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Both brothers have a busy episode. Linc gets Polaroids of Dr. Sara and LJ as proof that they're still alive. To reassure and motivate Michael, he passes along the Polaroid. The good news: Dr. Sara is pointing at the paper in such a way as to give a clue to where she is. The bad news: before they can be sure, Michael needs to talk to Dr. Sara. Since the only phone in Sona is a mobile phone, this necessitates some serious sneaking around. Michael makes T-Bag do most of the sneaking, arguing that the pious folks of Panama will be especially brutal toward a serial pederast. T-Bag reluctantly sneaks. Recognizing that his relationship with Lechero may have drawbacks, he later begs off the arrangement, claiming that he fears for his life when Sammy and company try to overthrow Lechero. The prison boss merely laughs and makes T-Bag his designated snitch. I can't help but suspect that perhaps this is what T-Bag meant all along.
Mahone has himself a bad day, what with the drug withdrawal and the news that his trial's not for another year. He spends most of his time sweating and swatting away at the bats he hallucinates swirling around his head. (I'm exaggerating slightly about the bats.) Mahone also has a chat with Whistler, warning him that Scofield will do anything for the people he loves, up to and including totally screwing over anyone he needs to if it's expedient. Mahone conveniently leaves out how maybe Michael has motivation to screw people over when they kill his father.
Bellick has a semicomic plotline wherein he tangles with Sona's transvestite barber, Pistachio, and is moderately insulted to find out that he's not considered terribly attractive.
And on the outside, Lincoln manages to track down Dr. Sara and LJ using a series of verbal clues Michael got out of Dr. Sara. However, even he and his brawn are not enough to free the two hostages, and they are bundled away in a big white van. At the end of the hour, Susan B. Anthony calls him and tells him not to do that again, adding that she's provided a healthy incentive to remember her lesson in the corner of the garage. Linc goes down, sees a big white box that's leaking blood...and the episode ends.
Oooh, was this hour tense. I love it. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
The episode opens with someone being all stealthy as he or she climbs a set of stairs and slips an envelope with two Polaroids under the door. This distracts Linc from his task of poring over the guidebook for clues -- he was just trying to figure out why one page has written across the top margin "STAMPEDE" and the numeric sequence "" down the side. Good luck with that one, Linc. (Mental dialogue: IF LINC WANT NUMBER MYSTERY, LINC CRASH ON ISLAND WITH POLAR BEAR.) Anyway, the envelope distracts Linc, and he rushes into the empty hallway to see if he can spy the deliveryman. No dice -- even if the guy were there, the light reflecting off Lincoln's glistening pecs would likely bounce back in his face and blind him. We see the photos of L.J. and Dr. Sara; each is holding a recent newspaper, and Dr. Sara appears to be pointing at something in the lower-right corner on her copy. Linc studies the photos for a while, and it's moving, except the moment gets interrupted by ominous music, and a hand on Linc's shoulder...
Linc jumps around to see a tear-stained Sucre standing damply behind him. Linc shakes his shirt back into place -- far, far more convenient than, I don't know, buttoning it -- and asks Sucre what the hell he thinks he's doing. What Sucre thinks he's doing is hitting Linc up for cash. Linc wearily sighs that he has about $50, and Sucre just as wearily replies, "No, no, no...I'm talking about the millions, Papi." Linc tells him, "You want a place to crash, I got your back. But the backpack's gone." Before Sucre can digest this, Linc adds, "Any money I dig up's for my brother. Remember him? Tall guy? Kind of thin? Busted your ass out of jail?" Heh. Linc is growing on me this season. Sucre moistly says, "I feel bad about Mike. I do, Linc. But not all of us got exonerated, you know." Linc calmly says, "I'm pretty clear on that." Sucre wetly adds, "I can't ever go home again." Linc, still calmly, "You got a problem, Sucre?" Sucre squishes, "You ain't the only one, Linc!" And then Linc busts Sucre's pity party by smacking him with the Polaroids of the hostages and snarling, "We're all guilty of something, man. All of us. Not them." Well, gosh, Sucre would love to help, but "it seems like it's only getting deeper and deeper." Sucre, shelve the break-up angst and cowboy up. He sloshes out of there when he realizes that, as far as the hierarchy of people Linc will help out is concerned, sobbing will not vault Sucre past the brother incarcerated on the eighth circle of hell or the son who's being held by the One World Conspiracy. Linc barely registers Sucre's departure because he's just noticed Dr. Sara's weird finger-pointing action going on.
