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Wondery Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of The Spy Who early and ad-free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. March 1971, Fulham, West London. Five months before Leland's arrest. In the kitchen of an MI5 safe house, Tony Brooks tries to ignore the noise of the headboard banging against the wall of the bedroom next door. Brooks is a middle-aged MI5 officer with a neatly trimmed beard.
His latest assignment is to handle Oleg Lelin, MIFI's new man inside the KGB, and it's a job that also requires him to facilitate Lelin's infidelities. The noise coming from the bedroom stops. Brooks sighs with relief and readies the reel-to-reel tape recorder on the kitchen table. Lelin emerges from the bedroom. His blonde secretary Irina Tepelyakova follows.
Her tender smile switches to obvious dislike on seeing Brooks. Leland moves to embrace her. She pulls away and stalks out. Brooks turns to Leland. "Right, shall we start?" It's several weeks since Leland was turned by MI5. He didn't do it for ideological reasons. He did it because MI5 gathered photographic evidence of his affair with Tepliakova and threatened to expose their adultery.
Now, Leland gets to continue his affair in this MI5 flat in return for weekly debriefing sessions. Leland helps himself to a beer from the cupboard. Brooks switches on the tape recorder. Not that he needs to. There's a second tape recorder hidden in the room and it runs continuously. Leland leans back in his chair. "So, what do you want today? More names of operatives in London? Actually, I want to know more about your role."
You said you're a captain in Department V? What does Department V do, exactly? We specialize in wet operations. Assassinations. Sabotage. Department V has offices in every major capital city. And what are you doing in Britain? I was sent to prepare plans to incapacitate your country in the event of a major crisis or war. Give me examples. One plan is to flood the London Underground at rush hour. Many thousands of people would drown.
and London's transport system would be left in chaos. Leland watches Brooks for a reaction. He doesn't get one. Leland shrugs and continues. But mostly I've been investigating landings Spetsnaz by sea to... Wait, what's Spetsnaz? Brooks hasn't heard that word before. No one in the West has. They're special forces, like your SAS.
They will sabotage your nuclear attack warning system. What do you mean? Your radar station, Filingdales, in Yorkshire. And you've made actual plans for military landing to attack that location? Yes. They would land by submarine at Hayburn Wyke. It's not far from Filingdales and the woods there provide good cover. Brooke's face remains unreadable, but inside, he's reading. He ran sabotage operations like this in France during the Nazi occupation.
But this isn't wartime. The Soviet Union is talking of peaceful coexistence with the West, and Lelyn's plans seem fantastical, far beyond normal espionage activities. If his information is real, then the Soviet spies present a far bigger and more immediate danger to the UK than anyone thought. But if Lelyn's lying, MI5 could be about to walk into a KGB trap
A trap that could destroy the service's already battered credibility for good. We get support from Dove. Hey everyone, this is your girl Kiki Palmer, host of the Wondery podcast. Baby, this is Kiki Palmer. Listen up, because there's some messed up stuff we gotta talk about. Currently, race-based hair discrimination is still legal in some states in the U.S.,
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From Wondery, I'm Raza Jafri, and this is The Spy Who.
In the last episode, MI5 found itself overwhelmed by hundreds of Soviet spies. KGB saboteur Oleg Lelin arrived in Britain to plot destruction, and MI5 used Lelin's affair with Irina Tepelyakova to turn him into a double agent. Now, MI5 wants to use Lelin to turn the tables on the KGB by kicking their spies out of Britain. But to do that, it needs to win round the politicians before Lelin's double life catches up with him.
You're listening to The Spy Who Saved MI5, Episode 2, The Pressure Cooker. March 1971, the Foreign Office, London. MI5 Director General Sir Martin Furnival-Jones reaches for his pipe and waits for Foreign Secretary Sir Alec Douglas-Hulme to absorb the news. The politician looks pained at all this talk of spies. This new information, can we rely on it? Where has it come from?
Pernaval Jones pats his coat pockets for his tobacco to buy time. He's not going to reveal that MI5's got a man inside the KGB, let alone Leland's identity. The Soviets are trying to recruit agents in every part of government. They may already have people in the Foreign Office, or listening devices planted inside this very room. The less he reveals, the better. But he still needs to divulge enough to convince Sir Alec the information is credible, despite MI5's own doubts about some of it.
It comes from a secret and reliable source. That source has corroborated our own intelligence on the identities and numbers of Soviet intelligence officers operating in our country. That gives us a strong basis to throw them out. We recommend removing a hundred or so of them. Only a hundred? What about the rest? We'd prefer to know who to watch. Also, by holding back and letting the Soviets know that we held back, the KGB will have to assume every intelligence officer that remains here is known to us.
