The time is 09:50:52 AM. Klockwise from the top left, Kiefer works on his car some more, Palmer does more office stuff, and Mason drives the Xandermobile to the outside of the blast radius. Spawn finds a pay phone. She calls 911, but the operator puts her on hold. Here's Daddy! "Who are you calling?" asks DaddyStopTouchingMe, grabbing her. "The police? Because they're already looking for you for kidnapping my daughter!" Spawn does the Fuddrucker-struggle in order to get out of his clutches and then, once free, runs…to the other side of the pay phone. She's, like, a whole two feet from him. He'll never catch her now…unless he leans over and extends his arms in her direction! DaddyStopTouchingMe calms down and tries to talk it out with Spawn. He commends Spawn for taking off with JonBenet. "I would have done the same thing." He claims not to be a bad person; he's just a guy under a lot of pressure at work who did something stupid. He begs Spawn to let him apologize to his daughter and assure her that she has nothing to be frightened of. Spawn is sympathetic, but insists that Crazy Laura has to say it's okay before she hands over JonBenet. DaddyStopTouchingMe flips out at Spawn's insubordination and tries to beat her up. Spawn escapes from his clutches again but she actually runs this time. Next thing you know, she's running through that very same maze of alleyways where she and PMMS were running away from the evil frat boys last season. Again, I have to ask, is this an inside joke or are they just too lazy to build new sets? DaddyStopTouchingMe catches up to Spawn and takes her down. Spawn gets hold of a tire iron and whacks DaddyStopTouchingMe with all of her might. He goes down. Whoa, Spawn! I didn't know you had it in you!
Back at Chez Crew, Cate reads her notes over the phone to Burton. Apparently, the last trip he took was to Frankfurt. Wasn't that where Nina was headed at the end of last season? Hmmmm. Burton promises to get back to her as soon as he's found out if FarsiBoy and Syed Ali were ever in the same city during these past six months. PoorMan'sReneeZellweger enters the room, so Cate has to hang up. Renee just came in because she just realized that she forgot to thank Cate for all of her help with the wedding and for being her big sister. They share a sisterly hug that makes Cate feel like a total turd for spying on FarsiBoy.
NSA. Palmer meets with PressToad in some sumptuously appointed sitting room with a fireplace and two Wassily chairs designed by Marcel Breuer that are available in two colors -- black and rust -- at DWR for $650 each. Palmer chose rust. I'd prefer black myself, but rust suits this room better, so I really can't complain. They sit facing each other on a pair of Le Corbusier sofas and get down to business. Palmer asks PressToad what his story is about. PressToad tells Palmer that his sources say the alert condition has been elevated and the White House is keeping it a secret. Palmer asks him who his sources are. PressToad refuses to divulge them, so Palmer tries to convince him that there's nothing to his story. PressToad is skeptical, due to the fact that Palmer has never granted him a private interview before today. "My twenty-two years in the business tells me I'm not barking up the wrong tree," says PressToad. Palmer tries to buy PressToad's silence by offering him a thirty-minute jump on tomorrow's briefing. This only makes PressToad more sure he's onto something. Palmer warns PressToad that news of a threat could cause mass hysteria, and that could be worse than the threat itself. PressToad gives a lukewarm promise to "consider" sitting on his story. They shake hands. Palmer picks up a cell phone and calls Armus, who turns out to be a Secret Service guy who looks like Sam Elliott in The Contender. "It looks like we're going to have to go through with this," says Palmer. As PressToad exits the lodge, Armus and two other Secret Service men stop him. "There's something the president wants you to see before you leave," says Armus. They escort him somewhere as Palmer watches from his window. D'oh!