And then we transition to Sona, where Sammy's doing his part to keep the weekly body count consistent. Lechero seems pleased that Sammy's met his weekly combat-to-the-death quotient. T-Bag, however, looks distinctly displeased. We see Mahone hunching like a gargoyle on the balcony above, and then we switch to Michael glaring from his corner of the courtyard. He's twiddling his fingers around one of the bolts in a support beam. I ask you: force of habit from a notably tactile thinker, or subtle indication of an escape plan forming? Splenda takes in the ruckus and asks, "Doesn't take too long for a man to become an animal, no? The smart ones go for his bunk first." Michael watches the inmates strip the body and asks, "What do the dumb ones do?" Well, here's Bellick to show us.
The answer: the dumb ones try for the shoes, and only succeed in wresting one away from what appears to be Sona's only drag queen. The drag queen squares her shoulders, thrusts out her bra, and says, "You're asking for a chicken foot, my friend. You want the show, you're going to have to come and get it. [Finger snap.]" Bellick stares in horror as he realizes that he's in very real danger of getting his ass kicked by a B-cup with a beard.
We then cut to Lechero's hangout. Michael rolls on in, and Lechero's flunkies get all het up -- which I kind of can't take seriously, because one of them looks like Trouty from My Boys, except with the kind of lame-ass hairdo that is surely the Aughties' answer to the mullet, all shaved on the bottom and a layer of hair on top with which to make a shiny ponytail. I see those hairdos, and I always imagine that the people who got them mused, "I am drawn to the fear and extremism that skinhead-like hair denotes, but I can't deny my yearning to rock the metal hair. Why not do both?" Because you look like a tool, that's why. And here I am, having wandered off-topic. Yanking it back in: Lechero lets Michael know that he's not bleeding on the floor only thanks to his good graces. Michael stolidly says, "I just want to express my thanks for Whistler." Lechero smacks Michael down with "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Michael recovers and asks if they can maybe make a working arrangement, and says he can help out. Lechero makes a magnificent miscalculation: not only does he reject Michael's offer, but his chest-pounding alpha male speech makes it clear that he missed the whole point. So Michael now knows that Lechero is not nearly so effective a long-range thinker as he thinks he is. And Lechero -- who is king of a crumbling infrastructure -- has just turned down help from a structural engineer.
Michael then rolls on out to visit with Linc. His older brother takes one look at him and sympathetically says, "That bad, huh?" Michael says, "It's not good. You?" Linc fills him in on the events in last week's episode, so now Michael knows that Linc's got the guidebook, and that Whistler claims to be a fisherman of some sort. Michael's frankly skeptical. So Linc moves on to Item B on his agenda: sharing the Polaroid of Dr. Sara. Michael reels, and then grabs the photo. Linc calls his attention to the way Dr. Sara's holding the paper. Michael stammers, "It's too small -- I can't read it." Linc has helpfully brought along a copy of that same paper, and tells Michael that Dr. Sara is pointing at Santa Rita, a small town some twenty miles away from Sona. For some reason, this really gets to Michael. He's practically as teary as Sucre when he says, "She's trying to tell us where she is. I have to talk to her, Linc." Linc is all, "You realize you have no reasonable expectation of privacy, right?" Michael lays it out for Linc: he's been trying to come up with an escape plan for three days and he's got nothing, so if L.J. and Dr. Sara are to get out alive, it'll be because Lincoln went and got them.
Credits. I have made a game of trying to identify the episode that each new scene appeared in, and this week's puzzler is the scene where police with riot shields appear to be storming through Sona. Everything else I can place. (Also, I love how the falling chicken foot has replaced the falling handcuffs of last season.)
