stuffing them gratefully into his mouth. Four days later St. Pancras morgue London coroner Bentley Purchase looks up from his desk as the morgue's doors open. A hospital porter wheels in a trolley covered by a telltale white sheet. Another one for you, sir. Thank you. The war is in its fourth year. Burgess is used to the flow of dead bodies. He gets up from his desk, lifts the sheet, looks at the face of the dead man on the trolley and starts his habitual mental calculations. Mid 30s, unshaven, not in work then. Signs of jaundice on his face, but hard to tell. Do you have a name? Glyndor Michael. A vagrant found in a warehouse by the canal. Appears to have eaten rat poison. The nurses think it was suicide. Poor beggar. Poor beggar indeed. God rest his soul. Purchase knows that if Michael ate rat poison, he probably died of phosphorus poisoning. It's a painful and drawn out way to go. First nausea and vomiting, then delirium, convulsions and finally major organ. But the damage is mainly internal. It's impossible to tell just by looking at him. And that piques Purchase his interest. Have the family been informed? Apparently he has none, sir. Well, well. Strange that so many seem to come to London to end their lives. I often think they are trying to spare their families. But if this man has none. Bentley's mind is racing ahead. The porter stands waiting. Oh, sorry, I'm keeping you. We must both get on with our jobs. Thank you for bringing him in. The minute the porter is out of earshot, Purchase picks up the phone. He dials the number he was given by the man from Military Intelligence Service. Hello, this is Bentley Purchase, St Pancras Hospital. I believe I might have the man you were looking for. Phone call. Finished. Purchase returns to Glyndor Michael and recovers his face with the sheet. From what he's gleaned, this man didn't have much of a life. Under normal circumstances, his death might pass unnoticed. But life in war torn Britain is far from normal.

[Charles Cholmondeley]

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[Bentley Purchase]

