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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. December 1980, Limavady, Northern Ireland. Carlin parks his car and walks around the back of the MI5 safe house. He opens the back door and sees his handler, Ben, sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him.
It's 11am, but the whisky bottle on the table is already open and half empty. Ben eyes Carlin suspiciously. "Hello, Willy. Get ever a drink?" "I'm fine, thank you." As Carlin sits down, Ben pours himself two fingers of whisky. A few days ago, Carlin told MI5 he's done working with them. He doesn't trust Ben. So he's here to collect what he's owed and end his spy career.
But Ben doesn't look happy about it. So, um, you gonna tell me why you're resigning? It's been six years, Ben. It's a lot of pressure and, uh, I'm not convinced that the information I'm collecting outweighs the risk to myself and my family. Ben gives a look that makes it clear he knows Carlin's being partial with the truth.
Well, if that's really the case, who am I to stop you? But I feel duty-bound to remind you that you have gotten very close to the Irish Republican movement. You can't just stop that overnight. People in your community will ask questions if you do. I know, I'll drift away slowly. I've got a young family and I'm out a lot with my band. People will understand if I say I need more time at home with Mary and the children. Ben bends down to scoop a plastic bag off the floor.
He slaps it down on the table and shoves it towards Carlin. "Very well. This is the money that we owe to you." Carlin opens the bag and looks at the bundle of banknotes inside. "How much is this?" "Two and a half thousand pounds." Carlin wraps the bag around the notes. The amount only confirms his decision to leave. He's been putting his neck on the line for MI5. And all for a few thousand pounds.
Carlin stands up. So I guess this is goodbye, Ben. Carlin puts his hand out to shake Ben's. But Ben just pours himself another drink. Carlin ignores the slight and heads for the door without another word. But Ben calls after him. You know, Willie, as soon as you walk out of that door, you will become just another Catholic living on the water side, surrounded by Protestants who hate you. I... we...
Won't be around to look out for you anymore." Karlin looks back at Ben and the now almost empty whiskey bottle. He looks at his watch. It's 11:30. "I'll take my chances." Karlin walks to his car and glances in the direction of the gorge which gave Limvadi its name. It means the dog's leap, and the story goes that in ancient times a faithful dog leapt over the gorge to warn its master of the approaching enemy.
Carlin gets into his car, feeling relieved to be rid of his wayward MI5 handler. But he's not safe and sound yet. He spent years ingratiating himself with the Republican movement, and he's got no exit plan.
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From Wondery, I'm Raza Jafri, and this is The Spy Who. In the last episode, Willie Carlin quit the British Army and returned to his hometown, Derry, with his wife and two kids. But unknown to his family and his fellow Catholics, he already had a new job as a spy for MI5. Now, after six years of spying on his community, Carlin's quit to escape his wayward handler, Ben.
But while he no longer works for the British, he still needs to untangle himself from the Irish Republican movement. This is The Spy Who Sold Peace to the IRA, Episode 2. Balance, not bullets. April 7th, 1981. Derry. Carlin is in the front room of his mother's home on the Gobnerscale Estate, a Catholic enclave in the mainly Protestant waterside area of the city.
His mother pulls the curtains wider to let in the weak spring sunshine and smiles at her lad. "What'll I be getting you to drink, Willy? I could murder a cup of tea." His mother frowns. It's a common enough expression, but since the troubles began, she takes care never to use it. "Willy, you know I don't like that phrase. Not in times like these, when we've got a paramilitary man standing for Parliament." Karlin looks away.
There's an upcoming by-election and IRA member Bobby Sands is standing, despite being in prison. He's serving 14 years after being caught with a gun near the scene of an IRA bombing. But now, he and several other IRA convicts are on a hunger strike in response to the British government's decision to stop treating them as political prisoners. And the protests made Sands a hero to those wanting an end to British rule.
