Script

It’s December 18th, 1959. 

Imagine this: Eduardo Diaz Silveti, a Mexican citizen, stands in the shadows of a 10-foot wooden fence, flicking a lighter compulsively. Eduardo is an ex-policeman and now works as a spy.

He takes a drag from his cigarette, the cherry slug illuminating his face, and watches as it drops to the ground. He’s inside his brother-in-law’s salvage yard. It’s average by Mexico City’s standards, if not a bit smaller than usual. But that works for his purposes tonight. 

The salvage yard is open so that he can see the cool winter sky above. A few minutes pass in silence, and Silveti gets nervous. He glances at his watch—every tick of the device pulsing in the quiet dark. But to Silveti, everything is frozen in time as he waits in anticipation. But finally, he hears the crunch of a truck’s tires crunching over gravel. 

A large truck comes into view from the gate, squeezing into the narrow alley. The back of the truck is covered in a white canvas. Silveti winces as he watches as it narrowly misses the wood fence before parking in the open yard. Suddenly, a half dozen men emerge out of the shadows and circle the truck. The driver jumps out. Like those surrounding the truck, he is dressed plainly – no uniform or insignia that might hint at their association. They could be anyone. But these are no ordinary men. 

They are Mexican intelligence and American CIA agents, and here, in the middle of the night in a wrecking yard in Mexico City, they are about to dismantle a piece of Soviet space technology right under the Soviets’ nose. 

This is the story of how a team of spies got their hands on the Soviet’s space secrets and attempted to change the course of history forever.

Hi, I'm MF Thomas, and welcome to My Dark Path. In every episode, we explore the conspiracies and the unexplained. Check us out on Youtube for full video episodes.  We’re also on X and Instagram. To share your thoughts, you can email me at explore@mydarkpath.com. I’d also like to thank our Patreon supporters. Check out our Patreon, where subscribers will have access to exclusive full episodes starting with our special miniseries, a My Dark Path tour of history, science, and the paranormal in Cold War Moscow that we call "Secrets of the Soviets."

Finally, thank you for listening and choosing to walk the Dark Paths of the world with me.  Let’s get started with the episode 68, Stealing Lunik.

Part I – A Race to the Stars

Before we step into the story, we need to put this night in the context of the Cold War. The launch of Sputnik 1brought the Space Race into focus when the Soviets launched the first artificial satellite on October 4th, 1957. By the time the sleek metal sphere made the front pages, it was clear that the United States was in for a huge wake-up call. Soviet advances in space now had a public symbol, and the United States was falling behind. 

Immediately following the Sputnik I launch, the US Defense Department responded to the outrage among Americans by accelerating funding of a US satellite project under the Explorer program. Most notably, the Sputnik Launch also led directly to creating an American organization– the National Aeronautics and Space Administration or NASA (1958).

But while the Americans were seemingly just getting started, Sputnik 2 took things further than Sputnik 1, and in November 1957, when the rocket launched into the stars with Laika, a dog – the first living being to orbit the Earth. Laika perished as planned, but it symbolized the direction of both the Soviet and American space programs – the plan to put people into space. And the success only furthered the American anxiety about falling behind.

By January 1958, the US was ready to launch its military-backed Explorer program, with Explorer 1 marking its first successful satellite launch.

But Soviet progress quickly overshadowed this launch. In 1959, the Soviets would continue their domination with the launch of Luna 1 (the first spacecraft to escape Earth's gravity in 1959) and Luna 2, which crash-landed on the Moon later that year—crash aside; this became the first earthly technology to interact with another celestial destination. In the west, Luna – the Russian word for moon – was translated to Lunik, a somewhat more exotic name.

US confidence spiraled as several moon missions failed to leave Earth's atmosphere. In the meantime, the Soviet Luna 3 Mission in October 1959 captured the first images of the far side of the Moon.

