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So Michael and Lincoln manage to make it to the ship and sail away to Panama, but Dr. Sara is apprehended before she can join them. Mahone is peeved because he only nabs one out of three fugitives. Those of us who are overly invested in the Michael/Sara relationship, perhaps for reasons we do not care to discuss because we think you just wouldn't understand, are peeved becauseâ¦those two, like ships that pass in the night. Why must Terrence Steadman be the most romantically successful on this show?
Anyway, then we get the credits and the episode kicks off in earnest. Mahone's office is now a real-space analogue to the timeline threads in the forums, or perhaps Kevin Spacey's bedroom in Se7en.
Internal Affairs leans on C-Note, but he brings his A-game, reminding them that the last time an agent offered him a deal, there was a string attached. So the agents buckle and agree to check a free C-Note into the witness protection program, provided he testifies against Mahone. Score one for C-Note.
Meanwhile, Sucre and Bellick make the least fun road trip duo since Charlie Sheen and Kristy Swanson. Bellick is threatening Sucre with Maricruz's life, and since we all know how Sucre feels about Maricruzâ¦anyway, the two of them go tearing around Mexico looking for T-Bag and sparking international incidents wherever they alight.
As for T-Bag, he's busy using Westmoreland's money to pay Mexican hookers to playact in his vivid fantasy life. And since T-Bag is a homicidal pervert with good ol' fashioned values, what he fantasizes aboutâ¦is family life with Susan. Then T-Bag may have killed the hooker, but I was in the shower, scrubbing frantically and screaming, "Unclean! I feel so unclean!" after the initial scene, it was hard to see anything.
Then the brothers are touring through beautiful Panama, and that lasts for about all of ten minutes before they rumble in the jungle. Linc thinks Michael's just sulking over Dr. Sara. Michael's sulking over the trail of bodies his actions have created plus Dr. Sara currently being in the FBI's custody.
And running throughout this episode is The Passion of the Mahone, wherein he's about to let Wheeler bring him in because it's the right thing to do, until Agent Kim comes in and dangles the prospect of the One World Conspiracy making it allllll better. All Mahone has to do in exchange? Head to Panama and bring back T-Bag alive. And if he happens to run into the brothers, so much the better. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
When the episode begins, someone with two of his own arms is retrieving T-Bag's money duffel from the baggage check in Mexico City. We soon figure out that T-Bag's paid someone else to do it so he won't be nabbed. T-Bag smiles as he hefts the bag, but his grin disappears the minute he looks up and sees Sucre and Bellick. Then he's actively scowling once they spot him.
There's a very brief chase scene, and T-Bag hops into a cab. Despite the cab speeding off, Sucre manages to catch up with it while running. The aghast expression on T-Bag's face is just delightful. Improbably, Sucre can also talk whilst sprinting, and he pleads with T-Bag that he needs the bag. T-Bag leans over and shouts at the cabbie, "Andele, you son of a bitch! Andele! " T-Bag! Hasn't The Amazing Race taught you anything? The default phrase for all cabs is "Rapido, rapido." I mean, you're going to bring the cab-brawling cliché, you might as well hit all the marks. Anyway, Sucre begs, the cabbie speeds up, and the only thing Sucre gets is the baggage tag, marked E. Stammel.
Back in Chicago, the cargo freighter's blasting its horn prior to disembarking. Michael and Linc. are walking toward the ship, Michael glumly commenting on how they have to run again and Linc shrugging, "It's different this time... we brought the bitch down." "She stepped down," Michael corrects him. Linc lightly replies, "Because of us." "You're still wanted for murder," Michael grumps. Linc turns around and says, "When you came to Fox River, remember what you said? You said, 'I'm going to break you out of here.' You did that. You want to look for the good, look there." Who is this optimist and what has he done with Captain Bringdown?
Dr. Sara is driving to the shipyard to meet the boys. Her phone rings. It's Michael, anxiously asking, "Hey, are you all right?" She is, but she's a little baffled on account of the President stepping down. "What does it mean?" Dr. Sara asks. "It means it's time to go," Michael replies. Dr. Sara tells him she's five minutes away. Michael tells her, "Listen, Sara. Linc and I are on the ship. This is it. There's no turning back now, so, uh, I know it's not what you wanted from your life, but in case you're interested, there's room for one more." Dr. Sara flirts back: "Michael Scofield, are you asking me to sail off into the sunset with you?" Fortunately, Michael does not kill the mood by replying, "We're actually sailing south, so we'll be sailing parallel to the sunset, on the starboard side of the ship."
Anyway, Dr. Sara's on her way because it's a total no-brainer: life as a fugitive in the U.S. versus canoodling in a banana-fiber hammock in Central America. The FBI's totally on her case, but she hasn't cottoned to that yet.
