Michael pretends to be Russian to try to get info on Gilroy's black flight from a Polish apparatchik, but pretending to be a Russian totally backfires. Fi offers to fix things by going back to the Pole as a CIA operative offering to swap the file on the "Russian" for info on the flight. A file Fi builds by raiding some of Madeline's photo albums, which leads to a little heart-to-heart near the end.
Michael bankrolls the job by taking on an "easy money" gig with Sam, looking into a fashion designer's employee who's suspected of stealing. But then the client turns up dead, with Tim, the embezzling suspect, having been set up. So Michael has a new client now, who he helps hide from the police. Realizing the real mastermind behind the murder is the designer's partner, the team messes with his head, which involves Michael posing as a scary criminal who was working behind the scenes with the dead client all along. They lure the bad guys into taking another run at Tim so the cops will pick them up, but the con goes south and the cops end up catching Tim instead. Fortunately, on the second try, Michael gets the bad guys to turn on each other and get themselves busted, so Tim's in the clear.
And finally, the Polish contact comes through: the flight Gilroy is interested in is going to be carrying a very scary maximum security prisoner, and Michael figures he's going to be used to help with a jailbreak. Odds on whether the prisoner is going to be someone we already know?
There's a long previouslies sequence at the beginning of this episode, which on this show is usually a sign that things are going to get heavy. But this week, I think it's just a sign that the episode ran a little short. That, or they're not comfortable with how clearly they communicated last week that the covert flight Gilroy is interested in is flying from Chile to Poland, with a fuel stop in Miami. This previouslies sequence does that so well, it even includes dialogue to that effect that wasn't in the episode.
"When you need to locate a foreign spy office, it's all about the food," Michael VOs. "Spies like home cooking just like everyone else. Find out who serves their regional delicacies, tip the bartenders and delivery boys well, and they'll usually tell you who placed the big orders on the last national holiday. If some of those orders head to an office with tight security and scowling workers with short haircuts, you're in business." Sure, as long as the spies you're looking for in Miami aren't Cuban. But I guess there can't be that many really good Polish sausage places there.
While this VO has been going on, we've been watching a delivery guy carrying a bag into a nondescript two-story office building. Also watching, from a parking lot across the street? Michael and Fi, who are using the roof of the Charger as a coffee table while Fi does what she normally does when she isn't blowing things up: complaining. She lists off a few more traditional date locales: "Beach, concerts, farmers markets. Ugly Polish intelligence offices? Not so much." Michael says this isn't his first choice either, so Fi offers an alternative: "Instead of working with Gilroy the psychopath? Instead of sneaking around trying to figure out what he wants to steal from this plane? Shoot him and be done with it." For once, Fi and I are on the same page. Michael admits he's considered it, but he wants to discover and stop whoever hired Gilroy. Hasn't Michael figured out yet that the trail never ends? He's just going to keep figuring what the bad guys want and who hired them and what they want and who hired them, and on and on and on until he finally comes face-to-face with the supreme leader of the ultimate covert international conspiracy that controls every aspect of public and private life throughout the entire world, and it's going to be his fricking mom. But for now, as he finishes explaining his shorter-term goal to Fi, out of the ugly Polish intelligence office comes an ugly Polish intelligence officer. Michael explains to Fi why this scowling blond hump is the guy to go after: "Low on the totem pole at work, short on cash, bad divorce. He's perfect. We're meeting later today." The subtitles identify Michael's contact -- who doesn't seem aware of Michael and Fi's presence -- as "Conrad -- Easy Target." Michael admits that his Polish is rusty, but since Conrad's mother happens to be a Muscovite, Michael figures he can get away with posing as a Russian, a language he knows much better. "Hopefully we end this quick," he jinxes as they get in the car. Approaching a Pole as a Russian? Michael would have had better luck approaching Fi and her family back in Ireland as a Brit.
