By Gustave
Blip blip blip. "24." Longest day of Kiefer's life.
Previouslys. Get back, Stupid Spawn! Buh-bye, Gaines! Where are you, Rick? Shut up, Spawn! My Kieferettes are finally safe! Don't mess with your evil rich backers, Palmer! Alberta, stop staring at Nina's tits and get ready for a second shooter! The following takes place between the hours of 1:00 PM and 2:00 PM on the day of the California Presidential Primary.
Hey, speaking of the California primary, what a turn-out for Gary Condit, huh? Was it the missing intern and that whole "failure to cooperate with the police" thing? Jeez, some people are so petty and put personal stuff before job performance. I mean, look what happened to Clinton. Oh, wait -- he still kept his job and, well, Monica is still alive. Bad example. The thing that makes me feel all warm and toasty about this whole thing is that Gary Condit was the most outspoken Democratic Clinton critic. And not even about job performance stuff. Condit spoke out tirelessly about how badly Clinton had soiled the White House by letting Monica blow him in the Oval Office. He wasn't even smart about it like most people and simply expressed outrage over the fact that Clinton had lied under oath and encouraged Monica to sign a false affidavit. No. Condit literally expressed his disapproval of Clinton's sex life and urged people to remove him from office due to his lack of morals. And according to what we know now, he was making these accusations at the same time that he was schtupping Chandra Levy and Anne Marie Smith.
"Hello, Karma Architects! Can I help you?"
"Can I speak to Philip Johnson? This is Senator Gary Condit returning his call."
"Speaking!"
"You said you had some concerns about those building materials I'd selected for the new house I'm building?"
"Oh, yeah, Gary. I've got the plans right here. Are you absolutely sure about building yourself a glass house? They can be quite visually striking, but I have to say that I'm a little concerned that the house wouldn't be the most durable structure -- you know, for the position you're in right now."
"Uh, I don't know what you're talking about, Philip. Don't you yourself live in a glass house in New Canaan, Connecticut? If glass is good enough for the home of a brilliant architect, it's good enough for a California Congressman. Am I right?"
"Well, not quite. Glass is durable enough for the elements and all, I was just thinking about, uh, other extenuating circumstances that might shatter your walls."
"Like what?"
"Like, say, stone throwing."
"It's not like people don't throw stones in New Canaan, Connecticut, Mr. Johnson."
"True, but they rarely throw them at my house. You see, Mr. Condit, I'm a bitchy gay architect in my nineties who used to hang with Jackie O. You're a lying government official with a Peter Pan complex, a bad eye-job, and a missing ex-girlfriend. Do you see where I'm going here?"
"I guess I can see your point. Um, so what would you recommend besides glass?"
"Slate has a lovely texture. Why, just the other day, Linda Tripp commissioned us to refurbish her Annapolis, Maryland refrigerator box. We redid it in slate and added a Plexiglas carport. It rhymes visually with the 7-11 parking lot in which it's situated."
"Plexiglas? I must say I'm intrigued."
"It's easy to clean. You'd be amazed at how much ripe fruit and vegetable matter pile up on that thing whenever she leaves the house to get into her car. Just go over it with a damp cloth on a daily basis and it's good to go."
"You know, my long-suffering wife and I were just over at Linda's eating Thai takeout and watching The Legend of Bagger Vance on DVD. We loved the renovation but I had no idea that was you. I must say, I'm getting very excited about this project, Philip. Can I call you 'Philip'?"
"'Mr. Johnson,' if you would -- thank you."
"Like what?"
"Like, say, stone throwing."
"It's not like people don't throw stones in New Canaan, Connecticut, Mr. Johnson."
"True, but they rarely throw them at my house. You see, Mr. Condit, I'm a bitchy gay architect in my nineties who used to hang with Jackie O. You're a lying government official with a Peter Pan complex, a bad eye-job, and a missing ex-girlfriend. Do you see where I'm going here?"
"I guess I can see your point. Um, so what would you recommend besides glass?"
"Slate has a lovely texture. Why, just the other day, Linda Tripp commissioned us to refurbish her Annapolis, Maryland refrigerator box. We redid it in slate and added a Plexiglas carport. It rhymes visually with the 7-11 parking lot in which it's situated."