Meanwhile, south of the border down Mexico way, Bellick is bawling out Sucre for failing to bring down the cab T-Bag was in. However, Sucre manages to bluff Bellick (I know!) and pulls Bellick's own gun on him, snarling, "What's it going to take for you to forget you ever found us?" I believe the answer to that is "Five million dollars." Sucre is tempted to shoot Bellick, but Bellick points out, "I'm the only one who knows where your Chiquita is tied up... if I tell you, I'm as good as dead. Of course, if you shoot, so is she." Sucre decides that Bellick's bluffing him. Bellick dangles Maricruz's necklace in front of him and asks, "Am I? Let me tell you in words you might be more familiar with: she's in 'the hole,' with enough food and water to last about three weeks. Any longer than that, your sweet little plum's going to dry up like a raisin." Actually, she'd be a prune. Didn't living with an elderly woman teach you anything, Bradley? Bellick tells it how it's going to be: "You ain't getting your hands on that girl 'til I'm getting my hands on that money." Oh, this is going to end up like The English Patient, isn't it? Only, you know, less tedious and, I hope, far less Rafe-Fiennes-test-drives-the-Voldemort-makeup nonsense going on.
We have seconds to go until the boat pulls away. Linc finds Michael, who is fidgeting nervously. Abundantly missing the cue that his brother's thisclose to unspooling, Linc's all, "Huzzah! Time to set sail for a glamorous new expatriate lifestyle!"
Cut to Dr. Sara, who finally notices she's being followed, then boxed in, by multiple cars. She pulls over just shy of the long-closed Windy City Donuts shop. Her phone rings. Michael asks, "Sara, what's the matter? The ship is leaving." The last agent pulls up, and Dr. Sara decides not to lead anyone to Michael. She tells him, "Michael --" He immediately asks, "What's wrong?" Dr. Sara lies, "I'm already on board. I'm sorry, I must have just missed you. Where are you?" Michael, who is surprisingly slow to catch on, says they're on deck. Dr. Sara keeps an eye on the cars surrounding her as she says, "Great. I'm on my way up. [pause] Love you." She clicks off, and we cut to Michael, who is finally realizing that she's been nabbed. Or maybe not? Linc asks if everyone's good, and Michael decides to tell him, "Yeah."
Meanwhile, Dr. Sara has a micro-cry, then gets out of the car with her hands already in the air. Lang begins reciting the Miranda. Mahone pulls up, muttering, "Son of a bitch," then stalks over to Dr. Sara. He asks, "Where is he?" Dr. Sara says she doesn't know. Mahone says, "No more games -- you were on your way to see him." Dr. Sara replies, "No, I wasn't." Mahone asks skeptically, "You were just compelled to flee the custody of a federal agent?" Dr. Sara declines to reply.
Back on the ship, Michael scurries abovedecks to report to Lincoln that he couldn't find Dr. Sara. The two of them are still looking at the docks -- because they'd like to take one last look at the country they're leaving for good? -- and that's when they notice all the police cruisers streaking by with their lights on. Michael's first reflex is to jump ship and go after Sara. It falls to Linc to be the voice of reason. I imagine this must come as a shock to them both.
We flash back to Mahone, who asks, "Scofield or prison?" Dr. Sara replies petulantly, "I just wanted a donut, sir." Mahone checks the empty store. Then he turns to some hapless underling and snaps, "Get her a donut. Can we get her a donut? Get her a dozen donuts! Lock her up!"
And then we're back to the ship, where Michael is bent over the rail in agony. Linc claps him once on the shoulders, and we see the ship pull away. Perhaps it's sailing toward Season Three, which will likely include another prison break of some sort. I imagine it might be harder for either Michael or Linc to pull off another get-into-prison-to-break-out-of-it number in a ladies' jail, though.
Commercials. I believe the movie Shooter has found its natural constituency with this show.
When we come back, we learn that it's one week later. We cut to Mahone, who has apparently dealt with his most recent professional setback by watching Se7en and using it as an inspiration for his own interior decorating projects. He sits on the floor and stares bleakly at a wall decoupaged with mug shots, graphs, charts, maps and other exhibits associated with the manhunt.
The madness of Agent Mahone has finally produced the closest thing this show has to a timeline: they broke out on May 27. On May 28, Michael and Linc attempted to bust L.J. out of jail in Chicago. On May 29, Abruzzi visited D.C.; on May 30, he was killed. On June 1, Tweener was killed. By June 3, Steadman had blown his brains out at the Cutback Motel, and on June 5, Haywire took his last leap. However, Mahone has no idea where Michael disappeared after June 7. He stares at the blank calendar and mutters as much. I am also staring at the calendar uncomprehendingly, but for entirely different reasons.
We then establish that Mahone has at least has the decency to not bring his brand of crazy to work, via a conversation with internal affairs director Sullins and Agent Wheeler, who are gossiping about Mahone like he's Lindsay Lohan and they're stringers for US magazine.