From Wondery I'm Raza Jaffrey, and this is the spy who beneath the veneer of the everyday lurks the realm of the spy. It's a dank, murky world full of dark corners, sinister motives and corrupted morals. A place of paranoia and infiltration, sabotage and manipulation. In this season, we access the file on Operation Mincemeat, possibly the most outlandish double cross in espionage history. This World War II deception mission paved the way for the Allies successful invasion of Italy, saving thousands of lives and shattering the Axis power's grip on continental Europe. 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 Duped Hitler from zero to hero three months earlier October 31, 1942. London. The offices of MI5 RAF intelligence officer Charles Cholmondeley sits at a large table with several other members of the Double Cross Committee. The Committee oversees Britain's covert war of deception. Its remit, to find ways to mislead Germany and the other Axis powers by feeding them false information. The Allies are about to invade French North Africa, but there are concerns that the Germans already know of their plans. Ch removes his thick pebble rin spectacles and rubs his elaborate mustache as another committee member explains the situation. Among the crew of the RAF seaplane that recently crashed near the Spanish coast was a Royal Navy courier. That courier was carrying a letter confirming the date of the planned invasion. Officially, Spain is neutral, but its government favors the Axis powers and many Spanish officials are friendly with German intelligence. The Spanish navy returned the letter to us, and as far as we can tell, it was not examined or shared with the Germans. But if it had been, our efforts to mislead the Germans about our plans to invade North Africa may well have ended in failure. Cholmondeley shifts uncomfortably in his seat and replaces his glasses. His poor eyesight makes him unfit for active Service, and at 6 foot 3, his long legs would be hard to squash into the cockpit of an airplane. But he's got a very vivid imagination, and the Double Cross Committee needs creative minds. I have an idea for our next deception operation. He stands up. It's more comfortable and a more commanding position to speak from. It's safe to assume that even if the documents never got into the hands of the Germans, they would have got wind that the airman was a courier and would have been desperate to read whatever he was carrying. Of course. So next Time the body of a British officer washes up on Spanish shores, they will put more pressure on the authorities to give them access to any documents on their person. John Lee spots committee member Ewan Montague, watching him with interest through the smoke from his pipe. Montague's a barrister turned naval intelligence officer and Cholmondeley knows from previous encounters that Montague has an intimidatingly forensic mind. Cholmondeley suspects he's preparing to interrogate him. Montague puts his pipe down. Please, go on. What if we plant fake intelligence on a corpse dressed up as a military officer and find a way of making sure it does get into enemy hands? Is that off the list of ridiculous ideas that have been circulating since the start of the war? That one was taken straight from the pages of a Basil Thompson novel. If I remember rightly, charmingly knows. The memo Montague's referring to. It's A list of 51 Ways to Deceive the Germans. Most of the ideas are outlandish, but this one's got Charmley thinking. Yes, but in the light of what's just happened, with a genuine plane shot down, I think it might have legs. We could call it Operation Trojan Horse. Where exactly is this body going to come from? We'll go to the morgue. We're at war. I very much doubt there's a shortage. Half of them don't have limbs. But supposing you do find one, what's to guarantee the Germans getting hold of it? Cholnley has already given this some thought. We drop it off the coast of Spain, the Spanish pick it up. This time the Germans will be quicker to react. They exert more pressure to examine whatever papers were found with the corpse. And they won't be suspicious of a random body carrying little more than vital intelligence? Not if we create the perfect Persona for our body. He'll have his story, just like any living agent does. Only in this instance, that story will be told through the objects he has with him. Montague draws on his pipe. I must say, you made a semi convincing case. Could possibly work. Chumley looks at the committee chair. The plan needs his approval. And he doesn't look convinced. I suppose if this body is going to be floated at sea, it's a naval matters. So, Montague, I suggest you work on it with Chomney. It sounds like a crazy plan to me, but I think I can trust you to test its robustness. Three MONTHS later the Anfar Hotel Casablanca, Morocco following the successful invasion of French North Africa, the leaders of Britain, America and Free France are Meeting to discuss their next move. US President Franklin D. Roosevelt can already taste victory. The tide is turning. We will accept nothing less than unconditional surrender. British Prime Minister Winston Churchill remains pragmatic. First, we have to regain control of Europe. My chiefs of staff favor an assault on the island of Sicily followed by the invasion of mainland Italy. Its position in the Mediterranean at the foot of Italy means we can easily move troops in from North Africa. Churchill draws on his cigar and waits for Roosevelt's response. Agreed. If we can divert German troops down into Italy, it will make it harder for them to be redeployed to defend France when the time comes. Exactly. The problem is everybody but a bloody