Kiefer returns to the dining room with a fresh shirt as his cell phone rings. Hastings tells him the rods aren't there. "Say that again," Kiefer says, putting his phone on speaker so Bazhaev can hear this time. "That's impossible," Bazhaev says, sincerely confused. "Did your men go to the right pace?" Kiefer blames Bazhaev, who insists he had two of his men guarding them. "We found their bodies, both shot," says Hastings from Kiefer's phone, so at least everyone's on the same page now. Hastings adds the part about the necklace, "Like someone wanted to send a message," he says, using those analytical powers that brought him to the top spot at CTU. Kiefer asks him to be more specific about the necklace. "A gold cross," Hastings says. Bazhaev doesn't bother to hide his reaction, or to lie to Kiefer when he asks what it means. "Josef," he whispers.
And here's Josef, driving a van and calling Farhad to say, I have the fuel rods." Standing out on a sidewalk with some of his guys in front of God and everyone (although at least he's somehow retrieved his suit jacket), Farhad still seems surprised that Josef would betray his father. "It won't take him long to realize what's happened, so let's get this done fast," Josef says. "You're worried he'll discover you've replaced him as our partner?" Farhad asks. Josef says that's exactly what he wants. "In fact, I made sure he will." He says he'll be there in five minutes. "Just have my money ready." Anyone else wondering when he and Farhad arranged this? I can only assume his earlier display of loyalty was a pretext to get Farhad away from his dad and make his offer, which still leaves the question of Farhad's willingness to pay for the rods twice. Speaking of the rods, the camera pans back to the van's cargo area, where a metal crate rests ominously. Did he schlep that in there by himself, lead lining and all? Because if he did, we've got more to worry about than loose uranium; we've got a terrorist with super-strength on our hands. It's 12:00:00.M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.