"Plexiglas? I must say I'm intrigued."
"It's easy to clean. You'd be amazed at how much ripe fruit and vegetable matter pile up on that thing whenever she leaves the house to get into her car. Just go over it with a damp cloth on a daily basis and it's good to go."
"You know, my long-suffering wife and I were just over at Linda's eating Thai takeout and watching The Legend of Bagger Vance on DVD. We loved the renovation but I had no idea that was you. I must say, I'm getting very excited about this project, Philip. Can I call you 'Philip'?"
"'Mr. Johnson,' if you would -- thank you."
Since these recaps are starting to become a shopping guide for furniture and other finer things in life, I'd like to dedicate this one to the vineyards of Navarro Correas in Mendoza, Argentina. I don't know much about wine, but lately I have been winning all sorts of credibility among my peers when I show up at a dinner party with a Cabernet or a Syrah from the Navarro Correas vineyard -- the oldest vineyard in all of South America. It all started by accident. I was in my local wine shop, and my favorite salesperson wasn't there. This woman -- I call her "Wine Lady" -- resembles Zelda Rubinstein from Poltergeist. You know, the dwarf who's all, "Go into the light, Carol Anne!"? She wanders around the store all day with a half-full port glass in one of her hands and will usually select a wine for me based on what I'm serving for dinner. When I tell her that can spend $30, she'll choose a bottle for $7. When I tell her that I can spend $10, she'll make me buy a bottle for $27.50. And she's never wrong. My wine snob friends are always impressed by whatever she chooses for me. And these people don't hesitate to tell me if I've bought shitty wine -- which I'd normally buy if it weren't for Wine Lady. So one day, my friend John is making hangar steak and I'm in the shop looking for an accompanying Cabernet, and I can't find Wine Lady. Wine Lady's husband is trying to sell me something red, but I'm not feeling any conviction in his voice. I walk over to a random bin, yank out a Cabernet from Navarro Correas, and go, "What about this?" It was like that scene in Excalibur when Arthur pulls the sword from the stone. Everyone in the store backs away from me cautiously. One of the younger salespeople calls out, "That's an excellent wine," but then the guy to him elbows him surreptitiously in the stomach to shut him up. As I pay for it, everyone is giving each other these silent looks of concern like they'd hid a pound of marijuana in the oregano jar and I'm some mom who's using it to make spaghetti sauce for a church bazaar. From that day forward, I have been a huge fan of the Navarro Correas vineyard, and every time I walk into a liquor store and buy a bottle -- be it a Cabernet, Shiraz, or Merlot -- the salespeople look at me like I'm holy. I'm drinking a 1999 Malbec right now and I just love that heavenly combination of raspberry, spice, and smoky aromas. It makes me want to finish off the bottle and call up an ex-boyfriend or two in the middle of the night just to say hello.
Uh, wait, there's a show I'm supposed to write about here. ["No rush." -- Sars] The KieferKopter is flying back to CTU, with Kiefer and Bride of Kiefer making out in the backseat. The Kopter is no longer giving off a M*A*S*H vibe. It's reminding me more of a local news station's traffic copter. Alberta VO5 and Nina are standing out in the CTU parking lot, waiting for the return of Kiefer. Alberta is wearing some styling shades, and the wind from the chopper blades is blowing Nina's new jersey cloth top perilously close against her, uh, Neeners. The Kiefer Kopter lands, and the Kiefer Klan piles out. Someone gave Spawn's hair a layered bob on the ride back to CTU, and Bride is having another mysterious stomach pain. Kiefer asks after them. He doesn't -- as I incorrectly speculated earlier -- know anything about their cause. Bride explains that her stomach's been bothering her for the past couple of episodes…I mean, "hours." "Sweetheart? Did something happen there?" asks Kiefer. You mean besides being kidnapped at gunpoint and almost executed twice? Uh, Kiefer, you're the CIA agent. How often are a couple of women of child bearing age kidnapped by terrorists and not raped? Haven't you seen Patty Hearst by Paul Schrader? Spawn shoots Bride a look of concern, and Bride is all, "No, it's probably from all the stress." Yeah, I imagine it's pretty "stressful" to screw some guy to save your idiot daughter's ass. Kiefer explains that an ambulance is coming to take the Kieferettes to the CTU clinic to check them out.
