Alias
Endgame

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Ding Dong, Mrs. Dixon's Dead

Back at Mama Hari Lite's Den Of Delights, Syd points her watch at the glass, and while she continues to yammer on about something, her own recorded voice bleats out of the watch. Apparently, even though the security cameras have microphones and we actually just heard the ladies on Jack's monitors, Spy Wife's the only person who can actually hear the Wondrous Watch Message. The message pretty much just says that, since the CIA won't sanction a team to go get Slater, Syd's going in herself.

As the Wondrous Watch Message continues, some agents start heading down the cell hallway in order to remove Syd from the area. The message tells Spy Wife to tap out the locator codes in Morse Code on her arm. Whuh? Huh? Yeah. I know. Just. Uh. Yeah. So, Spy Wife taps out the code, Syd gets it, and the agents come and take her away. Jack sees all this on his monitor, but obviously doesn't think it odd that Syd pointed her watch at the glass for a solid minute, or that Spy Wife crossed her arms and said nothing for another solid minute. Yeah. Jack's obviously been injecting bong water directly into his cerebral cortex.

Satan Sloane's Silo Of Secrecy. Irina, having changed into a sleek white tank and a black jacket, is hovering over Slater's desk, asking him why it's been over twenty-four hours and STILL he's no closer to breaking the code. Slater, hunched over a laptop, just goes, "This database is encoded with an 8192-bit military-grade polymorphic encryption. Unless you want to kidnap a smarter genius than me, it's going to be a little while." Hee. And Christian Slater totally channeled "J.D." from Heathers during that little quip. Irina's all, okay, just tell me what you need to speed this puppy up. Exasperated, Slater just shoves the laptop aside and demands access to a Cray supercomputer. And yes, I made sure to Google that and read all about supercomputers and how they work and how many models there are and what they do and could I BE a bigger geek? Irina just sidles up to Slater and quips something about how he'd better not be stalling. Slater's like, stalling? Did you just accuse me of STALLING? Oh, that does it! I'll give you stalling! He grabs Irina and wraps his handcuffs chain around her neck, throwing her onto the desk. It looks like he just might get away with killing her, but Agent Avenger shows up just in time and shoots Slater in the leg.

Lieutenant Loose Cannon launches himself at Slater, shoving his gun up into Slater's chin. He babbles something about how, a few days ago, he would have done anything to keep Slater alive. Now? He could give two shits. He's about to blow Slater's head off when Irina intervenes and pulls him away, saying that they still need him. Slater just falls to the ground and makes a mental note to tell his agent that his next acting gig better involve hot tubs, tropical heat, and about eighteen pounds of room service.

Dwelling de Dixon. Dix and Mrs. Dix are sitting on the sofa, and she's asking him about this whole transfer business and where it might take him. The location's not really important, responds Dix. But the fact that he'll be seated behind a nice big desk IS important. Mrs. Dix is like, oh, so now you'll be happy not being in the field? Dix is like, sweetie? I'll be happy no matter WHAT I'm doing, just as long as you and the kids are by my side. Aw. Mrs. Dix leans forward and is all, honey, Sloane is a BAD dude and you are not responsible for his wife's death. "He put her in harm's way," she finishes. That's what I said, Diane! I'm glad SOMEBODY agrees with me. Now if I can just get Sloane to own up to his responsibilities...Dix looks down at his wife, now kneeling before him, and says that Auntie Em's death isn't the only reason he's putting in for a transfer. "I'm doing it for us," he says. Aw, Part Deux. Mrs. Dix says something about knowing who her husband is and how he's the most decent man she's ever known. Dix gets really emotional, kisses his wife, and then they embrace. Nope. Don't have anything snarky at all to say about this scene.

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Alias

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