We follow the satellite down to the busy War Room. They've picked up some chatter --something's going down. The Man says to get the best code-breakers on it to figure out the Militia's plan. Got it.

It's still Pasta a la Jerry time. We see three plates -- one is clean, and two are still full of disgusting-looking pasta. Jerry is telling tales about Jake. First there was the time he dressed up in full Gene Simmons regalia because he thought there was a costume party, then there's the totally made-up story about Jake taking the fall for Jerry's lost bike and getting grounded for three weeks. Sarah loves that story, then excuses herself. Jake is all, "That never happened!" Jerry doesn't care. And he excuses himself to leave the apartment. Jake is all, what are you doing? In Jerry's vernacular, he's "clearing the runway...you can't land a plane when your little brother is sleeping on the airstrip." He takes Jake's wallet, complete with cash and ID, and is out of there. When Sarah returns, Jake holds up the still-full plates and asks her, "Pizza?" She says yeah.

Leader of the Pack walks toward the Plexiglas habitat that holds Kid Suspect. This a very visually stylish moment; there's a split four-screen, first of Kid Suspect huddled in his see-through cell, then Leader with a blanket in her arms coming his way. Finally she walks inside his cell and tosses the blanket at his feet and says she thought he might be cold. He doesn't take the blanket and parrots again that he's "prepared to die for [his] cause." She asks if his "Daddy taught him that. How many people have to die before you realize that your mother is never coming back?" A single tear rolls down Kid Suspect's face, and he looks at Leader's left hand. He says, "I take it you're not married. Got any kids?" She says it's none of his business. He says in her world, her job comes first. In his, it's family and loyalty to his blood. He says he feels sorry for her, and she says, "The feeling is mutual, kid."

Jerry walks into a Georgetown bar with his brother's wallet and orders a scotch, neat. "The brown kind!" A cute girlie with a teeny nose stud peeks at his wallet and sees Jake's NSA ID card. She asks if he's a secret agent. One bar tab later, and Jerry has the whole bar enthralled with his totally made-up stories about catching his homies from the Academy in lies ("I looked into his dark, scared eyes and asked, 'Are you? A double! AGENT!'"). What an idiot, shooting his mouth off like that. Oh look, a round of tequila shots on Agent Foley! Fo-ley! Fo-ley!