Walden's ceremony is rich with irony, packed to the gills with networking careerists and zoned-out family members and people who don't want to be there. Paying their respects. But on this ship there is none of that. It's efficient, brutal, brightly lit; it is, not by coincidence, much more beautiful than the other one, in its honesty. There are no wives, there are no children, there are no followers or friends: Just Saul Berenson, mute, standing watch while the great devil of our time goes fluttering out over the water.
He looks very, very small.
Carrie: "Okay, fine. I'm leaving the Agency and dedicating myself full-time to this imploding star we've made of ourselves."
Carrie: "Why are you making that weird face? Are you happy?"
Nick: "Yes! This is just my face!"
True enough. x=here, so p=unknown. They never quite knew each other's position until she said that, which meant their vectors would figure themselves out. But now his x and her x, she's saying, are the same: Each other. Which means all that can concern them is p, what happens next. It was fun talking about being a teacher or builder, but at least with the option of keeping her in place they had one foot on the floor. Now, they're both just fluttering. Come to a coasting stop at a crossroads, that bike's gonna start to wobble.
The separate ceremonies continue. A twinge in the air twists us away from the parallel between the funerals and into another juxtaposition: Death and more death. The ghostly Jigsaw hand of Abu Nazir, of Al Qaeda, still moving pieces around on the board. It's a neat trick. Nazir's last, nasty little gift, woven into the narrative. Nick Brody's car has been pulled around to the front of the building, just outside the ceremony.
Nick and Carrie rush to the window, and then are blown back as it takes out the entire building. Cynthia and Finn Walden, David Estes, everybody but Saul and themselves and Quinn, gone up in an instant. The perfect plan, whose ever it was, to take out the majority of the CIA -- and Walden's cronies, anybody who loved him enough to sit in celebration of his life and deeds -- in one last blast.
Carrie wakes up and wonders if, like the last time, the bomb has shaken her brain free of its moorings. She puts the facts together and comes up with betrayal, because it's the most logical conclusion: Brody, the terrorist, who ushered her out of the blast radius with promises of makeouts, whose car was the weapon. Brody who killed the Vice President and said it was all for her. She points at gun at him for a while, and it's scary for everybody.