As if on cue, Michael's phone rings. It's Herb, and he wants Michael to come back to Team Scylla HQ for a little chat. Michael's fine with that, "but first we want some assurances." Herb's expression reads, "Assurances are crazy talk," but he plays along on the phone with "I'd have to take another look at [the terms of your agreement], but I'm fairly certain they didn't include stealing Scylla or killing two federal agents in cold blood." Michael's all, "Come again?" and it only hits him then that Don Self has set them up to take the fall for Trisha's murder and his own. Herb wants the members of Team Scylla to turn themselves in. As Michael shouts, "Self set us up" Herb continues, "Don't [come back] and I'll hunt you down like animals."
Cut to Team Scylla hanging out in a remarkably clean and spacious room in what's plainly meant to be San Pedro's finest no-tell hotel. Sucre is playing with a deck of cards, and Linc is busy looking out the window and huffing, "We did what they said. I ain't going down on no trumped-up murder charge." Besides, that plot premise is so season one. As Linc locks and loads his gun, Michael's all, "Look, I will think of something" but Linc is in no mood for clever schemes, shouting about how it's time to draw a line. Dr. Sara snaps, "Lincoln, don't be stupid. You can't fight off all of Homeland Security." Yes, but you can distract them by going through airport security lines with full-sized toiletries! That'll show 'em! Michael says that "all we have to do is flush Self out and prove he has Scylla." Sucre would like to know how Michael plans to do that. "I'll devise another strategy," Michael says, and Sucre cuts in, "Start devising a plan that can get us a hundred miles across the Mexican border. That's what we should do." Yeah, because everything went so well for everyone in the room when we took the action south of the U.S. border last time. (Hands up, all of you who would like to pretend season three didn't happen.) Michael says he's not running, and that's that.
We cut to the One World Conspiracy goons detailing their thus-far-fruitless attempts to track down either Team Scylla or Don Self. (Remember, they still believe Don Self to be on the side of the angels.) We cut to Lisa listening to all this and continuing her freakout over Dadddy's unfortunate killing tic.
Cut back to Michael complaining that he doesn't want to keep living out of hotels. And why the heck not? Not only do you reduce the odds that you'll accumulate lots of useless clutter, you have someone else doing all the housecleaning. Who wouldn't love that? Michael finishes, "Nothing changes: we take down the [One World Conspiracy], we finish what we started." It's no "We happy few, we band of brothers ..." and the skeptical looks on everyone's faces confirm that. Dr. Sara's all, "Well, so long as I'm here, I might as well book a surgical appointment for Michael," but Michael asks her to please hang up the phone. Before they can fight about how he neglects his health, Sucre draws everyone's attention to the TV newscast, where a well-coiffed reporter is breathlessly reporting that "Cole Pfeiffer, an employee of GATE, a downtown wellness organization, and his as-yet-unidentified female accomplice both seen here in police sketches ..." On a completely unrelated note, the news crawl at the bottom of the screen is talking about tainted beef, and it reads, "A list of effected vendors ..." and it is driving me nutty. We need federal funding for a National Grammar Agency. They can hire out-of-work liberals arts majors and dispatch them across the U.S. like a 21st century WPA, and thus indoctrinate us all on the differences between "affect" and "effect" or "lay" and "lie." It's a beautiful dream.