The Spy Who - The Czech Spy Who Stole a Son | Blue Eyes | 3

Episode Date: June 9, 2026

It’s the mid-1980s and the Czechoslovak spy living posing as Erwin van Haarlem has spent years convincing the mother of the real Erwin that he is her long-lost son. Now his deception faces a new threat: Britain’s Security Service MI5 are on his tail.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who, add-free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. 1986, Hainold Forest, London. Vatslav Yeleneck pins a sheet of A4 paper to the trunk of a beech tree. It features a blurred photograph of a cat and the word, missing. Yeleneck, however, has not lost a pet. Rather, this poster is a signal to his handlers. The description of the cat, the phone number, even the punctuation, all of it is code to be collected and deciphered.

To minimize the risk of detection, Yeleneck avoids direct contact with his spymasters. Instead, messages travel back and forth through signals like this one, hidden in plain sight, but plausibly deniable. He picks up the bag of wild mushrooms on the ground by his feet and heads deeper into the phone. forest. Mushroom picking provides a convenient excuse for his regular visits here. As a bonus, it also makes a change from the rubbery-tinned mushrooms the British insist on serving, like Second World War rationing never went away. Yelenek spots a Porcini, pushing through the exposed roots of a beech tree. He crouches, slices it free, and drops it into the bag. Two men in suits approach him on the path. One of them slows. Yelanik looks up. The man smiles politely.

Yelanik smiles back, but his training has already kicked in. Suits and ties in the middle of a forest. Peaking into a stranger's bag. Something isn't right. He hurries back to the car park. Yelanik climbs into his Renault 18 GTS and pulls away from the forest. His eyes flick constantly to the rearview mirror. A car follows behind him. Its driver barely trying to conceal the pursuit. Or maybe it's just a coincidence they're headed in the same direction. Yelenik turns sharply down a side street.

The trailing car follows. He turns again. The car follows. Yelanik approaches a junction. He signals right. The car behind signals right. Yelanick flicks the indicator left and turns sharply. The car turns left as well. Yelanik exhales slowly. So he is not paranoid.

It's happening. He is being watched and they're not trying to hide the fact. After nearly 20 years living under a stolen name, the British Security Service, MI5, has finally caught up with the man pretending to be Irwin Van Halem. Alice and Matt here from British Scandal. Matt's some news for you. British Scandal is going to Broadway.

What? Sorry, not literally. I just mean we're taking it to the stage. Is this your festival crossed wires? Where all the UK's biggest podcast do live shows across iconic venues in Sheffield between the 2nd and 5th of July. That was a beautiful read.

Matt and I cordially invite you to our British Scandal live show on Sunday, July the 5th. And if we're doing the story, I think we are, it is potentially one of the most ridiculous scandals we've ever told. So grab a ticket at crossedwires. Live.

That's C-R-O-S-S-E-D-Wires. Live. When a charming neurosurgeon rode into western towns selling a persona of confidence and care, patients trusted him. He wore cowboy boots in the operating room and became sought after by patients.

He promised to heal them. Instead, he left a trail of broken bodies. This is a story of greed, betrayal, and a fight for justice. Listen to Dr. Death, The Cowboy, wherever you get your podcasts, or binge the entire series right now, only with Audubal. I'm Amelia Fox, and this is The Spy Who, an audible original. In the last episode, Vatslav Yeleneck, the Czech spy using the identity of Erwin Van Halem as cover,

found himself playing son to the real Irwin's mother, Johanna. Now his spy life has a new complication. Britain's security service MI5 is watching him. This is The Spy Who Stole a Sun, episode three, Blue Eyes. January 1987, Prague, the headquarters of the Czechoslovakian intelligence service, the STB. After the incident in the forest, Yelanek has returned to the Czech capital for an emergency meeting. He sits across from his handler. Do you not understand what I'm saying?

They even followed me to Vienna. I'm certain of it. It took me half an hour to lose them just so I could meet you. It's over. I need to come home. Nonsense. You're being paranoid. Haven't you learned?

The British are suspicious of all foreigners. Don't think you're anything special. No. They followed me into the forest, in suits. They wanted me to see them. It was a warning, don't you see? No, don't you see. If they had anything on you, they would have taken you in by now.

