Meanwhile, in the carload of cons, Sucre's carrying on all, "I just want to put my hand on her belly." Well, Michael's looking like he wants to put a fist through your teeth, so tone it down, Papi. Linc speaks up, saying calmly, "We got trouble." There's a blockade ahead, and there's cars coming behind them. Linc kills the lights, and there's a hasty confab: they've got to get off the road, but this is the only road leading to the airstrip. C-Note contributes in his own inimitable way -- i.e. making sullen threats -- and Michael gets the bright idea that perhaps they can drive around the roadblock through the woods. Excellent! What could be easier than driving through unfamiliar, unpaved terrain at night without headlights?
Michael snarls at T-Bag that they'll be getting the key from him if they have to make him crap it out. I just don't get why they don't restrain T-Bag and make him vomit. T-Bag snaps, "You got a foul mouth sometimes, Pretty." Right then, we see that the van's gotten stuck in some mud.
My little mysterious text friend missed me so much, it came back to tell me that we're in D.C. More specifically, we're in a kitchen in D.C. But which one? O, mysterious text friend, why have you left out key details? The upshot is, we see a set of hands wheeling a cart full of bottled water through the kitchen. A secret service dude confirms that's the water for the speech, and then, after the cart wheeler flips out his secret service badge, tells him to go ahead and set up the platter with the water for the speech tonight. We don't know who these guys are at all -- just that there's ominous music. And we're supposed to think, "Gosh, the vice president had been scheduled to give a speech tonight! And the One World Conspiracy wants to kill Madame Vice President! And two strangers have some secret poison they're going to use to commit treason!" And then we're supposed to marinate in suspense, since there's apparently nothing else to keep us on edge tonight.
Carload of cons. The same crew of guys who were routinely flinging around sacks of concrete and digging holes and doing weighty manual labor whilst on PI cannot collectively push a van out of the mud. The guys decide they'd rather jog at this point. As everyone heads out, Michael stops Tweener and says, "That's as far as you go, my friend." Tweener's all, "What?" and Michael tells him, "We had a deal, remember? You and I, we're not bros. I don't think you want me telling the guys what I know. Now walk." Tweener looks like he's about to burst into tears, but he backs away. T-Bag has been drinking all this in, but now he pipes up and says, "We got trouble, Pretty." I like how the nickname use has come back. Someone's obviously feeling like he's on top of the situation here. Tweener and T-Bag begin running hard before the cops they see canvassing the area with flashlights can find them. They catch up with the others, and we hear the thudding purr of a helicopter's blades overhead. Someone -- I think it's Lincoln, but I can't tell because this whole damn episode was shot in the dark, and a bunch of semi-bald guys in prison blues all look alike in no light -- hangs back and counts the guys as he urges them forth. I'm going to pretend it's Linc, making sure Michael and his 170-pound wrist accessory are caught up. Everyone crashes through the underbrush, panting desperately, trying not to look at the helicopter bearing down overhead. They all reach the lip of a disused stone quarry at the same time; T-Bag pinwheels his arms so he's not sent over the edge. And we go to commercials with the helicopters bearing down and the cons all asking, "What now? What do we do now?"