Michael enters the lobby of a swanky hotel in his usual spy-business outfit of a suit and no tie. "Getting information out of hotels," he VOs, "requires a delicate touch. One whiff that you're snooping, and you'll just hear a lot of 'we can't give out that information.' You need to get them on your side. Convince them that you're someone that needs customer service." With that, Michael approaches the desk clerk with a lame story about looking for a friend. "Mr. Westen?" she interrupts. "We've been expecting you." She hands him an envelope with his name on it. Wow, that wasn't nearly as hard as he was making out. "Of course, when the hotel clerk turns out to be expecting you, that makes things a little easier," his VO concedes. She explains to him that he was described as "six-one, exquisitely dressed, with impeccable posture." Michael opens the envelope to find a note with nothing on it but the handwritten words "Room 302." So far we know that the person he's looking for is a diabolical kiss-ass.
As Michael slowly makes his way down the hallway of the third floor (the better to leave enough time for the voice-over), he gives us a little speech we've heard before about making first contact in the intelligence community. "Whatever the method, that first contact tells you a lot about a person." And as he approaches Room 302, whose door is open, the whole room suddenly bursts into flame. Luckily Michael wasn't in it yet. "Especially when someone introduces himself by firebombing a hotel room," his VO concludes. And that tells him what, exactly? That his quarry is The Who?
After the titles and the ads, we're at Michael's loft. Fi's curled up in one of his chairs as Michael says nobody saw the arsonist, but the room was registered under a name that Sam recognizes as belonging to a nuclear scientist who was killed in 1999. In a hotel room fire, coincidentally enough. "I think Mike's new friend is telling us that he was involved," Sam says, his voice not even wavering despite that limb he's out on. Rather than continue discussing these matters of life and death, Fi changes the subject to something more important: a favor she needs from Michael. He wants him to meet a client of hers about an insurance scam. "I would do it myself, but in my current state..." she hints pathetically, cradling her tiny little arm bandage. Michael points out that she was about to leave the country, but apparently this was one last gig she was going to do. "But someone got outed as an American spy and now I can't go home," she reminds him, like it's Michael's fault a violent psychopath went after Fi. Excuse me, another violent psychopath. Sam reminds Fi that they also saved her life in the process, but she doesn't care about that. She just tells Michael to go to the impound lot. Well, that part at least sounds totally above board.