Later, Michael treks out to a remote section of shoreline where there's a picturesque white lighthouse. Checking the site, he VOs, "Playing on people's loyalties is an art. Especially when those loyalties can be murky and malleable. Poke around too much and you'll look suspicious. Sometimes your best move is to just commit." Michael meets Conrad at the entrance of the lighthouse, like Conrad lives in there or something, and I guess he wouldn't be the first divorcee who found himself in some strange digs. Or indeed that very lighthouse. While either affecting a Russian accent or still recovering from a large shot of Novocain he got on the way over, Michael explains that he wants some information on covert flights going through Miami to Poland. "Why?" Conrad asks. Michael claims to be a charter airline owner doing research. Switching to subtitled Russian, he adds, "We are countrymen. I'm sure we can make a deal." Conrad chuckles, "Russians," and says he's going back inside for his briefcase. "I'm sure we can work something out," he agrees. The VO, which had been silent for so long I'd forgotten what it had been saying, continues, "Of course, commit too hard to the wrong side and there's not much wiggle room. Instead of an instant ally, you've just made an instant enemy." That might explain why Conrad comes out pointing a gun at Michael. He does mention the extra security at the office this week, so at least Michael has learned something. Maintaining his Russian accent (although honestly, you hear much better Russian accents on 24 and Rocky & Bullwinkle), Michael tells Conrad to relax, but Conrad has some axes to grind against Russians. He makes Michael precede him along the shoreline, saying he plans to interrogate him and then "cut out your lying FSB tongue." The FSB of course being the successor to the KGB, but with lazier publicists. Suddenly Fi jumps out of the bushes behind Conrad and clubs him on the head with a rifle. Standing over the unconscious Pole with Michael, Fi says, "So much for an easy target." When did Fi start reading the subtitles?
So since they struck out with that approach, Michael's plan is to try to break into Conrad's office. At the loft, over schematics of the place, Fi offers another, less risky suggestion for approaching Conrad. Specifically, she says that Conrad's hatred of Russians is their in. Michael jumps on the first person plural as a sign that she's willing to help, and Fi says she's curious enough about Gilroy's motives to approach Conrad as an American intelligence operative. "I'll need cash for this," she says. Michael jumps at her offer without even discussing a figure, and says Sam's been trying to get him in on a job, conveniently enough. Sam's potential client is a fashion designer who's prepared to pay well. Seeing Michael get paid at all would be a big change. While he dials his phone, Fi mentions that Sam also asked her, but Fi passed because Sam seemed more interested in the models than the job. And that's different from daily life how? Michael reaches Sam, who's on a windy balcony somewhere for some reason and childishly excited that Michael's in. Wait, is "childish" the right word? I guess it is, at least to the extent that children get boners.
"When you're conducting surveillance from a dusty cave in Afghanistan," Michael VOs over aerial shots of what someone more familiar with Miami than I might recognize as exclusive Star Island, "you daydream about air conditioning, swimming pools, and iced tea. But spend a little time waiting for a socialite to hand off her tiny dog to a canine beautician and that Afghan cave looks a little better." At a secluded mansion on this island, Michael and Sam are doing just that while the new client -- an attractive, blonde ex-model type --gives detailed instructions that include rubbing the dog's belly. "Colonel Peabody just loves when you do that," she gushes at Sam. "Who doesn't?" Sam agrees. The two of them keep flirting until Michael, rolling his eyes, gets them back on subject. "One of your employees is stealing?" he butts in. The blonde, Isabella (from the Italian for "is pretty," of course) says she's been fighting a lot with one of her VPs named Tim Hastings, and now the company's books are starting to look hinky. She wants them to look into it, discreetly, and asks how much they charge. She asks smoothly, "Is thirty thousand enough?" "That's too much," Michael says. Yes, about thirty thousand too much, plus expenses. But she insists and gives the check to Sam, who promises, "You won't be disappointed." The subtitles say she is "Isabella -- Sam's New Client." Because given what happens later, she sure as hell can't be Michael's.
"Recruiting an asset is about making your target feel important," Michael VOs. "Everythin
g from the clothes you wear to the location of the meeting should communicate how vital the mission is. Wear the right outfit, pick the right deserted bar, and the target will be ready to engage in some gold old fashioned espionage." At a seaside bar, Fi -- wearing a black tank top and slacks, but since she's also wearing glasses and a ponytail she looks "serious" -- joins Conrad. "We understand you were approached by the Russians," she says without preamble. Conrad is eager to share, and Fi, letting him think she's from "The Agency," says they need to find out who the Russian is and what he's after. Of course Fi already knows who the "Russian" is, and the reason she wants to know what he wanted is so she can tell him. Unaware of any of this, Conrad tells Fi that the man who approached him was after information on a covert flight, so Fi says she needs to know what that information was. Conrad says he doesn't have the juice to find out, so Fi hands him an envelope of cash, "to cover expenses." As Conrad rifles through the bills, Michael's VO says, "Some assets work for money, others believe in a cause. The most effective incentive, though, is a combination of the two." Then maybe Fi should be paying him in zlotys. Conrad's on board, but he wants to know more about the Russian. "I think we have a file on him," Fi says. And how would her cover ID know that? Lucky for her Conrad is the most gullible intelligence employee ever.Leaving the meeting, Fi calls Michael at the loft to tell him she's enlisted Conrad's help, but since she also promised him a file on Michael, she's going to have to get some old photos of Michael from Madeline. Michael tries to shut that down, saying he doesn't want her involved. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Fi breezes. Only if she's better at lying to Michael's mom than Michael is.