Alberta and Nina -- who really look like they should be opening up an independent womyn's bookstore in Northhampton, Massachusetts already -- approach the KieferKlan. Kiefer makes introductions all around like it's Take Your Daughter To Work Day at CTU. (Or, as my friend and co-worker Ilona once famously remarked, Take Your Daughter to Work…And Leave Her There! Day.) When Nina and Bride are introduced -- apparently for the first time -- it's a country song by Loretta Lynn just waiting to happen. But before anyone can grab a banjo and a moonshine jug, Alberta starts coldly ushering the Kieferettes over to the ambulance. "But Kiefer, what's going to happen with you?" asks Bride. "It's all right, sweetheart," says Kiefer. "They just have to debrief me." Debrief? Do I even need to comment? One last family hug is performed; Kiefer assures the Kieferettes that everything will be all right. Bride gives Kiefer this look of suppressed desperation as if to say, "Uh, no, it's not going to be all right, douchebag! Every time we get separated, something insane happens!" You would think by now that Kiefer wouldn't let his family out of his sight for a second, but then, you would also say that Oedipus wouldn't have fulfilled his prophecy of killing his father and marrying his mother if he'd only stayed on that mountain and refrained from killing or sleeping with anyone. And where would world literature be then? Huh?
After a few longing glances back at the Kieferettes, Kiefer is escorted back inside CTU. On their way back, Alberta informs Kiefer that they'll be "doing more than just debriefing him." Again, I don't dare to comment. Why gild the lily? Kiefer is being placed under house arrest and questioned by the FBI. And as we learned from the 1992 film Basic Instinct, it is very important not to be wearing panties when questioned by the authorities. The ambulance drives off to the clinic. Kiefer gives it a pensive look. He begs Nina to haul ass over to the clinic and see that his wife and daughter are okay. Aw! Kiefer, don't worry about your family. It's already Episode 14. I'm sure that the Kieferettes aren't doing anything until midnight but giving each other pedicures, sipping cocoa, and curling up by a blazing fire with a copy of The Courage To Heal Workbook by Laura Davis. Everything will be fine and uneventful from here on in. Trust me. Kiefer is taken to a holding room complete with -- you guessed it -- a couple of Emeco Naval Chairs and a Modotti table. He asks a CTU extra for some water, and sits and waits in private for his debriefing.
Back at Nina's desk, Alberta VO5 walks by. Nina stops her and asks her permission to go home and "clean up." Alberta's eyes widen, and for a moment it looks like she's going to say, "Uh, yeah Miss Myers, you better take a shower, 'cause I can smell your Gynol II all the way from the KieferKube!" But instead she denies Nina a break and voices her suspicions that Nina's up to something. Nina 'fesses up that she's going over the clinic to look after the Kieferettes. "Now there's an irony for you," says Alberta VO5. "You looking after Kiefer's wife?" She lets Nina go, but only after she sees that Soul Patch doesn't need her help.
Back at the Palmer suite, which features a blond birch dining room set designed by Heywood Wakefield as knocked off by Crate and Barrel, various extras busy themselves with checking the projections of various other state primaries. Apparently, New York and Massachusetts are having state primaries too. In real life, they're held long before the California primaries, but in real life, a black presidential candidate wouldn't have a prayer of making it past New Hampshire in the first place, so let's just suspend some more disbelief, shall we? Palmer actually asks a new assistant if the "incident at the breakfast is hurting" his campaign. Say, did the Catholicism of Karol Wojtyla hurt his chances of becoming Pope John Paul II back in 1978? Um, Palmer? Are you smoking your son's crack? If an assassin shoots at you and you don't die, you will get elected even if they subsequently catch you in bed with a dead Girl Scout or a live Boy Scout. It's like the 4.0 you get when your college roommate commits suicide. It might as well be a law, for crying out loud. In fact, I'm surprised that some brilliant campaign mastermind hasn't faked the pre-election shooting of his candidate. Dude, Alan Keyes would be our president right now if someone felt he was worth a bullet back in 2000.
