Previously on Alias: Vaughn was alive. ALIIIIIIVVVVEEE.
First, kudos and crescendos to the one and only Marabet, for providing me with a detailed recap of the first five minutes of this episode. There was a "major" storm in Charleston, and it began precisely about the time that the "previouslys" were supposed to be showing up on my television. However, this "major" storm had all the news stations in a tizzy, because South Carolina's version of "major," when it's not hurricane season, involves some dark skies and...RAIN. Yeah. I know. Bitches should try living in the Midwest during January. A Chicagoan's idea of a "major" storm involves sleet, ice, snow, no electricity, no heat, temperatures thirty degrees below zero and a pantry full of vodka. I know it's no hurricane season, but still. Damn.
At any rate, thanks, Marabet. And enjoy that case of Pimms I just sent your way. It's best with pink champagne...
We begin in Minsk, where a car is pulling up to a darkened mansion. A guy with a bag over his head is guided out of the car. The bag's removed and it's none other than Arvin Sloane, looking none too pleased at the serious damage done to his already hideous hedgehog hairdo (I'm guessing here). Angus McFatten is there and he apologizes for Sloane's method of transport, saying it was all for the benefit of discretion. Sloane bitches that he's not in a position to disappear for an extended period of time without people suspecting something, so a little advanced warning would have been appreciated. "Yes," smirks Angus, "but then, that would spoil the fun. Also, do you have any snacks? I'm feeling a might peckish after my seven-course dinner."
Angus leads Sloane into the house and then says that they have some business that requires Sloane's attention and that they'll have him back in Los Angeles before anyone even notices he's missing. "It's not your timetable that concerns me, [Angus]," snits Sloane. "It's your manners." Angus just says, "Here you are," and then stops and stands in front of a guarded door. Sloane looks at him in mild surprise. "You're not joining us?" he asks. Angus just says that "the twelve" are waiting for Sloane inside. "You're not allowed in that room, are you?" asks Sloane with a twisted expression on his face. Angus is all, "Um...not really. I mean, I could go in there, I choose not too. I'm not hung up on this completion thing. Also? Do ye have fifty cents for the vending machine? I could really use a wee Twix bar." Sloane, clearly enjoying the unexpected lackey position that Angus has now assumed, slings off his coat and throws it to McFatten, who just takes it and walks off, his perma-smirk suddenly absent from his Scottish mug. Awesome.