Michael hangs up and swallows his frustration to ask Sam about the "easy money" job. Sam hands Michael the file on Tim, the suspect. He appears clean, up to and including his legal ownership of a registered firearm. Michael wonders why Sam seems so happy to have hit a dead end, and Sam says the fashion house will be hosting a party later, with everyone in the atrium. "That means one of us can sneak into Tim's office while the other one keeps an eye on him. At the party." Although Michael knows which part Sam wants to take on, Sam's willing to flip for it. But Michael grabs it out of the air, slams it down, and decisively says, "Heads." "Cheater," says Sam, equally decisively. But since when would Michael rather make the scene than sneak around behind it?
And then suddenly we're in this room, except it's filled with models, walking around and posing for nobody, or each other, or something. Some fashion crap. While that's going on, Michael touches base with Isabella. She seems disappointed that Sam didn't show up, so Michael explains that he's up in Tim's office. As Sam tosses the room, Michael VOs, "If you're dealing with a trained operative, there are hundreds of places to hunt for documents. If you're searching a desk jockey's office, it's a far shorter list. Before you can say, 'in the cabinet, behind the bookshelf, or under the desk,' you've usually found what you're looking for." Sure enough, Sam has located a couple of fat ledgers crammed into the underside of Tim's desk. He starts taking photos. Is he going to do that with every page? This could take a while.
Meanwhile, at the party, Michael asks Isabella to point Tim out so he can keep an eye on him. Tim is currently yelling at some models, until the subtitles tell us he is "Tim -- Suspected Thief." Having duly terrorized some female underlings, Tim then goes over to a Chris Kattan-looking dandy, and Michael asks who that is. That would be Damon, Isabella's business partner. Apparently he's the designer. Speaking of which, she says she's supposed to be at home, looking at his designs. Michael advises her to take off and he'll call later, so she does. That was an odd exchange. She's bailing on her own party to do homework, and Michael lets her out of his sight? He should know better. Or maybe he just wants to be alone at the party so he can concentrate on working. "Spies are trained to keep track of multiple conversations at the same time," he says. "Standing alone as you eavesdrop is too obvious." I don't know, it usually works for me at TARcons. "You need to engage in a cover conversation near your target." Keeping his eyes on Tim and Damon, Michael half-chats up some chick who asks who he's wearing. "Black Suit?" Michael shrugs, as though an unemployed guy who regularly goes to the trouble and discomfort of wearing suits in Miami isn't particular about how he looks. He gets her talking about her dress so he can tune her out and VO, "Pure lip-reading takes years to master. But confirming what you're hearing by checking lips is a much easier skill to pick up." The camera fixes close in on Damon's facial topiary as he tells Tim, "Don't get upset at me. She said it." Tim's mouth says he's going to go talk to "her" now. Michael disengages from his boring lady as his cell phone rings, with Sam calling to say he found the books, and just sent Michael some pictures of them. Michael says he's going to Isabella's to show them to her. Oddly, Sam is okay with Michael hijacking his client this way. "I'll leave Tim's office how I found it," he says. "Ugly."