I see. Sir Alec turns to Foreign Office Permanent Secretary, Sir Dennis Greenhill. Where Sir Alec is lean, Greenhill amply fills out his double-breasted, pinstriped suit. Dennis, what are your thoughts on how the Soviets will react to expelling more than a hundred of their spies? Greenhill leans forward in his chair. There's no doubt that the Soviets will retaliate.
Now strongly as anyone's guess. No country ever expelled this many spies in one go, but our case would be stronger if we could give the public a clear reason for the expulsions. Sir Alec taps his fingers against the polished mahogany desk and turns to Furnival Jones. Can your new source provide anything along those lines? Furnival Jones nods. Yes. The Soviets are actively developing plans to carry out sabotage. Sir Alec blinks in shock. What kind of things?
"Attacks on critical infrastructure, both military and civilian." Greenhill looks disbelieving. "That sounds extreme." "One plan is to send agents posing as couriers to spread tiny clear capsules of nerve gas throughout this and other government departments." "When people tread on those capsules, the gas will be released, killing them and those who come to help them." "Good god." Sir Alec and Greenhill go quiet as they absorb the information. Then, Sir Alec leans forward.
"'Are we certain of this?' The source is credible. Sir Alec rises and turns to stare out of the window. He'd prefer a diplomatic solution, but it's been three months since he wrote to the Soviet foreign minister asking him to rein in the spying. His letter went unanswered, an unheard-of diplomatic insult. "'Very well. You had better draw up a list of names to expel. I'll draft a proposal for cabinet. But it's not just me you need to convince. We'd need the Home Secretary on side.'
The Trade Secretary may pose a problem, and we'll also need the Prime Minister's support." Furnival Jones stands, ready to leave. But then Sir Alec turns back around. "What are we calling this, by the way? In our, uh, correspondence?" Greenhill replies. "Internally, we've given the expulsions a rather jokey name already. Operation Foot." "I see. Foot for booting the Russians out. Very good." Furnival Jones feels relief.
After years of pushing, he's finally got the Foreign Office to see the need for action against the Soviet spies. But now, they must convince the rest of the government, too. A few days later, in northwest London, Siraj Abdul-Khadir feels nervous as he strolls through Wembley Park, side by side with his KGB handler, Alex. He knows Alex is not his real name.
Last time they met, Alex gave him a business card for a man named Oleg Lelin, who he can call in an emergency. Abdul Khadir suspects that Alex is Lelin, but he's learned not to ask too many questions. He waits for a woman to walk past, then turns to Lelin. "I checked those vehicle registrations you wanted." Lelin looks straight ahead and nods. Abdul Khadir wonders why he looks so stern today. "Have you contacted Miss Richardson?"
Miss Richardson works at the Ministry of Defense. Leland wants Abdul-Khadir to romance her, but Abdul-Khadir's been ducking this request for months. No, I haven't contacted her. Why not? I told you we need the information she can access. I'm married now. I can't be doing such things and I don't want to. You don't get to decide that. What do you mean? Leland stops and turns to face Abdul-Khadir. Meaning? We know where your wife works.
And how she gets there. How would you feel if she never came home? No, no, you wouldn't! I thought you were my friend! Shh! Leland begins walking again, pulling Abdul-Khadeer roughly alongside him. I am your friend. But you must be my friend too, Siraj. Moscow is pleased with our work, but they need more information about Britain's defenses.
Abdul Qadir manages a nod. What had seemed like an exciting game just two years ago now seems like a nightmare he can't escape. And now, his and his new wife's lives may depend on his compliance. It's early summer 1971.
and in its offices on Regent Street, the Soviet Import-Export Agency, RASNO, is holding a drinks reception for British businessmen. The room is swarming with Soviet trade delegates, many of whom are also KGB. One KGB officer leans against a wall, sipping his whiskey morosely, eyes fixed on the most beautiful woman in the room. He mutters to his colleague next to him, "She hasn't left his side all night." His colleague follows his gaze towards Irina Tepelyakova,
She's standing next to Leland, who's chatting to a British sock manufacturer. She's out of your league, comrade. Nah, she should be out of his too. They're both married. As the KGB officer watches, Leland slips his arm around Teplyakova briefly. She smiles lovingly at him. The KGB officer scowls. It's disgusting. They're flaunting it and nobody says or does anything. Don't stir up trouble. It won't be good for any of us. I'll get you another drink.
As his friend wanders off, the KGB officer finishes his drink without taking his eyes off Tepliakova. He scowls again and makes a decision. It's time Moscow knew about Lelin screwing around. The head of the KGB in London might not care, but he knows the center won't be so blasé. A few days later. Highgate, London. An MI5 surveillance car drives through the steep suburban streets.
