Sure enough, VVH uses the stolen cell phone to call up Poor Man's Robert Davi and tell him he'll be at the TerrorDome within the hour. I don't know, there are only, like, three minutes left. That's pretty ambitious. "We're about to prepare DaD," PMRD says. "Hurry."
10:57:28. Aisha plops into the chair next to Lispy Skip. "Not now," says a busy Skip. "Yes, now," says Aisha. You suppose she's going to ask where the restroom is? "How do you feel about what's happening to Potato Face?" is her actual question. Lispy Skip wants to know what she means. "She's not just gonna lose her job. She might go to prison." Skip rightfully asks why Aisha cares. Well, because Aisha overheard his conversation with Potato Face earlier, so she knows Lispy Skip was in on it. He asks what she wants. "I want to make sure I have your attention whenever I need it," she says, and leaves. Oh, she's good. She starts blackmailing people even before she wants something from them. This woman is a nightmare. She's AIIIEEEE!sha.
Special Agent Breck announces that they've got a recording of VVH's phone call. Driscoll has her cue it up and play it back so everyone can hear it. "Looks like Kiefer was right," says Curtis after the call ends. Driscoll shoots him in the face. She and her big plate of crow tartare shrink up into the top left corner of the screen as she says, "Order the teams to stand down. Keep tracking VVH by satellite." In the upper right, Potato Face is led none-too-gently to her holding cell. VVH drives his not-at-all-conspicuous stolen yellow pickup in the lower right. At lower left, DaD and DoDder are still being held, though not by each other. Kiefer keeps following VVH's blip on his PDA display, with no clue as to how much better his day just got. It's 10:58:36. Of course, you and I know what happens when things appear to be working out for our heroes at the fifty-eight-and-a-half-minute mark. Right on cue, a fleet of police cars screams into position on the road in front of Kiefer, blocking his route. "Son of a bitch," says Kiefer, as he so often does, and comes to a stop. He's getting ready to pull a J-turn and head back the way he came, but more cruisers pull in behind him, sealing him in place. The terrain rises on each side of the road, so there's no going around. Kiefer looks at the gun sitting in the shotgun seat and seems for a brief moment to contemplate suicide by cop. Instead he gets out of the car, hands first, and obeys the officers' instructions to lie down flat on his belly in the road. Bet he misses having a CTU badge right about now. This is the taste of defeat, and it tastes like asphalt. It's 11:00. I do so hope Kiefer's not going to have to spend the rest of the season in the county lockup.