His support is now so strong that many believe he could win the by-election. The SDLP, the leading political party among Northern Ireland's Catholics, has even stood aside to give Sands a clear shot at victory, despite its opposition to the IRA. Carlin looks at his mother. "'Mammy, I know you aren't comfortable with the armed struggle, but Bobby's got a real chance to win. It'd be a big deal if he does. The British government would have to listen to the likes of us then.'
but his mother's not listening something outside the window has caught her attention he follows her gaze and sees a smartly dressed woman who appears distressed his mother's already at the door inviting her in come in come in whatever's the matter come and sit down dear the woman is in her late 20s with fair hair and she's clutching a clipboard willy will you get this wee girl a cup of tea
Carlin makes a brew and notices the woman's trembling as she takes the cup from him. "Here you go, love. Why don't you tell us your name?" "Joanne Mathers." "What happened?" "I went to her house at the end of the street. The man there said he'd have me shot if I didn't leave the area. I think he meant it." Carlin glances at her clipboard. He realizes she's a census collector and a Protestant who strayed into the wrong part of the city.
The IRA regards the census as a British ruse for gathering information about Republicans, and it's warned census collectors to stay out of Catholic areas. "You know this is a Catholic area, don't you, Joanne? It's not safe for you here. I need to return with filled out forms or I won't get paid. I've got a young daughter. I need the money." Carlin suppresses the urge to help her by filling in a census form.
He's spent years pretending to be a Republican. Taking part in the census risks blowing that cover story. Instead, he gestures out of the window. "Well, there's a house across the road, there. See? With the green door?" The woman there hates Republicans. "You'll have no problems getting her to answer your questions. God bless you." "Would you mind keeping an eye out to make sure I'm okay?" "Of course." Carlin watches through the window as Joanne crosses the street, knocks, and the door opens.
He's about to sit down. He sees a masked man appear from behind some nearby bushes and rush towards her. The man tries to grab the clipboard from her. She resists. He pulls out a gun and presses it to her neck. Carlin leaps to his feet and runs out of the house while shouting to his mother. "Mammy, call an ambulance! They're shooting!" He sees Joanne stagger inside the house across the street. The gunman follows. Carlin charges into the house, but it's too late. The shooter's already fled out of the back door.
Joanne's lying in the kitchen, her head split open by the gunshot, her hands still clutching the clipboard. The next day, County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland. Carlin sits in a car outside a polling station. Next to him is a Republican activist. It's election day and the Republican movement is pulling out all the stops to get hunger striker Bobby Sands elected.
And until this by-election's over, Karlin's got no chance of extracting himself from the movement without drawing attention. The activist hands him a polling card. Check the name on the card. Remember, you're whoever it says you are on the card. The polling card is stolen. It's all part of the strategy to rig the vote, using the identities of people who can't or won't vote. Karlin looks at the name and then at the selection of wigs, coats and glasses on the back seat.
Should I wear a wig? Not this time. We'll vote again here later. We'll use them then if they take any notice of us now. Let's go. We've got to vote as many times as we can today if we're going to get Bobby elected. Carlin and the activists get out of the car and march towards the polling station. As he does, a woman his mother's age emerges from the building. She peers at the Bobby Sands pin on his jacket and turns to him. You IRA men should be ashamed of yourselves.
Did you not hear what happened to that poor wee mother? Shot in the head for trying to feed her children? Murderers! Deloria! Karlin pushes past, head down, trying not to attract any more attention. He still feels guilty for pointing Joanne to the house where she was brutally slain. And her murders left him questioning his decision to quit MI5. He's still a soldier at heart, and he can't shake the feeling he ought to be doing something to stop the carnage.
It's May 1981 and outside the Spa convenience store on the Gobna scale estate, Carlin stands on a platform before a large crowd of people. Some of the crowd are waving Irish tricolour flags. Others hold banners bearing the emaciated face of hunger striker Bobby Sands with his long Jesus-like hair. Carlin begins to speak. It's great to see so many people here.
It's been a month since Sands narrowly won the election and five days since he died of starvation in prison. Now he's a martyr to the Republican cause. And as a local community worker, Carlin's been asked to say a few words to commemorate his death. When this war is over and Irish freedom is daily news, they'll build monuments to volunteers like Bobby. Carlin steps away from the microphone.
As he does, a man in a light brown duffle coat and close-cropped dark hair approaches. "That was a beautiful speech there, Willy. You got the tone just right. We could do with someone like you inside the party. Someone who's got the respect of your community to build on Bobby's victory and extend our struggle to the ballot box. The party? You mean Sinn Fein?" "Of course." Carlin feels someone is playing a cosmic joke on him. He used to be a British soldier and spy.