It passes a low, concrete office block hidden behind locked gates: the Soviet Trade Delegation Building. The car turns right into the tree-lined Holly Lodge Estate. Many Soviet trade officials live here, with two or three families crammed into its spacious, smock-tudor houses. They park near Oleg Lelin's home. The only movement is another car further up the street that's pulling out. It's the overnight surveillance team heading home now that they've arrived.
MI5 keeps this whole area under constant surveillance, but this crew is here to watch Leland. The female operative at the wheel carefully scans the house. It all seems quiet. Her male partner hands her a thermos flask of tea. Before she can open the flask, shouts shatter the early morning peace. The MI5 officers see Leland storm out of his house. He throws his briefcase into his Hillman Minx car and gets in.
You're a liar! Stop lying to me! You are being corrupted, Oleg! Think of us, son! We need to go home, to Moscow! Get out of the way!
Leland shouts again. You are making a scene! Is that what you want? I don't care! Don't drive away from me! Oleg! Leland reverses, steers around his wife and zooms up the street, leaving his wife shouting his name and sobbing on the pavement. The female MI5 operative starts the car and moves to follow Leland while her partner reaches for the radio to call it in. They both know this could be a real problem. Leland has tripped up.
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Yes. Bombas. Big comfort for everyone. Go to bombas.com slash Wondery and use code WONDERY for 20% off your first purchase. May 25th, 1971. The Foreign Office. London. MI5 Director General Sir Martin Furnival-Jones pours himself more tea and looks down the long mahogany table. Around it are civil servants from several government departments.
And they're here to decide whether to approve or to kill his plan to kick more than a hundred Soviet spies out of Britain. At the far end of the table is the trade department's permanent secretary. And his face is reddening with anger. We cannot take this kind of economic hit. Soviet reprisals against British exports will be severe. How much damage can Soviet intelligence really do anyway? Furnival Jones puts down his teacup.
In the past 15 years, the Soviets have penetrated the Foreign Office, the Labour Party, the Ministry of Defence, the Armed Forces, MI6, and more. It's hard to believe the Soviets maintain such a large intelligence operation in our country for no profit. What about our commercial profits? This will cost British businesses millions.
The Foreign Office's ample-framed Permanent Secretary, Sir Dennis Greenhill, intervenes. "You really think the commercial risk is so high? Trade between us and the USSR has been stagnant for years." "Well, this is not going to help, is it?" "It's a matter of national security, isn't it, Philip?" Greenhill turns to the Home Office's top civil servant. Greenhill knows the Trade Department's objections will be overruled if the Foreign Office and Home Office are united.
but the Home Office's man looks irritated at being put on the spot. Well, the Home Secretary has a number of reservations about this mass expulsion of Soviet spies. He is sure it will make Her Majesty's government the laughingstock of Europe. For even though many of these spies enter the country under the last government, a significant number have arrived since the Conservatives took office. Greenhill pushes back. And if it gets out that we chose to do nothing...
Now, if action is to be taken, the Home Secretary would want to be convinced that all diplomatic avenues were exhausted first. No, we've tried diplomacy. It has been ignored. Do we categorically know it was ignored? Furnival Jones fears that political inertia is going to tank his push for action again. But then, Greenhill snaps his notebook closed.
Gentlemen, we at the Foreign Office intend to send a memo to the Prime Minister recommending the expulsion of 105 identified Russian intelligence officers. We will propose this happens in October once talks with the Soviets about the future of Berlin are over.
I will note all concerns expressed here today. The Home Office representative sits up. Hold on one minute. This is a matter of home security. If there's any memo going to the Prime Minister about this, it should come from the Home Secretary. We're happy for it to be a joint memo sent by the Home Secretary. The man from the Home Office looks flustered and having fallen into Greenhill's trap. Yes, well, uh, ah, well...
Only on the understanding we have exhausted all other options to resolve this problem. Greenhill nods. Of course, I shall ask the Foreign Secretary to send Mr. Gromyko another strongly worded letter. MI5's Furnival Jones resists the urge to smile. The Home Office and the Foreign Office are now behind the plan.
and the Trade Department's objections won't deter the Prime Minister. Slowly, the net is closing in on the Soviet spies roaming Britain's streets. The MI5 safehouse, Fulham, London. Oleg Lelin falls back on the bed, clammy with sweat, despite the cold summer rain outside. His mistress, Irina Tepliakova, wraps an arm around him. Oleg? Yes, my Irushka. What happens now with us?