On the street in front of Isabella's house, Tim gets out of his car and sees Michael walking up behind him He recognizes him from the party and asks if he's following him, in a rather unfriendly way. "My name's Michael. I work for Isabella," Michael says pleasantly. "I think the three of us should have a talk." Michael explains to Tim about what "we" (meaning Sam) found in his office, and as Tim idly threatens to have him arrested, follows him in through Isabella's front gate. Which is standing wide open. "It doesn't take long working in combat situations before you start paying a lot of attention to little things," Michael VOs. Like that little dog of Isabella's, out on the front stoop barking. Even Tim's antennae are waving at this point. "Things that don't feel right, like an open gate, or a pampered dog running around loose, often lead to much bigger things." Like a body floating in a swimming pool? Because there is one, blonde and wearing the same dress Isabella was wearing at the party. Tim is shocked to see his boss face-down in the bloody water. He wants to call someone, but Michael says it's too late for an ambulance, and the approaching sirens tell him somebody already called the police. "Of course, knowing something's wrong and being able to do something about it are two different things," he VOs. "Sometimes the damage is already done." Tim spots his own gun lying on the pool deck, and that's when we -- and Michael -- realize that Tim's being set up. Tim's about to pick up his gun, because he's apparently a moron, but Michael uses Tim's pocket square to snag it himself. Tim insists to Michael that he didn't shoot her. "Yeah, obviously," Michael snaps, and adds that they have to go out the back. Because the cops in Miami are only good for calling on other people, I guess. Tim says the back is enclosed by a high wall, but with the police already out front, there aren't many other options. That's a high wall, though, once they come face-to-face with it -- ten feet of sheer vertical stucco. Michael gives Tim a boost, cupping his hands to create a step to lift him over. Tim says the cops will see his car out front. "I know you want to chat, Tim, but now is not the time," Michael grunts while trying to clean and jerk a human being. Once Tim's atop the wall, Michael removes his "Black Suit" jacket and tosses an end of it up to Tim. He tells Tim to fall with it wrapped around his wrists, which will pull Michael up like a pulley rope. If the back seam is stitched with titani
um, sure. As Michael summits the wall, he grunts, "Easy money gig?" Like he shouldn't have known better.At the loft courtyard, Michael meets up with Fi and Sam, the latter of whom reports that according to his police scanner, none of the cops saw Michael, even though they have Tim's car. Which makes me wonder how Michael got his own car out of there, as it was parked not far behind Tim's. Michael opens the trunk of the Charger, and Tim sits up from inside, saying they have to call the cops and tell them the truth, since Michael knows he's innocent. "How do I know you're innocent?" Michael asks Socratically. He says just because Tim didn't shoot Isabella himself doesn't mean he wasn't involved. Sam says she knew Tim was stealing from her, but Tim explains that it was actually Damon who was doing the stealing, and Tim had been trying to convince Isabella. Hence the fighting, I guess. Fi wonders if Damon did it, but since Damon was at the party the whole time, that's a pretty airtight alibi. And Tim recalls Damon sending him over there. Sam points out that the cops can do ballistics even without Tim's gun. "He's got you pretty good." Tim agrees, thinking he's screwed, but Michael's already thinking about the problem. Obviously someone besides Damon did the shooting. "We turn up the heat..." "Maybe find some evidence," Fi adds. "We punch holes in their stories." Michael sends Fi to drop Tim off at a motel until they come and get him. And that's how Tim gets to leave the scene without having to submit to a subtitle reading: "Tim -- The Client." "We got snowed, Mike," Sam says. "We let Isabella down." "She never saw it coming," Michael agrees. Well, in that sense at least, Sam was right -- she wasn't disappointed. "Whoever killed Isabella sure did their homework," Sam says. Can we end this scene before any more clichés are thrown around?
Some kind of memorial is already going on at the fashion house, with Damon presiding and a big portrait of Isabella up on the wall. "When dealing with a pathological liar, don't bother looking for signs of a guilty conscience," Michael VOs as he and Sam witness Damon's performance. "True deceivers enjoy the lie. They know to look you dead in the eye and usually shed a few tears on demand. So if you want to know when they're lying, look for the little smile that comes when deceiving a room full of people." So then what about the shit-eating grin above the subtitle reading "Damon -- Stylish Bastard"? Obviously Michael and Sam are not fooled. "Let's see how he does when we mess with his script," Michael suggests.