fool knows that Sicily must be our next target. Yes, no doubt Hitler and Mussolini will anticipate our plan. The island's already well defended and they will doubtless have their forces waiting to meet us. Yes, even if they're foolish enough not to see it coming, they will surely cotton on when 160,000 Allied troops turn up. They could become an almighty bloodbath. We could mount a cross channel invasion instead. Timing's not right. Our troops are in the Med and we need to act soon. It has to be Sicily. What we need is a decoy target. Churchill waves his cigar towards towards a small group of British intelligence officers sitting at a nearby table. If they can come up with a plan to convince Herr Hitler that the blindingly obvious isn't so blindingly obvious at all, then he might move his troops and we can avoid that almighty bloodbath. A few days later. The Admiralty, London. Tomley ducks his head to avoid an overhead air duct as he enters room 13, home to the Royal Navy's Special Intelligence Section. The Section's job is to assess any enemy communications relating to naval matters that have been decrypted by the code breakers at Bletchley Park. He picks his way across the tiny room between tables, chairs, safes and filing cabinet. The air is stuffy and there seems to be at least 14 people working in a room that only fits two or three comfortably. At the back, he finds room 13's boss, Montague Charmley. Welcome to our salubrious surroundings. Take a seat. Tommy sinks gratefully away from the low ceiling, noting that Montague's face is a strange color. Gosh, you look rather pale. Are you unwell? No, not at all. It's the lighting, old boy. We all look like death warmed up in here. Talking of which. Very good then. Our other urgent need for a corpse. We've got less than three months to Convince the Germans that Sicily is not our next target. Plenty of bodies about, but we need one with no family. We don't want relatives sniffing about, asking questions or wanting the body back. Chomney notices the Penguin paperback on Montague's desk. You read a lot? Avidly. I find it the best way to escape the grim realities of the world and the possibility of what might happen to us if we can't defeat Hitler. Indeed, I enjoy work of fiction myself. I'm relishing the chance to create a character of our own. Have you thought about names? Well, obviously Operation Trojan Horse has to go far too revealing a name. I think Operation Mincemeat sums it up nicely. That's good. But I was actually thinking of a name for our fictional airmen. First things first. We need a fail safe delivery method for our corpse. More importantly, the intelligence has to convince the Germans that our plan is to attack Greece and Sardinia instead of Sicily. The consequences of not getting this right bear thinking about. Of course. But we don't want to put the cart before the horse. You know, all this talk of corpses brings Victor Frankenstein to mind. Are you a fan of Shelley? An amused smile forms on Montague's lips. Yes, I see what you're saying. You've got to breathe new life into our body before it can bend to our will. Several days later, St Pancras Coroner's Office London Coroner Bentley Purchase pulls a box of chocolates from the drawer on his desk and offers it to Montague. Chocolates. What a treat. Montague pulls the box towards him and selects a rather damp chocolate. He's about to put it in his mouth when Purchase pipes up. They were found in Auntie's bag when she was fished out of the round pond at Hampstead last night. Probable suicide. Montague looks repulsed. I jest. I bought these to take to the opera last week. They're not the finest chocolates, but they're perfectly serviceable. In that case, thank you. Chocolate is in rather short supply at the Admiralty. I presume your visit is not entirely culinary. How can I help? Naval Intelligence? We need a male corpse as a matter of urgency. Purchase becomes serious. You can't get bodies just for the asking, you know. The supply might be a little steadier than chocolate, but each one has to be accounted for and there are other families to consider. You'd have to give me a very good reason to give one to you. Ideally, we want someone without relatives, but I'm afraid I am not at liberty to say why. But rest assured, it's a matter of vital national importance. Even so, if words got out, it would shake public confidence in the coroner's court. Has this matter of vital importance been approved? Montague nods and helps himself to another chocolate. At what level? The Prime Minister? Well, if Churchill's involved, I'm willing to be a part of it. Why don't I give you a tour of the mortuary and see if any of my bodies fit the bill? Purchase leads the way to the mortuary where several bodies are laid out on the slabs. The smell of rotting flesh hangs in the air. Montague puts his hand over his nose and mouth. We need a man of military service age. Purchase draws a body out of cold storage. This chap, he's missing half his leg. I need a corpse with no visible injuries. Helpful to know whoever finds the body must believe that he died from drowning. We don't get that many drowners. He doesn't actually have to have drowned as long as it can be made to look as if he did. Then I fear you might have a bit of a wait. There's plenty of corpses, but a male of service age with no known relatives who must appear to have drowned. It's a bit of a tall order. Purchase pushes the corpse back into the refrigerator, noting Montague's look of disappointment. There's not much he can do. It might have helped if Naval Intelligence consulted him before they came up with the specifics of their plan. But whatever their plan is, a lot seems to depend on it.