Lelin wonders if he can avoid the question. He knew it would come, eventually, nothing. Teplyakova sits up in bed and stares at him, the hurt and confusion clear on her face. "What do you mean?" "One day I will be found out and probably executed. The best thing for you is to go back to Moscow with your husband. Pretend you never knew me." Teplyakova stares at Lelin with wide, terrified eyes.
He knows she is only now facing up to the consequences of being blackmailed by MI5. "No, it cannot end that way. The only other option is to stay here." Leland watches her. He knows MI5 will have bugged every room in this flat, but she doesn't. And defection is a shocking idea for her. "But my family, my son, I would never see him again." "Yes,
Why can't we go back to Moscow? We could get divorced and marry. Even if I was never found out. The KGB disapproves of divorce. I'd end up in some desk job, earning a pittance. Here we could have a good life. We could be together. Free. Free. They would hunt us. We would always be looking over our shoulder. Lelin shrugs. There are no good options. This is a nightmare. Tepelyakova buries her head in her hands. They...
We have each other now. Let's live for today. Kensington Palace Gardens, London. In a small office inside the Soviet embassy, a KGB counterintelligence officer looks up from the documents on his desk. He's been sent by Moscow to investigate multiple concerns about Oleg Lelin. Come in.
An anxious-looking member of the Soviet trade delegation enters. You wanted to see me, comrade? Yes. Please, sit down. Don't be nervous. I just have a few questions about comrade Lelen. Tell me, what do you think of him? The trade delegate tries to divine what the KGB investigator wants to hear. He seems to work hard. I don't know him that well. The investigator stares into the man's eyes. But...
That is not true, is it? You work in the same office. You have gone for drinks together. Are you holding something back? No, no, I just meant we are very different people. I do not like Western living like he does. The KGB investigator nods approvingly. Go on.
The KGB investigator begins making extensive notes as the trade delegate gushes forth with as much incriminating evidence as he can think of And with every stroke of his pen, his concerns about Lelynn mount Early August 1971, the Foreign Office, London In his office, Foreign Secretary Sir Alec Douglas Hume hands a folded up letter over to the Soviet ambassador
The Ambassador gives the letter a wary look. "What is this?" Sir Alec gives the Ambassador a stern look. "What is our second formal request for the USSR to dramatically reduce the number of intelligence officers stationed in Britain? It is to be given to your Foreign Minister, Mr Gromyko, as soon as possible." The Ambassador reads through the letter, then slips it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "It is a shame we are reverting again to this subject."
It would be better to take a more positive attitude to our relations. I would be delighted to, but until this problem is resolved, I regret that we cannot. I have no knowledge of these claims. My staff have clear instructions not to take part in the kind of activities you mention, but I will deliver your letter." As the Soviet ambassador leaves, Sir Alec knows the Soviets probably won't reply to this letter either, but the British government must keep the moral high ground.
For if the Soviets react badly to its spies being expelled, Cold War tensions could rise to boiling point again. And he will need every bit of leverage to persuade Britain's NATO allies that its move against the Soviets is justified.
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August 1971, MI5 headquarters, Curzon Street, London. In his office, MI5 Director General Sir Martin Furnival Jones raises a concerned eyebrow at Leland's bearded case officer, Tony Brooks. "A KGB internal investigator?" Brooks gives a solemn nod. "Yes. Moscow sent him." "Do they suspect Leland's working for us?" "Leland thinks it's his wife making trouble."
She suspects he's having an affair and she's angry enough that she's packed her bags and returned to Moscow. Hmm. Either way, it's a concern. Lelins suggested we expel him. He could then head home with a feather in his cap and patch things up with his wife. He says he'd continue as an agent in place for us there. What do you think? I don't like the idea. It could be a ploy. Once he's back in Russia, he could turn triple agent on us. But even if he doesn't, the pressure's getting to him.
It would be ten times worse in Moscow. He's drinking more, getting worse each session, and his affairs are becoming more indiscreet. Do you think he could hold it together for another three or four months? If he defects or gets exposed now, it could derail Operation Foot. Brooks thinks for a moment. He's under pressure to gather more intelligence about our defensive capabilities. What if we supply him with a bogus agent in the Ministry of Defense to run?
It would improve his standing within the KGB and give them a strong reason to keep him in London. Not a bad idea. We'd need to put together some intel for Leland that the Soviets can verify. And it will take a few weeks, but I'll make some calls. Brooks stands to leave, but he still worries about how much time they have. Leland is starting to crack under the pressure. And he knows from experience that when things go wrong, they go wrong fast. The Lubyanka, Moscow.