Then Sullins goes in to glad-hand C-Note all, "When one of our people does something wrong, it's our job to make it right." C-Note asks, "How right?" and Sullins attempts to manage expectations, "You are a convicted felon, you broke out of a state penitentiary -- there's only so much I can do." C-Note coolly replies, "There's only so much I can say. Now, I'm sorry if I seem a little bit skeptical, but the last time a federal agent came up in here offering me a deal, there was a string attached." HA! Oh, C-Note, for that you get the free pass through this scene. Sullins plows on, saying he can give C-Note an 18-month sentence instead of 18 years. To his credit, C-Note does not even ask if he can serve it in a Martha Stewart-style prison. He points out, "He threatened my family. Now, I need to be out there, protecting them. So until you can offer me something like that, I'm not testifying to a damn thing." Sullins FOLDS, y'all. C-Note's got a clean record and a new life courtesy of witness protection.
We cut to a tranquil-looking suburban neighborhood, then transition inside to a shot of a table covered with sketches; each shows a different illustration incorporated into Michael's tattoo. Mahone is muttering things to himself as he checks a reference book filled with diagrams of crosses. Lang reluctantly announces her presence. When she asks if Mahone's okay, the disheveled man holds up a diagram of the "English, Fitz, Percy" banner we all remember from season one, and points out the tiny delta symbol on the edge. After Mahone spends a few minutes running around channeling Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind, we get this tidy plot invention: Michael labeled each of his tattoo drawings with a different letter of the Greek alphabet; this was a device to help him remember the sequence of steps for his plan. The Greek letters don't appear on the tattoos because apparently... the same man who needed all the tattoos to help him remember the plan didn't also need an index to help him keep track of the order? Or is it that we just need a plausible explanation for how Mahone's going to pick up Michael's trail again?
Anyway, the omega of the tattoo sequence is a sketch wherein the head of Christ is nestled within a rose, and the number 617 trails down the stem. Mahone muses that it could be a date, and this is how we find out that it's currently June 15. Really? June in Chicago and everyone's still running around bundled up like they just finished schussing down the black diamond trail? June 15, less than two weeks after Governor Dad was found dead and there's already a headstone on that grave? How have we only had a few weeks pass by? And why can't someone throw us a bone and show us a late night show where someone's joking, "If this is Tuesday, we must have a new President," because honestly, at this point, the nation's had THREE Presidents in TWO months. The only way it is June 15 is if it's June 15 of the year or something.
Getting back on track now! The upshot of that scene is Mahone used his big brain to figure out that Michael's grand final step in his escape plan is scheduled for my brother's birthday.
Then we head south of the border, down Mexico way. An employee de la oficina de turismo de la Ciudad de Mexico is delivering bad news to Sucre and Bellick: there's no record of Dr. T-Bag Stammel in the flight manifests. He suggests that the two check the buses and car rentals.
Bellick impatiently asks what's the haps, and Sucre tells him, "Nothing -- same as the rest." Bellick whips out his rent-a-badge and smarms, "Well, maybe he don't comprende. What's Spanish for INS?" Sucre smacks down Bellick's badge hand and tells him, "Don't be stupid. We're in Mexico -- you're the illegal one here." Bellick blusters about how he, as the long arm of the law, can make it tough for any of the guy's family up north. Sucre gently bangs his head on the ticket counter. Then he appeals to the guy in Spanish: "I hate this gringo, but I need him. My girl's in trouble -- my baby too. The individual we're looking for is the only person that can save my family. He's traveling under the name E. Stammel. Please, if you hear anything, call [my mobile phone]. I'll be forever grateful." Bellick stands by and fumes over not being able to understand a word.
Then we zip over to the Hotel Cielo Lindo, a posh place with creamy white stucco, lush lawns... and T-Bag in a hotel room, cooing up at a woman who brings him a margarita, "Oh, you are too good to me, Susie-Q." Oh, no. Just stop it. T-Bag muses, "How did I get so lucky?" and a woman in a Susan-like wig turns around and simpers in strongly-accented English, "Oh, no, Teddy Bear. I'm the lucky one." I will repeat again: Stop it. Now.
The show just won't listen to me. T-Bag comes over, kisses the woman and says, "The day I met you was the day I was born." The woman laughs politely and tells him they're out of time. His eyes closed, T-Bag says, "No, Susan. We got our whole lives together." And then, we get into the world's most awkward negotiation between hooker and john, as T-Bag wants to continue to pay to keep the fantasy rolling, and the hooker tells him, "I would really feel better if you paid me up front." T-Bag snarls, "And I told you up front that if you did this right, I would take care of you, so... " So quit puncturing my fantasy with your real-life demands, lady, his face finishes. Having caught the strong scent of Crazy wafting on the breeze, the hooker tries to get out by telling T-Bag he only paid for an hour and the hour is up. She tells him if he wants more, he needs to pay up front. T-Bag then flies into a hissy over his fantasy having been disrupted. The hooker pulls off the wig, snapping, "I don't know who this Susie-Q bitch is, but no wonder she wants nothing to do with you." Well! T-Bag will put up with a lot, but only he gets to treat Susan as anything less than royalty. And then... well, he's one murderous little one-armed bastard is what he is.
Just so you know: here are my two complaints about that scene:
1. Since when is T-Bag, former head of the Fabulously Gay White Supremacists, willing to canoodle with the melanin-blessed? Are we do understand that, just as colleges are a breeding ground for hasbians, prisons create racists of convenience? (You can thank Evany for that phrase; I was thinking "racist turned racwast?")