They have nothing. Speaking of nothing, I would be more concerned about Moscow than London if I were you. The quality of your intelligence has slipped recently. Why do you think that might be? I'm being watched. The handler slams his hands down on the table, half rising to his feet. Enough. Enough of this. You will remain at it. in London. That is an order. Have you any idea? The man trails off, then sinks back into his seat, composing himself. Look, we don't have enough people over there. The only other illegal in London

has been compromised. What? Who? How? The presence of another Czech agent in London is news to Yelanek. He fell in love with an MI5 officer's daughter. What are the chances? The father had to had him checked out. Did he know about me? This is why I'm being followed, isn't it? Calm down. He didn't even know you existed. But with him gone, we need you in place more than ever. You will return to London and continue your work. You are one of our best. I'm your only option, more like. You know the emergency protocols. If in trouble, signal us for a passport you can use for your escape. And what if they arrest me before I signal for the passport? Then we handle it.

Whatever happens, don't talk. As far as we know, the British police might rough you up a little, but they won't torture you. Yelenex sinks into his chair in resignation, and you'll get me out. We always do. Eventually. Eventually. Five years, probably less. Yelenex sits for a moment inside.

The previous day he stopped in to see his parents for the first time since leaving Czechoslovakia 11 years earlier. They looked suddenly old and begged him to stay. He might never see them again. So, tonight you will return. Yes, sir. A week later, Fryen Barnet, North London. Yeleneck returns from the shops, walking toward his flat on Silverbridge close, close. Ahead of him, a young couple approaches, pushing a pram. He has seen them before,

yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that. He instinctively lowers his eyes as they pass. Then he glances back toward them, trying to catch a look at the baby. There is a bundle of blankets in the pram, but is there even an infant inside? Yelanek watches the couple disappear around the corner. Inside his building, Yelanek climbs the stairs and slips into his flat. He peers through the neck curtains at the street below. At the end of the road, a jogger stretches beside a lamp post. Yelanek has seen this man before two. Directly opposite, a worker in overalls slowly paints a garden fence that doesn't need painting. Yelanek takes them all in, the jogger, the painter, the pram pushes. Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps it's everything. Four months later,

Silver Birch close. Yeleneck wakes with a start. The clock beside his bed reads three in the morning. Hello? Yeleneck recognizes the voice immediately. It's Johanna, the real Irwin Van Halem's mother. He snaps awake, ready to play son again. What's happened? Mother, it's the middle of the night. No, no, it's all right. I'm awake now anyway. Johanna is close to tears.

She explains that she has just had a bitter row with her ex-husband. Yes, well, he shouldn't speak to you like that. Yeleneck climbs out of bed and steps toward the window, peeking through the gap in the curtain as Johanna's complaints ring in his ear. The phone cord stretches taut as he leans to. get a better view of the road. No, no, of course you didn't deserve it. Is that why you called? He turns sharply and sits back down on the edge of the bed. His attention is now fully on the conversation. Move here to London. Mother, slow down. You absolutely should not sell your house. No.

No, don't be like that. I just... I don't think you should make a huge decision like that in the middle of the night. Yes, of course, I want us to spend more time together. And maybe we should talk about this tomorrow. Once we've both had a bit more sleep. Yes, good idea. All right. Try to get some sleep.

Things will be brighter tomorrow, I promise. Yes, yes. I love you too. Yelanek's stares into the darkness. MI5 is on his tail. His spymasters are on his back. And now, this, he decides to put the kettle on. There's no way he's sleeping again tonight.

A week later, Silver Birch close. Yelanik opens the door of his flat. A bearded man he's never seen before is standing in the hallway. Hello, sorry to bother you. I've just moved into the ground floor flat. I could use a hand moving a fridge into my car. Would you mind? Yelanick studies him.

A new neighbour, perhaps. Of course. Let me just fetch my shoes. I'll be back in a moment. Yelanik steps into his kitchen and opens a drawer, pulling out a pair of gloves just in case. Outside for a moment, Yelanik thinks he sees a flicker of frustration

cross the man's face. He smiles warmly. Better grip. I'm Irwin, by the way, pleased to meet you. Keith, likewise. Shouldn't take long. Follow me. Outside beside the car. Here, this is perfect. Yeleneck pulls off his gloves and prepares to leave. You saved my life there. Come back up and let me get you a glass of wine. Oh, thank you. But there, thank you. But there. There's really no need. Ah, go on. We're neighbours now. We should get to know each other. Also, I like to pay my debts.

