The Man steps up and says that German Intelligence raided the place and came up empty. Dr. Thora guesses that they went underground. Leader of the Pack asks for a map of all tunnels and sewers in the area, and all flights coming into Berlin and going out of Heathrow.
Deep underground, MacP explains that the Geek Legion of Doom is in a lead-lined nuclear bunker "that hasn't seen the light of day since the Berlin Wall came down." It's also safe from the prying eyes of satellite surveillance, thermal imaging, and sonar and radio interference. Ooh, paranoid. He leads them into a room and blows his wad: multi-TOEFL machines. Jake starts to drool a little. "Sixty billion calculations per second?" The target is named: Banatech Software. Jake says hollowly, "My old stomping grounds." All the geeks have a connection to Banatech, and all hate them. Some for charging for their crappy downloads and buggy software; the babe even temped there and tried to lift the code off a beta version of some software, but they had "a firewall of death." Ooh, I hate those too! MacP says, "It's impossible to crack their firewall, but not their executive jet." When the jet loaded with CEOs and high-ranking official reaches German airspace, the geeks will break into the airplane's fly-by wire, "forcing it to circle, and circle, until it's out of fuel." MacP will then force the execs to transfer big funds into their off-shore Cayman accounts. One geek hollers, "We're talking B as in BILLIONS!" MacP urges the geeks to "start their software," after he has a word with Jake.
War Room. Leader says straight-faced that German Intelligence should start looking at all those miles of bunkers and tunnels. Now.
MacP and Jake retire to a small room with a bottle of liquor and two glasses. MacP is giddy, elated, fugly. He cackles that "they bought it!" and that everything's going according to plan. They're in it for revenge! Banatech: The software company that drives nerds to kill. MacP is all, "It's all you! You're a genius. The only thing we don't have is infamy. Wanna do the toast?" Jake raises his glass and whispers, "To crashing a plane." MacP is all, "To crashing a plane full of toads. NICE!!" This is a little scary. There's going to be a TWoP writers' convention soon, and the only thing that's keeping a bead of sweat from sliding down my brow is that we're not all flying in together. We will, however, be staying at the same hotel. But which one? I'll never tell. Our enemies are large in numbers. And also in girth. Just kidding. OR AM I? MacP dashes out, and Jake puts his still-full glass down, the shot not taken.