Mahone is busy studying another tattoo shot -- this one's of the segment that reads "11121147" then "Allen" then "Schweitzer." Ives comes in and tells Mahone that Schweitzer was the name of the plumbing company that made the toilet Scofield took off in his cell, and an Allen bolt was the fitting. Mahone muses, "It's all here, isn't it? It's amazing." The two then move on to the segment reading "Ripe Chance Woods." They start brainstorming over whether there's a nearby place with that name when a third agent comes over and tells them the Department of Corrections is moving in on a self-storage unit in Oswego. Everyone scampers off.
We see Michael opening a garage-type door. The rest of Team Escarpara is eying him with open skepticism.
We then switch to Allen's Self Storage. Bellick's tearing into the parking lot. As he leaps out of the car, the Anti-Pope tells him that Scofield's still got an active lease on unit 164. In a display of the initiative he will need if he ever wants to succeed the warden, the Anti-Pope's already put cars on all the surrounding streets so the cons can't easily escape. Bellick replies, "If any of them make a move, put a hole in them." The possibility of outwitting Scofield, then shooting him, is clearly a dream come true.
The Fibbies pull up, and the minute Mahone gets out of the car, Bellick pees all over his shoes just to remind him whose territory this is. Mahone turns and gives the camera a look like I am so conflicted. On the one hand, I want to catch Scofield. On the other hand, I would really like it if Bellick's day was ruined...
Bellick strides toward the specific storage unit, with about a dozen gun-toting cops trailing behind him. We then flash to a wary-looking Sucre closing the garage door on Michael's say-so. Then we flash to Mahone, who is still monkeying with the phrase "Ripe Chance Woods." Ives tells him that as a place name, it doesn't exist. Bellick goes barreling on by. We cut to the cons inside their closed location, pulling out gardening implements. Back to Bellick and company, walking in sync with an ominous drumbeat courtesy of the show's music supervisor. Back to the cons. Back to the gun-toting corrections officers. The tension is ratcheting up with every intercut. Michael grabs his implement -- a shovel, y'all! Quit thinking dirty. I mean, quit thinking salaciously -- and tells his teammates, "Let's go." The cops approach the scrolling metal door for the storage locker. All four dozen of them cock their rifles. The music gets louder. The cons head toward the door, to pull it up. Bellick heads for the door, to pull it up. The music gets louder still. I nearly explode from the dramatic tension. Then a flunky pulls up the door for Bellick as the cons raise their door --