2. T-Bag was a better character when he didn't have feelings and wasn't busy pining and bloviating for minutes on end about how being a suburban husband and father would surely cure him of his depravity. One of the reasons evil is supposed to be so frightening is because it exists despite logic or comprehension. Give it any origin story and you hamstring the chilling effect.
In other words, I'm not buying that the man who has casually killed his way across greater North America is now unspooling because he's still upset over getting dumped. Just go listen to Pearl Jam's "Black" a few hundred times and move on with your life! Quit with the hooker-killing already.
We zip even further south to a gorgeous beach -- brilliant blue water, a wide ribbon of warm-looking yellow sand, lush tropical greenery behind it. We hear music that totally rips off The Amazing Race's scenery porn track -- you know, the stuff that plays every time there's a pan across some jaw-droppingly lovely valley or primeval forest. And then... there's a city on the edge of all that, if Michael and Linc's stumble out of the greenery and into Cristobal, Panama, is to be believed. Oh, wait. The show actually did ape The Amazing Race with the scenery pan and the quick cut to where the real action is. Michael and Linc are disembarking their shop. Despite having a week's worth of free time on his hands (as opposed to a week's worth of Dr. Sara), Michael did not manage to teach Lincoln how to button a shirt. The whole point to all this: to show us the shot of Michael's tattoo with the Christ-in-a-rose image, and to confirm that yes, he is about to move to the final stage of his plan.
We transition to Mahone, Lang and other Fibbies all trying to figure out what that tattoo means. As everyone else brainstorms, Mahone zones out and stares at the white board until he realizes that Christ in a rose can also be interpreted as Christina Rose. Frankly, I'm surprised it took him this long, since he sussed out Ripe Chance to RIP. E. Chance in, like, five minutes. And then, we all learn that Lincoln and Michael's mother was named... Christina Rose. Oh, Michael -- other cons just get "MOM" tattooed on their arm. You put on airs and get interpretive.
Commercials. It wasn't until I bought a house that I actually paid attention to commercials like the Roto-Rooter ones. And it wasn't until the pipes under my sink burst when I was on vacation, thus flooding the house, that I actually went into whimpering flashbacks thanks to commercials like the Roto-Rooter ones.
We're back to Mahone. He's all jazzed up about the possibility that the late Ms. Scofield's grave may have been incorporated into the escape plan. He tells one flunky to track down the grave. The guy asks, "Then what?" Mahone gives him a withering look before matter-of-factly replying, "Then see if she's buried." He and Lang hustle into his office. Mahone's jabbering on about Panama, reasoning, "When we found [Michael's] hard drive, it was filled with information about Central America, Panama in particular." Lang points out that Michael knows Mahone has his old hard drive, and reasons, "The guy's got all kinds of hubris, but he's smart enough to stay out of a country where he knows you'll be waiting for him." Mahone replies, "Unless there's something there that he needs. Or someone."
Then we bop down to Panama. It -- or whatever reasonable facsimile the show has chosen to use -- is gorgeous. Michael is too broody to enjoy the scenery. Lincoln is not. He is practically grinning as he reaches over and tells Michael, "Last time I was on a bus like this, I was heading to Fox River. This country's amazing! It's beautiful!" Then he asks what a smell is and Michael says, in a tone that maligns all of Musa acuminata, "Bananas." He also allows as to how Linc might be smelling sugar cane, and adds in a glum tone, "That's Panama's biggest exports [sic]." Linc tries to josh Michael out of his mood with, "You've been talking about Panama and bumpy bus rides since we broke out, and now that we're actually doing it --" "She should have been here with us," Michael says. Ha! How much do I love that Scofield's all hung up on a girl?
And now we have the scene at the Hotel Cielo Lindo where the poor maid gets to discover the dead hooker in the bathtub. T-Bag has left the wig behind as a tip. That hardly constitutes fair tipping, in my opinion.
We flash back to Chicago, where Lang is telling Mahone that there's no connection between Christina Rose Scofield and the fair nation of Panama. However, she says, "There are 38 listings of Christina Rose in various combinations of first name, middle and last name." Mahone decides that Lang should then cross-reference those with the number 617 and see what turns up in Panama. He adds, "If anybody pops, call the Embassy and get them to send an officer and pick up the woman for questioning." Lang says, "I don't think we can just arrest a foreign citizen without any --" "Patriot Act, Agent Lang. I could arrest your grandmother for missing a stitch in her macramé if I wanted to," Mahone says, without missing a beat. Yes -- because when Congress voted that hinky little bill into law, they were fully intending that crazy FBI agents use it to police the quality of textile handicrafts. (Makes me glad I live in one of the districts whose representative voted against it. Viva the irregular macramé!)