As 1959 ended, it was clear that America and the newly formed NASA was still lagging and falling even further behind the Soviets. President Kennedy's 1961 pledge to land a man on the Moon before the end of the 1960s was still 2 years away.  

And while the Space Race raged between the Americans and Soviets at Cape Canaveral and Baikonur and in engineering studios across the globe, the two adversaries were also competing on the public relations front in what might seem to be the most unlikely of venues – World's Fairs and Expos.

It's no secret that the US and USSR had arsenals of propaganda, from movies, newsreels to books, and art, created to spotlight their accomplishments in the Space War, but something as foreign as space demanded a more tangible sort of exhibition. 

Enter the World Expos! 

For the Soviets, these World Expos were “tours” designed to fuse the world of science and technology and demonstrate the superiority of communism. 

For the Americans, they became a smaller battlefield where they could highlight the benefits of freedom.

Both superpowers would face off at the World Expo 58, also known as the Brussels World Fair. The event would take place on April 17th, 1958, a large-scale event showcasing Belgium and 44 countries under the slogan, “a world for a better life for mankind.” Given that this was the first world expo since the end of World War II, the event was focused on limitless optimism and attempted to reflect Western society and confidence in a peaceful, prosperous future.

Despite this motto, however, the shadow of the Cold War nevertheless brewed overhead. At the Brussels expo, the Soviet Union and the United States faced off in a symbolic confrontation: on the Soviet side, they placed Sputnik at the center, demonstrating the success of the communist system. And on the American side, Madison Avenue-esque aesthetics demonstrating the American dream.

These world expos became the soil for such massive displays of US-Soviet rivalry. Through their demonstrations and impressive exhibits, the design and architecture of each pavilion often reflected those competing ideologies— for the USSR, collectivism, and grandeur, for the US– innovation and individual achievement.

And, with all of the technology on display from their adversary, both the US and USSR found the world expos to be fertile grounds for espionage. The Soviets bugged the American exhibition and even stole one of the refrigerators on display.

However, the most explosive display of conflict between the two rivals came at the 1959 expo in Moscow.

On a warm summer day in July 1959, a small crowd gathered in a model American home in Moscow’s Sokolniki Park, curious about the strange yet fascinating array of modern appliances showcased in the kitchen. This wasn’t just an ordinary exhibit—it was the centerpiece of the American National Exhibition, designed to demonstrate the technological and cultural superiority of the capitalist way of life. Amid the gleaming refrigerators, sleek dishwashers, and futuristic microwaves, two of the most powerful men in the world—US Vice President Richard Nixon and Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev—were about to engage in one of the most famous Cold War confrontations: the Kitchen Debate.

The exhibit featured a fully furnished suburban house meant to embody the American dream of domestic convenience. Every corner was meticulously crafted to demonstrate the abundance and prosperity afforded by capitalism. For the Americans, this was a stage to counteract Soviet propaganda, which portrayed the United States as a nation of economic disparity and exploitation. Nixon, himself, was there to promote the American vision.

Khrushchev, however, was unimpressed. “We have things like this in the Soviet Union,” he said dismissively as Nixon showed him the modern kitchen appliances. “These things are mere gadgets,” he continued, implying that the Soviet focus on industrial and scientific progress was far more important than the comforts of the individual home.

Nixon countered with confidence, his voice steady and firm. “In America, we don’t claim to have perfect houses, perfect cars, or perfect appliances,” he said, gesturing to the appliances in question. “But what we do have is a system that allows people to choose what they want, within a framework of freedom.”

Khrushchev, never one to back down, fired back with characteristic bravado. “Your capitalism may let people choose between appliances,” he scoffed, “but it also creates inequality and exploitation. Our system ensures that no one goes hungry or homeless. We’ll catch up to you—and surpass you—within the next decade.”

Their words grew sharper as they sparred, though their tones remained civil but with a clear undercurrent of hostility. Both nations broadcast the debate, captivating audiences and sparking endless analysis. To Americans, Nixon embodied the ingenuity and freedom of the capitalist system. To the Soviets, Khrushchev's defiance symbolized their determination to prove the superiority of socialism.