After a small pause on the iTunes video player, we're back in Sona. Whistler's amiably pestering Michael with "When's moving day?" Michael grimly replies, "I'll tell you the plan when you tell me who you are." Whistler tells him he's a fisherman, and Michael sarcastically says, "Really? So am I." Whistler then takes the piss out of Michael in an uncannily effective way: "My life is in your hands. How do I know I can trust you?" Michael pauses before saying, "You don't," and walking away.
Michael heads over to see Splenda, who is busy bouncing lay-up shots off the wall of the courtyard. Michael cuts short Splenda's attempts at a cross-cultural exchange -- "You watch Sportscenter?" "Not recently" -- and asks how he can get his hands on a phone. Short answer: by being Lechero, who has the only mobile phone in all of the prison.
Meanwhile, on the outside...we cut to the end of Linc's request to talk to Dr. Sara. Susan B. Anthony gives a dry laugh and says, "Absolutely not." Linc replies, "It ain't a request. It's a dictation of terms. My brother ain't thinking about escape until he talks to Sara." Susan B. snidely replies, "Aww, that's sweet. I can assure you of two things, Lincoln. One, Sara's fine. And two, you have a better chance of banging me on that bar than you do of talking to her." Linc coolly says, "I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass." Susan B. tries to sling some more attitude Linc's way, but she's peeved at the rejection; Linc seems to notice this and be slightly amused by it. Susan B. makes to go, and Linc points out, "Michael got the bounty off Whistler's head in two days. That's more than your people could do in two weeks. Show some goodwill." Susan B. spits, "He'll get his goodwill when Whistler's out." Linc leans in and says, "One thing you should know about my brother: he's very stubborn. You want him to fetch? You throw him a bone." Susan would like to know how Michael is going to get his hands on a phone. Ah, she's obviously caved already. Keep playing hard to get, Linc! A few more days of this, and you might have Susan B. bringing L.J. to you.
Back on the inside, a prisoner has brought Lechero the drug-dealers' equivalent of a 10-Q. Lechero makes like the SEC and demands his outside guys amend their filing; he doesn't think they're disclosing their revenue accurately. Lechero paces around his suite, all pissy because being in upper management is hard and everything, and he dispatches T-Bag to go make him a barber's appointment. Lechero adds, "You tell that bitch, she nick me with the razor again, I'm going to use it on her." T-Bag nods blankly.
And now, the tender reunion between Sofia and Whistler. I like Sofia's moxie: the minute she sees Whistler, she smirks a little and says, "You're still alive." Whistler, that smooth operator, immediately replies, "And you're still lovely." Hands up, all those who think Scofield needs to be out here taking notes. Sofia claims to have not showered in three days, but honestly, she's looking radiant for someone swimming in her own sebaceous fluid. After a few minutes of sweet talk, Whistler asks whether Sofia's got the book, and she's all, "Yeah, about that..." Whistler's baffled that some random guy would just take the guide until Sofia adds, "He said to tell you that Scofield's brother has it now." Whistler visibly reacts to that, and then tells Sofia that "[Scofield] is someone who's going to help [Whistler] get out of here." Sofia assumes that means "lawyer," and Whistler's like, "...yeah." Sofia pushes on the book and why it's important, and Whistler's like "The less you know, the better off you'll be." Sofia argues, "The less I know, the less help I'll be," but that seems to be okay with Whistler. The two of them descend into bickering -- okay, so maybe Michael doesn't need to take notes on this part of the girlfriend-management gig, but he needs to come back as Whistler bats his big baby brown eyes at Sofia and coos, "Why would I lie to you? You're the only one I can trust." Sofia melts. She and Whistler touch hands through the fence, and it's very sweet. Then Whistler sort of sticks a pin in the moment by reminding Sofia to trust him and sit tight.
A minute later, Sofia's signing out and she notices Linc's name and address right above hers. Hands up, everyone who thinks Sofia's going to ignore her boyfriend's request to do nothing.
Michael is skulking around a side entrance to Lechero's suite, covetously eying the charger where the mobile phone sits, when Sammy sneaks up behind him. Michael quickly improvises that he's looking to score drugs, and Sammy tells him, in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, "Go down to the lost & found with the rest of them. They'll hook you up proper." Michael is relieved and prepares to go. That's when Sammy gets scary, blocking Michael's path and telling him, "I find you sniffing around again where you don't belong, you're going to find yourself in that ring again -- against me. I don't like your odds." Michael does not reply, "Well, I don't like your shirt. Why are you wearing a fishnet tank top anyway?"