We then get a shot of Panama's #1 export. Clearly, these are bananas that couldn't hack it on the international scene. Then we go to Michael and Linc in a little bodega. A smiling little old lady -- sweet, but not the macramé-making type -- is helping people out, and when there's a break, Michael heads on over to say hello to Mrs. Vasquez. After a little bit of guff over Michael running late, Mrs. Vasquez hands over a piece of paper, saying, "Christina Rose. I remember. You will find her here. Buena suerte." Michael and Linc turn to go, and Michael tries to shake Linc so he can use the phone to try and call Dr. Sara's mobile. But Linc is on to him so... no.
Mahone's in his office, looking at his mug shots, when the phone rings. It's Agent Kim on the line. He looks around at the outdoors uneasily, then says, "Three things I hate, Alex: traffic, hockey, and calling you with the same question over and over." Mahone shrugs that Kim can just not call him any more. Also, Kim can take public transit, and avoid Canadian vacations. Mahone tells Kim the brothers are in Panama -- "the key to exactly where is in one of Scofield's tattoos." Kim snipes, "While I'm thrilled you've narrowed it down to a country, that's not why we're talking." The two then have this delightfully pissy exchange:
Kim: "Benjamin Franklin is alive..."
Mahone: "I'm aware of that."
Kim: "...and being released from custody."
Mahone: "That's impossible. They would need permission from my office."
Kim:: "Good to know you're on top of things."
He then snaps his mobile shut and looks disgustedly at the lake behind him. Stupid bucolic body of water! How dare it not rise up and drown his enemies! For Mahone's part, it's but a quick glance over to Wheeler's empty desk and he's figured out what's what.
Back at the lakeside, some blue-suited conspiracy stooge tells the visibly nervous Kim, "He'll see you now." Kim is frisked; we see that he's near a rowboat. We also see that the bald dude who appears to be heading the One World Conspiracy is waiting for him in a rowboat in the middle of the lake. Anyone else have a Godfather II flashback? I know it was you, Agent Kim. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!
Sadly, the shot is of Kim facing Baldy Von Stringpuller in the rowboat. I was personally hoping we'd see the hilarious moment when he was forced to hop into one pitching craft from another. Anyway, Baldy Von Stringpuller is giving Kim a look that says, "Son, your mother and I are very disappointed with your C+ in algebra." Or perhaps it's "Son, your mother and I are very disappointed with your single-digit body count this season." Kim proves he has nerves of steel with: "Forgive me for asking, sir, but couldn't we be doing this in my office. It'd be much more comfortable."
Baldy Von Stringpuller gives him one more look... then aieeee! The monster, it speaks! He says that owing to the position of the sun in this exact spot, it's a "blind spot" for the few hours and therefore, anything said here won't be recordable via long-range devices. It occurs to Kim that perhaps , gunshots are also not recordable, so he begins to babble apologies over the way he biffed the Madame President Evil situation. This fails to placate Baldy Von Stringpuller, who is not at all thrilled that Michael and Linc are still alive. However, once Kim gulps out that the boys are in Panama, Baldy Von Stringpuller asks, "How much do you know about Sona?' Kim squeaks around the lump in his throat, "Only what I've been given clearance on." As we flash to a shot of scowly Michael and Linc walking in slow motion, Baldy Von Stringpuller says, "Perhaps what's required here is a change in strategy."
We then cut to Wheeler tooling around an underground garage, nervously asking Agent Sullins how long it'll be before the court approves an arrest warrant for Mahone. Sullins figures it'll be any day now. As Wheeler parks, it's evident he's now at the office, because he says, "I've got a question for you. What if [Mahone's] in there? I can't keep avoiding him. He reads people. That's what he does. And if he finds out I'm involved in this, I'm going to need some protection from --" "Wheeler, relax. Take a breath," Sullins soothes. "Oh, great!" Wheeler screams, continuing, "Now you've done it! On this show, the minute anyone assumes things are working out, that's right when it all goes pear-shaped! Thanks a lot, dillweed!" Can you tell when I stopped faithfully transcribing the conversation and went to subtext?
Sullins tells Wheeler to just act normal, and everything will be okay. Wheeler hangs up, sighs and gets out of his car. He turns around -- right into Mahone. It's to the jumpy agent's credit that he doesn't immediately scream. Mahone asks, "Where you been?" Well, Wheeler will have the entire commercial break to think up an answer!
Commercials. Do you suppose it was Intel's intention to promote their new microprocessor with a spot that looks like the offspring of Agent Smith and a rave?