[Ewan Montague]

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[John Bevan]

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[Bentley Purchase]

A few days later. St. Pancras Hospital Morgue, London Montague watches as Purchase pulls out a fresh corpse. He holds his breath and takes a closer look. His skin's rather yellow. Liver damage. Poor Glyndor. Michael died of phosphorus poisoning after eating rat poison. Not a nice way to go, but it causes little external damage to the corpse. It could be your drowned man. What about internal damage? Well, if they open him up, the examiner could find traces of phosphorus, but it's not obvious. Not like arsenic, for example, which invades the roots of the hair. If he washes up, the odds are whoever finds him will think he drowned. What exactly would you say the odds were on that? Well, I'd say three to two. Not a gambling man. I prefer more favorable odds. We can hang on to him for a bit, but you'll have to decide soon. Storage slows decomposition, but it doesn't stop it. The longer you wait, the more obvious it will be that this chap has been dead for some time. Montague looks at the body again, weighing up his options. He's got no family, you say? None that we can find. He was a down and out, God rest his soul. Purchase bows his head briefly, as if in prayer, then snaps it up again suddenly. Which gives me an idea. The Catholic Church discourages autopsies. If you can pass him off as Catholic, you might narrow the odds in your favor. There's a lot of ifs, but we haven't got time to wait for the perfect body. Okay, we'll take him. Later that day. Room 13, the Admiralty Montague sits behind his desk, filling his pipe. Cholmondeley sits at an angle opposite, stretching his long legs alongside the desk. Montague takes a few puffs on his pipe and looks at the blank sheet of paper on the desk in front of him. Our man needs to be in uniform, so it's obvious he's a soldier. If we make him a Marine, then no questions asked about why he's at See? Cholmley twiddles his mustache, thinking he'll need to be a high ranking officer to be trusted with important documentation. Fortescue is a high ranking sort of name. Good point. But all the serving Marines names appear on the Navy List, which doubtless the Germans have access to. We need a name that checks out if necessary. Joe Montague summons his chief assistant, Joan Saunders, and sends her to find the list. Moments later, she returns the names you asked for. Thank you. Joan Montague examines the list. There are several Martins on here, so I think we can safely make him a Major Martin. What about his first name? I reckon William. Major William Martin has a certain ring to it, don't you think? He can be Bill to his friends, Major William Martin on duty and Bill when he's dancing the night away. Dancing? Why not? I never go dancing. Why ever not? I'm too tall and I've got two rather large left feet. I can't picture him dancing. Well, I like to go dancing. And I think Bill needs to let his hair down a little from time to time. So he's going to like dancing. More importantly, we're going to have to get him an identity card and it's going to be suspiciously new. Well, maybe we make Bill prone to misplacing things. He could have lost his identity card and recently had it replaced. In fact, that could be helpful. How so? Well, we need to make sure the documents in the briefcase stay with Bill when he's washed ashore, so we may need to attach the briefcase to him by chain. If we hint that Bill is prone to forgetting things, that would explain why he has a new identity card and why the briefcase is chained to him. Brilliant. Then we ought to get him photographed. The following day, St. Pancras Mortuary. Glyndor Michael's corpse is propped up in a sitting position, his head lulled slightly to one side, his jaw ajar and his eyes clouded. Montague tries to put the ghoulishness of his task out of his mind as he takes a photograph of Michael's corpse. Sorry, old chap, I know. Dignity in death and all that. It's for the good of your country. He takes another photograph and shakes his head. It's no good, no matter what angle I try. He looks dead. Tomley pinches the corners of his mustache as he considers the problem. We need to find a face double. Someone living who bears a good enough resemblance. Thomley takes out a tape measure and begins measuring the corpse. Montague notes down the measurements. We'll need a body double, too. Someone of a similar size to him who can wear in his uniform. It's got to look lived in. How tall is he? Same height as me. Six foot three. It's rather strange. Well, and that's one problem solved. You've got yourself a new set of clothes. A week later, room 13. Thomley sits wearing Bill's marine uniform. He's reading a letter. It's handwritten by Montague, but purports to be from Bill's bank manager. I like this. You more than anyone appreciate that there is a war on and in constrained times the bank cannot approve an overdraft to cover your extravagances. You've given Bill a good ticking off, but the next line does it serve its purpose? No doubt it is forgetfulness on your part rather than any deliberate avoidance of payment. But I must ask that you pay the outstanding bill immediately. I love it. Bill's unpaid. Bill underlines his lack of organization. Good. Then I'll ask Joan to type it up. Joan, you don't have to shout. I'm sitting right here. Joan takes the letter and the two men watch as she narrows her eyes while reading it. Tom Lee found it pretty convincing. What do you think it reads like a letter to a man about town who's running up a debt in the process. Yes, but there's a buzz. It seems strange that someone like Bill is flying off to war clutching a letter from his bank manager. Why? Doesn't he have a sweetheart and letters from her? Yes, of course he needs a love life, but Bill's is going to be a rather tragic love story. He planned to marry his girl, but then his tragic accident off the coast of Spain brought their match to a brutal end. Tomley raises his eyebrows, but he's enjoying this latest twist in the story of Bill. If he bought her a ring, that will help account for the overdraft. He could have the receipt in his pocket. What else? Chumley turns out his own pockets and places a bus ticket and a few banknotes and coins on the desk. He watches as Montague adds a box of matches, a bill for shirts from a London tailor, and a ticket for a dance, then looks over to Joan. Can you picture Bill a little more clearly now, Joan? He's getting there. But if he's got a receipt for an engagement ring, then surely he'd have a photo of his fiance too. A few days later, room 13. Montague and Cholmondeley lay a series of photographs out on the desk in front of them. During the past week, Joan Saunders has asked the Admiralty's office secretaries to supply photographs of themselves for potential use as Bill's make believe sweetheart. Montague sorts them into three columns. Headshots, home shots and holiday shots. I think Bill's more likely to take a holiday snap. Don't you a reminder of a carefree day out? Yes, indeed. Most of the girls are wearing twin sets with pearls, but Montague's eyes have landed on a photo of a striking looking brunette in a one piece bathing suit. He picks it up. I think Bill would be rather taken by her. I think Bill would. She's the one then. I think she's a Pamela. But Bill calls her Pam. They are interrupted by Joan Saunders. She glances at the photograph and hands Montague a cable. This has just come in from Bletchley Park. I thought you should see it. Montague takes the latest decoded German message and reads the transcript. It says the Germans are anticipating an Allied attack on Sicily in the next few months. Then we need Major Martin ready as soon as possible. It also says they are expecting a major deception operation. The two men fall silent. Montague gathers up the photos and hands them back to Joan. The cable underlines what they already knew. The lives of 160,000 Allied troops are at risk if their plan doesn't work. Major Martin's character needs to be convincing, but the fake intelligence in his briefcase has to be foolproof. And they haven't even started work on that.

