Positano. Sydney strides through a pleasant-looking courtyard wearing a sleeveless black buttondown, tight black pants, and boots that look suspiciously like the Via Spiga ones I bought four months ago and then returned, realizing that if I can't walk down my own apartment hallway in them, I probably won't wear them much otherwise. I suddenly respect her so much more. She carries the clock in a case, and her oversized black sunglasses make her look more like Scrooge McDuck than Jackie Onassis. There's some techno playing behind her, but I've become inured to it. She enters a building, gets in one of those old-fashioned cage elevators, and goes up a few floors.
She gets to a door and knocks. The peephole opens. Here's where I get to show off the fruits of my liberal-arts education and break down some Italian for you, because for some reason, they only had money in the budget for Romanian subtitles. Sydney says she was hoping for some help; Mr. Donato says he's sorry, but he can't help. He shuts the peephole.
Sydney keeps on talking through the door, telling him that the clock is something he wants to see, saying that it was built for Milo Rambaldi. That does the trick, because Mr. Donato opens the door and asks to see it. Mr. Donato is seriously old. I keep peeking behind him to see if he's trailing gauze wrappings, like a mummy. He says that she is an American, because only an American would come to his door without telephoning. Sydney steps inside and scans his apartment, which is huge, filled with clocks, and has lots of wood paneling. I wonder what he pays in rent.
Mr. Old takes a seat with the clock.
Back in L.A. SD-6. Jack walks up to a flunkey named Seth and asks him to get a hold of his contact at the airlines, since he needs a back trace on a passenger manifest.
Newsroom. La Editress is asking Will if he's seen the passenger manifest for Flight 186. Will says no, he was supposed to get a fax of it. La Editress hands him a copy. Kate Jones is no longer sitting next to Daniel Hecht. La Editress points out that there are no longer any facts to back up Kate's existence. Will brings up Eloise Kurtz and his interview with her. La Editress says he has no recording. Will brings up the video blackout on the block of Danny's apartment on the night of his death. La Editress says no dice. She also points out that he credited Jennie as his fact-checker, but when they asked her, she said she hadn't made a single call. Will said it was, like, a gift, because she'd helped him out so much otherwise. La Editress points out that it was a lie. Will gets angry and asks if she's accusing him of making the whole thing up. He says -- he, in fact, swears to God -- that the only reason he doesn't want the story to run is because he doesn't want to hurt Sydney Bristow. La Editress says if something like this happens again, the only thing he'll be inventing are facts on his résumé. Right. Like he hasn't done that already. At first I felt bad for Will, but then I remembered that I hate him, that he's a bad reporter, and that he just sucks in general. Also, his cause was not furthered by his spectacular unattractiveness in this scene. Blech. Also, what the hell was he doing crediting Jennie as a fact-checker and then not telling her? What a dumb-ass!