Yeleneck forces a smile. All right, go on then. Just one glass, though. I have things to do. Keith sits Yelanek at a small table beside a glass-fronted bookcase. His back is to the kitchen. I've been saving this one for a special occasion. Like getting a new fridge?

You're funny. I like that. Yeleneck lifts his glass. Well, congratulations on the move. Hang on. Will you look at that? Your glass is filthy. Here, let me grab you another. Keith gingerly takes Yelenex wine glass, holding it from the stem. He carries it into the kitchen. Yelanek glances at the bookcase. He freezes.

In the reflection of the glass doors, he sees Keith slip the wine glass into a clear plastic bag, as if he's filing a piece of evidence at a crime scene. A small smile flickers across Yelenek's face. So, this is the game. Sorry about that. Must have been packed before it was last washed. There you go. A clean one for you.

Yelenex smiles warmly. No problem at all, Keith. Cheers, then. Yeleneck takes a deep sip of wine. The British intelligence officers are no longer just watching him from the street. One of them now lives inside the building. There are people you're told to trust. Lawyers, teachers, especially doctors.

But what happens when you put your life in someone's hands and they betray you? The hit podcast, Dr. Death, is back. And this season is unlike any other. Dr. Death, the cowboy, is the story of a charming neurosurgeon who rode into western town selling a persona of confidence and care. He wore cowboy boots in the operating room and became sought after by patients. He promised to heal them. Instead, he left a trail of broken bodies. This season is about a doctor who was never truly held accountable for the patients whose lives he ruined.

A story of greed, betrayal, and a fight for justice that will leave you. questioning who to trust. Listen to Dr. Death, the cowboy, wherever you get your podcasts, or binge the entire series right now, only with Audible. Around six months later, early 1988, a mechanics workshop in North London. Yeleneck stands beside his renner with a mechanic in oil-stained overalls. The bonnet is propped open between them. You really think someone broke in?

Someone absolutely broken. Guess they were startled by someone and ran off. Trying to jumpstart the engine, maybe. That's the strange thing. You don't need to open the bonnet to do that. I'm guessing you don't keep valuables tucked inside the engine well. Yelanek, lost in thought, doesn't answer. He knows exactly who was trying to open the bonnet and why.

Mr. Harlem. Yelanek shakes himself. back into the room. No, nothing was taken, probably just kids messing about. There's a few of them on the road. Look, thanks for the help, but I'd better be off. Yelanik pays the mechanic and drives out of the garage. If MI5 has opened the bonnet, it's not to steal anything, it's to plant something.

A few streets later, he makes a snap decision. Yelanek steps calmly out of the car onto a quiet side street. He straightens his back. The spy surveys the damage. The car's bonnet is crumpled against the trunk of a sturdy tree. No one's prising that open in a hurry, he thinks, as a puddle of liquid forms on the roadside. The Renault is a write-off. Soon it'll be on its way to the scrapyard, along with the tracking device, wherever it's hidden.

March 1988, Silver Birch Close. Yelanick sits at his desk with a copy of woman's own magazine open in front of him. Beside it is a small bowl filled with clear liquid. He begins to write across the glossy page. Nothing appears. Invisible ink. One of the oldest tricks in espionage, though the STB are especially proud of their own formula, which is almost impossible to detect.

Yelanik writes slowly, carefully in code. I am being followed. Stopping all activities. Situation unmaintainable. Exit protocol requested. It's an urgent message to Prague. He needs a new passport. He wasn't being paranoid.

For months now, he's been tailed and surveyed. He's had enough of waiting for the tap on the shore. shoulder, a new identity is the only way out of Britain before the net closes. Later that day, Fryen Barnett, Yelanick walks quickly toward the edge of the golf course, the copy of Woman's Own magazine tucked under his arm. He has just managed to shake the MI5 surveillance team, but it won't be long before they find him again. Ahead of him stands a tall black poplar tree. It's the agreed drop site. Yelanek glances behind him. No sign of his watches yet.

