Michael's prepping for his latest gig, this one with Strickler. He's loading a gun, and Fi's loading... a camera. "When you prepare for a mission, it's the little things that count," he VOs. "Firepower is great, but an operation's more likely to be saved by a fresh set of batteries than a gun." Ooh, can you imagine a gun that shoots batteries? Think about how much it would suck to have your spleen perforated by a nine-volt. Of course, Fi's not happy to be fiddling with AA-cells instead of ammo, plus she's even more unhappy that Michael's unquestioningly going along with Strickler's instructions, which were, in their entirety, "bring a camera." He impatiently reminds her that Strickler is his ticket "Back In." There's a knock on the door, and Michael looks at Fi, like, Are you going to get that, or what am I not paying you for?, and when she answers it, there stands Strickler himself, with white suit, a striped dress shirt, and a smug look. "Strickler -- Michael's Ticket Back In," remind the subtitles. Although if Strickler's outfit is any indication, it looks like Michael is going to be asked to infiltrate a vicious gang of ice cream truck drivers. Which he really shouldn't have a problem with, being a longtime yogurt sympathizer. "Always a pleasure," Strickler smarms at Fi. "The pleasure's all yours," she shoots back. Uh, Fi, which one of you has pointed a shotgun at the other one? Just asking. He and Michael leave, but before Michael follows Strickler out, she has a request: "If it doesn't feel right, promise me you'll walk away." He leaves, significantly failing to promise any such thing. Strickler tips her a cheeky little salute. She fails to shoot him in the spleen with a nine-volt.

It's raining as Strickler's silver Aston Martin pulls up by the side of the road on a bridge for some reason. Strickler reiterates the deal, where Michael does Strickler's bidding in exchange for help getting Back In, and Michael asks about said bidding. Strickler points out the car window at a warehouse, claiming it's a safe house used by an unnamed American intelligence agency to store equipment. "What if I told you I know the exact moment it's left unguarded?" Strickler boasts. Off Michael's dark look, Strickler assures him that he doesn't need Michael to rob the place. Because, as it turns out, that's already being done before our very eyes, as a crew of guys carries out some big wooden crates and loads them onto a boat waiting at the adjacent dock. "We should alert the owners," Michael says loudly and firmly while watching through his binoculars. Strickler says they'll do that when the time comes. He says he knows when the stuff is being sold, but not where or to whom. "The crew has a cleaner," Michael realizes. Strickler confirms that he'd be the key to tracking down the sale. As the boat laden with the stolen goods casts off and motors down the river, Michael VOs, "Heists are like parties. The worst part is cleaning up. Someone has to stay behind and get rid of all the evidence." That would be the guy Michael's watching through his binoculars, which suddenly feature a subtitle reading "The Cleaner." As the cleaner walks briskly away from the scene of the crime, the VO continues, "Of course, tidying up after a heist often involves methods not suitable for parties." Right on cue, the warehouse blows up, and of course the cleaner never looks back, because cool guys don't look at explosions. "Moment of truth, Michael," Strickler prompts, and Michael gets out of the car to get a photo of the cleaner's license plate. Truthfully.