[Winston Churchill]

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[John Bevan]

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[John Bevan]

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[Bentley Purchase]

The War Office, London Montague watches as Colonel John Bevan, Britain's head of military deception, reads his draft letter. The letter contains the fake military intelligence they plan to plant on the corpse. It's supposed to be from General Nye, the deputy head of the army, and it indicates that the Allies will attempt to invade mainland Europe through Greece and Sardinia rather than Sicily. Bevan shakes his head and looks at Montague. All this stuff about Monty's hat size. I suppose this is some sort of joke about the general's reputation as a big head. I think the letter will be more convincing if the tone is not too dry. It needs a little humor in it. General Nye doesn't have a sense of humor. Take all the jokes out, but Montague bites his tongue. He spent days on this letter and he doesn't like being edited, especially by Bevan. The two have never seen eye to eye, but if the letter doesn't sound like General Nye, it won't Work. Bevan stops reading again. What's all this nonsense about wanting a crate of oranges and lemons? It's supposed to be a personal letter from General Nye to General Alexander in Tunisia. He's supposed to be letting slip the invasion plans rather than announcing them. It needs something personal in it. A short of fruit Here. There's plenty in Tunisia. I thought he might mention it. We don't want the General to sound like a bloody scrounger. Especially to the Germans, sir. And the invasion plans need to be more specific. If you say the Allies target is Greece without naming a specific landing point, the Germans will think we are bluffing. Take it away. Start again. Later that month, the Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company Broadway, London. Cholmondeley waits outside the office of Charles Fraser Smith. Charlie. I've been expecting you. Come in. The Fire Extinguisher Company is a cover. This is actually the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service. MI6. And Fraser Smith's job is to make equipment that can be used by spies behind enemy lines. Cholmondeley steps inside and looks around. A table running at right angles to a desk is covered with dismantled everyday objects. It's an honor to meet you and see your place of work. Are these the famous devices? Would you like a demonstration? Smith picks up a hairbrush and inserts a razor blade into an almost imperceptible gap. The brush opens to reveal a map and a miniature saw. Essential kit for anyone dropped behind enemy lines. Ingenious. But we need something on a somewhat larger scale. We need to transport a corpse to Spain by submarine. We don't want it to decay too much on the journey and we don't want the crew to know what's in it. Smith takes a seat at his desk and unscrews a thermos flask. Tea? No, thank you. Cholmondy watches as Smith pours himself a cup and sets the flask back down. This is what you need. Honestly, no tea for me. I'm fine, thank you. And not tea. Fraser. Smith taps the side of the flask with a metal pen. Partial vacuum insulation to minimize heat conduction. I don't quite follow. A giant thermos flask. That is what you need. If you can pack the body inside that with plenty of dry ice, it should keep it cool most of the way. And you can make one? We need it urgently. Ideally within a week or two. We're in the business of supplying fire extinguishers. This one will be bigger and with some vacuum insulation, we'll Work it out. And as for the submarine crew, just tell them it contains optical equipment. That sounds dull enough not to elicit any interest. I'll get on with building it straight away. A few days later. Room 13, London. Montague and Cholney are huddled around a desk with the assistant naval attache at the British Embassy in Spain, Salvador Gomez Viari. It's almost six months since Cholmondeley first outlined his crazy plan to use a dead body to trick the Germans. Now, over tea, Montague is outlining Operation Mincemeat to their man in Madrid. We need to make sure the body's dropped somewhere it will not only be washed ashore, but at a location where the contents of the briefcase are sure to be passed on to the Germans. Gomez Piare gets up and goes to the map of Spain that's pinned to the wall behind Montague's desk. He jabs it with his finger. You don't want it to wash up anywhere near Cadiz. It's a naval city, and the Spanish navy is very pro British. If they get hold of the documents, they will send them straight back to you. Which is exactly what we don't want to happen. For the plan to succeed, the Spanish authorities must leak the documents to the German military intelligence unit, the Abwehr. Montague presses the