In one quick movement, he slips the magazine into a hollow in the tree trunk. Then, after checking over his shoulder, he continues walking. Ten seconds later, the familiar jogger appears at the top of the road. The eyes are back on him. But it doesn't matter. The message has been delivered. Now all Yelanek can do is wait for Prague to rest. respond. It will either be a radio transmission confirming that his escape passport is ready or nothing at all. March 1988, MI5 headquarters, 140 Gower Street, London. At the head of the table sits Stella Rimmington,

director of counter-espionage, calm and impeccably dressed. Around the table are officers from MI5, the British Foreign Intelligence Service, MI6, and the Police Counter-espionage Unit's special branch. For nearly two years, the three services have been watching a man they know only as Irwin Van Halem. The MI5 officer running the surveillance operation starts the meeting. We're confident. Rimmington cuts in. I sense a butt coming. Well, as you know, evidence of him doing any espionage remains. thin. The MI6 officer speaks next. We're satisfied he's not Dutch. We think he's Czech. And who is he really, if not this Johanna woman's son? We still don't know.

MI5 summarizes the surveillance. He's careful, professional, certainly well-trained. Two years of surveillance hasn't produced anything concrete, but we have produced a map of his connections. Remington looks up. And? He's infiltrated Jewish organizations and he's used those contacts to gain access to Parliament. Hmm. Anything from his telephone? He stopped using it months ago. The wiretap? Mostly silence, except when he listens to radio transmissions from Prague. Rimmington looks around the table. This operation. has dragged on for two years. Dozens of officers,

endless surveillance, and still no decisive proof. We can't justify this any longer. The costs are astronomical. It's time to close the operation. The room shifts uneasily. They are all convinced the man living as Irwin Van Halem

is a foreign agent. Prepare to arrest. Even if we can't secure a conviction, we can at least take him out of play. The special branch officer sits up. Arrests are their job. When would you like us to arrest him, ma'am? Next time he's receiving a broadcast from Prague. After two years of observing, the operation to catch Erwin Van Harlam is entering its final phase. Saturday, April 2nd, 1988, Silver Birch Close, early morning. Yelanick rushes to the kitchen.

table still in his pajamas. After another night of drinking alone, he's overslept. The broadcast from Prague has already begun. He quickly extends the aerial of his radio set. Then he plugs in an earpiece and tunes carefully. The signal repeats every few minutes. If Prague has prepared his escape passport, this is where he will find out where to collect it. Yelanik captures the code as it arrived.

The letters mean nothing yet. The key to the cipher is currently hidden in a recess behind the kitchen cupboard. With MI5 watching him, he's doing everything he can to conceal all evidence of his spying. He's even hidden his latest encrypted intelligence report in the toilet roll tube in the bathroom. Then... Police! Police! Yelanik jumps to his feet.

The earpiece drops to the floor. He crumples the note and throws it. it under the table, then reaches for the radio. Stop! It's over! Yelanik glances toward the knife draw. His hand begins to move, then stops. It really is over. Barefoot, in his pajamas, Yelanik watches as police search the flat.

An officer steps forward. Detective Inspector Richard Bird, special branch. You are under arrest on suspicion of spying for a foreign power. Yelanik barely listens. His mind is on the cardboard tube of toilet roll in the bathroom, the one in which he's hidden his latest report. If they find that and the encryption codes behind the kitchen cupboard, they'll have clear evidence that he's a spy. Yelanik turns to the special branch officer assigned to watching him. May I use the bathroom? I'll have to come with you. Sure. I can't well.

Wait. Yelanick pulls down his pyjama bottoms and sits on the toilet, while maintaining full eye contact with a horrified policeman. Good God, I thought he needed a piss. The officer stands rigidly at the bathroom door, watching Yelanick strain. The officer winces at the smell, but doesn't avert his gaze. Yelanik wipes, then studies the soiled paper closely. Finally, the officer turns away in disgust. The moment his eyes are turned, Yelanik grabs his intelligence report from the cardboard tube in one quick movement, wipes his backside with it and drops it in the pan. The evidence swirls away. Yelanik pulls his pyjama bottoms up, washes his hands and leaves the bathroom.

Detective Inspector Bird is waiting for him outside. Listen to me. If you cooperate and work with us, this can go differently for you. No court hearing, no prison sentence. Maybe you'll receive a new identity. But you must decide now. Once we step outside, your path is chosen. So, what do you say?

Yelanik looks at him with disdain. No comment. Very well. Are we going to have to handcuff you? No. Bird nods. Moments later, Yelanik is led from the flat toward the waiting police van. The Morse code from Prague still crackles faintly from the kitchen floor, but the message has arrived too late.

