Back at the airport, Michael is trying to get an FAA employee to lend him the whole file on the plain by flirting with her using a southern accent. Excuse me, I meant "plane." "Plain" is what the FAA employee is. Which is probably part of the reason Michael's flirting works so well. Before we know it, he's in the copy room, busily photocopying the contents of the folder. Suddenly the PA announces that Duane Winger needs to report to Reception. Which of course translates as "If there is a Michael Westen in the building, your ass is busted." Michael goes to the door, and out in the hallway he hears his flirt-ee talking to a humorless dude in a suit, who tells her the file "Duane Winger" requested was red-flagged. Michael closes the door before they see him, and assesses the only other exit from the room: a closed window, three or four floors up. "When you get cornered," he VOs, quite apropos of the situation, "There's a rush of adrenalin as the fight-or-flight response kicks in. In those moments, you can't listen to your body. There are some circumstances when flight just isn't the right option." But a pair of scissors and whatever he sees behind the copier is. Moments later, as a uniformed guard and that suited dude walk into the now-empty copy room, the VO continues: "Fortunately, with a little training and the right kind of hitch knot, all that adrenalin can make you capable of something pretty close to flight." In this case, hanging out the window by the power cord, dangling right above a barbed-wire-topped fence. Michael awkwardly swings himself sideways to land in the bushes on the outside of the fence. Which is not really all that close to flight at all. "Doesn't help the landing, though," his VO admits, as he coils up the cord to throw it away. Looking sore from his bumpy landing, Michael pulls the file out of the back of his pants and limps away. Good thing he picked the alias "Winger." I hate to think of how hard he would have hit the ground If he'd gone with "Stone."