Cut to Mahone wandering through the corridors in a state of sick withdrawal. We see him thoughtfully contemplate a junkie and, once again, shooting up is depicted in a way that makes it seem all artsy and cool. That sort of undercuts the whole "Just say no to killing people and dulling the guilt with powerful, mind-bending antipsychotics" message, I feel.
In the scene, Lechero's lifting weights. His posse is standing around in case he happens to need a half-dozen spotters on his bench press. Michael spies on him through a window, eyeballing the phone clipped to Lechero's waist and looking like he's trying to spontaneously develop the power of telekinesis. As Lechero sits up and takes a call, Michael flashes back to ten minutes ago, when Linc handed him the Polaroid. We then get a few moments of Michael getting all angsty. Gosh, do you think he's really, really motivated to get a phone and talk to Dr. Sara?
Speaking of phone calls, Lechero's taking one from the field office, and he is not pleased when the supervisor (a.k.a. his cousin) is not immediately available for teleconferencing. The phone cuts out, and Lechero decides it's time for everyone to stop working on their biceps. He heads up to charge his phone, and T-Bag is dispatched to get Lechero's laundry. There's some back-and-forth to establish that Lechero loves how T-Bag toadies up to him with patrón this and patrón that, but boy, are Sammy and the rest of the flunkies unamused. I look forward to seeing how that will play out.
T-Bag goes tripping through the prison and gets waylaid by Michael, who menacingly says, "I think it's time you made good on all the bad you've done, Theodore." T-Bag rolls his eyes and keeps going. Michael goes on: "You and me, we're going to make a deal. Lechero has a cell phone. I need it." T-Bag acidly replies, "No problem. Shall I turn water into wine while I'm at it?" As wrong as the image is, you have to admit there's something intriguing about the idea of him launching his own label -- Left Hook Wineries? T-Bag adds, "Maybe give the guy's mother a little rogering?" Michael shoots back, "She'd be a little old for your tastes." T-Bag says, "Careful, pretty. Don't bite the hand you're trying to get fed out of." Too...many...fake...hand...jokes...forming. Must...fight.... Michael says that he would prefer a favor, and T-Bag asks for motivation. Michael provides it: "I'll let your new compadres know who you are, what you've done, and who you've done it to." T-Bag dryly says, "Let me get this straight: you're saying you're going to tell on me?" (Oh, Robert Knepper, you are the reason I have such mixed feelings about this character: I hate how implausible he is, but I love how you've made him so damn amusing to watch.) Michael replies, "This is a religious country. And I'm betting the good folks in Panama don't take too kindly to rapists and pedophiles." If the people are that religious, they shouldn't take too kindly to idol-worshippers or those who don't keep the Sabbath day. Anyway, we go to commercial with Michael smirking at T-Bag.
And then we come back from commercial with Michael looking up intently at an exhaust fan. Whistler comes up and says bluntly, "Listen, mate. Here's what I know so far: I know you've got a brother in the open on the outside. I know he ran into my girlfriend. And I know he took a book from her that belongs to me. I'd like it back." Michael doesn't bother looking away from the fan as he asks what the big deal is about the book. Whistler snaps back, "Unless it has directions out of this prison, I don't really think it should matter to you." Michael pouts that Whistler doesn't get him, and that he can get his damn book once he escapes. Whistler would like to know when that may be. Michael sighs, "Let me tell you what I know so far. Some very bad people who have done some very bad things want you alive and out of this prison -- which is why every bone in my body is telling me to do the opposite." Whistler asks, reasonably enough, why Michael is doing this. Michael then whips out the Polaroid and says, "You're upset because someone took a book from you. This is what they took from me. So let's be clear: this is what matters to me. Not you, and not your book." And you know, this is the kind of swoony, squee-y moment that Michael/Sara shippers nationwide should be able to savor like a fine wine from Left Hook vineyards...if it weren't for the fact that the actual actress playing Dr. Sara is noticeably absent, and that does not bode well for our inmates in the Prison of Love.
