And in the second, creepier plot: Agent Blots Out the Sun has tied Bruce to a chair, filled him with all sorts of brain-bending chemicals, then does this creepy hypnosis trip where he's all, "You're on a family picnic, and everyone you love is there except for Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows. Now where are they, hmmmm?" Since Bruce honestly doesn't know, Agent Blots Out the Sun has to resort to asking if Sara's safe and finds out that she's in the greater Los Angeles area. Then he cocks a gun to the back of Bruce's head and says, "Picnic's over, Bruce." We don't see the gunshot, but we hear it, and given how little Cameron Mahone ended up (more on that toward the end of the recap), it's a safe bet that Bruce's chemically-seasoned brains are now resting in his lap.
Meanwhile, back in the caper-y plot we care about, Don Self is getting his desk job-larded ass handed to him by his superior: "Six cards? That's not what you sold me, Don! I already have people questioning me about the Supermax line we're selling. This whole thing was a mistake." Don Self frantically insists that it was not, saying, "Scofield got us a card within 24 hours of being dropped in Los Angeles. He knows what he's doing. I'm willing to take the risk and do my job here. I don't understand why you aren't." Because otherwise we wouldn't have any dramatic tension in this plotline, what with Michael giving every indication that he'll collect those cards more quickly than a third-grader collects Webkinz? Anyway, the director threatens to call a Senator Dallow to see "whether he wants this thing killed or not. But he follows my recommendations, Don." We cut to Don Self looking like he is perhaps rethinking that lifelong career with the FBI.
We cut to Michael brainstorming with the rest of Team Scylla over what Tuxhorne could possibly be doing today. Everyone's puzzling over an e-mail that talks of moving a flight from London to 4 p.m. -- it's baffling because Tuxhorne is not doing any business in the U.K. -- and Mahone comes back in to say that the e-mail is likely a code. Michael's big brain makes a dazzling leap of insight and he quickly deduces that today at 4p.m., Tuxhorne has a Scylla-related meeting, and since "Tuxhorne did not schedule a meeting with himself, we can assume we'll find the next cardholder." Now that they have the "when," it remains only to find the "where." Mahone -- who has resumed his dead-man-walking demeanor, says, "If you were having a secret meeting, you wouldn't send the when and the where together. You'd send them separately, as a precaution." Michael then taps Roland: "Were there any other e-mails sent at the same time as the London e-mail?" Roland replies, "Within a few seconds of the London mail, two more mails followed from the same IP path, but that's where [Charybdis] ran out of hard drive space. It picked up the IP address, but not the content." Linc says, "If we trace the IP address, we can find who sent the e-mails." Roland rolls his eyes at this naivete and explains, "E-mails get bounced around routers all over the world before they end in your inbox. Wherever the mail's been, it leaves a shadow file. Based on the geography, I'm guessing that these e-mails probably squatted at the Anaheim server cluster in NanoSec before reaching Tuxhorne, so that's where you're going to find your shadow file." Linc shrugs that Roland should be able to retrieve the mail, and Roland snaps, "Not every geek with a Commodore 64 can hack into NASA. I mean, these servers have more firewalls than the Devil's bedroom. You want those e-mails, I'm sorry. It's on a main server in Anaheim." Michael confirms that you can pull the e-mails off those servers, then informs Roland that they're off to take a field trip to a server farm. He dispatches Sucre and Bellick to Tuxhorne's workplace: "Stake it out. If you see him, tail him. Call us." Roland's all, "You realize you can't just waltz in, right?" and Michael is like, "Au contraire." Besides, they need that e-mail, because that e-mail will help them determine the location for the Scylla cardholder meeting. Roland says dismissively, "Good luck, man." Michael breaks it to Roland that he's coming along. Roland smarts, "Guess again. Self told me to stay here and make with the clickity-clack on the keyboard. I'm not going nowhere." Linc begs to differ. You just know during sweeps that Linc is going to fold Roland into a small container and announce to everyone else that he's just invented a new toy called the Roland Cube.