Now he's being invited to join Sinn Fein, the political party linked with the IRA. But thanks to his work for MI5, he's waded too deep into Republican politics to back away now. Sure, it's an honor to be invited. What's your name? Mitchell. Mitchell McLaughlin. Carlin knows the name. McLaughlin is a prominent figure inside Sinn Fein and close to Martin McGuinness, head of the IRA's Northern Command.
Carlin knows MI5 would love to know how both these men think. So he makes a decision. If he can't escape the Republican cause, he's going to rejoin MI5 and plunge in deeper. And then do everything he can to stop the violence that's tearing Northern Ireland apart. The next day, in a phone box on the outskirts of Derry, Carlin dials the number for Alan, his MI5 contact in London.
This number is temporarily out of order. What? Carlin redials carefully. But it's the same again. It's as if the number never existed. He leaves the phone box despondent. He pauses, wonders what to do for a moment. Then he heads back into the phone box. He thumbs through the phone book and finds the number for Ebrington Barracks, the British Army's headquarters in Derry. Ebrington Barracks. Hello, my name is Sean.
I used to work with Ben. I need to speak with your company intelligence officer. Two days later, the car park of Altner Gelvin Hospital, Derry. Karlin sits in his car, looking out for the blue high-ace van he was told to expect. He sees the van turn into the car park and gets out of his own car. He waits for the van to stop and then approaches. The driver motions for him to get in the back.
The van sets off, moving through the streets of Derry before depositing Carlin outside a porter cabin in the grounds of Ebrington Barracks. Inside the porter cabin, he is greeted by two soldiers. The uniforms make it clear they're not MI5, but their manner suggests they're not Intelligence Corps either. One of the soldiers introduces himself. I'm Eddie and this is John. You said your name's Sean, but who are you really and why did you call? Sean's my codename.
My real name's Willie Carlin. I'm a former British soldier. My number was 240-56669. But you left. Why did you leave? My wife wanted to come to Derry. Things had changed. I couldn't carry on in the army back here, but... But I was working for MI5 until the end of last year. I want to rejoin again now. And why's that? I'm sure you saw the news about the murder of Joanne Mathers. Well, I was there when she died. I can't just sit back and do nothing. Once a soldier, always a soldier.
If I can help protect the lives of innocent people, then I will. Also, I've been invited to join Sinn Fein. Eddie and John look at each other, and then at Carlin. Um, okay, Willie. If I give you your time, I'll get someone to drop you back at the hospital. That's it? Yes. Carlin climbs back into the same blue van that brought him to the barracks. It drives him back to the hospital car park, lets him out, and then speeds away.
He's left standing alone with no idea who he's just spoken to, and the nagging sense that the two soldiers he met don't trust him at all.
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visit jdpower.com slash awards. Only at a Sleep Number store or sleepnumber.com. See store for details. May 1981, Ebrington Barracks. Eddie enters the porter cabin in Ebrington Barracks, clutching a manila file stamped top secret. It's five days since he met Willie Carlin and he's been doing some digging. He hands the file to his colleague, John. London's just sent this over. That Carlin guy's story stands up. Take a look.
John scans the report on Carlin, sent over by MI5. He's close to the Republican movement. Also, previous contact with Martin McGuinness. If he's now got in with Sinn Féin, he could prove useful. Maybe. But he quit only a few months ago. And right after that, he was on the campaign trail for Bobby Sands. Now he pitches up wanting to work for us. Doesn't add up. What if he's turned and now works for the IRA? He doesn't even know who we are.
He was trying to contact his old case officer and landed on our desk by accident. Sure, but he'll find out who we are if we bring him back in again. Think about it. The guy's spent years hanging out with Republicans. Maybe he's gone native. John stops and reads the letter in the file written by Michael Bettany, a.k.a. Ben, Carlin's former MI5 handler. Bettany confirms everything Carlin told us. Mind you, he doesn't speak highly of him.