Amid the high-stakes geopolitical tensions of the Cold War, one leg of the race to the Moon would ultimately be played out in a small salvage yard in December of 1959.

Part 2

For a story so explosive, one would expect there to be more evidence and publications. But the CIA's website, forced to disclose the following via a FOIA, wrote:

1959 a Soviet exhibit of the USSR's industrial and economic achievements toured several countries. This exhibit included displays from Sputnik and the Lunik or Luna (Lunar) spacecraft—the Soviet's first lunar probe. CIA conducted a covert operation to access the Lunik display to learn more about the USSR's moon program. A team of CIA officers gained unrestricted access to the display for 24 hours, which turned out not to be a replica but a fully operational system comparable to the Lunik 2. The team disassembled the vehicle and photographed all the parts without removing it from its crate before putting everything back in its place, gaining invaluable intelligence on its design and capabilities. And the Soviets were none the wiser. Sound like something from a movie script? It really happened.

And, here is, to the best of our knowledge, how this incredible story played out.

Eduardo Diaz Silveti, who I introduced you to earlier, was the kind of guy who respected the law. He started as a policeman and worked his way up. By the time he was 30, he becomes part of the Federal Security Directorate, Mexico's secret police. That same year, Silveti finds himself walking into the US Embassy. He gets in the elevator. Pushes the button. The door closes—7th floor. The anticipation builds. Ding.

Winston Scott is the man waiting for him on the floor: by day, the first secretary of the US embassy, and by night, one of the CIA's most revered spymasters in Latin America. Scott is as seasoned as his peppered hair. He hails from Alabama, and his tendrils are everywhere. The word at the time was that even the President of Mexico, President Lopez Mateos, was one of his informants.

And so, Scott and Silveti sit down in the room, tentatively hearing each other out. Two conversations start taking place: one about the potential plan and the other about what it means. Silveti hesitates. He's no doubt thinking about the consequences. If the veil on this lifted, would his countrymen think he was a traitor? Silveti's reputation, his country's reputation, is on the line. Not to mention his other brother Alberto was a private secretary to the President. The fact that the President was likely in Scott's pocket was unknown to him. 

He sits and waits for Scott to speak again- to ask again. “If you don't do this, WWIII will start.” Okay, Silveti thinks. What does Scott have that he thinks they can pull this off?

Scott shares the reason for his confidence. The CIA had gotten their hands on a shipping manifest a few weeks prior to their meeting, detailing what was inside one of the crates headed for the exhibition in Mexico City. The description? 'Models of astronomic apparatus.' The dimensions of one crate, particularly, caught their attention—17 feet long and 8 feet wide – logically, it was the Luna 3. 

Additionally, the CIA had learned that all the exhibits were transported between cities by rail car under the watch of accompanying guards. However, the CIA identified a key vulnerability in how the items were transferred from the exhibition sites to the rail cars. The items were packed into unassuming crates and loaded onto trucks that drove them to the train station. This process lacked tight Soviet security oversight. Deliveries arrived at the train station at irregular intervals, and there was little coordination between the truck drivers and train personnel. Surprisingly, guards at the train station didn't even have a schedule of the deliveries to expect. This oversight in Soviet security gave the CIA with the opportunity to exploit.

For the CIA, this crate was a golden opportunity, maybe even the opportunity of a lifetime. All they needed were a few hours alone with it—just enough time to disassemble and photograph every inch – essentially gathering the intelligence to reset the balance of power in the Space Race. It's unknown how long the two talked – but however long it was, we know the meeting resulted in the execution of one of the most audacious acts of espionage in history.

Part 3 - The Big Event

November 21st, 1959—Mexico City.