Meanwhile, Lechero's field office has just called in. Lechero idly threatens the guy with death, which is only a little less scary than when Carl Icahn begins showing up to demand greater earnings growth from quarter to quarter. Unfortunately, Lechero's phone craps out again mid-threat. Lechero discovers that this is because his phone charger's unplugged. Going by T-Bag's elaborately pop-eyed expression of innocence, I'm guessing it's part of the plan to get the phone to Michael.
Cut to Mahone multitasking: he's twitching all over in an effort to dislodge the purple spiders and pink centipedes crawling all over his skin and he's meeting with his court-appointed lawyer, Raul Dalinda. The lawyer is all smiles when he tells Mahone that he's got a court appointment relatively soon -- a year away, compared to the two-and-a-half years a non-citizen usually has to wait -- but he is less smiley about Mahone's plan to use Michael as a witness (since it smacks of coercion) and downright outraged by Mahone's request to bring him some more of his sweet, sweet pills. Dalinda backs away with a huffy "Good luck, Mr. Mahone," and Mahone begins clawing at the fence and screaming "Wait a second!" The guards do, and then they begin firing warning shots at the fence. On the bright side, at least we know the provenance of that shot in the credits of Mahone shaking a fence and screaming.
Back in Lechero's suite, everyone's hanging around and chillin' like villains. T-Bag prods them all to start moseying down to the barber's, and then the step in his crafty scheme goes as planned when Lechero decides to leave his phone in the cradle to charge. T-Bag pockets the phone as he goes.
We see T-Bag hand off the phone to Michael, warning him, "You got twenty-six minutes until he gets back. If that phone ain't back in the cradle, we're both dead, you hear me -- 'cause my Alabama ass is not going down alone!" Then he hustles off to rejoin his posse.
Michael promptly calls Linc and tells him to tell Dr. Sara to call him at this number. Linc tries to temper Michael's expectations -- "This Susan chick, she hasn't even agreed to it yet" -- but Scofield's having none of it: "Get her on the line! Get her on the line! This is a one-shot deal." Linc continues to walk over to meet Dr. Sara, unaware that Sofia is tailing him.
And now, the semi-comic interlude of the night. Bellick limps over to the drag queen's cell -- turns out she's the barber -- and tells her, "It looks like we got off on the wrong foot." The barber -- who has a flawless manicure, which is surely a hint as to heretofore unrevealed superpowers, given what a cesspit Sona is -- ignores Bellick as he rambles on, "I'm not a violent guy. I just need that shoe. I can't hardly walk, and this place...changes people." Changes them into guys who are desperate to sleep with drag queens for footwear? Is that where we're going with this, Bradley? We learn that the barber's name is Pistachio, and Bellick limps into the cell, saying, "Pistachio...that's a beautiful name." Pistachio would like to know what Bellick wants, and Bellick says, "I was hoping we could make a deal -- a trade." Pistachio gives him the once-over and says, "The only thing you got to sell, I don't want to buy. I like my men a little more...how you say? No fat?" Absurdly, this hurts Bellick's he-man ego: "Fat? This is all muscle! And I'd prove it to you if I didn't think you'd take things south of the border." Wha...huh? Did Bellick expect just to have to cuddle with Pistachio to get that shoe? Pistachio whips out a blade as a way of dismissing Bellick -- his 2 o'clock appointment is here. The way Lechero sits down, something tells me he will not be gabbing away in the hairdresser's chair.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Susan B. tries to get all quippy with Linc, but he's not having it: "It's become pretty clear you need us. So stop pretending you're in charge and give us what we want, when we want it, starting with the damn phone call."
And now, let said damn phone call start. After a few sweaty minutes, the phone rings...
Michael: Hello?
Allegedly Dr. Sara: It's me.
Michael: How are you?
Allegedly Dr. Sara: I'm tired. Where...where are you?
Michael: It's a long story.
Allegedly Dr. Sara: As it turns out, I don't appear to be going anywhere.
Michael: I know. I know. I'm working on that. Listen, Sara, I miss how we used to talk. Do you remember how we used to talk?