Later, Damon walks around the room, thanking a police detective for his work on the murder of his "dear friend," when Michael comes up claiming to be someone named Max, specifically, "Isabella's Max." He says they need to talk. He drags Damon into Damon's opulent office, rattling off a bunch of crap about rerouting Italy shipments through Paris, searches and seizures, LaGuardia, etc. Damon wants to back up: "Who the hell are you?" Michael pretends like he's just realizing that Isabella didn't tell Damon who he was. "Suffice it to say I'm Max, her other business partner. From L.A." Damon's still not getting it, which is not surprising because this is all a lie, so Michael grabs a few swatches off the desk and tosses them at Damon. "I starch heroin into Isabella's fabrics," he claims. Is that even possible? "We're running about four million dollars a week so we need to improve our communication here." Michael's doing that thing he sometimes does where he intimidates people by suddenly starting to shout in THE MIDDLE OF A SENTENCE! While Damon sniffs the swatches curiously, Michael VOs, "When you make an approach as a spy, you need to choose a role that puts you in the center of the action and explains why no one's ever heard of you before. Claiming to be a criminal can kill two birds with one stone. You throw around some names and dates and places to confuse them, show them some account books to make it sound credible, and make the dollar figures big enough to play to their greed." "Did you say four million a week?" Damon asks, showing how that last one works. He's slowly catching up. Michael blows past that, saying the murder investigation better not lead to a narcotics case, or else, "My new business partner gets strangled to death with his DESIGNER TIE!" See? He did it again. Damon says there's a clear suspect, and although he's currently "missing," the cops will find him soon. He is careful to leave out the part where the suspect was set up by Damon himself. Michael threatens that the suspect better turn up soon, "Or they're going to have another body to investigate."
Walking out of the building, Michael calls Sam on his cell phone. "I shook the tree, let's see what falls out." From a car parked right where Michael's walking past, Sam says he'll follow Damon to see where he goes.
At Madeline's house, Fi is asking for some old pictures of Michael, claiming she just wants to see some of his past. And although Madeline isn't fooled for a minute, she goes and gets some old photo albums. Clearly this is exactly what Michael was trying to avoid, but you know how Fi is once she gets a bad idea.
From the driver's seat, Sam is taking photos of the audio shop where Damon went, and actually still is, talking to the guy who works there. Michael walks up to Sam's open car window so they can explain to us that they're gathering evidence to suggest some new suspects to the cops. Michael's job is to bug the place. "Cover the front," he tells Sam. "Like a blanket," Sam agrees. So he's resorting to hitting on Michael subliminally now?
As he walks down the back alley behind the store and finds the section of back wall he wants, Michael VOs, "Contact microphones pick up sound vibrations through walls, allowing you to eavesdrop on conversations." Except you have to punch a hole in the plaster to stuff it in, which Michael now does. "Pair one with a wireless transmitter, and you have a bugging device that doesn't need to be in the same room as your target." Michael tunes in on Damon telling the store employee they have a problem, which is why he's had to abandon their plan not to have any contact for months. The other dude tries to reassure Damon, and suddenly there's a burst of feedback in both Michael and Sam's ears. They heard it in the shop, too, what with all the speakers. The guy Damon's been talking to gets suspicious. "Of course bugging a room from the outside makes it impossible to see potential pitfalls," Michael's VO excuses. Then maybe you should have looked into the store when you were out front, genius. Also, one grows weary of hearing the words "Of course" in every other voice-over on this show. I sense a drinking game coming on. The store worker walks toward the front of the store, his hands out of sight, but he's clearly carrying something. A snow shovel would be my guess. Sam leans over in his seat to get out of sight. "Just as a cell phone reacts when it's placed too close to your alarm clock," the VO continues, which is news to me, "a room full of speakers can create radio frequency interference if you're spying on someone with a wireless signal." Michael's already reeling in his wires. When Damon's partner comes out the back, the object in his hand turns out to be a gun, so I stand corrected. "Ric -- Damon's Partner," the subtitles say. And looking at the two of them, I suspect they're partners in more than crime. Michael is somehow nowhere in sight, despite there being no cover available in this alley. Oh, wait, he's up on top of the A/C unit above the door. Lucky for him, a delivery truck is coming up the alley, which provides two advantages: it gets Ric to hide his gun, and it gives Michael something to jump onto as it rolls past. Michael grins at his own clever escape.
That night, Michael is in the loft listening to his short and fairly useless recording of Damon and Ric's conversation when Sam comes in, apparently from checking on Tim. "He's a Boy Scout, so he doesn't have a lot of experience with this type of thing," Sam says. So apparently Tim's dark side is limited to yelling at models. Sam adds that the cops are still hunting for Tim, plus they just found half a box of bullets in his garage. "Predictably, perfect match for the rounds that killed Isabella." Sam gives Michael the file on the partner, Ric Peterson, a club DJ who runs the audio shop during the day and has a few ecstasy and assault raps on his sheet, but no visible connection to Damon. "They're not exactly itching to break the law again," Sam says. Michael pretty much says that's just too bad.
