The Most Wanted Men
“You know, I once shared a bottle of absinthe with a Serbian arms dealer who swore The Blacklist was just a clever front for actual intelligence leaks. He was mostly wrong — but charmingly so.”
Welcome to The Most Wanted Men, a podcast devoted to peeling back the layers of intrigue, betrayal, and designer coats that make The Blacklist such a guilty pleasure. Join our hosts — two very opinionated amateurs with nothing better to do — as they explore the cases, conspiracies, and quirks of Raymond “Red” Reddington’s criminal concierge service of doom.
We’re not here to recap. No, no. We’re here to obsess, to question, to rant lovingly about overlooked plot points and the sheer audacity of a man who disappears into a monastery one week and drops acid in the Louvre the next.
Spoilers? Constant.
Accuracy? Occasional.
Charm? Relentless.
So pour a glass of something expensive, burn your aliases, and press play.
You’re on the list now.
The Most Wanted Men
The Cyprus Agency (No. 64)
Send an Encrypted Message to the Men
Ah… Episode 13. “The Cyprus Agency.”
You know, there’s a certain type of evil that slithers into the world not with a scream, but with a lullaby. That’s what we’re dealing with here.
A young woman goes missing, abducted—so it seems—until Lizzie discovers something far more unsettling. A trail of stolen infants, adopted under false pretenses, all pointing back to a seemingly benevolent adoption agency. The Cyprus Agency. Ah, such a lovely name. Like a Mediterranean travel brochure. But behind its philanthropic facade is a man—Owen Mallory—who plays god with genetics. Engineering the perfect families… for a price. It’s not just kidnapping. It’s curated parenthood—designer babies by way of fraud and trauma.
Of course, I’ve crossed paths with Mallory before. Visionary types like him always believe the ends justify the most appalling means. But what makes this one especially delicate, Lizzie, is that it’s not just a case file for you, is it? No. There are… revelations. Threads that lead to questions about your own past. About who you are. About who watched over you. Or didn’t.
You see, the past has a way of catching up. It always does. And when it does, you’d better be ready to look it in the eye and ask yourself: Do I really want to know the truth?
Now… shall we continue?