We return to the same underground garage, with its sickly green light. Wheeler does not have a good poker face. That would seem to be a liability for an FBI agent. Mahone comes over and frisks Wheeler, saying, "I've got to do this." Wheeler weakly protests, "What are you doing, Alex? I'm not wearing a wire. You... gonna tell me what's going on?" Mahone gets up in his face and says, "In old England, the punishment for a traitorous act was beheading." Wheeler swallows uncomfortably. Mahone continues, "Following the execution, they would hold the head up by the hair not -- as most people think -- for the crowd to see the head, but for the head to see the crowd because consciousness sticks around for another eight seconds. The idea was that it would give the traitor one more chance to take a look at --"
Wheeler can't meet Mahone's eyes, but he does interrupt with a tremulous gulp, "You don't want to do this, okay? Just take a moment --" Mahone leans in and screams, "If you're going to stab me in the back, Agent Wheeler, be smart enough to cover up the knife." His voice has fallen to a raspy rebuke: "You go and visit Franklin three times this week, called Sullins twice a day? Didn't you learn anything working for me? You gotta cover your tracks unless you... " The realization hits Mahone and he says softly, "Unless you want to get caught." Wheeler finally looks at Mahone and his face is a study in remorse. Mahone muses, "You wanted me to know it was you." Wheeler looks up and says, "You're a killer, Alex." Mahone whispers, "Is that so?" Wheeler forges on, "Soil samples taken from your yard in connection with the disappearance of Oscar Shales. Forensics is prepared to submit a report detailing the irregularities in the shooting of David 'Tweener' Apolskis. There's -- there's your blatant disregard for protocol in the death of Abruzzi --"
"And the escaped con who says I told him to kill himself," Mahone interrupts dryly. He adds mockingly, "You think his testimony is going to send you to the promised land?" Wheeler says, "You can erase me too. But it's not going to erase the very real fact that you're going to spend the rest of your life in prison." Mahone gives Wheeler an inscrutable look, then says, "You remind me of myself when I was a young agent." Wheeler speaks for all of us with: "What?" He then says bitterly, "I wish I could take that as a compliment." For the first time, Mahone's supercilious façade is cracked. He swallows hard, then says, "That's some real fine work, Wheeler. Good job." Then Mahone moves quickly, practically draping himself on Wheeler as he urgently implores him, "Don't you let anyone scare you into doing the wrong thing." He pulls back, gives Wheeler a flickering ghost of a smile. Wheeler draws back even further, falls back on a script: "Let me take you in. Whatever mess you're in, we can clean it up." Mahone tells him, "There's only one way out of this. " Then he melts into the background.
And now, if y'all excuse me, I have to go collect myself, because that was such an excellent scene. It seems like many of the show's scenes between father figures and the sons who go against them are. It's just too bad the actual scenes between father and sons earlier this year were so hammy by comparison.
We cut to the still-alive C-Note, who is just sitting on his bunk doing nothing. A guard comes over and tells him he's got a visitor. Because the guard is being all cute about who exactly is visiting, C-Note assumes the worst and sort of flips out, all "Tell me! I'm a-gonna walk down this hall, bellowing like a bull moose, because I'm all freaked out! And can you blame me? Look what I've been through lately?" But then -- oh, those prankster guards! It's Kacee and the newly recovered Dede. And surprisingly, Kacee does not slap C-note so hard his features end up on the back of his head, while shouting, "That is for your little performance during our last visit! And for landing my ass in jail! And for mismanaging our daughter's illness! And for lying about being in prison! There will be no more of that! Do you hear me?"
Instead, Kacee asks if the FBI's really not lying about that whole "Feel free to consider yourselves free" and C-Note tells her, "Don't you worry about it. You just know that your man handles things." And that, my friends, is when Kacee really should slap C-Note so hard his features end up on the other side of his skull, while shouting, "Handles things? Like you HANDLED breaking out of prison? Like you HANDLED our escape from Chicago? Like you HANDLED taking care of Dede after I was arrested?" Anyway, Sullins comes over and confirms that the family has a new address and new identities, and all C-Note has to do in return is show up in court and sing the "Mahone Tried to Kill Me" song in C-major.
We then zoom south. Michael and Linc are walking along a sandy path. Linc is looking more light-hearted than we've ever seen him, while Michael appears to have assumed the mantle of Captain Bringdown. Linc says, "For what it's worth, no-one forced Sara to do what she did." Michael snots back, "Whatever gets you through the night." Linc says, "I didn't ask you to use her." Michael snaps, "It's not that simple." Seriously, Linc. Weren't you present for the big "I love you both" moment last week? Did you think Michael was addressing his comment to your pecs? Michael finally says, "You know what amazes me, Linc? Nothing ever registers with you, ever. It just rolls right off your back. You ruined Sara's life and it's like you don't even care." I think Michael may have a few pronouns confused. Linc just says, "Is that what you think?" Michael huffs, "We're here, and Sara's back there in prison. Does that seem fair to you?" Linc reasonably points out that nothing about this situation is fair. The conversation goes downhill from there:
Linc: "Just don't make this about boy loses girl."
Michael: "Who should it be about, Linc? Westmoreland? Tweener? L.J.? L.J.'s Mom?"
Linc: "Let me stop you right there."
Michael: "Do you remember the name of the guard who was murdered because of the riot I started?"
Linc: "Shut up, Michael."
Michael: "Don't you remember his name?"
Linc: "Please?"
Michael: "I bet you remember Veronica's name, don't you?"
Linc: "LINCOLN SMASH NOW!"