Allegedly Dr. Sara: Yes.
Michael: Well, good. I saw your picture today. And I want you to know, I understand. I understand the difficult place you're in.
Allegedly Dr. Sara: Michael, listen. I...I don't want you to think like that.
Michael: Why is that?
Allegedly Dr. Sara: You have to know, it's a lost cause. L.J. and I, we can see it now. It's a lost cause. Do you understand?
Michael: No, no, I don't. Help me. Help me understand.
Allegedly Dr. Sara: All I can think of to help is, maybe you just need more time? It's like they're giving you until midnight and I'm sitting here at 3 AM. [a hand cocks a gun at her head] They're saying I have to hang up.
Michael: Sara, I love you.
Allegedly Dr. Sara: I love you too.
While that whole conversation's going on, we see the back of the Alleged Dr. Sara, with her hair all in her face, but it is so obviously not the actress we're used to, and whatever monkeyshines are going on behind the scenes, fix them, y'all.
Anyway, Michael quickly calls Linc back and concludes, "They were never in Santa Rita." (Linc, on the other end: "WHAT?!?!") Michael adds, "The patron saint of lost causes is Saint Rita. [Dr. Sara] was never telling us where they were, she was telling us what they could see from where they were." T-Bag bursts in and nervously demands the phone, since Lechero's now done with his shave. Michael wants T-Bag to stall, and says, "One more thing, Linc. She said something about needing more time. She said, it's like they're giving us until midnight, but she was sitting at 3 AM." We go to a very funny shot of Linc stopping dead in his tracks, asking, "What the hell does that mean?" LINCOLN NOT LIKE METAPHORS. Michael explains that they're near a clock, and while he'd love to stay on the line and brainstorm, he really can't, because the menacing killer he stole the phone from really needs to not know the phone's been gone.
Then we go to a very tense sequence in which Michael tries to get into Lechero's suite, put the phone back in its cradle, and get out undetected. He almost doesn't pull it off, except T-Bag frantically stalls the crowd at the door with the ol' "I think that barber might have missed a spot" trick. While Lechero is -- again -- quite amused by T-Bag's overdone toadying, Sammy seethes in the background. However, Lechero notices that his phone is not quite set in its cradle.
Linc has just gotten off a bus when his phone rings. He looks at the number for a moment, and then clicks the phone on without saying anything. On the other end of the line, Lechero does the same thing before finally asking, "Who is this?" The brother of the guy too stupid to not clear the call register before returning the phone, that's who. Lechero now has one of his flunkies on Operation Track Down This Phone Number. I suppose that's less labor-intensive than asking each of the inmates what they know.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Linc's efforts to take a taxi are temporarily foiled by Sofia'a walking up behind him and pressing a knife to his back. Linc impatiently talks her down -- "You want your boy out of Sona, right? Well, I'm one of the guys that's going to help break him out" -- but Sofia thinks otherwise, since she's still under the impression that Michael is a lawyer and is going to help him that way. Of course, since this show specializes in conversations that lead people to silly conclusions based on partial information, Sofia doesn't say, "He told me your brother Scofield was a lawyer" or anything like that, because then that would lead to her and Linc actually communicating, and who needs that? Instead, she pulls the "he's but a humble fisherman" card, and Linc is like, "Yes, because people routinely kidnap my son because they want fishermen out of jail. It all makes perfect sense now." He gets his cab, and asks the cabbie to take him to the statue of Saint Rita. That just happens to be in the red light district.