It's hardly surprising. Apparently, Bertigny got recalled to London because Carlin complained about his drinking. Still, Bertigny says Carlin's got nationalist sympathies. We can't ignore that. Agreed. Also, he didn't ask for money. That makes me nervous. At least, when agents want money, you know why they're doing it. Maybe him offering to work for free tells us exactly why he's doing it. It's all here. The wife, the family, the Derry upbringing...
And he told us he saw that census collector get her brains blown out. Isn't that enough? Eddie purses his lips and then nods. All right, I still have doubts about him, but it's worth the risk. A few days later, inside the main building of Ebrington Barracks, Carlin sits in a room furnished with a sofa, two armchairs and a coffee table. Carlin looks around and tries to divine the significance of the coloured pins scattered across a huge map of Derry.
A man in his late 20s, wearing jeans and trainers, enters the room and introduces himself. Welly, I'm Desi. Would you like a cup of tea? Oh, coffee. Tea, please. Desi walks over to the kettle in the corner. How do you take it? NATO standard. Desi looks puzzled. Carlin smiles. Milk with two sugars. When I was in the army, that's what everyone called it. You're not a regular soldier then? No, I work for the Fru. Never heard of it. You shouldn't have.
F.R.U. is short for the Force Research Unit. We're a covert army intelligence unit created to deal with the situation in Northern Ireland. Most of the army don't know we exist. Few politicians do either, and we prefer it that way. We're after information about the IRA's operations in Derry, and we think you could help with that. I'm not involved with the IRA, but I've a few leads with Sinn Féin, certainly. But you've got your ear to the ground in Goblin scale all the same. What we really want is information on Martin McGuinness.
We need to know what he's up to, what he thinks, how far is he willing to go. Can you get this kind of information for us? I don't know. I only met him once. Karlin catches the disappointment on Desi's face. He just hopes he can deliver the kind of information the Fru craves. One month later, Cable Street, Derry. In the largely Catholic Bogside area of the city, Karlin's attending one of his first meetings as a member of Sinn Féin.
In the upstairs meeting room, he pours himself a cup of tea as party members chit-chat among themselves. Tonight, they're due to pick their candidate for next year's Northern Ireland Assembly elections. Carlin sips his tea and listens in as two Sinn Féin members discuss Martin McGuinness. Here he's under pressure to step down from the army council. McGuinness, it'll take some persuading.
Aye, but word is Mitchell's leaning on him to step back so the newspapers don't accuse him of being an IRA man. The two men stop talking as the local party chairman, Mitchell McLaughlin, pushes his way through the room with McGuinness following in his wake. McGuinness is wearing a smart tweed jacket and tie and his ginger curls are cropped short.
It's a contrast with the man he first met a few years ago with a nappy pin in his mouth and a baby in his arms. McLaughlin pauses when he reaches Carlin. "Martin, come over here. This is our newest member, Willie Carlin." "Willy, good to see you again. How you doing?" "You and Willie know each other?" "Aye, Willie had a wee bit of bother one time and he came to me to get it sorted." "Isn't that right, Willie?" "Aye, that you did." McLaughlin calls the meeting to order.
Okay, first item. Are the minutes of the last meeting approved? Good. Next, we need to select our candidate for the assembly elections. Any nominations? McLaughlin pauses and takes a packet of polo mints from his pocket. Well, then I nominate Martin McGuinness. Carlin notices McGuinness looks uncomfortable at this, but no one says a word. Instead, McLaughlin hands his roll of mints to the man beside him and nods at him to hand them on.
There's an awkward silence while the minstrels slowly pass around the room. Eventually, McLaughlin speaks again. "So, do we have any other nominations?" Everyone looks at their feet. No one here dares oppose McGuinness. McLaughlin smiles as his polo minstrel returns to him. "Well, there we are then. Congratulations, Martin." Carlin claps along with the other members. The Frew wanted him to get closer to McGuinness.
And now that he's the party's election candidate, that task has been made far easier. It's a few weeks later, and at a pub on Derry's bogside, it's country and western night. And on the stage, Willie Carlin's band is coming to the end of its final number. Because it's my home and that's all right with me.