As Linc pushes Michael through some underbrush, Michael bellows about how much it sucks that T-Bag's on the lam, because he and Lincoln are responsible. Michael calms down enough to add, "Every life he takes, that's blood on our hands. And for what?" Linc reasonably points out, "I didn't ask you to do what you did." He goes to walk off, and Michael shouts in frustration, "They were going to kill you, Linc!" Linc shouts back, "Maybe you should have let 'em!" Michael regresses about twenty years and tells Linc to take that back, shortly before he tackles his brother. The two men wrestle and roll their way down to a beach. They fall over, and when they get up, a few feet apart, Lincoln gives Michael a look like, I cannot even believe you tried that. I could kick your ass with one foot tied up -- you know that, right?
Then -- oh, good grief -- we get a Lincoln monologue. He points out that at least Dr. Sara had a choice with regards to her entanglement with the Brothers Scofield/Burrows (Burfield? Scurrows?), whereas Veronica didn't. He says flatly, "I listened to her die, Michael. I listened to her die, and there was nothing I could do... we've lost so much, man. We can't afford to lose each other. We just can't." Bros before hos, Michael. You know how it is.
We then cut to Michael's mug shot. Mahone swoops in super-close, and I am dead certain that we are about to witness the following: Mahone will lick the photo lovingly, and he will do so with a long, forked, reptilian tongue. Oh, but the producers are just faking us out! Mahone's actually embarking on a vigorous decluttering of his crazy space. I feel like Niecy Nash should be here to encourage him, so that it's a happy event with a redecoration at the end, perhaps with an amusing yard sale sequence wherein stooges from the One World Conspiracy haggle with Trish Suhr and Mark Brunetz over how much to pay for the sketches of Michael's tattoos. Instead, we just get angry decluttering. A fax scrolls in, completely unnoticed by the busy Mahone. He finishes and grabs his bag, gives the room an angry once-over, then heads for the door. There is something about Mahone's demeanor that suggests he's psyching himself up to leave this room that he hates.
As he opens the door -- yeeeesh! It's Agent Kim, approaching Mahone's rented room on little cat feet. "Going somewhere... Alex?" he asks in his usual sprightly fashion. "I don't know. Am I?" Mahone replies. What is he, channeling Horatio Caine? Kim grins and tells Mahone he doesn't like to get his hands dirty; as he daintily side-steps Mahone and sidles into the now-stripped room, Mahone checks the stairway to see if it contains the One World Conspiracy goons who do like to get their hands dirty.
Kim regards the empty wall. Mahone reluctantly re-enters the room, and rasps, "It's surprising the things a man will do when properly motivated. Wasn't it you who told me that?" Kim looks up at him with an expression that slightly suggests that he wishes he were a photo of Michael Scofield about to be licked by a long, forked, reptilian tongue. Mahone is on a completely different wavelength: "I would kill you if I thought it would give me an ounce of peace." Kim smiles and asks, "And what would give you peace?" Mahone tells him, "I've been able to hold it together through all this because there was a light at the end of the tunnel, a life at the end of the tunnel for me. Do you see my son? Do you see my wife?" It is a little heartbreaking how he's delivering this, and a little heartbreaking how he refers to his ex as "his wife." Someone is not interested in moving on post-divorce.
Kim coos, "What if I was to tell you there was something that could turn that light back on?" Are you saying that the bodies of conspiracy stooges can be used to generate electricity? How excellent! It's both an expedient solution to Mahone's problem and a renewable resource for green power! Kim asks, "What would you say?" "I'd say it's the same offer you made when you dragged me into this, you little bastard," Mahone snarls. He continues, "Look where it's gotten me. They're going to drag me before the public. They're going to prosecute me like some kind of murderer." Some kind of murderer? Try a very effective kind of murderer. Mahone says there's hard, tangible evidence Kim can't take away. Kim raises his eyebrows all, "Oh, can't we?" However, he is forced to admit that no, he can't take away the evidence -- but he can take Mahone away from all this. And that is how Mahone gets sent on an errand to fetch T-Bag from Mexico. Kim purrs, "We're talking about a very real finish line here, Alex. You've come so far." Mahone looks at Kim, his face bleak with weariness. He asks, "How much further would I have to go?" Everyone, sing with me -- "Panama! Panama-aa-oh-oh-ah-ah, Panama!"
Lincoln and Michael are still trekking along the shoreline. I would be having fits by this point, but that is because the one thing in the world that makes me completely squirrelly is the sensation of sand between the soles of my feet and the insoles of my shoes. You have no idea: I am reduced to the level of a gibbering lunatic if I step down and that gritty -- aigggh! I can't even complete the sentence. The very idea of Lincoln and Michael tromping along the dunes, the insidious sand sliding past the cuffs of their boots ... I am rocking back and forth as I type this. Find a boardwalk! Find an inland route! Just MAKE THE WALKING STOP. Michael sulks, "I'm trying to remember the last time our lives made any kind of sense." The habitués of the "Make Time Work for You: the Timeline Thread" look up from their monitors and shout, "Welcome to our world!" Linc says the world made sense before their mom died, when it was the three of them. Then he stops, surprised by something. Michael says, "Well, there she is."
