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This episode contains a sectarian slur and depictions of alcoholism. Please be advised. 1972, Derry, Northern Ireland. Willie Carlin walks through the city centre, enjoying the summer sunshine. He's a lean, wiry Catholic with strawberry blonde hair.
and a sergeant in the British Army. Since enlisting in the army seven years ago, he's been stationed in Germany. But now, ahead of a transfer to Dorset, England, he's back in his home city, visiting family with his wife, Mary. But the Derry they knew is gone. Since they left, the long-simmering tensions between Northern Ireland's Protestant and Catholic communities have erupted into armed conflict.
The Protestants want the province to stay in the United Kingdom. The Catholics wanted to join with Ireland. So now, the British army patrols the streets. It's supposed to be here to stop the violence. But then, the government introduced internment, imprisonment without trial, to crack down on paramilitary groups like the IRA, which opposes British rule. Protests followed.
Then, a few months ago, less than half a mile from where Carlin's now walking, British troops opened fire on a march against internment. Fourteen unarmed protesters were killed. It's being called the Bloody Sunday Massacre. And those deaths have inflamed the already volatile situation. Three teenagers jostle Mary as they sprint past, not caring who they barge into. Carlin pulls Mary closer. Are you okay, love?
Aye, they're just kids. They shrug it off and turn the corner onto Carlisle Road. A bottle smashes at their feet. Up ahead, hundreds of youths are hurling bricks and bottles at a line of advancing British soldiers. The Carlins have walked into a riot. Carlin pulls Mary into a shop doorway as people stampede past them.
They crouched next to another couple, who were also cowering in terror. Among the rioters, Carlin sees the three teenagers who barged past Mary. A petrol bomb smashes near the British troops. The soldiers raise their rifles. The crack of gunfire fills the air. Mary turns to Carlin. How are we going to get out of here? It's all right, love. It's all right. If we can get to those soldiers, they'll look after us.
The other couple sheltering with them make a break for it and run towards the British soldiers. But instead of helping them, the soldiers raise their batons and beat the couple to the ground. Carlin sees red. He grabs Mary's hand and storms towards the army's position, pulling her with him. He approaches the young soldier and holds up his military ID.
I am Sergeant William Carlin of the Queen's Royal Irish Hussars. What the hell are you lot playing at, hitting that woman? They're civilians, not rioters. You're supposed to be helping them. What is your name and serial number? But instead of replying, the soldier screws his face up in anger and smashes Carlin across the head with his baton. Carlin crashes to the ground, bleeding. But the pain of the blow is drowned out by the shock. The shock of being attacked by a fellow British soldier.
As Mary pulls him to safety, he realizes that as an Irish Catholic and a British soldier, he's now an outsider in his own homeland. A homeland where hatred now rules.
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It's a dark, dangerous world, full of shadowy corners, sinister motives and corrupted morals. A place of paranoia and infiltration, sabotage and manipulation. In this season, we head into the Northern Ireland conflict, also known as the Troubles. It was a struggle between Protestant loyalists who supported British rule and Catholic Republicans who wanted to end it.
For 30 years, paramilitary groups from both sides murdered, maimed and bombed, while British intelligence waged a dirty war in the shadows to restore order and keep the province in the United Kingdom. And one of the most unlikely foot soldiers in this covert war was Willie Carlin. He was a Derry Catholic who wanted Northern Ireland to leave the UK through peaceful means, but he was also a British spy.
who infiltrated the Irish Republican movement in the hope of steering it away from violence. A quick note to listeners. In this season, when we refer to the IRA, we mean the Provisional IRA, which was the main paramilitary group using that name during the Troubles. You're listening to The Spy Who Sold Peace to the IRA, Episode 1, The Divided Land. January 1974, two years on from Bloody Sunday.
Bovington camp, a British army base in Dorset, southwest England. Willie Carlin sits across from his commanding officer, Colonel Green. He's just put in his papers to leave the army, and Colonel Green has called him in for a special meeting. We'll be sorry to lose you, Carlin. You've got discipline and grit, an example to the other men. The regiment needs good soldiers. You know, you'd have a bright future here, a good career if you'd reconsider.
Carlin smiles in spite of himself at the praise, then snaps back to military discipline, straightening his back in the chair. Thank you, sir. You know I'm loyal to the regiment. It's just Mary, my wife. She's pregnant and wants to be near the family, especially after... Carlin falls silent. Last year, he and Mary lost their baby daughter Sharon to cot death. Even now, Carlin can't quite bring himself to speak about it.