Six counties and one heart that's beating free. Yeah, six counties and one heart that's beating free. Colin leans his guitar against the wall and joins his wife Mary, who's been watching from one of the tables. Mary smiles as he approaches. I got your pint in, love. It's so nice to be out of the house for the evening. Aye, we should ask your mammy to look after the kids more often. Cheers. Colin and Mary clink glasses.
But then, tempers flared between the two men sat at the neighboring table. We tried peace marches and they shot us. You think if we lay down our arms now, the UVF will stop killing us? No. Those loyalist bastards want us dead. No one's saying we stop the armed struggle. It's about the Armalite and the ballot box. That's what it's about.
It's fucking stupid, that's what it is. We're never going to get rid of the British for the fucking votes. Taking part in their elections means we're playing by their rules.
But if McGuinness was elected, they might actually have to start listening to him. They won't even talk to him now. They don't listen to words. Nobody does. You hear me talking? No. But if I put my fist in your fucking face, you'll start listening. The man stands and moves towards his companion. Colin jumps up and puts himself between them. That's enough, lads. I've got my wife with me this evening. She's had her hands full with the kids fighting at home. She wants a night off. The man turns to Mary. She smiles back.
He nods and sits back down. But Carlin also knows that the row is a clear sign that McGuinness' move in politics is already causing ructions within the Republican movement. October 1982, Everington Barracks. Carlin smiles as his frue handler, Desi, brings him a cup of tea. "'Here you go, Willie. NATO standard.' "'So, what have you got for us?' "'Well, I don't know if this is useful, but there's some who are worried about upcoming elections.'
Especially since McGuinness has stood down from the IRA Army Council to be Sinn Féin's candidate. What's the concern? There are people who think all this electioneering is diverting too much money from the armed struggle. They don't see the point of fighting elections. Especially when they don't plan to take the seats they win because, well, they don't want to endorse the British political system. Well, Willie, we need you to help them see the point.
If Sinn Fein don't get a foot in the door, then the likelihood is that violence will continue. We need to convince the likes of McGuinness that there's a valid political route. So, we need you to get McGuinness elected by any means necessary. Any means necessary? Wait, are you... Are you suggesting I commit electoral fraud to get a Sinn Fein man elected? Dessie looks Carlin in the eyes. You should do whatever it takes, Willie. Whatever it takes.
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It's May 1983, and in Sinn Fein's offices on Cable Street, Willie Carlin and his fellow party activists are back on the campaign trail. Eight months have passed since they helped Martin McGuinness get elected to the Northern Ireland Assembly. To help him win, Carlin and other activists stole more than 800 votes. But in the end, McGuinness didn't need those votes to win.
Now, the party hopes to follow that victory by making a breakthrough in the UK general election. But McGuinness is still trying to adjust to life as a politician rather than a paramilitary. As a fellow activist prepares the party's latest mail shot, McGuinness paces the room and dictates a press statement to Carlin.
Our steadfast aim remains to rid our nation of the British occupation forces. We are still... Carlin interrupts his flow. Uh, Martin, I'd like to make a wee suggestion here, if I may. Go on. You see, I'm not sure we're putting across the right message. McGuinness stares at Carlin. The activist preparing the mail shot looks up and mimes to Carlin to zip it.
But Carlin carries on speaking. "The thing is, you're the main man, Martin, and people hold you in high regard. So they don't always bother you with little things that matter to them. Whereas through my community work, I get to hear their concerns." Carlin's current job is helping develop a new park on the nearby Cregan housing estate. And it's convinced him that most voters care more about the everyday issues that impact their daily lives than the armed struggle.
"Take my Mary and her friends, for example. What they want is for their kids to have somewhere safe to play and to know someone in the family has work. That's what the wee women of Cregan want, Martin. And they're the voters we need to appeal to." McGuinness eyeballs Carlin for a moment. "Alright, Willie. You write that down then, and show me later. I've got someone to see." After McGuinness leaves the room, there's a sigh of relief from his fellow activist.
You've got some balls on you, Carlin. Tell him bloody Martin McGuinness what to do. I'm just telling him the truth. People here have had enough of the violence and the killings. But Carlin's doing more than speaking the truth. He's also encouraging McGuinness to choose ballots over bullets. It's a few days later, and Carlin's driving through the Goblesgall Estates on his way to a meeting. But as he passes the Fiji convenience store, he spots two men wearing balaclavas running across the waste ground.
