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M. Giant: B- | Grade It Now!
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Baby The Raines Must Fall

At CTU, Nadia is on the phone with the long-unmentioned Exposition Call Center in Bangalore, promising to have some satellite data to them as soon as possible. She's starting to feel the stress, even though Milo has come to perch on her desk and fix her with a look that I'm sure he intends to be reassuring. He "supportively" clasps her wrist and promises that they'll get through it. Chloe picks this moment to come up to them, her forehead all wrinkled at the sight of this wholly inappropriate level of workplace PDA. Like they were fucking on the desk or something. Not to worry; she'll get her revenge later. They ask her what's up, and she says that she accidentally found out that Nadia's been using Milo's clearance code, which is a felony. They try to cover, but then Nadia says that Milo was just trying to help her get around the racial profiling measures that have been in place for the past eight hours. I'm actually amazed that anybody brought them up again. Chloe agrees with them that those measures are stupid, but they're still committing a felony. They try to convince Chloe not to tell, but Chloe informs them that she has no intention of squealing; otherwise she already would have. She just wants them to be more careful, before someone besides her notices. Which doesn't really explain why she made them squirm so much before saying so. Oh, wait -- it's Chloe. Never mind.

From over near Morris's workstation, Buchanan calls Nadia over: Morris has already gotten a visual satellite fix on the launched drone. It probably helped that the terrorists left all their floodlights on so that Morris could easily pinpoint the launch site. That's only sporting. CTU has also got an Air Force general on the line at 7:07:30. The general mentions that the drone in question is virtually invisible to radar, so Morris is going to have to visually guide the fighter planes to their targets. Nadia says that the drone's within four minutes of its nearest likely target, which is downtown L.A., and the general promises that his F-16s should be able to intercept within two minutes. Morris awkwardly says that might be tough, since the drone just disappeared from the satellite screens. He hops out of his chair like he's going outside to scan the skies with a pair of opera glasses. With an odd lack of urgency, the general calmly says that he'll keep his planes in a holding pattern until they find it. Or until the jets get knocked out of the sky by an EMP, whichever comes first.

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