Meanwhile, a van pulls up at the airport gate. The driver, hidden in shadow, asks what happened. "Nothing you need to worry about, sir," says the guard, telling buddy to move along. As he leans out the window, we see it's the same guy who was on the plane. Or at least I see it now. I didn't notice it first time through, but that's because when he was on the plane, his face was all sweaty and strobe-lighted, and then it fell off.
The long lanky form of Lance Reddick, also know as The Wire's Lt. Daniels, strides across the tarmac to tell the assembled agency he's Special Agent Broyles, sent by Washington to, and I quote, "get results." That's a relief; I'm often left wondering if my superiors prefer results to no results. Broyles notes that while there are various agencies represented here, right now they're reporting to the Department of Homeland Security. He identifies a CIA agent and FBI agents Charlie Francis and John Scott as being on "the starting line," and tells everyone else to "stand by." Yeah, see if there are any results nearby that you can get.
You can imagine that our plucky heroine isn't interested in standing by, so she chases after Broyles to introduce herself as "inter-agency liaison" and he snarks that being a liaison on an inter-agency task force is like being powdered sugar on a glazed donut. She says that she prefers to get her information first-hand: "That's not redundancy; that's accountability." He stops walking, right in front of the jet's massive engines, which is a great place to have a conversation. "I know exactly who you are. You want in, liaison? Suit up." Well, that was easy. I imagine Olivia's a little concerned about the way he said "liaison," full of bile. Dammit, Olivia, he's too busy getting results to worry about your first-hand information.
The agents, in their Hazmat suits, make their way into the plane. It's full of smoke, and the bodies are nothing more than skeletons with translucent skin coverings. "What kind of terrorism is this?" asks John, or maybe Charlie, or maybe it's that CIA guy. "Who says it's terrorism?" says Olivia. The Department of Homeland Security. That's who, comrade. On the bright side, it looks like everyone's oxygen mask deployed properly.
We don't linger there too long before heading back to "Federal Building Boston," in one of those rooms where everyone yells on phones and across the room at each other. Looks like they're checking the passenger list for anyone suspicious, like someone who maybe specifically requested a non-skin-dissolving meal so as not to attract attention. Olivia wants to know if anyone looked at security footage from the Hamburg airport, and Broyles is yelling something. Olivia is all "please tell me that terminal has been shut down" and Broyles says it's been shut down since 0400 local time. "Any more questions?" he asks, sarcastically. Olivia ignores the sarcasm to ask who the "point man" at the CDC is for the bone and tissue samples, and Broyles snidely asks if she wants his home number. Olivia says no, but she would like the whole report, and she bickers briefly with Broyles, who says it's not as if the rest of the team thinks what happened was a result of the in-flight movie. Olivia makes a face. And I have to say that while Broyles is being kind of a dick, it could have something to do with Olivia acting like she's, you know, IN CHARGE OF THE INVESTIGATION.