"Law enforcement cover IDs are tricky," Michael VOs as Damon struts through the fashion house. "Pose as a lead detective and you'll have unlimited access, but a single call to the station and you're caught. You need to think smaller." We now see Sam in his Chuck Finley hair and a white lab coat over a nerdy shirt and tie, carrying a big metal case and timing his entrance to run into Damon as the VO finishes, "Nobody questions the credentials of a lowly crime scene investigator." Sam pretty much collides with Damon coming around the corner, and Damon's surprised to see anyone from the force still there, even if it's a lab tech. Sam tells him that's how it goes: "You get some detective with a new theory and the whole department does a one-eighty." Damon is of course curious, but plays the "dear friend" card, so Sam says the new theory is two guys working together. "Looks like murder," he adds slowly, putting on his sunglasses inside, "is in style this season." Because that's how crime scene investigators in Miami talk, after all. Isn't it?
With perfect timing, Michael calls Damon on his cell phone just as Sam walks away. As Max, Michael accuses Damon of lying to him about the investigation being over. "Do I have to burn that place down?" he
yells. Damon talks about how it's an easy case for the cops, but Michael tells him to come down to the parking lot so they can find out more.When Damon does, Michael opens his trunk to reveal Fi, bound and gagged and all ready to get thrown on the railroad tracks. Michael claims she's Tim's girlfriend, and takes off the gag to start "questioning" her. She does a convincing panic act, feigning ignorance until Michael whips out a utility knife to wave in her face and ask where Tim is. Fi says Tim's planning to hire a boat to the Bahamas, from a dock on 64th Street at noon tomorrow. "He said something about calling the cops on some designer who tried to kill Isabella!" Damon looks busted, and she starts screaming as Michael closes the trunk lid and grabs Damon, demanding, "You killed Isabella and didn't tell me?" Damon says he used a partner so there's nothing pointing his way: "It was the perfect crime," he brags. Michael grabs Damon by his tie, reminding him that Tim got away, which makes it pretty imperfect. Damon chokes out that they can just kill Tim, and make it look like he got killed trying to leave the country. Michael acts receptive to the idea, and says Damon and his partner need to follow Tim to the docks and put two in the back of his head. "You idiots will be tempted to TOUCH EVERYTHING. Don't. Just steal all Tim's money and leave. It'll look like he met his ride out of town and they robbed him and shot him." Damon agrees, and Michael says if he does it right, the cops will let up, "And my stylish new business partner Damon gets to live."
Fi, back in her idea of what CIA clothes are, meets Conrad at that same restaurant and hands over a dossier. It includes a photo of a younger Michael in desert combat gear. Continually proving his "intelligence" position to be a misnomer, Conrad marvels at the spy's ability to infiltrate the Americans. Now that she's impressed him, Fi asks about the flight information. Conrad assures her that the file is locked in a steel safe, guarded around the clock. That means the "Russian" can't get at it, so Conrad thinks the issue is closed. This is of course not what Fi really wanted to hear, so she thinks fast and tells him he has a mole in his office. Man, just look at her riding that Pole. Conrad promises to find the file first. "It's tough to get someone to compromise their values in only a couple of meetings," Michael VOs. "The only way to do that is to compromise a few values of your own." So which of Fi's values did she just compromise there? Aside from not blowing anything up this whole episode?
That night at the loft, Tim is there with the team, trying to get his head around the fact that he's being used as bait so Damon and Ric can try to kill him. "They won't actually succeed," Michael breezes, which I'm sure comes as a relief to Tim. "We just need them to get caught by the cops looking guilty." Sam shows him an aerial photo of the docks area, showing how Tim will approach, while Sam and Michael will provide cover from a nearby roof and wait for the cops to come and pick up Damon and Ric. Michael informs Ric, "There are a lot of things grieving coworkers do, but hunting with guns for someone on docks? Mmm, not one of them." Of course the cops will also arrest Tim, but now he might be able to convince them of the truth. Now that he's run away from them and all. "That plus your gun dropped into Damon's trunk is all you need to blow his story apart," Fi adds. I like how their plan to exonerate an innocent man involves helping evade arrest, planting evidence, and arranging for him to be picked up at the docks when it looks like he's fleeing the country. These people have been operating outside the law so long they've forgotten what the inside of it looks like. Michael tells Tim to relax. "It's almost over." Funny, my clock says it's only forty minutes past the hour. Or, in Burn Notice Standard Time, two minutes before everything turns to shit.