Colonel Green looks on sympathetically. "I know it's been a difficult time for your family. I understand. So you'll be going back to Derry?" Karlyn hesitates. "It's Mary, not him, who wants to go back. He likes being a soldier. He'd prefer to stay and move up the ranks, but Mary's desperate to be with their families." "Well, that's the plan, sir. Are you sure it'll be entirely safe for you?"
The IRA have threatened to kill British soldiers. Well, I was worried about that too, sir, but my sister Dorian has asked around a bit and it seems so long as I have my discharge papers, we'll be left alone. Green looks unconvinced. I'll tell you what. Captain Thorpe has connections with the Intelligence Corps. Why don't I have a word? He could make some inquiries as well, just to make sure it will be safe. Carlin smiles.
Maybe Captain Thorpe can give him a reason to tell Mary they can't go back after all. I don't think it's necessary, but that would be very kind, sir. Thank you very much. A few weeks later, Dorset, England. Carlin stands with Captain Thorpe outside Cloud's Hill, a small white cottage set amidst rolling green hills. It was once the home of T.E. Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia. But Thorpe hasn't driven him here for its history.
but because it's an isolated spot where they won't attract attention. Thorpe turns to Carlin. "Thanks for taking this meeting. When Colonel Green told me to ask around about you returning to Derry, my friend was extremely keen to speak to you." A black Mercedes pulls up. A man wearing an expensive-looking suit steps out. He nods at Thorpe, but then looks straight at Carlin. "Sergeant Carlin, my name's Alan. Pleasure to meet you. Shall we take a walk?"
Carlin glances at Thorpe, who gives a nod of approval. Carlin follows the man. "What's this about, sir?" "No need to call me sir. I'm not from the army." "Oh, where are you from then?" Alan checks that they're out of Thorpe's earshot before replying. "My organization is undertaking a project in Northern Ireland, and we think you might be a good fit." Carlin gives a look of incomprehension.
Alan continues. Our estimation is that the troubles are about to get worse, with more rioting and division. Ever since Bloody Sunday, the IRA's been getting more recruits than the British Infantry Corps. We need someone inside the Republican movement to help us understand what is going on. You want me to join the IRA? Actually, no. No, not at all. We'd want you to stay away from any paramilitary forces. That's more the Army's concern.
Our interest is in the politics of the troubles. How am I supposed to find out about that? Get involved with community work. Help people out with their benefits or electricity supply, that sort of thing. Become someone everyone in your community trusts. We especially need eyes on Sinn Fein. Sinn Fein is an Irish party, widely regarded as the political wing of the IRA. Though the two organizations are officially separate,
There's a porous boundary between its membership and the paramilitaries carrying out shootings and bomb attacks. Look, sorry, Alan. I think you've got the wrong idea. I'm just an ex-sergeant. I don't know anything about this sort of stuff. No, you're not just an ex-sergeant. You're from a Catholic family in Londonderry. This is your community. You had a relative shot dead by British troops. You'd have every reason to be a Republican. No one would question it. But I'm not a Republican. I don't support armed struggle.
Yes, but my point is, no one would be surprised if you did. That's why there's an opportunity for you to help. You have to understand that for us, finding a Derry Catholic who's also a loyal British soldier is incredibly rare. You're a unique individual. Your service doesn't have to end. We will look after you. Sorry, when you say we, who exactly do you work for? Alan doesn't answer. Instead, he hands Carlin a business card.
Look, if you're interested, this is the number to call. With that, Alan heads back to the cottage, gets back in his Mercedes and drives away. Captain Thorpe approaches. How'd they go? I don't know. Either I'm being set up for some sort of blackmail or this is a major wind-up. Listen, Carlin, Alan's come straight from London.
It's April 1974.
Carlin and Mary are driving back home to Derry. Their four-year-old son, Mark, watches the springtime countryside pass from the back seat. Mary is in the front passenger seat, cradling their newborn son. They pass a sign pointing to Londonderry, the British name for the city. But someone scratched out London so that only Derry, the city's Irish name, remains.
As Carlin drives into the city, graffitied on a wall in huge letters are the words IRA rules. Informers will be shot. Mary notices Carlin shake his head and places a reassuring hand on his arm. It'll be alright. Remember what Doreen says. We'll be fine. You'll find a good job and we'll be near family. We're doing the right thing, Willie. Carlin gives her a smile.
