Michael watches from the roof of the government building as it sets down on the helipad above him. "To be a spy," he VOs, "you need physical fitness, a facility with languages, a tolerance for exotic food and the bugs that come with them. But ultimately there's no greater qualification than the ability to look someone who ruined your life in the eye and say, 'Let's work together.'" Whereas if you only have that last skill and none of the others, welcome to corporate America. Management and his one bodyguard walk down the stairs to meet Michael. Management asks Michael where Simon is. Michael assumes he's waiting to grab Management at street level. Management warns, "I might look like a nice old man, but I assure you I am not." He might look that way, but he doesn't. Michael asks if Management's people are in place, which they are: They've even identified Simon's team. Michael is surprised to hear that Simon's people are already set up. "Locals, apparently," Management says. "They'll be eliminated as soon as the extraction starts." Michael doesn't see why someone who paid $10 million to get out of prison would hire an amateur team. Because he spent all his money getting out and doesn't have enough left to enlist Blackwater? Let's just not even get into the question of where a maximum-security prisoner got a hold of ten million dollars in the first place. That's a lot of smokes to sell in the yard. When Management remains confident, Michael looks up at the chopper and asks him, "How many helipads in the area?" "Just the one," Management says, which tells Michael all he needs to know. "He knew where you were going to land!" Management looks up at the helicopter as though to make sure it's still there. Which, after a second, it isn't, replaced by a roaring fireball. I guess Keith was holding out on Sam and Fi after all. All three men standing below are sent sprawling as bits of helicopter rain down around them. It's into this chaotic scene that Simon walks, wearing a blue security guard's uniform with a drawn gun, and looking for all the world like the T-1000. Michael raises his bleeding head, and his vision focuses just in time to see Simon casually shoot Management's bodyguard without even looking at him. Before Michael can get up. Simon kicks him in the face (there go the sunglasses, and I'd like to know who's going to send them back to him this time) and stands on his neck. "Guess I was wrong about that 'everybody wins' thing," he drawls. Fortunately for Michael, Simon wants to gloat for a while, which gives Michael time to whip out that combat knife and stick it in Simon's leg. Good thing he wasn't unarmed after all. Michael's able to roll the wounded Simon off him and make a run for it across the rooftop, which is now a smoking debris field. He doesn't appear to spare Management a thought or a glance, which is probably wise, because after pulling the knife out of his leg, Simon starts shooting just as Michael reaches the railing and vaults over, with no time to see how far down it is until he's in the air. It looks pretty far, at least from this camera angle, and Michael lands hard with a groan of pain and lies there for a second, writhing. He should consider himself lucky not to have suffered that inside-out ankle thing that's been so rampant this season. Management gets to his feet -- with Simon's none-too-gentle help -- just as the real guards come running. With Management's body hiding his gun from them, Simon says he doesn't know what happened. "This guy's hurt, I'm gonna take him downstairs." The other guards just let them go rather than wonder who the new guard is on a day when aircraft are blowing up on top of their building.