day, up on that rooftop near the docks, Sam watches through his binoculars and Michael through the scope of a sniper rifle as Tim gets out of a yellow cab down below. Fi is in a parked car at ground level, for extra cover. Damon and Ric show up in separate cars. "Time to call the cavalry," Fi says into her earpiece. Sam calls the cops to say he just saw two guys with guns on their way to the docks, as though that's enough to bring them running without even asking Sam's name. Except then Michael and Sam notice that the would-be killers are neither heading toward the docks nor taking out guns. Clearly something's up. Sam spots a park bench that wasn't there this morning, and Michael magically makes his scope zoom in to reveal a satchel just visible beneath it. And Fi can see a detonator in Ric's hand, as he extends the antenna with evil slowness. So much for two in the head. And Tim is walking cluelessly toward the bomb. "I'd say take it out, but more than one shot gives us away," Sam says. "Then I can't miss," says Michael, and fires. His magical bullet against the visible edge of the satchel sets the bomb off, blowing the bench to shit and knocking Tim flat onto the street. But then, after a long moment, Tim gets up and runs. Michael tells Fi to pick him up, just as the cops roll into sight. Fi drives around and opens the passenger door, hollering at Tim to get over there. And I mean, she's like a block away from him. Tim freaks at how close the cops are -- or else he's deiced, justifiably, that he's through with these idiots -- and runs in the opposite direction. Michael tells Fi to clear out, and he and Sam watch helplessly from above as the cops nab Tim.
After the ads, Sam lets Fi off the hook, saying, "There was nothing you could do." Maybe driving within a half a block of the person she was supposed to be picking up would have helped. Sam is wondering how much further they're going to go here: "Are we busting Tim out of prison?" "Are we letting them get away with killing Isabella?" Michael retorts. He adds that the one thing they can use is how Damon and Ric screwed up "Max's" instructions. Sam points out that they got what they wanted, but Michael says they have a couple of hours before the bad guys even know Tim was arrested, since it happened around the corner from where they were. New plan: "We drive Damon away from Ric, get them to turn on each other, we give the cops another killer." He dials his phone, and gets Damon, who tells him everything is cool, other than the fact that they shouldn't be talking. Michael tells him it's not cool; Tim got away. Damon says there's no way Tim could have escaped, but Michael says he did -- again. "I'm starting to think he's the only one around here who knows what the hell he's doing!" He tells Damon to meet him at the office immediately, or else be killed. So at least he's offering options.
Max looks drunk with panic as he returns to the fashion house. Seeing Sam coming out of the place, once again in his CSI drag, doesn't help. Damon tries to quiz him, but Sam says the bosses never tell him much. "Oh, there they are now," he says as his cell phone rings. Damon lurks behind Sam as he pretends to be talking to a superior when in fact it's really Michael. Then he busts Damon for listening in. Damon says he just really wants them to find the killer of his "dear friend." Sam says it won't be long. "It looks like our killer's plan," he Horatios, once again with the sunglasses and everything, "is coming apart at the seams." Can I get a YEEEEAAAAAAHHHH?
Damon comes into his office, and Michael opens by reminding him about the "two in the back of the head" plan. Damon is freaking out, and even more so when Michael closes the curtains for some "privacy." Damon begs Michael not to kill him. Michael picks up a big pointy design award, checking the edge, as Damon blathers about coming up with an alternate plan. Michael doesn't go for the idea of pinning Isabella's murder on someone else, even if it's Ric, or even killing Ric into the bargain. Until Damon says they can make it look like Ric killed himself. Damon says he'll stage it and Michael can shoot him. "Nope," Michael says, "I'll get you a gun." Damon looks like he was afraid of that.
So then Fi's busy in Michael's kitchen, taking apart a handgun as Michael VOs, "One of the many weapons in a spy arsenal is sabotage. Your enemy can't fight back when their vehicles won't drive and their weapons won't fire. If you're handing a bad guy a gun and you need it to jam accidentally, fatiguing the trigger assembly to break under pressure is probably your best move." I will keep that in mind, thanks. Fi sprays a tiny little spring from inside the gun with something and then replaces it as the VO wraps up, "It's undetectable, so nobody gets suspicious and nobody gets hurt." Unless the person at the other end of the disabled gun has one of his own, that is.
