Abruzzi has the gun against T-Bag's temple and he asks, "Do you think that's going to stop me?" T-Bag points out, "You shoot me, Pretty here is going to be dragging around 170 pounds of dead Alabama flesh with him. And considering how much you need him to get this little Fibonacci vendetta of yours, huh? I just don't think you're going to pull that trigger." The camera flashes to Linc, who is wearing his "Don't Make Me Turn This Car Around!" expression. Michael rattles his bracelets and looks at T-Bag with impotent fury. Abruzzi cocks the hammer on the gun --
And we go to commercial break again. You know, I truly do love Wolverine, but even I am getting a tad bored with all the commercials for the new X-Men movie.
When we come back, Michael is saying, in a voice thick with loathing, "You're going to give me the key to those cuffs, T-Bag, you son of a bitch!" That's when T-Bag grins and reveals the key clenched between his teeth. He swallows it, and both Michael and Abruzzi begin shaking him, shouting, "Spit it out." Why can't Michael just make him barf like he did Haywire a few episodes ago? There are, what, three other men in the car who aren't doing anything but taking in a free show -- they can restrain T-Bag so Michael can gag him, right? Linc still has that look like "If you kids don't stop fighting and stay on your sides of the sear right now, I will turn this car around and you will be sorry!" T-Bag swallows it and grins impishly, "Ooops." Michael goes to have himself a good sulk.
And now, my trusty friend, the mysterious text dispenser, is telling me that we're in Washington, D.C., in the world's most stylish chemistry lab. Two men are present; we see them only in shadow, one standing and one sitting. The seated guy says, "They drink this, it's only a matter of minutes. This glycoside-saxitoxin hybrid goes to work in the blood stream instantly. Five minutes is the outside limit (that) even the strongest cardiac muscles can continue to function. After that, massive cardiac arrest with no chance of survival." A lighter male voice asks about the possibility of a tox screen, and the seated scientist says, "Nothing. Death will appear to be from natural causes." While this whole exchange is going on, we're getting interweaving shots between the lab and Madame Vice President working. The easy and obvious conclusion is that the One World Conspiracy found time between eliminating the San Jose Sharks from the Stanley Cup chase and setting the global price for oil to find a way to take out Madame Vice President. The two dudes in the lab ponder this marvelous molecule, and the scientists dude says, "This is high treason. You know that, don't you?" The other guy -- whom we see only in profile, but seems somewhat familiar if excessively concealed by glass tubing -- only inclines his head in recognition.