Then Sister Magdalene arrives on the scene all nunned up, and she greets Lechero with "mi amor." "Mi vida," he responds. Face-suckage commences, and T-Bag watches with a sick look. Lechero and Sister Magdalene retire to Lechero's boudoir, and Lechero tells T-Bag to sit, watch the game, and presumably eavesdrop on his fellow posse members.
Whistler is passing the surveillance time by asking Mahone what his story is, musing, "I suppose you were married to the job. Drank too much. Rabid insomniac. Typical lawman." Mahone gives Whistler a look, then contemptuously replies, "Yeeeeep. Just like you reek of live bait, have a girl in every port, tell fish stories -- or so I've heard." Whistler's still watching. He replies calmly, "Prior to this experience, I had the utmost respect for the law." Then he and Mahone note that the guard is relentlessly focused. However, they might get a break, because there's a patch of no-man's-land that is subjected to relentless glare -- and therefore anything in it is practically invisible.
Mahone takes off to check on Michael, and as he's crossing the courtyard, he notices that Tyge -- who has already managed to get his pants back -- is scanning the courtyard with an experienced eye. Mahone makes a point of casually cutting across his line of sight. Once Mahone's presumably out of sight, Tyge takes off toward Whistler's cell. Mahone -- who had merely ducked out of view -- watches him go. Tyge had better be grateful Mahone's not bringing his A-game to prison.
Meanwhile, Michael has noticed that his assigned guard is a sports fiend, and while said sports fiend isn't watching the television in his guard tower, he's listening to it and fiddling with the antennae to get better reception. Whistler pops by to share the news that they'll have a six-minute window starting at about 3:13 in the afternoon. Michael begins to share the news about his guard, and as he does, we see that Tyge has sidled over to Michael's cell and is trying to figure out what's going on.
Michael begins explaining to Whistler that they can probably distract the sports-fan guard with "a device we can build out of some pretty common materials. It's almost like a radio except it transmits signals." Tyge is now right around the corner. You know, Michael should totally recruit him to the cause: the way the light's bouncing off his pecs, Tyge could provide a glare to cover the other escapees. And then, once they were all out, Tyge and Linc could have a pec-off to see which one has the most magnificent man-muscles. Just imagine the pec-off...I like to think it starts with ominous drumming, moves to a haka-style dance in which both participants rip off their shirts while baring their teeth aggressively, then segues into weightlifter poses while their audience shields their eyes lest they be blinded by the peclipse.