Back in prison, Whistler's stopped by to chat with Mahone. First things first: Whistler's not holding a grudge. "My head was a free ticket out of here," he says. "I don't begrudge anyone trying to do what they had to do to get it." He settles in for a chat, first asking Mahone where he's from (Boardman, Ohio) and sharing that he's from Kalbarri. Mahone is familiar with Australia's western coast -- he passed through the fishing region -- and Whistler remarks, "Small world." Mahone declines to say what he was doing in Panama, but Whistler's got it. He snaps his fingers and says, "You're that cop! I was looking at that Scofield, trying to figure out why he looks so bloody familiar -- then just now, hearing your voice. I remember watching the press when that just happened. Now you're in here together." Mahone looks up with bloodshot eyes and bitterly says, "Small world." Whistler asks whether Mahone's trying to extradite Michael, and Mahone brokenly replies, "I'm not really in that line of work anymore." Whistler casually asks, "What's he all about, Scofield?," but he's looking super-intense. Mahone would like to know why Whistler cares. "Just curious as to what kind of chap I'm dealing with," says Whistler. Mahone slowly says, "I guess that depends on why you'd be dealing with him." Whistler casually says that you never know when you need a friend. Mahone says, "See, one thing about Scofield is that for those that he cares about, he'll do just about anything. But he'll screw you three ways to Sunday if he doesn't." Mahone does not add, "Of course, my view may be affected by how he sent me down the river after I killed his father and tried to trade his brother's life for a boat and a big bag of cash." So Whistler is left thinking that he'd better figure out which three ways Michael will be screwing him. And he does not look thrilled by that mental exercise.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Linc has gotten out at the statue of Santa Rita. Since this is the red light district, a half-dozen hookers immediately descend upon him. Linc fends them off and begins looking around, trying to figure out the 3 o'clock reference. He asks passersby if there's a clock nearby, he flashes pictures of Dr. Sara and LJ, he basically acts as if he has never, ever sat with anyone and muttered, "Total hottie, my 2 o'clock."
Up in the room where she's being kept, Dr. Sara sees Linc kneeling in the square (where he's muttering "Clock, clock..." like some deranged character in a Poe story) and manages to kick a shoe out of the window. The shoe and the realization of what Dr. Sara meant hit Linc at roughly the same time.
So Linc goes running into the building where Dr. Sara and LJ are being kept, and a low-level flunky end up on the wrong end of the LINCOLN SMASH! Lincoln breaks into the room just in time to see L.J. spirited away, has to do another LINCOLN SMASH!, and then heads down a flight of stairs in time to see L.J. (and the leg of the presumed Dr. Sara) hustled into an anonymous van, which then leaves with all due haste. Linc tries to catch the van on foot but, alas, he only has the Hulk's superstrength and not his freakish speed.
We cut to Susan B. strolling along a riverside walk. She gets a phone call from someone -- "They made a move. Burrows made a move" -- and stops, either in shock or irritation. Susan B. begins to press for more details.
Back in prison, Linc has just finished telling Michael of his day's labors, concluding, "It was the right place. I just couldn't get to them in time." Nor did you have the manpower to have all the exits covered. So don't blame yourself, Linc. Blame Sucre for not being around to help. Michael asks whether L.J. and Dr. Sara looked all right. Linc confirms that they did, and then points to the Polaroid Michael's still clutching: "You can keep that and give it to Sara as a souvenir when this is all done." I so hope that Dr. Sara can burn it in a ritual of some sort, and not in the "And this is the photo I cherished during your harrowing hostage ordeal. Shall we scrapbook it along with the others?" way. Michael is one big gloom cookie, and Linc gives him a pep talk: "Michael, we can do this. They wouldn't have gone to all the trouble to put you in here if it was impossible to get out. We can do this. We can do it." This bucks up Michael.
That is, it bucks Michael up until he flashes back to the first episode of the season, and all the ways people were shot in the head. Michael's busy meditating on that when Whistler comes in, all, "We need to talk." Michael agrees: he would like to know why the One World Conspiracy is so interested in Whistler, who finally spills: "I've been splitting time between here and the Pacific Northwest, running charters. Fishing, sightseeing, whatever was paying the bloody rent. About a year ago, I took a guy out. He was some sort of naturalist. He was taking water samples, measurements. I didn't really care [why] as long as the check cleared. But here's the thing: a few months later, I get a call from somebody wanting to know where I took the guy. And I told them I couldn't remember. But then these government types, they started showing up at my flat asking questions. I didn't know what to do. So I got low, I came down to Panama, and I moved in with Sofia full-time, until [the fight at the bar]. And then I'm moved in here, where those same people show up at visitation, saying they're going to get me out, and when they do, I'm to take them to the same place I took that guy. That's why I need the book your brother got. It's my trip log. I write notes in the margins -- coordinates, landmarks. I need to retrace my steps and find that location. I don't have a choice." Michael is skeptical, and smarms a bit about holding on to the book. He and Whistler then snarl at each other some, because they're too stubborn, stupid or crazy to see that if they put their heads together, they can both get what they want. Then again, perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on the guys: months of fugitive living (Michael) or weeks of rat dining (Whistler) might make anyone slower on the uptake. Whistler eventually simmers down and makes nice with Michael.