My boyfriend has this friend from work who dropped by because she was in the neighborhood seeing her psychic. So she plops down on my couch and proceeds to tell us that this psychic told her that "everybody in the psychic community has always known" that our 42nd president is going to be assassinated before he finishes out his first term, and Bush is our 42nd president. So I'm all, great! That's just what we need right now: martyrdom for Dubya. Before you know it, we'll have a Dubya School of Government at Harvard, a Dubya International Airport, and a Dubya Center for the Performing Arts. Then Laura Bush is going get remarried to a Greek shipping tycoon who'll buy her an island and all the Valentino gowns she wants. Listen up, anti-American terrorists! If you really want to stick it to the Bush family, don't shoot George, for crying out loud! Let him ride out his pitiful presidency and force him to take responsibility for his incompetence. If you shoot him, the country gets behind him even more, and we'll have a stronger government because he won't be involved in it. Don't you get it? I repeat! If you want to fuck with the U.S., keep George alive! New assistant, who looks like Kelly's Crispy Lesbian Friend from with Felicity hair pulled back in a bun, promises Palmer to get right on that. Hmmm. I've never seen this girl before, and yet she gets a line that doesn't advance the plot. Think she'll be important later on? Nah! She's got her hair in a bun. There's no way she's up to something!
Back in the really really ugly kitchenette, Lady MacPalmer pours coffee from one of those white plastic decanters -- you know, the one with the stopper at the top that you have to spin clockwise until there's a large enough opening for the coffee to come splashing out and subsequently stain your outfit? -- and places it back on a Crate and Barrel blond birch serving tray. Palmer enters and asks Lady Mac what's "on her mind." Come to think of it, what in the damn heck is on Lady Mac's mind now that the Theo story has been killed? She's been doing nothing all morning but complaining about that story, and now that it's gone, how's she going to kill time until midnight? You know how you finally pop a big zit on your chin that's been bothering you all day and it's one of those sweet pops that's executed with just the right combination of pressure, timing, and fingernail positioning which totally decimates the pimple? It's such a great feeling; you keep looking in the mirror and marveling at your skin and consider dropping by the office of your dermatologist -- the one who keeps telling you not to pop your zits under any circumstances -- just to gloat. So you keep thinking about that glorious zit pop for hours, and you even reach over to your chin and try to pop the non-existent zit again just to recreate that lovely accomplished feeling. The problem is, you no longer have a zit there. You popped it. It's gone. You go looking around your face for other zits to pop, but there aren't any -- well, maybe a couple pink ones that aren't quite ripe yet. So you keep squeezing the place where your zit used to be, hoping that there's some pus left that you didn't get the first time. Nothing. It starts bothering you just as much as the zit did in the first place. Well, Lady Mac's right there in that. She tells Palmer that he needs to put his "best face forward" today and forget about mentioning Ferragamo or the murder cover-up. Lady Mac? He just told you a few minutes ago that he wasn't going to do anything about the Theo situation. You won. Drop it! Palmer tells her he's over it…because he's being blackmailed by his campaign backers. Apparently, someone planted evidence in Ferragamo's office that could implicate Theo in the murder. Lady Mac flips out. "Does Theo know?" asks Lady Mac. "No," says Palmer. "And he's not going to!" And when Palmer says he's going to do something, there's no changing his mind. No way, José. I bet that Theo is going to be in the dark about this for a good five or six minutes. That Palmer is a rock, I tell you!