He quickly parks the car, ready to follow them on foot towards some houses on the Strabane Old Road. But as he does, a gunshot rings out. He looks in its direction and sees the masked men fleeing as people gather outside one of the houses. As Carlin runs towards the house, a woman shouts: "Oh lord, that poor woman's been shot!" Carlin and another man enter the house. The smell of gunfire hangs in the air. Carlin enters the living room and recoils.
On the floor is a woman, staring blankly at the ceiling in a pool of blood. The other man kneels down to check her pulse. She's dead. Carlin notices an older woman sitting dazed in the corner of the room. What happened? Who is she? It's my daughter. My Alice. They shot her. They wanted to kill her husband. Who came for him? The IRA. They were going to shoot him for being a soldier, but Alice got in the way so he could escape, so they shot her. As the other man calls the police, Carlin looks at the dead woman on the floor in disbelief.
Not just at another pointless death, but at the timing too. Sinn Fein is fighting an election that's just days away. And the IRA have just given voters a clear reason to shun the party at the ballot box. It's election day 1983. And in Sinn Fein's office on Cable Street, Carlin is briefing the campaign team.
After the brutal murder of Alice Purvis, they know Martin McGuinness' chances of getting elected to the UK Parliament are looking slim. So they're looking to use stolen votes to give him a helping hand. You all know the drill. The first time you use one of these polling cards, just remember the name. If you return to the same polling stations, use another card, wear a wig or a hat.
Another party member storms into the room, looking agitated. He scowls at the box of wigs. You're all wasting your time. You're going to need more than wigs and personated votes if we're to stand a chance. People are spitting blood over Alice Purvis' murder. I've just been to the polling stations in Cregan and Rosemont, and everybody's now voting SDLP instead of us. The Sinn Féin campaign team look deflated at the news. The SDLP is the biggest party among Northern Ireland's Catholics.
It's a nationalist party. It wants a united Ireland, but it opposes the armed struggle, which puts it at odds with the Republican parties like Sinn Féin. And right now, it's winning plenty of support. And that worries Carlin. He fears that a bruising at the ballot box might cause Republicans to give up on politics and step up the armed struggle. He remembers how the Fru told him to do whatever it takes to get McGuinness elected.
Carlin addresses the campaign team. All right, boys, here's what we do. If the SDLP are piling up votes in Cregan and Rosemont, we need to stop the voting. I want you boys to get down there and do whatever you can to stir up trouble. Start a fight with the police if you must. Anything to stop people from voting for a few hours. It might just make a difference. The team nod, and with renewed cause, head out the door, ready to cause trouble. We've had a second result in North Ireland.
The early hours of the following morning, Sinn Féin offices on Cable Street. In the upstairs meeting room, Carlin sits with Martin McGuinness and other Sinn Féin members, watching the general election results come in. And McGuinness is fuming. He misread the mood across the rest of the UK. Instead of defeat, Margaret Thatcher's Conservative government is heading for a landslide victory. Thatcher's going to win. That's all we need. Four more years of bans, legislation and harassment.
Carlin tries to focus on the positive news, that Sinn Féin's on track to win its first parliamentary seat. Sure, but Gerry Adams is polling well in Belfast West. We're almost within reach of a seat in Parliament. That's real progress. McGuinness eyes Carlin sourly. Sinn Féin Vice President Adams is on track to get elected, but McGuinness is about to lose to the SDLP. And yet I'm about to come third.
So much for your strategy, Willie. Look where the wee women from Craig and got us. It wasn't the strategy that was wrong. It was the IRA killing Alice Purvis. I told you, Martin, people have had enough of innocent people being killed, so they have. McGuinness says nothing. He just turns back to the television and broods. Many in the Republican movement think he's wasting time, energy and money in playing politics. They want him to give up on ballots and get back to the armed struggle. MUSIC
Carlin's mission is to do what he can to encourage him to stick with the political struggle. But with defeats like this and the ongoing threat to Catholics from loyalist paramilitaries, he's going to have to up his game to ensure his mission doesn't end in failure.
From Wondery, this is the second 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. 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 Lizzie Enfield, 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 Sing. 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.
