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
Ivan (No. 88)
Send an Encrypted Message to the Men
Ah, Ivan. Now there’s a name that stirs up memories—none of them pleasant.
This particular episode begins, as these things often do, with an inexplicable tragedy: a young man run off the road, his body battered, his secrets buried deep beneath the surface of a very tidy cover story. But I know better. Accidents of that sort are rarely accidental.
At the center of it all is a ghost in the machine—Ivan. A whisper, really. A digital phantom with a penchant for pilfering national secrets and sowing chaos wherever his fingers dance across a keyboard. Most men rob banks. Ivan robs governments.
But here’s the delicious twist, the kind that would make Hitchcock sit up and take notes: Ivan isn’t who we think he is. No, no. The devilish little surprise? He’s a teenager with a crush and a curious definition of courtship. He didn’t want to dismantle the country—he wanted to impress a girl.
Still, the stolen tech in question, a prototype device capable of disabling entire defense systems, remains in play. And trust me, the people willing to kill for it aren’t in this game for love. They’re in it for leverage, power—the usual intoxicants.
So Lizzie and I race the clock, Ivan’s antics bring the FBI to the brink, and somewhere between cyber warfare and adolescent infatuation, we’re reminded that even in the coldest crimes, there’s often a beating heart. Misguided, sure. But human nonetheless.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of Barolo and an old Soviet defector who still thinks the Cold War is in overtime. Cheers.