Back at the clinic, Bride and Spawn are walking down the hall wrapped in royal blue blankets. The look is very Issey Miyake circa 1989, but I have to ask, what is up with that? I mean, if an earthquake hits your town and you're homeless, I can see how you'd be sitting around in your backyard huddled inside that blanket that a Red Cross volunteer gave you. But if your kidnapping ordeal has just ended and you are now being examined in a climate-controlled government building in Southern California, what's with the matching Pocahontas blankets? Can't someone just give 'em a couple of paper gowns? ["I think the presence of blankets is standard TV/movie shorthand for 'in shock.'" -- Sars] SensitiveEthnicHealthPractitioner leads them into an examining room and asks Bride about any additional "discomfort." Besides the sinking feeling that she must have dropped her daughter on her head when she was little, that is. Bride says "no," but Spawn is all, "Mom!" SEHP senses that something is up, so she gives one of her assistants one of those "get this rape victim's stupid daughter out of here so I can privately give her a pamphlet" hand signals. Spawn is taken to another room. "Mrs. Bauer?" says SEHP in a leading manner. "I was raped," says Bride. SEHP is all, "I see," and proceeds to tell Bride all about the tests they're going to perform on her and how she should speak to the staff psychiatrist. Uh, right. Because if Bride hadn't been raped, she wouldn't need to see a mental health professional about, say, being kidnapped, beaten, and nearly executed twice by homicidal terrorists -- they just give you Tylenol for that. Bride wants to keep the rape "confidential." SEHP tells Bride that the records will be kept private, and only the doctors will have access. "I mean from my husband." SEHP gives her a look as if to say, "Got it, sister." Okay, snarkiness aside, Leslie Hope's acting in this scene rocks. Her face displays a perfect mixture of shame, sadness, and courage. The time is 1:10:50 PM.
The time is 1:15:13 PM. Klockwise from the top left, SEHP "counsels" Bride, Palmer and Poor Man's Hume Cronyn do something with sheets of paper that looks campaign-esque, and Kiefer pours himself a glass of water from a stainless steel pitcher from the Restoration Hardware catalog. PMHC gives Palmer some advice about currying favor from some senators who'll be helpful to his campaign. Palmer doesn't want to, because he doesn't like them. Hello? Was I hallucinating, or did I just hear a politician claim that it was beneath him to butter up some people that he doesn't particularly like? Isn't that a bit like a Catholic Priest saying that he doesn't like to work on Sundays? But what's really on PMHC's mind is whether or not the "Ferragamo thing" is going to go away. Palmer tells him not to worry, he's got it under control. Theo enters mid-sentence, wearing lots of rayon and a Gucci belt and wanting to know what's up with the good doctor. Palmer explains that BadShrink died in an accidental fire. "What kind of fire?" says Theo. I dunno, Theo. A wicked hot one? Theo puts two and two together and konkludes that something's fishy about the fact that Ferragamo was the source of Maureen Kingsley's story and now he's dead. Remember how Theo wanted to let sleeping dogs lie a couple of hours ago? Well, now he wants to get to the bottom of his therapist's death. "I might have been involved with Gibson's death," says Theo. "But somebody murdered Ferragamo and they're going to have to pay!" Apparently, Dr. Ferragamo was the "only person" who was there for Theo in his hour of need. Theo? Are you heterosexual and single? Would you like to meet your soulmate? Her name is Kim Bauer, and she looks mighty fine in a cheerleading vest! Palmer tries to assure his son that he loves him and that he'll tell the truth if it looks like there's any foul play.
CTU. Enter Chappelle. Oh no, not the super-hot photographer David La Chappelle who took my favorite photo ever -- the one of Tori Spelling climbing out of a limo with some McDonald's wrappers at her feet. This is yet another dude who has control over Kiefer's livelihood, probably values "rules" way too much, and hates Kiefer for getting more pussy in the past week than he'll ever get in a lifetime. In fact, let's just call him Kenneth Starlet. "Looks like they're bringing in the big guns," says Milo to Soul Patch as Starlet walks by. Hey, Milo! Where have you been? Oh, and like every new personage who enters CTU on a mission, Chappelle has a couple of minions who we will probably never see again. They'll probably end up in the same waiting room as Kyle and the AlbertaMinions, reading Highlights and Golf Digest until 5 PM. Back in Kiefer's holding room, some guy enters and places some recording equipment in front of him, and then Chappelle enters. Kiefer tries to speak to him off the record, but Chappelle stops him and turns on the tape recorder. Kiefer pauses, offended that he's being treated like your average suspect, and starts to tell the story of what's happened since midnight.
The screen splits to show Nina at the clinic wearing a styling new suit -- a charcoal grey Yves Saint Laurent double-knit, I believe. She enters a room that she thinks is where the Kieferettes are hanging out, but encounters an FBI agent making a phone call instead. He claims to have been brought in to interrogate the new prisoners captured at the TerrorKompound, and he's got a badge and everything. Nina flashes her badge. Hey, where's my badge? Nina exits and asks a nurse where the Kieferettes are being held. The nurse points her in the right direction. Psycho piano music starts playing. You know, the kind that's always there on the soundtrack whenever a character thinks she's paranoid but in fact everyone is out to get her?