The National Union of Seaman are expected to reject Piano Ferry's latest offer to end the strike in Dover in a vote later. The next morning, Scheik, the Netherlands. Johanna Van Harlam stands at the counter preparing her morning coffee. On the radio, the BBC Morning News. In North London, Special Branch have arrested a 42-year-old man for alleged offences under the Official Secrets Act. The man is believed to be a Czech citizen using the Dutch name Irwin Van Harlam. Johanah freezes.

He's suspected of spying for Czechoslovak. The Czech embassy denies any knowledge of the man. Police are continuing to question the man at Rochester Row Police Station. Johanna begins to hyperventilate. Could it be? Surely not. April 3, 1988, Rochester Row Police Station, Westminster, London. Yelanick sits at a metal table.

Beside him is his solicitor. Across from him, sit Detective Inspector. Richard Bird and a note taker. Mr Van Harlam, assuming that really is your name, what were you doing yesterday morning when we entered your apartment? No comment. Then let me jog your memory. We found you at your kitchen table listening to a signal broadcast from Prague.

We were both there. When we entered your flat, you were listening to the broadcast and taking down the message. No comment. Actually, sod this, that is not true. Yelanick's lawyer throws his client a stern glance. Yelanick ignores him. When you forced your way into my apartment, I was standing in the middle of my living room.

You are simply lying. That is all I wish to say on the matter. Bird studies him for a moment. We would like to take a blood sample. What? Why? Absolutely not. You want to prick me with some dirty needle? Infect me with AIDS?

No chance. I suggest you discuss it with your solicitor. Cooperating on this matter will almost certainly benefit your case. Yelenik turns to his lawyer. What is this blood sample nonsense? The lawyer shrugs his shoulders. They must want to compare your blood with your mothers, with Johannes. Why?

Look, I strongly advise you to provide the sample. On what basis? Because if you refuse, it could lead the jury to think you have something to hide. Think of it like a drunk driver refusing a breathalyzer test. Doesn't look good, does it? Besides, these parentage blood tests aren't that reliable. The results almost certainly won't be admissible in court, whatever they show. Yelenick thinks carefully.

His lawyer doesn't know that Johanna Van Harlam is not his mother. But if the test is unreliable, it could say he is her son and that might strengthen his story. And if it says the opposite, they can claim the test is flawed. All right, I'll do it. Let's call their bluff. Three months later, Brixton Prison. Johannes sits alone. The police say the blood test is conclusive. The man she believed was her son is not her son.

They've used a new kind of test, a DNA test. They say it's like a genetic fingerprint, almost impossible to dispute. She didn't believe it at first, didn't want to believe it, but the evidence is overwhelming. Her mind turns over the years she spent with this man, whoever he might be. Were they all lies? or was some part of it real? Who even is this man? This stranger.

The newspapers refer to him as the man with no name. Mrs. Van Harlem, he's ready for you. Inside the visits hall, the man she thought was her son, stands. He is thin and pale in his prison uniform. Johanna walks over to him. She pauses for a moment, studying his face. Then they embrace. They sit in silence for a while.

Then Johanna speaks. I just wanted to say that I'm here for you, even if what they're saying is true. A faint smirk crosses the man's face as he sits in his chair. Johanna sees it immediately. Is it true? The man holds her gaze but says nothing. I just want to hear it from you directly.

Are you what they say you are? A spy? The man leans back in his chair. Finally, he responds. Do you know the saying, there is no smoke without a fire? Yes? Well, this time it's not true.

There is no fire. I did nothing that could harm England. Johanna studies his face, looking for some trace of the baby she once held. The man's signer. to the guard. I'm done here. As they stand, Johanna searches his eyes one last time,

but she doesn't see the blue eyes of her child. Only the cold brown eyes of a man who has lived a lifetime of deceit. Johanna walks out of the room knowing one thing for certain. That man is not her son. He is a liar, and she will help prove it. March 1989, Central London. MI5's counter-espionage chief, Stella Rimmington, enters the Old Bailey, the courthouse where many of the nation's most serious cases are heard.