But what she doesn't know is he's already got a job. Before leaving England, Carlin accepted Alan's offer. He's now an MI5 agent, tasked with keeping tabs on the Irish Republican movement. The car passes the barricades that separate the Catholic and Protestant sides of the city. Barricades that didn't exist when they were growing up.
On a nearby wall, someone has scrawled the words "Kill All Tags", a Protestant slur for Northern Irish Catholics. The Carlins pull up to their new home, a semi-detached pebble-dashed house on a suburban estate. It's in the Gobner Scale neighbourhood, where their extended families live, a small Catholic enclave on the Protestant side of town and a frequent flashpoint in the Troubles.
Carlin carries their luggage into the house. In the distance, he can hear another riot is underway. Carlin looks over at his wife and sons and tries to ignore how his new job endangers them all. Instead, he reminds himself that he's a soldier working undercover to restore peace to his troubled hometown. It's a few weeks later and the Carlins are beginning to settle into their new home.
But their peace is suddenly interrupted by a frantic banging on the front door. Carlin jumps up to answer it. Standing in his doorway is a neighbor, breathless with panic. "Willy, you better come. The RUC are searching your Ma's house." Carlin grabs his coat and races out of the house. The RUC, or Royal Ulster Constabulary, is Northern Ireland's heavily militarized and overwhelmingly Protestant police force. And it's infamous for its heavy-handed brutality.
Carlin sprints across the estate and sees his parents' house in the distance. Armed IUC officers are already leaving with the sniffer dog in tow. As Carlin runs up, he sees his father berating the officers. You've wrecked our bloody house! Your stinking dog pissed all over our landing! I was a soldier too, you know! One of the IUC officers smirks coldly at Carlin's father. Yeah, yeah. Fed out a compensation form.
Inside the house, Carlin is confronted by a scene of utter devastation. The IUC men have torn the house apart, smashing furniture and emptying cupboards onto the floor. His father's British military medals have been disrespectfully thrown out of the window. Carlin feels a deep rage within him as he follows his sister Doreen upstairs to help clean up the mess. But as he crouches to pick up a broken picture frame, Doreen starts laughing to herself.
What's so bloody funny? Those stupid bastards will have to be up a lot earlier to catch me. And they'll need a better bloody sniffer dog. Doreen grins as she empties a box of talcum powder, and two 9mm bullets fall into her hands. She holds them out triumphantly. Doreen, what the hell are you doing with those? I'm in the women's IRA, Willie. We all have to do our bit, you know. What were you thinking?
If the RUC found those bullets, Mammy and Daddy would go to prison. Carlin feels fury at his sister's recklessness, but he also can't help but admire her confidence in the face of danger. But as the MI5 spy and his IRA sister stare at each other, Carlin realizes that the people he's promised to inform on aren't just abstract Republicans. They're his next-door neighbor and even his own family.
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February 1977, Derry, Northern Ireland. Jeffrey Agate is driving home after a long day at work. He's the American boss of the city's DuPont chemical plant, a major local employer. Agate pulls into the driveway of his house in Talbot Park, an area of the city with large, spacious homes and leafy gardens. He can see the lights glowing inside his house and imagines his wife already laying the table for dinner. He cuts the ignition and grabs his briefcase.
As he exits the car, a voice hisses from the darkness. "Mr. Taygate. Ayo, Mr. Taygate." Taygate turns and strains to see who is calling him. Two men step from the shadows, each wearing balaclavas. One raises a pistol until it is level with his temple. Later that same evening, at his home on the Gobner's Cairle estate, Carlin kneels on his living room floor and lifts up one of the floorboards.
He reaches inside and withdraws the tape recorder MI5 gave him. Carlin is one of the few people on the estate with a telephone line, so neighbors involved in the Republican movement often pop by to make calls. Calls which he duly records for his handlers. He changes the cassette tape in the machine before putting it back under the floorboard.
Colin then picks up his acoustic guitar and begins to strum a few chords. He earns extra money as the frontman of a country and western band that plays on the pub circuit, and he's currently working on a new song. I ain't been to Wichita But I walk the fields of West Armagh I ain't been to Wichita But I walk the fields of West Armagh Sometimes these roads
His practice session is interrupted by urgent knocking at the back door. Carlin swings it open to find one of his neighbors standing there, and beside him is a nervous-looking young man. "Willy, this young lad's been some bother. He was wandering around the estate looking for your Doreen, but she's not around. Can you take him in for a bit?" Carlin senses this must have something to do with the IRA, and simply nods him inside. The young man hurries into his kitchen as the neighbor leaves.