Nina finds the Kieferettes' room. Bride is in the middle of getting her midsection waxed. Oh, wait, she's getting an ultrasound. Incidentally, Leslie Hope has quite a fine set of abs! Spawn's getting her blood pressure taken. Nina tells the Kieferettes that she's there to check up on them, and lets them know that she'll be outside in the waiting room in case they "need anything." Bride asks after Kiefer. Nina lies and says that he's just being asked some routine questions and that everything should be okay. "If he doesn't piss 'em off first," says Bride. Nina chuckles sympathetically…but not too sympathetically. "I guess you know Kiefer as well as I do," says Bride, retying the drawstring on her hospital scrubs and sitting up in bed. Nina changes the subject to tell the Kieferettes that she's sent someone to Casa Kiefer to pick up some clean clothes. The Kieferettes want to go home. Nina explains that they need to answer some questions. "This was a terrorist konspiracy and unfortunately you were in the middle of it," says Nina. Bride thanks Nina for her help in liberating them from the TerrorKompound, and tells her that she saved their lives. Nina accepts Bride's gratitude reluctantly, and exits. Split-screen reaction shots galore.
Nina goes back to the room where she encountered the FBI agent earlier. Empty. She walks down the hall to the nurse's station and sees a female FBI agent hanging out there, talking on her cell phone. Nina approaches her and asks about the agent she saw earlier. Female FBI agent says that no one has been in that room, and points out her male partner to Nina. Nina approaches the male FBI agent. He turns around and smiles. It's not the man she met earlier. Is Female FBI Agent sure that there aren't any other agents with them? Female FBI Agent is sure. Hit it, psycho piano! The time is 1:24:44 PM.
The time is 1:29:10 PM. Klockwise from the top left, Nina searches the clinic for the man that got away, Palmer and PMHC do campaign-like stuff, Spawn gets her head examined, and Kiefer submits to Chappelle's interrogation. Kiefer is wrapping up a blow-by-blow of the last thirteen hours. Chappelle admits that Kiefer was acting like any other loving father, but blah blah blah procedure. "I can't reinstate you," says Chappelle, promising that the extenuating circumstances will at least keep Kiefer out of jail. Kiefer argues that Palmer's life is in danger and there's no time for procedure. "I'll asks Alberta if she needs your help," says Chappelle. Kiefer slams his fists into the Modotti table and says something passionate and urgent. Chappelle's phone rings. It's Nina. Chappelle is finished interviewing Kiefer, so he hands him the phone. Nina wants to discuss the possibility of a second mole -- a theory Kiefer is receptive to. She tells him about the alleged FBI agent she encountered at the clinic, although she admits that she's probably too "exhausted and paranoid" to make an accurate judgment.
Alberta stops by Soul Patch's desk to check out his progress on tracking down the new shooters. There are three back-up shooters with crazy Slavic-sounding names who have entered the U.S. Soul Patch has got to find them!
Speaking of shooters, TakeOnKief, the assassin we met at the close of last week's episode, is lying in a pile of gravel in some deserted California location with a gun and a cell phone. FauxYork and a TerrorVan full of TerrorMinions pull up and park. FauxYork orders the TerrorMinions to load up the remaining equipment into this new shed while he calls ForeignAccentedTerrorBoss on his cell phone. TakeOnKief picks up a WhateverPalmPilot which has a picture of FauxYork featured on its screen and checks out FauxYork some more with a pair of hi-tech binoculars. FauxYork tells FATB that Gaines is dead, and offers him his services as a terrorist assassin for hire. Oh, and by the way, FauxYork used to work for the DEA. FATB informs FauxYork that his services aren't needed, since "plan B is in effect." After about forty-five minutes of suspense and tension, the new terror shed blows up, and TakeOnKief shoots FauxYork in the head. Bye, FauxYork! We'll miss you! The time is 1:36:40 PM.