Cut to Mahone at the desk in his little room/office. Lang calls and asks, concerned, "What's going on? There's all kinds of suits going through your office." Mahone says, "I'll explain later." Lang gives another one of her eloquent looks and lets only a little skepticism creep into her voice with, "All right... " Then she moves on, setting up the Mahone/Scofield confrontation by telling him she's faxed him information about the Christina Rose -- "Looks like she was commissioned about four months before Scofield robbed that bank by a builder in Panama named Amparo Vasquez." Mahone looks at the fax in his hand and mutters, "Son of a bitch."
Oh glory be! Michael and Linc have found a dock to walk on, so they're finally away from the sand, the insidious sand. We get an achingly lovely shot of the stark, sun-bleached wooden dock extending into brilliant blue water. The shore is deserted; the boys have nothing but open space. As the camera pulls back, we see a pristine sailboat tied to the dock. Linc blurts, "She's beautiful." Michael says wistfully, "She's not the real thing, but... " Linc wants to know where they'll sail to, and Michael replies, "Anywhere we want." They prepare to board. We see the boat is named the Christina Rose.
Commercials. You know how there are simply some things you won't comprehend -- not on a visceral level, not on an intellectual level, not on an emotional level? Well, that's pretty much the phylum Entourage occupies on my own personal entertainment taxonomy, so whatever they're selling just went into that bucket too.
When we return, we see that C-Note is just leaving. The guards buzz him out of the facility, and he ushers his wife and daughter through the doors. As C-Note goes through, a gate slams behind him. C-Note whirls, a haunted look on his face, before remembering he's on the outside. The treacly music kicks up, C-Note wraps one arm around his wife' and another around his daughter, and we see the little family walk off into the sunset, figuratively speaking.
Then we head south of the border, down Mexico way. The music that used to signify impending racial violence, but apparently now signifies an escaped convict scheming, kicks up. Oh, goody -- it's Sucre and Bellick. It turns out Sucre's approach of being civil and, oh, recognizing that speaking Spanish isn't a problem for the residents of Mexico has paid off, as his tourism board contact just told him that an E. Stammel just hopped on a plane to Panama City. Bellick asks, "What the hell is he doing in Panama?"
The answer to that would be, "Picking up another hooker to play Susan in his delusional little fantasy life." While T-Bag is picking out his new faux-ancée, an anglo-looking guy walks by and we all see that he has a piece tucked into the waistband of his pants. Expatriate-turned-pimp, or stooge of the One World Conspiracy?
We get another gorgeous shot of that sailboat in its beautiful, remote slip. Michael undoes a combination lock -- 617, just like the tattoo on his arm that we had never seen before tonight. We get a few shots of the boys exploring, and then we find out the sailboat is even swankier than we thought because now Michael has Internet access... and he's all worked up that Dr. Sara's arrest hasn't made the news. Oh, wait, I misunderstood. Michael's using his handheld to get online. Linc asks him about the message board.
Michael pulls it up on his handheld and says, "There's something from C-Note" -- which he ignores -- "and something from Sucre." Michael smiles, genuinely pleased by that. Then he stops smiling: "Sucre says T-Bag's right here. In Panama." Linc sensibly wants to know how Sucre knows that. Michael reads Sucre's message: "The Bag's still got THE BAG. He's in Panama City. At the Fin Del Camino Hotel. If you're there and want to help put that bird back in a cage -- let me know. Sucre."
For some reason, Linc is really offended that T-Bag's in Central America. Michael wants to get the unidextrous perv. Linc tells him, "Let it be -- we don't need the money." Michael explains that it's not about the money so much as it is about the trail of bodies between Chicago and Panama City, and his attendant guilt for enabling any of that. Michael implores Lincoln to help him make this right: "Panama City is only an hour away and we know where he's staying." Linc points out that the police are also an hour away.
Michael says, "There's a reason I chose Panama -- no extradition laws. The police aren't going to touch him." Linc asks, "So what are you going to do?" Michael shrugs: "I'll figure something out." Linc snaps, "Figure it out? You don't take a piss without a plan, man." Let's hope the tattoos for that are within easy eyeshot. Linc argues, "Look at me -- I never think things through and look where it got me." On an opulent sailboat docked along one of the loveliest stretches of pristine beach in the world? How is that going to discourage Michael?
As if he were reading my mind, Michael turns around and snarls, "Yeah, in Panama on a boat filled with booze." Lincoln points out that Michael did that; all he could get himself was a death sentence. He pleads, "Let's just get out to sea, think things through. When the time is right, we make it right." Michael sits there and wonders when up became down, black became white, and Linc became the voice of moderation and caution. We see that Michael has just posted his own message: "I'm in. Let me know when you get there. Michael"
We zip to Mahone reading that message and that's when we see that he's been posting as Sucre on the board. Then he gets up, tells the handheld, "See you soon," and boards his flight to Panama City. AWESOME.
Back on the boat, Linc digs out a bottle of tequila and says, "Home sweet home." He climbs back up on the deck, calling, "I got the booze, but the limes are shot"... only to discover that he's all alone on the boat. As Linc shouts Michael's name, we get a final aerial shot to show how alone he is. And I sigh, because I just know this is the last lovely, lingering shot of shoreline I'm going to see for a while.