The trial of the man known as Irwin Van Halem is underway, but the prosecution has a major problem. The evidence against him is scattered, fragments of surveillance, odd scraps of intelligence, but nothing that clearly explains the danger he was. represents or even his real identity. So Rimmington has decided to do something unprecedented in the history of the British intelligence services, testify in open court. To protect her identity, she's wearing a disguise, a wig of curly hair and heavy makeup, loose, unfashionable clothes. She feels

as though she's aged 10 years and, in doing so, turned into Miss Marple. She approaches the prosecutor and introduces herself. I'm Miss Jay. Good to meet you, Mom. Thank you again for agreeing to do this. If you'll follow me. As they proceed toward the courtroom, the prosecutor updates Grimmington on the state of play.

We're in a good place. Yohanna Van Harlam's testimony about how he conned her really moved the jury. So what we need from you is context. Help them understand why this man matters. why we can't let him go free. That won't be difficult. Nobody wants a communist spy living next door.

Precisely, ma'am. They bring down the house prices for one thing. Rimmington checks her wig with light hands. Not really a joking matter, is it? Yes. Put it exactly like that. As Rimmington steps inside, a hush spreads across the courtroom.

Every head turns. For the first time in history, Britain's spycatcher in chief has stepped out from the shadows. Two years later, November 1991, Berno, Czechoslovakia. Inside the Grand Hotel, Johanna Van Halem stands in the ladies' bathroom brushing her hair. She wants to look her best, but mostly she is trying to steady her nerves. Almost three years have passed since the man who pretended to be her son was sentenced to 10 years in prison for espionage. Since then, Johanna has been searching for the real Irwin Van Halem,

the baby she was forced to give up as a teenager, a task that's been aided by the recent collapse of Czechoslovakia's communist regime. Now, after 47 years, she is about to meet her real son again. His name is no longer Irwin Van Harlem. It is Evo Raddick, the name given to him by the family who adopted and raised him. Yohanna enters the restaurant dining room on the hotel's ground floor. A man is already waiting at the table where they arranged to meet. Her heart skips as she takes him in.

He has blonde hair, a grey suit and polished shoes. He looks up from the menu. For a moment, mother and sons simply look at one another. His eyes are blue. She wants to fling her arms around his neck. After all the loss, the deception, the guilt, here finally is the baby she gave up nearly five decades earlier. She is certain of it.

Something, however, holds her back. She extends her arm, wondering if he will reciprocate. The man takes her hand gently. He smiles kindly and places a soft kiss on it. After their meeting in Berno, Johannes stayed in touch with her true son for the remainder of their lives. Despite her concerns, Eva was grateful to learn the truth about his origins, although he continued to see the parents who adopted and raised him as his mother and father.

The man who had pretended to be Johanna's son met a different fate. In 1993, following a deal between Britain and the newly formed Czech Republic, Vatslav Yeleneck was released from prison and deported to Prague. Following his release, the Czech government revealed to Johanna the true identity of the man who posed as her son. Yeleneck expected to be welcomed home as a loyal servant of the state. Instead, in the post-communist country, he found himself. overlooked and even shunned. His parents died not long after his return. He died in 2022 at the age of 77.

His tombstone bears two names, his own and that of Irwin Van Halem, the man he spent a quarter of a century pretending to be. Follow the Spy Who on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who add free by joining Audible. You have been listening to The Spy Who, an audible original. Next time on The Spy Who, Charlie Higson explores what really goes on inside the minds of deep cover agents with John Taylor, co-author of The Psychology of Spies and Spying. Have you got a spy story you'd like us to tell? Email your ideas to The Spy Who at audible.com.

A quick note about our dialogue. We can't know everything that was said or done behind closed doors, particularly far back in history. But our scenes are written using the best available sources. So even if a scene or conversation has been recreated for dramatic effect, it's still based on biographical research. We used many sources in our research for this season, including the Czech spy by Yeroslav Kementa and A Spy in the Family by Paul Henderson and David Gardner.

The Spy Who is hosted by me, Amelia Fox. It's a yellow ant production. This episode was written by Simon Parkin and researched by Louise Byrne. With thanks to Yeroslav Schvelk, and Inna Pruss. The senior producer was Jay Priest. The sound designer was Damian Pace. The lead sound designer was Joshua Morales.

Music supervision by Scott Velasquez for Frieson Sink. For Yellowant, the story editor and executive producer was Tristan Donovan. For Audible, the executive producers were Estelle Doyle and Theodora Laeludis.