There's a large garden in Mexico City called Bosque de Chapulteque--or Chapultepec Forest. It's not just large- it's the second largest city park in Latin America, stretching 1,700 square acres – about twice the size of Central Park in New York City. The top is centered on a rocky formation, like a hill, full of trees and vegetation. So many trees that are also known as the lungs of Mexico City. 

Deep in the Central Western part of the park is the Auditotio Nacional or National Auditorium. These days, it's used as a premiere concert venue. But on this night in 1959, it was the venue of choice for the Soviet Exhibition of Science, Technology, and Culture. Thousands of well-dressed citizens, government officials, and notable celebrities had come out to see the Soviet view of the future. This exhibition was no small thing. It was a carefully orchestrated showcase designed to impress, intimidate, and flaunt the Soviet Union's achievements on the world stage. Per Scott and Silveti's plan, here's what we know about the event.

It began, quite simply, with agents in plain clothes following the crate containing the Luna satellite out of an exhibition. Their casual attitude disguised their anxiety as they looked intently for signs of supplemental Soviet security. Surprisingly, despite their air-tight security during showings, no guards manifested, and it soon became clear that the unassuming box truck carrying a nondescript crate full of Soviet state secrets would be making its short trip to the train station utterly unaccompanied. They watched as the exhibition staff loaded the satellite onto the truck.

So, as the truck approached its turn-off toward the train station, the CIA pulled the vehicle over. Several agents escorted the truck driver to a nearby hotel where they would hold him for the duration of the operation. Another agent hopped in the driver’s seat and drove the truck into a nearby salvage yard that had been chosen specifically. It had high walls intended to hide the interior of the scrapyard from the neighbors – and would now be ideal for their purposes.   That evening would mark one of the most daring acts of espionage of the Cold War era, potentially kindling a conflict between the planet's two nuclear powers. Despite this, the best the CIA could muster at the time was little more than a carjacking and a local junkyard. Sometimes, it is the audacity that makes all the difference. 

Once behind the high walls of the salvage yard, CIA agents waited in the shadows, looking for some sign that the Soviets had detected their theft and were preparing an attack to recover their national treasure.

Once it seemed the coast was sufficiently clear, the CIA agents descended upon the truck and the 20-foot long, 11-foot wide, and 14-foot-deep crate. For their plan to work, it wasn't enough to disassemble and photograph  the satellite. They also had to put it back together, place it back inside the crate, and return it to the train by morning, to keep the Soviets from knowing anything had even taken place.

To their relief, the crate itself had been re-used a number of times, making it easy to open without leaving signs of tampering. However, with no hoists or equipment to hoist the rocket out of the crate, the CIA realized they'd have to do their work completely inside wooden crate. To avoid scuff marks and shoe prints, the agents removed their shoes, split into teams, climbing inside the massive box using rope ladders they hadbrought for the job, and started delicately removing hardware and panels to access to the secrets held within.

There Silveti and the spies had mere hours to dismantle the space technology. Every detail had to be meticulously checked. A roll of film was quickly exhausted and sent to a local agent to develop – ensuring that the camera is working. There would be no second chances. 

They would dismantle, examine, copy, and photograph every piece of equipment. 

Almost immediately, their plan hit a snag. The CIA agents found a small, plastic seal with a Soviet logo emblazoned on it. In order to get to the spacecraft, the seal would have to be broken, but doing so would almost certainly reveal their operation to Soviet authorities. Quickly, calls were made to CIA assets in the area, who assessed that they could replicate the seal and get their replacement to the salvage yard in time to re-assemble Lunik and get it back to the train station with a fake seal hiding their overnight work. 

With the seal removed, Lunik itself was pulled out,  disassembled, examined and photographed extensively. Although the engines had been removed, its mounts and tanks for fuel and the oxidizer remained intact, giving the CIA enough information to extrapolate the rocket’s engine size and payload capabilities. The intelligence gleaned wasn't only valuable from a design perspective but revealed the scope of the entire Soviet rocket program. For example, serial numbers stamped on components revealed the sites where the part had been manufactured. It was a significant intelligence victory for the United States, and it would shape plans and policies regarding America's space efforts for years to come.

