Tonight's episode began on a quaintly petty note as Curtis burst into Driscoll's office with a smarty-pants "Told ya so!" attitude. Oh no he di'int! Unfortunately for him, Erin wasn't about to take any bullshit from her underling. Why you be sleepin' around with the mole, bitch? she said (except less Compton and more Calgary). The two finally realized they had both fudged up, and their best plan of attack would be to alter some records to make them seem less culpable under the scrutiny of Division's mole investigation. Great. A cover up. Because those work so well at CTU.

Meanwhile, Jack Bauer called in to CTU with a cell number that needed tracing. Not so fast, said Edgar as he enumerated all the technical hurdles he'd have to face. In order to trace a cell number, they'd have to ping the source, triangulate the signal, get the De Lorean up to 88 mph, and then zap the Flux Capacitor with 1.21 gigawatts of electricity. You try doing THAT when the lunch run is already three hours late!

Elsewhere in Los Angeles, evil father of the year Navi Araz raided the home of Dina's sister in law hoping to find his fugitive wife. Sadly, the best he could do was expose a lurid extra-marital affair. "Don't tell my husband," the woman pleaded as she quietly covered up her wardrobe malfunctioning bosom. Amazingly, Navi left without shooting anyone in the apartment. Instead, he called up his boss and gushed "Like OMG! Dina's sister in law is having an affair! Can you even BELIEVE it? Tell Maryanne! Anyway, gotta do some terrorism. Toodles!"

While Pops was digging around all the wrong places, Dina and Behrooz checked into a hotel room and laid low. Unfortunately, mamacita was in extraordinary pain, what with the open gun wound and all, but luckily for her, Dina's brother Naseem worked at a hospital just down the block. Behrooz offered to get some meds, but before he left, Dina's cell phone began to ring. Uh oh. Was it Navi? No, it was Jack Bauer trying out that number he'd found. Behrooz let the call ring and ring, and while Jack contemplated leaving a passive aggressive voicemail ("Thanks for picking up. Very un-terrorist. Very. [long pause] Sarcasm was intended."), Edgar managed to triangulate the coordinates for Dina's cell phone. Why, they were in a hotel in Chatsworth. Just like the porn industry!

With a location pinpointed, Jack motioned for Tony to hop in the car with him. Not so fast. Tony wasn't just about to jump back into the CTU life. He has demons, man! Baaad demons. He's got to go home, watch some Futbol, play a little guitar. Smoke the peyote and remember when a man's word meant something, dammit. "I gotta go," he told Jack, who looked like his bride had just left him at the altar. B-b-b-b-but Tony! Luckily, if there's anything we know about Jack, it's that he's so damn persuasive. After some coaxing and wheedling, Tony finally agreed to come along. I'm surprised he didn't ask: "Can I bring my Chicago Cubs mug?" Yes, Tony. Of course. "How about apple juice? Will there be apple juice?" Anything you want Tony. We'll even let you sit up front. "Awesome!"

Back at CTU, Erin Driscoll approached Secretary of Defense Heller gravely. "We have a meltdown," she said, adding "And I'm not referring to my daughter (nudge nudge, wink wink). Sorry. Poor taste." Yes, a reactor had blown and now all of San Gabriel island was at risk (a.k.a. about to be dead/turned into radioactive superheroes). Heller and Driscoll immediately videoconferenced the poor technicians in the plant to confirm that yep, there was a meltdown — on their faces. Seriously. Their skin was melting off. Ewww. Get the hell out of there, Heller urged them, but the guys solemnly informed him that they'd already been exposed. Really? Couldn't tell! Thought it was just really bad eczema. Actually, I can imagine Edgar saying that. "Wow, that's some real bad eggthema." To which everyone would say "Huh?" "Eggthema! Eggthema, the thkin condithin! Never mind."

A nuclear plant staffer tries to save face

Poor Edgar. Turns out our jolly little computer technician was the latest victim of 24 sadism as he discovered his wheelchair bound mother was stuck in the fallout zone. As we cast our eyes upon Momma Stiles with her oxygen tank and vaguely Rue McLanahan-ish looks, I wondered if a neon sign would flash behind her saying "YOU WILL CRY NOW! LOOK AT HER OXYGEN TANK. HAVE YOU NO TEARS?" Amazingly, Edgar's mom had no Brooklyn accent. Dropping the ole heritage, huh? Apparently Lucy Stiles is the Madonna of Brighton Beach.

Posted by B-side on February 15, 2005 4:16 PM