Michael finds Damon sitting in his car outside Ric's shop, and gets in to him, handing him a gun in a paper bag. He adds that it's untraceable. I don't know if it's actually Tim's gun or not, but Damon doesn't appear suspicious. He gets out of the car and tells Michael to keep it running. Michael calls Sam -- in his own car across the way -- to confirm the cops are en route. You'd think the dispatcher would start to recognize Sam's voice by now.
Damon enters the store, and Ric isn't thrilled to see him. He tells him to calm down, but Damon pulls out the gun and pulls the trigger. From like six feet away, which probably would have put a crimp in Damon's fake-suicide plan, unless he was then planning to put the gun in Ric's dead hand and make it shoot him in the head again. That would have made it look
like very thorough suicide indeed. Ric cowers, but when Damon pulls the trigger and only gets a dry click, Ric starts beating up Damon, while Sam and Michael watch from outside. "Oh, I hope he's okay," Sam says. The cops rolls up, right on time again, and bust them both. "He shot my friend!" Damon yells. "Arrest him! He's the killer!" I wish we could be there when Damon confesses to the cops that he was also trying to cover up a drug smuggling operation that doesn't actually exist.Back to the fashion house for the denouement with Tim, Sam, and Michael. Damon confessed, the fashion house is being sold, and the money is going to a pet rescue center. Sam tells Tim to take care of Colonel Peabody, who Tim apparently inherited by default. Tim thanks them as Michael answers his phone. It's Fi, calling to tell Michael that Conrad is bringing her the flight info today. And by the way, his mom's been calling. What, does she not have Michael's number? "I'll head over there now," Michael promises, and turns to look at the big portrait of Isabella on the wall behind him. "I want my thirty thousand dollars back, dickhead," it doesn't say.
Michael comes into his mom's house to find her going through the photo albums Fi returned, although some pictures are missing. "I think someone must have stolen them," she says sarcastically. "So mysterious." Smooth, Fi. Michael passes it off as he sits down with her, but she says she thought he was going to start telling her the truth about this stuff. He claims it was a small job. "Fiona had to put together a dossier to prove that I was a Russian spy...It's kind of a long story." Madeline just looks at him patiently. "Which I'll tell," Michael adds. He says it wasn't dangerous, and gives her the old line about protecting her. She looks down at a photo Fi must have left behind because it was special to Michael. "No, it's probably 'cause there's writing on the back," Michael points out. Madeline says that it was special to her: "It's one of the few times you sent me anything to tell you where you were." Michael corrects that he was actually doing the opposite, and this photo was intended to misdirect her. Madeline bright-sides that "In the grand scheme of things, I suppose we're making some progress. Want some iced tea?" "That'd be great," Michael says. With their matching awkward smiles, they've never looked more alike.
At the place where Fi's been meeting Conrad, he sits down across from her with a manila envelope and says it's worse than he thought. The flight will be carrying a maximum-security prisoner, and although there are no names, the document is full of protocols for handling him. It's Conrad who says "him," by the way, so if this prisoner turns out to be someone like Natalie or Evelyn or even Carla, I take no responsibility. Conrad is worried about the "Russian pig" getting his hands on the envelope, and Fi promises that will never happen. Conrad leaves it with her, free once again to go back to being stupid for his country full-time.
As Conrad is on his way out, Michael comes around the corner behind him, where he's been lurking the whole time. Fortunately for him Conrad didn't spot him. It's kind of alarming how much of the success of this operation has hinged on Conrad's shitty peripheral vision. Fi fans the envelope in the air, and Michael takes the seat that Conrad just warmed up for him. He looks at the single page inside. "It's a rendition to a black site in Poland," he says. "Somebody's high-risk enough to be flown alone." And on a flight plan so isolated they're apparently worried he'll shoot at other planes through the window. Fi takes a look and reads, "Do not engage in conversation with prisoner under any circumstance." I'd say that advice would also apply to Fi, but they both seem pretty worried about the kind of person the document refers to. "And somebody wants my help to break him out," Michael says. Fi looks shocked, as though Michael hasn't been unwittingly helping with that all along already.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.