But getting the information was only part of the job. Getting it back unnoticed would require a similar degree of execution and luck. 

The team has not had a wink of sleep. This was not a problem for Silveti, who was a bit of a party animal. He remembers thinking how strange it was that these life paths converge in the oddest of places. Sweat beads formed on Silveti's forehead.

Later, Silveti would recall, "'Parts of motors, interior components, scraping from the rocket fins, liquids they thought might have been leftover fuel, anything and everything that was of any consequence was stripped and taken.'" 

While the Soviets were distracted by booze, women, and dancing, the team of spies toiled over the spacecraft, meticulously extracting every piece of information they could. 

As the morning approached, CIA operatives working with hand tools, still clad in their socks, feverishly re-assembled Luna and its rocket housing. Then, they added the replica seal, removed their rope ladders, and re-secured the top of the crate. Finally, at 4 am, the planks are nailed back in place. By 5 am, the original driver was reunited with his truck and payload, and he delivered it to the train station in time to beat the first guard's arrival at 7 am. The driver remained silent – probably afraid for his life if he ever disclosed what had happened.

As the sun rose over the city that morning, the salvage yard grew quiet. One of the spies who were there that said that the job was so well done that there was "no indication the Soviets ever discovered that the Lunik was borrowed for a night." None of this was known to the public, of course. Silveti's meeting with Scott, the team's kidnapping in the middle of the night: even the results of their operation were undisclosed to those in the middle of it.

History became overshadowed by the pace of the Cold War with time. And for a while, no one seemed to care what was left in the redacted docket of history.

The words "Allegedly," "Claimed." "Redacted"  were thrown around after parts of the Lunik story came out nearly thirty years later. 

The narrative went something like, "A Mexican policeman turned rogue spy, thrust into the high stakes world of Cold War espionage." The Federal government and NASA denied any knowledge of the incident. Mexican officials also denied knowledge of the theft. The CIA had no comment. As for Silveti, well, he had remained silent about the incident for 28 years. When he was living in Texas in 1987, bits of the story came to light. Now, he was ready to talk.

According to Silveti, 'it is time the people of the United States and Mexico realize the boost the American space program got from this hijacking.' 

Silveti envisioned a book—a tell-all that would untangle the web of deceit and intrigue surrounding his years as a spy during the Cold War. He cast himself, perhaps a bit understandably, as a James Bond character, traversing the underbelly of espionage and state secrets. So, when author Francisco Perea started writing his book, Sequestro, or Hijack, in the mid-1980s, he found himself again convinced to go along with it. But things didn't exactly go as planned. Silveti clashed with the writer again and again. He claimed the book misrepresented his role in the mission—what he saw as a thrilling moment of Cold War bravery was tarnished by inaccuracies and sensationalism. The manuscript was published in 1987 but without Silveti's blessing. I searched all over for the book – only finding a copy in Spanish in the Library of Congress, which I could copy during a visit in 2024.

By that point, Silveti was resolute in his opinion that no one could get the story right. And so, the CIA’s hijacking of Lunik has only a few scraps of public documentation - a cryptic statement on the CIA’s website, a fictionalized book, and a few published articles.

Silveti and the CIA team pulled off a covert operation in a single night, dismantling a piece of Soviet space technology under the USSR's noses. 

This event makes me wonder - how many acts of espionage, still classified, changed the course of the Cold War? And what "Lunik"-like event is unfolding now in total darkness, and how many years will it take before we uncover even a fragment of the truth?

Thank you for listening to My Dark Path. I'm MF Thomas, creator and host, and I produce the show with our engineer and creative director, Dom Purdie.  Valentina Rojas prepared this story for us; big thank yous to each of them and the entire My Dark Path team.

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Again, thanks for walking the dark paths of the world with me. Until next time, good night.