Carlin switches on the radio and puts the kettle on to make tea, then looks the man up and down. So what's your name, lad? People call me Shorty. At that moment, the radio news comes on. In breaking news, the American businessman Jeffrey Agate has been murdered tonight in Londonderry. In an apparent escalation of the IRA's terrorist campaign, the DuPont Chemicals executive was shot outside his home.
Shorty quickly flips off the radio. As the silence falls, Carlin and Shorty stare at each other. Carlin assumes his new guest must have been involved in Agate's murder, and he may now have an IRA killer hiding in his home. Later that week, Carlin walks with his MI5 handler, Andy, along the coastal path of Port Rush, a small town hours' drive from Derry.
Carlin is desperate for MI5 to help him get rid of Shorty. But Andy's not happy to hear his agent's now mixed up with the IRA. I thought we told you to stay away from the IRA. I didn't go looking for him. He showed up at my back door right after Jeffrey Agate was killed. I'm sure he was involved. Yeah. I suppose you didn't have much choice but to take him in. Hmm. Well, maybe this could prove useful all the same. Has he said anything about why they murdered Agate?
Anything about communist sympathies? No. To be honest, he mainly just sits around the kitchen drinking. I can't work out why they even went after Agate. I mean, he's not a soldier. He wasn't even British. The IRA are being influenced by the Soviets. The Russians give them money and guns to draw them into the global communist struggle. Agate was an American businessman, so he was a target. Has this shorty mentioned anything about Martin McGuinness being involved?
Carlin's head snaps around at the name McGuinness. Martin McGuinness is reputed to be the head of the IRA's Northern Command, which has carried out numerous shootings and bombings in Northern Ireland. No, like I said, Shorty just sits around getting pissed all day and annoying my wife. Shouldn't you lot come and arrest him? Now you know where he is? Absolutely not. Then we'll blow your cover as an agent. Well, why don't you do a sweep of all the houses on the estate and make it look like you just got lucky? Will he?
"If the IUC finds this lad in your house, they will arrest you and Mary for harboring a terrorist." "There's nothing we can do for you on this without exposing you." "You're just gonna have to hope the IRA move him out before the IUC kick your door in." Carlin shakes his head in frustration. When he moved back to Derry and agreed to spy for MI5, he never imagined it would lead to him having to hide IRA fugitives.
Now, his only option is to play nice with the paramilitaries, despite the danger it puts his family in. A few days later, Carlin is in his kitchen with Mary and Shorty, surrounded by empty beer cans. Shorty has been drinking heavily. Mary reaches into her pocket and slides a small card across the table towards Shorty. Here, this is for you. What's that then? It's St. Joseph's Prayer. It'll protect you from all enemies and harm. What?
Shorty cuts Mary off with a contemptuous laugh. He stands up, grabs a bottle of bleach from the kitchen counter and slams it down in front of her. Oh yeah, drink this bleach then and see how well bloody St. Joseph protects you. Mary runs out of the room, fighting back tears. Shorty stands and strides aggressively towards the back door, grabbing his coat. Carlin seizes his shoulder. Where the hell do you think you're going? I'm going out for a bloody drink. Get your hand off me.
Carlin snaps. He grips Shorty by the throat and pins him against the wall. You listen to me, you wee bastard. Every copper, soldier and informant in Derry is out hunting you for killing that American. And if they find out you were here, it'll be me in trouble. So stay inside and keep your mouth shut. And if you talk to my wife like that again, I'll knock your teeth out. Carlin releases Shorty, who stomps to the foot of the stairs, then glares back at Carlin. I'll have you shot for that.
You know where my orders come from, right from the top. You best watch yourself. Shorty storms upstairs, leaving Carlin to frantically weigh his options. He knows Shorty is a loose cannon who could bring the RUC down on his family, but MI5 can't help. So that leaves Carlin with just one option. He's going to have to ignore MI5's warnings not to get involved with the IRA and seek help from the one man who can resolve this situation.
Martin McGuinness, the most dangerous man in Derry.
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It's the day after his argument with Shorty, and Carlin knows that McGuinness is the only person he can turn to. He steals himself and knocks on the door. The door swings open to reveal McGuinness. He's standing with dark bags under his eyes, and his curly, straw-blonde hair is in a mess. In one arm, he's carrying a baby, and he's got a pink nappy pin clenched between his teeth. This is not what Carlin expected.