The counterintelligence officer investigating Leland hurries towards the entrance of the KGB's imposing headquarters. An immense granite hammer and sickle looms over the doorway. He hands over his credentials to the guard at the door. The guard slowly checks the document. The KGB officer only arrived back from London yesterday, but he's already filed his report on Leland. Now, his boss wants to see him. The guard nods and silently ushers him through the doorway.
He strides through the busy corridors, proud to be part of this huge organization that works to keep Mother Russia safe. He makes his way to Directorate K, the KGB's counterintelligence department. Enter! The KGB investigator stands, waiting for an invitation to sit. His boss opens the report on Leland that's on the table in front of him. You think Comrade Leland is a security risk? Yes. He drinks excessively.
Spends outrageously and is having multiple affairs. Not just with English women of use to us, but with wives of other KGB officers. The investigator realizes the invitation to sit isn't coming, and that's not a good sign. His boss frowns. Comrade Varonin, head of the London residency, writes in glowing terms of Comrade Leland's work. He mentions none of these concerns.
How do you explain this? I can only conclude that Comrade Voronin has chosen not to report these activities. Are you saying Comrade Voronin is corrupt? Um, I cannot comment. This is a most serious allegation against an officer who is highly thought of by Comrade Andropov. The KGB investigator perfectly understands the meaning of the last remark. Comrade Andropov is the head of the KGB,
and he's not a man to cross. The KGB investigator backs down fast. I do not think Comrade Varonin is corrupt. Then you are guilty of denigrating a brother officer with this report. I am sorry, Comrade. I made a mistake. The investigator's boss looks satisfied. He closes the file and puts it in the tray where reports go to be filed away and forgotten. August 27th, 1971. West London.
In the MI5 safe house in Fulham, Oleg Lelin opens another can of beer. Lelin's case officer, Tony Brooks, sweeps the pile of empty cans off the table and into a bin bag. Brooks pauses and stares at Lelin. Lelin looks back at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" "I'm wondering how you're holding up." "What do you mean?" "Oh, come on. This profession we do?"
Takes his toll. "And here you are, caught between the KGB and MI5. Trade delegate and spy. Irina and your wife? It's a lot." Leland scowls and takes a swig of beer instead of answering. Brooks presses him again. "And what about Irina? Can we trust her?" Leland stares at the beer can in his hand. "She loves me, you know." "Do you love her?" "I love women. There is another, an English woman."
She's married too. But Irina... she's different. Maybe I do love her. She trusts me to do the right thing. Her mistake. Why is that? Leland looks at Brooks with disbelief. I am a traitor to my country. Maybe. But you've told me yourself how corrupt everything is in Russia and the KGB. Serving such a regime can't be right. So I should feel proud of destroying the lives of everyone I know? Irina? My son? My wife?
Everyone who knows me. They will all suffer because of me. Brooks watches Leland down the rest of his pier. He can see Leland is fragmenting, losing himself as he tries to maintain the multiple fictions in his life. Brooks just hopes he can hold it together long enough to safeguard Operation Foot. August 30th, 1971. Just before 1am. Oleg Leland and Irina Tablyakova stumble out of the Celebrity Club in London's West End.
They weave past other late-night revelers who are crowding the narrow pavement. They turn a corner into the deserted side road where Leland's Hillman Minx is parked. Leland fumbles as he attempts to unlock the car. They climb clumsily into the car. Tabliakova, woozy with champagne, leans back against the bench seat and strokes Leland's shoulder as he drives. "Oh, Leke, are you okay to drive?" "I'm fine."
Shit. Shit, shit. What do we do?
Leland pulls over to the side of the road. He needs to think fast, but his brain's clouded with alcohol. You cannot be here, Irina. Go. Go find a cab home. I'm the driver. I'm the one in trouble. But go! Tabliakova opens the door and runs off into the night. Leland checks his wing mirror. In it, he sees the policeman walking towards the car. The policeman who will now arrest him and cause a scandal that will anger Moscow. Screw up his entire life.
and scuttle MI5's carefully laid plans. Leland takes a deep breath, but then he breaks into a smile. He might have screwed up, but he's already got a plan to get out of this mess. He just needs to convince MI5 to agree to it. Wondery Plus subscribers can binge full seasons of The Spy Who early and ad-free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. From Wondery...
This is the second episode in our series, The Spy Who Saved MI5. 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. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jafri.
Our show is produced by Vespucci, with writing and story editing by Yellow Ant for Wondery. For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by Judy Cooper and researched by Marina Watson. Karen Lowe is our story editor and our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producer is Thomas Currie and our sound designer is Ivor Manley. Matt Willis is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frizzin' Sink.
Wondery.