And now, we get the opening salvo in Sammy and T-Bag's feud. Sammy is regaling people with a tale of sweet sugarcane, sweet mango, and women whose qualities will go unrevealed because Sammy now has to razz T-Bag as he tries to go up the stairs. After a few kicks and buffets, T-Bag heads up with a murderous look. He heads into Lechero's office (interrupting his private time) and tries to quit Lechero's entourage. The resignation is a thing of beauty, as T-Bag makes it seem like he's quitting because he fears for his life, and indirectly alludes to Sammy's plot to overthrow Lechero. Lechero tells T-Bag, "I deny your request. You're going to stay on as my ears. You'll report back to me everything that you hear when I'm not around." Lechero squeezes T-Bag's shoulder; the smaller man grimaces.
Downstairs, Bellick limps into Pistachio's cell and begins searching for the missing shoe. (One of the episode's nice touches: the Spanish-language version of "We gotta get out of this place" that plays over this scene.) This puts him in a prime position to eavesdrop on a conversation between Michael and Mahone, wherein Mahone says, "Stop me when I'm wrong: [the One World Conspiracy] wanted you here in Panama, alive but framed for murder. And then, for some strange reason, you really seem to care about the fate of this Whistler guy. And I gotta tell you something: he's really curious about you too. Let's see...what special talents do you have that [the One World Conspiracy] might decide you're worth more to them alive than dead? Whaddya say there, Mike? Am I getting warm yet?" Michael dismissively tells Mahone to go take another pill. Mahone's all, "So you won't mind if I kill Whistler then?" Michael bluffs: "Ask yourself what [the One World Conspiracy] would do to you? To the ones you love? Be careful." The men huff off in opposite directions. Michael goes back to looking out a window.
We see a worker on the outside spraying down a body with something, and for some reason, this is what shakes Michael into the planning mode we all know and love. He begins staring at the burial process intently.
Meanwhile, on the outside...Sucre is passed out on the floor in front of Linc's hotel-room door. We see that Sucre pawned his gun, and then drank the proceeds. Linc sighs, and then heaves Sucre inside and lays him on the couch to sleep it off. His phone rings. Susan B. asks, "Busy day?" Linc goes to smack his hand against his forehead, and it slides off from the sweat that's collected from his exertions. He replies, "Not as busy as I'd hoped." Susan B. says, "Look, you had to try. I probably would have done the same thing myself if I were you. But let's be perfectly clear: you're never going to try anything like that again." Linc says he understands. Susan B. replies, "Just to make sure you do, I left you a little something in the corner of the garage. It's by the trash." She clicks off, and I'm left to wonder why her character just isn't working as a foil to Lincoln. I think it's because I don't know what makes Susan B. tick. Kellerman -- we knew he had some higher purpose he was serving, so that was what kept him going. And with Kim, we knew he was a power-hungry little martinet who got off on showing people how he out-manipulated them. Again -- we had an idea of what got him out of bed in the morning. With Susan B., I have no idea what she wants. And I have no idea what strengths she has -- she doesn't have Kellerman's casual efficiency or Kim's obvious canniness. So why is she there, and what does she bring, to either the organization or to the story?
Anyway, Linc has bigger questions to worry about than the meaning of Susan B. He has a garage to get to. With obvious trepidation, he heads over to the corner by the trash, where Susan B. left her little motivator. It's a box that looks to be about a foot square and eight inches tall. However, it's leaking blood at the bottom. Linc forces himself to walk over and lift the lid off the box. He gasps at what he sees, and--
And regular schmucks like me and thee will have to wait to week to find out what's so horrifying. Ah, cliffhanger! How I've missed you, you delicious, cruel monster.