Caught off guard, he stammers out his carefully prepared greeting. Mr. McGinnis, I'm Willie Carlin. My sister Doreen said I should come by. Thanks for agreeing to see me. McGinnis simply nods Carlin inside, leading him into the living room. The two sit across from each other. McGinnis eyes Carlin as he bounces his squirming baby. Carlin.
"'You're not related to John Carlin, are you?' "'Uh, no, no, no relation.' "'Ah, so you're not with Sinn Féin, then? Well, what can I do for you?' "'Well, see, Mr. McGuinness, this lad, uh, this shorty, he's been laying low at our house since the, uh, incident.' "'And you want rid of him, do you?' Carlin knows he has to balance what he says next very carefully.'
He can't appear to be uncooperative with IRA demands, but he also needs Shorty out of his house. Well, obviously I'm keen to help and I wouldn't want him going anywhere if he wasn't safe. It's just he's drinking a lot and has been shouting at my wife Mary. Go on. And the other night he was pissed and wanted to go off to the pub when I told him he was meant to be here keeping his head down. Well, he threatened to have me shot. Oh, he did, did he?
Listen, you leave this with me, Willy. We'll take care of it. And you tell Shorty that if he leaves the house or rows with your missus again, he'll have me to answer to. Thanks, Mr. McGuinness. I really appreciate that. We appreciate what you're doing in supporting the cause. You did the right thing in coming to see me. Carlin leaves the house and feels a deep surge of relief, coupled with a huge rush of adrenaline. Facing McGuinness would terrify anyone in Northern Ireland.
But Carlin's an MI5 spy, and that makes it doubly terrifying. But he faced the man and survived, and he finds the rush of that deception incredibly exciting. But as he walks away, Carlin wonders what exactly McGuinness meant when he promised to take care of the situation. That evening, Carlin and Mary are in their living room, watching TV when there's a knock on the door. Carlin heads over and glances at Shorty as he passes.
As usual, Shorty's sitting at the kitchen table with a beer in hand. Carlin opens the door to find two stocky men. "We're here for Shorty." "Hi, he's in the kitchen." Carlin steps aside to let the men enter. They head into the kitchen where Shorty is opening yet another can of beer. They close the door behind them. Carlin and Mary wait in the living room, straining to hear the muffled conversations next door.
The kitchen door opens and a pale, timid-looking Shorty emerges. "Uh, Mrs. Carlin, I just wanted to say sorry for last night. It was the drink talking, you know. I do appreciate what you said. Maybe I could keep that prayer you offered." Mary smiles and presses the St. Joseph's Prayer into Shorty's hands. Shorty then looks at Carlin. "Thank you for taking me in, Mr. Carlin. I'm sorry for all the hassle I caused." "That's alright, lad. Not to worry." The two men lead Shorty out into the night.
Carlin returns to his living room, sits down next to a clearly relieved Mary, and takes her hand as they turn back to the television's comforting glow. Three years later, 1980, County Antrim, Northern Ireland. Carlin sips his whiskey and watches as his new MI5 handler, Ben, does the same. There in the Londonderry Arms, a pub in the coastal village of Carnloch, about an hour and a half's drive east of Derry.
MI5 has a safe house nearby, but Ben prefers to meet in pubs and hotel bars. And that puts Carlin on edge. He'd rather deliver his regular updates in private, where no one can overhear them. Ben raises his double whiskey again. "Slanthay!" Carlin raises an eyebrow at Ben's use of the traditional Irish toast. It's not what he'd expect from a British intelligence officer.
Ben catches the glance and grins. Come on, Willie, we're in Rome and all that. Carlin smiles and sips his whiskey. Ben drains his in one swig and continues, already a little tipsy. Besides, I'm a Catholic too. Almost became a priest. Yeah, me too, when I was a lad before I joined the army. Well, there you go. Two good Catholic altar boys doing this kind of work out here.
That deserves another round. Carlin shifts in his seat, uneasy at Ben's referencing of their work in a public place, no matter how coded. Nah, thanks, I'm alright. Ah, come on, Willie, it's on me. Carlin watches Ben walk to the bar, with a slight unsteadiness in his step. Ben orders two more double whiskeys and an extra shot for himself that he downs at the bar, before returning to their table. Honestly, Willie, if I was living out here, I'd probably be a nationalist too. You know...
