In a flash, Mahone has kicked Bellick's feet off the desk and is now pinning down one of Bellick's insteps. As Bellick tries not to writhe, Mahone leans in and snarls, "Patoshik died, you stupid son of a bitch. There's paperwork involved. Of course, you're going to get the money, but you're going to have to be patient. And if you ever come into my office again, you'll not only never see the cash, you'll never see another sunrise." Bellick glares his understanding. Mahone asks, with hale maliciousness, "You gonna keep crying about money you've already got coming to you, or do you want to make some more?" And that is how Bellick gets an assignment to hunt down Sucre in Mexico.
Back in their plushy Chicago hotel room, Linc is moaning about how handing the recording over to the government will only cause it to be discredited, much like their earlier broadcast was. I don't understand why these guys don't make a few dozen copies, mail them out to critics of the administration in the press and online, and wait for it to get nice and messy. Then again, I also don't understand why they ditched their disgruntled ex-government employee companion, when Kellerman would have been a handy resource in figuring out who in the government could help take down Madame Evil. Might it be that -- fantastic tattoos notwithstanding -- Michael et al. simply aren't very strong strategists?
So what the brain trust comes up with is this: handing over the recording to a government appointee within the administration, because then they are the ones blowing the lid off Madame Evil's administration. "And how could she discredit one of her appointees?" Dr. Sara asks. Oooh, I'll take that one. The answer is "easily." Lincoln asks, "We're going to give the only thing that can exonerate me to someone who works for the government?" He then adds at the top of his lungs, "The same government that SET ME UP?" Scream a little louder, Linc -- I'm not sure they heard you over at Mahone's office. Michael says they'll have to find an honest, trustworthy person to release the recording. Linc immediately thinks of Jane. Or, to be more precise, he thinks of her rolodex.
And somewhere in a Chicago alley, Kellerman is buying what appears to be a small cannon from someone who appears to be taking a rather informal approach to arms dealing. The guy enthuses, "Good from a thousand yards out." Kellerman would like to know, "She a clean shot?" The arms dealer replies, "Like a good woman -- she does not stray." You know, I liked this scene a whole lot better when it was Bruce Willis buying arms from Jack Black, quite possibly because the scene ended with Jack Black's death. I do not foresee any such gratification here. Anyway, the dealer throws in a box of hollow-point bullets and casually mentions, "Serial number's been cleaned, barrel's been scraped to throw off ballistics -- just in case you're not, you know, shooting at tin cans." You wouldn't really be shooting at tin cans so much as you'd be atomizing them. Kellerman says, "No, I'm hunting bigger game than that." Then to the surprise of nobody, Kellerman whips out a gun with a silencer on it and plugs the dealer. Welcome back, you magnificent bastard!