The time is 1:41:05 PM. Klockwise from the top left, VO5 kwestions Soul Patch, Palmer does some more kampaign-type stuff, and Kiefer sips some more water. Soul Patch gives VO5 a report indicating that Palmer needs to leave California. Alberta promises to look it over and get back to him. She also offers him a beaucoup position under her if he badmouths Kiefer when Chappelle questions him. Soul Patch doesn't answer just yet.
Kiefer's eating a Lean Cuisine in the holding room when Alberta VO5 drops by to give him a hot oil treatment. Alberta coyly claims to feel awkward "debriefing" Kiefer on his own turf, and asks him for a recap of his activities since midnight. Kiefer asks her if he can call the Kieferettes to reassure them that he's all right. His request is denied. Kiefer tells her to kut the krap and stop "handling" him. She turns on the tape recorder and tells him to start talking. Kiefer gives her the rundown on the financial trail between Cofell and the Balkans. Alberta's interest is piqued.
Nina calls Soul Patch from the clinic and asks him to send someone down to take fingerprints of the room where she saw the alleged agent. More psycho piano.
The Palmer Suite. Hey! African Patty is back! Where'd she go? She goes over some photos with Lady Mac for a Time Magazine piece. Theo enters and acts annoying some more. He tells Lady Mac that they've got to do something about Ferragamo's death. Like what? Roast marshmallows? Theo wants to go to the police. Lady Mac tells him that it's "not [his] decision to make." Palmer enters and tells Theo and Lady Mac to pack up their things; they're getting the heck out of California pronto. Things are too dangerous for them in the Sunshine State. The time is 1:47:49 PM.
The time is 1:51:47 PM. Klockwise from the top left, Alberta deep-conditions Kiefer, Palmer gets ready to get out of town, and Soul Patch does some work. Soul Patch is summoned to speak to Chappelle in the koffee room. After much drama, he tells Chappelle that he's not going to say anything bad about the Kiefer. Oh, sure, he hates him and has issues with his methods -- not to mention the fact that Kiefer's schtupping his girlfriend -- but his behavior since midnight has been perfectly legitimate. So there!
A motorcade escorts the Palmer family to the airport. An expository conversation between Palmer and Lady Mac establishes that Li'l Lisa Bonet is meeting them later. Oh, and by the way, PMHC found out some info on Kiefer. He whispers it into Palmer's ear. Apparently, Kiefer led something called the "Drazen Mission" into Kosovo. Palmer is all, "So that's what is was! The Drazen Mission!" "Only Kiefer survived," says PMHC. Palmer konkludes that Kiefer still blames him for the failure of the mission.
Okay, remember the Crispy Lesbian with Buns of Felicity? She's packing up her stuff and leaving the Palmer suite. She hands African Patty a package for Lady Mac and explains that she's staying behind in order to visit a sick aunt in the hospital. She gets into the elevator, and no, the package she gives to Patty doesn't explode, even though you think it's going to. She gets off on another floor and knocks on a door. TakeOnKief answers. They start doing it.
Back at the clinic, the fingerprint expert tells Nina that he can't find any prints on the phone. Nina is perplexed, since there's no way that housekeeping had time to dust off the phone. FingerprinterDude explains that the prints were obviously wiped off by a professional. Nina runs out of the room to call Alberta and ask her if she can move the Kieferettes to a "safe house." Alberta, who is still debriefing Kiefer, grants Nina permission. "Can you smell me now? Good."
Meanwhile, SensitiveEthnicHealthPractitioner is informing Bride that her stomach was bothering her because of a completely benign cyst, which burst due to mysterious circumstances that may have had something to do with the "assault." Nina enters and tells the Kieferettes to move their pert asses over the safe house. Bride and Spawn grab their Ziplocked possessions -- Bride even puts on that damn sweater -- and SEHP slips her a home pregnancy test to go. PhantomFBIAgent is watching them. Or is he? Nina thinks she sees him behind a door, but it's just a couple of doctors. They pile into a CTU van. PhantomFBIAgent watches from a window and phones someone on his cell. "They're leaving now," he says. Nina puts on some kitty-cat sunglasses, and away they go.
Palmer enters CTU. Soul Patch asks if he can help him. "I'm here to see Kiefer," he says. The time is 1:59:57…1:59:58…1:59:59.... 2:00:00 PM.