diplomat further. So where would you suggest? Here, Welva. Close to the Portuguese border. It's the stomping ground of a particularly troublesome Abwehr agent, Adolf Klaus. Everyone in Welva is in his pocket. If he hears the body of a British officer was washed up, he'll make sure he gets to it. Tomley looks at where he's pointing. I'll check the tides there so we get the timing right for it to be washed ashore. Montague lights his pipe. And we need to be certain this Klaus gets wind of it while maintaining the impression we absolutely don't want him to. Understood. The British Council is reliable. You can count on him. And I'll brief him as soon as I'm back. When should we expect Major Martin to arrive? End of April. That's only a few weeks away. We know, but our body is already starting to decompose. If we wait any longer, the authorities will know Bill's been dead for weeks and the game will be up mid April. The Ministry of Information, London chumlee observes as the Ministry's technical analysts photograph all of Bill's newly acquired possessions. A briefcase with a chain attached to the handle stands open on the table next to the briefcase are Bill's letters, one from his bank manager, another from his fiance and the all important letter from General Nye that contains the fake intelligence. This letter has now been written by the General himself. It's dull, but so is the General. And that means it's less likely to raise German suspicions. It's also written using an ink that won't wash away in the water. Once the letters have been photographed, the analysts fold them, ready to insert them into the envelopes. Cholmondy intervenes. One more thing. He removes his glasses and pulls out an eyelash. He places it carefully into the fold of the letter, blinking as he does so. It might just help us detect if they've been opened or not. The analysts continue with their work securing the envelope containing General Nye's letter with a wax seal. If the Germans read and believe the contents of the letters, they will need to go to some lengths to make it look as if they haven't. They might find a way around breaking the seals, but it's unlikely anyone will check for an eyelash. Several days later. April 15, 1943. The Cabinet War Rooms Annex, Whitehall, London. Colonel Bevan, Britain's head of military deception, stands in Winston Churchill's bedroom. The Prime Minister is in his bed, wearing pajamas and a dressing gown. He puffs on a large cigar as he reads Bevan's briefing notes. This is fantastic. This is what will help us win the war. The Germans are far too literal to do anything but take it seriously. Bevan straightens his uniform. He's here to get Churchill's approval for Operation Mincemeat to go ahead. But while he's presenting the plan to the Prime Minister, he still has reservations. There's a possibility that the Spaniards might find out the dead man was in fact not drowned, but poisoned. If they do, that scuppers all our other deception plans. It will simply confirm that Sicily is the target and not Greece or Sardinia. It's worth the risk. Sicily is the key to freeing Europe. And anything that might persuade Hitler to divert troops elsewhere increases our chance of success. It's also possible that the Spanish will hand the body straight back to us. In that case, we shall have to get the body back and give it another swimming. This plan has my approval. Bevan turns to go. A submarine that can take Bill to Spain will set sail in four days time. With the Prime Minister's stamp of approval, there is no more room for any of his private doubts. Operation Mincemeat is going ahead whether he likes it or not.

[Raza Jaffrey]

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[Raza Jaffrey]

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Wondery this is the first episode in our season, the Spy who Duped Hitler 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 Operation Minstrels meet by Ben McIntyre and the man who Never Was by Ewan Montague. The Spy who is hosted by me, Raza Jaffrey. Our show is produced by Vespucci with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Wandery For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by Lizzie Enfield and researched by Louise Byrne with thanks to Marina Watson and Kat Whitehouse. Our managing producer is Jay Priest for Vespucci. Our senior producers are Ashley Clivery and Philippa Gearing. Our sound designer is Iver Manley. Rachel Byrne is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Fris and Sink. Executive producers for Vespucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turkin. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan, our senior producer for Wondery is Theodora Luludis and our senior managing producer is Rachel Sibley. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Chris Bourne and Marshall Louie.