I'd love to get an hour to have a chat with Martin McGuinness. I've got things I want to say to him. Garland stays silent, unsure if Ben is just tipsy and being indiscreet, or if this is some kind of test. Either way, the loose talk is making him deeply uncomfortable. But Ben's completely oblivious. Take the RUC, right? They act like idiots tearing up people's houses. All they're doing is making our job harder. Then, without warning...
Ben lunges across the table, grabs Carlin's whiskey and downs it himself. Then with a wild look in his eye, Ben starts banging the table in rhythm and breaks into song.
Hooray!
I'm an outlawed referee. Carlin stares in horror. This is a well-known rebel song about the Irish guerrillas who fought British rule in the 17th century. Carlin sees heads turning from the other side of the bar. Ben is drawing far too much attention. He grabs Ben by the shoulder. You can't sing that in here. Shut your bloody mouth. Ben stops singing and drains the last dregs of his drink as his head lolls back in a stupor.
Carlin grimaces. He depends on Ben with his life, and it's clear that Ben has a serious drinking problem. It's a few weeks later, and Carlin is driving through Derry at night. His windscreen wipers beat against the rain as he speeds through the streets, eager to get home. But then, he spots a familiar car pulled up by the side of the road. It's Ben's car, and it's parked up just a few doors down from Martin McGuinness's house. Carlin wheels his car around.
and parks further up the street, then runs back to Ben's car and bangs on the driver's side window. Ben winds it down and fixes Carlin with a drunken squint. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Oh, Willy." "Hi." "I'm, uh..." "I'm waiting for McGuinness." Carlin can smell the booze on Ben's breath. He knows it's only a matter of time before some IRA member notices the drunk Englishman lurking in a car outside McGuinness's house.
Ben, you've got to get out of here now. You're sticking out like a bloody sore thumb. Ben gives him a blank, groggy stare, and then seems to absorb the urgency in Carlin's voice. Yeah, yeah, alright. Ben starts his engine and drives away, but for Carlin, this has gone too far. Ben's drinking is out of control and too serious to ignore. He needs to get rid of him before he gets them both killed.
It's November 1980, and Carlin's walking along a lake on the outskirts of Enniskillen, 60 miles south of Derry. With him is Alan, the senior MI5 officer who first recruited him in Dorset. Alan's flown in from London specifically to discuss Carlin's worries about Ben. Alan, I'm doing the best I can, but this new guy Ben, he's got a serious problem with drink. He's going to put us all at risk.
Alan pauses, considering how best to allay Carlin's concerns. Look, Willie, you've been doing this for six years now. You're used to operating under pressure. Ben's new. For him, Northern Ireland is a frightening place. He's experienced some bad things since coming here. Give him time. He'll adapt. If he's so scared, why is he taking insane risks like parking up outside Martin bloody McGuinness' house? Just that alone could have got both him and me killed. I'll have to look into that.
But I have to tell you, Willie, all our lads out here take a tipple or two with lunch. It just goes with the territory. Alan stops walking and turns to Carlin to emphasize his words. Willie, the work you're doing here, the information you're giving us about what the Republican movement is up to in Londonderry is absolutely vital. We're not going to do anything that puts you at risk. Let me have a word with Ben. I'll see what I can do, all right? Carlin nods.
But inside, he is deeply disturbed at how lightly Alan seems to be treating this. Ben is a ticking time bomb, and Carlin fears that if he doesn't get away from him soon, it won't be long before the IRA put a bullet in his head.
From Wondery, this is the first episode in our series, The Spy Who Sold Peace to the IRA. 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've used various sources to make this series, including Thatcher's Spy by Willie Carlin and Agents of Influence by Aaron Edwards. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Raza Jafri. Our show is produced by Vespucci and written by Yellow Ant for Wondery. For Yellow Ant, this episode was written by J.S. Raffaele. Story edited by Karen Lowe and researched by Marina Watson.
The song Six Counties, One Heart was written and performed by J.S. Raffaele. Our managing producer is Jay Priest. For Vespucci, our senior producers are Natalia Rodriguez and Philippa Gearing. Our sound designer is Ivor Manley. Thomas Currie is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Frizz and Sink. Executive producers for Vespucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turkin.
Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan. Our managing producer for Wondery is Rachel Sibley. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Chris Bourne, Morgan Jones and Marshall Louis. Wondery.
