Prison Break: Hope on a Scope

“I am TRYING to watch FUTBOL!”

Scopes and ropes and dope, oh my! They’re having trouble getting out, but Sucre manages to get some drugs in. Some new guy shows up saying he knows Whistler. Michael’s cool plan almost gets him a bullet in the head but the Birds of the Northwest Hemisphere save the day. Linc flirts with Sofia and devises a getaway plan, but Michael finds himself pretty much at square one with just a few hours left. Yikes.
3.05 Interference. Nighttime in Sona. Michael leans out of his window throwing stuff at a rat. He balls up some foil, and we get some shots of the electrical system, so I’m like, woohoo, MacGyver Michael! But actually he’s just trying to see how much movement a creature can make before it gets itself shot off the planet. Answer: very very little. Somehow a military jeep is alerted to the possibility of movement, and someone with a gun is able not only to find it, but shoot it. So yeah, doesn’t bode so well for Michael, who is almost certainly smarter than a rat but also much, much easier to shoot from 50 yards out.

In the yard the next day, the doors open to usher in a new guest. An old crumpled paper cup blows in from outside and Mahone snatches it up eagerly, and looks at it with pride. He’s looking more and more like that homeless guy who hangs out under the overpass. Except hotter. Anyway, he’s all crazy and muttery, and, presumably, high as a kite. He pesters Michael sarcastically about how, being a devoted student of Michael’s previous work, he’s really looking forward to progress on his escape plan. Heh. Michael’s really looking forward to Mahone getting off his back. Hey now, he may have killed your dad, but he also killed that one guy who was thisclose to stabbing you during that muddy deathmatch, so maybe things even themselves out for now? What with you being alive and all? Of course, we understand he’s a little snippy. The previouslies reminded us that he only has a week to get Whistler out of a prison where guards can shoot a 5-inch rat from past field goal range. Cause if he doesn’t, they’ll totally cut his girlfriend’s head off and put it in a box before he can even get to second base. Oh, wait. God dammit. Quick check: Yup, still bitter.

So the new guy rolls in, and he’s just some guy with an indeterminate accent. There are a lot of those around Sona. Sammy introduces himself as the Sona Welcoming Committee, by which I mean, he headbutts him and steals his wallet.

Linc’s fence visits are getting incredibly tense. He tells Michael they don’t have the book anymore, he had to give it to Susan. He doesn’t mention that he handed it over with his tail between his legs after the whole “head in a box” thing. Which reminds me, what does one do with a dear friend’s head when one finds it in the trash heap in a parking garage? I mean, do you just leave it there to get picked up with the banana peels and coffee grounds? That’s Sara, yo! That’s fucked up! But it’s not like he can put it in the freezer for a proper burial later or anything. Wow, what a dilemma. Someone should ask Dear Abby or something. Anyway, Michael is getting annoyed with Linc’s non-answers to his questions, and Linc is getting annoyed with Michael for asking them. What did Linc get in return for the book? Why didn’t he get new pictures of Sara and LJ like he was supposed to? Linc ad libs that they showed him photos but wouldn’t let him keep them, and dude, they’re not in a position to deal with these guys, they are pissed. And not in the good, British sense of the word. Michael says fine, they break out tomorrow. He needs Linc to find an inconspicuous getaway car to have parked a half-mile from the prison by 3pm tomorrow. Linc’s like, wait, don’t you mean 3am? Michael summarizes his rat experiment and explains that at night there’s no way to tell where the military jeeps are parked. They’re leaving tomorrow, and they’re doing it in the middle of the day. Dun!

Meanwhile, New Guy wakes up from his headbutt to find his clothes stolen. He stares into the distance, and a large scary prisoner asks him what he’s looking at. As large scary prisoners are wont to do. “That guy,” he answers, indicating a hotter-by-the-week Whistler. “I know him.” More dun!

“Okay, we’re gonna set up a screen to keep you open at the perimeter, so look for a bounce-pass from Mahone. Also, can you snag me a couple of watches?”

Michael pesters poor adorable long-suffering T-Mac for more MacGyvery supplies. He needs a watch, maybe two, and T-Mac just says, “I’m not even gonna ask why” and puts out his hand for Michael’s payment. He’ll also need some binoculars. Well, T-Mac knows a guy that has some, but he’ll never sell. However, they shouldn’t be that hard to get. And nope, turns out Michael just pilfers them. Back in his cell he tells Whistler they’re leaving tomorrow, and he does that cool military thing where he draws out a plan on the floor, perhaps even with Mahone’s all-important black felt tip pen. Basically, they get out through Michael’s window; they just need some rope to get to the ground. There’s a soccer game in the yard tomorrow afternoon so that should provide a nice distraction for their suicide mission. Michael says that yes, it’s the middle of the day, but this way they only have two guards to worry about. He noticed that one of them has the sun in his eyes in the afternoon, so that’ll come in handy. The other guy though, he’ll have to watch to figure out his weakness. Whistler’s like, that’s your plan? Run out into no man’s land in the middle of the afternoon? Michael maintains that the sharpshooters in the towers are a lot easier to deal with than the night guys, who come out of nowhere and blow rats to bits without even leaving their jeeps.

Sofia and Linc are hovering over a map of the Sona area. She says there aren’t any real roads around there, but Linc reminds her that they don’t want real roads; they want “running away from really good sharpshooters in jeeps in broad daylight” roads. His phone rings, and it’s Susan, who still looks like she’s constantly smelling something unpleasant. She’s doodling some of the things we saw written in Whistler’s book, like “STAMPEDE.” She pesters Linc about cutting it a little close, and he’s like, yeah, I’m kinda busy, so unless you have any more body parts for me to scavenger hunt, I’ll be hanging up now. She says it sounds like they’re in over their heads, which, first of all, Christ on a cracker, people, this Company is really not very efficient. I mean, they set these guys up for this elaborate conspiracy, they give them a ridiculous deadline and cut their friend to pieces for no apparent reason, and now they want to bitch at them for not having prepared for it? It’s your idea, and it’s your deadline, Snoozin, so chill out. Also, shut up. Secondly, she makes a “head” pun that very well may have been funny coming from Kellerman, and I would have thought, oh, Kellerman, you magnificent bastard, only you and your psychotic smirky wit could make me feel better about Sara! But instead, I just want to punch Snoozin in the teeth. Nobody’s watching Private Practice, are they? This show needs Paul Kellerman way more than that show needs Paul Adelstein.

Sucre, who I really do like when he’s not all MariCrazy, is innocently eating something out of a brown paper bag when a big scary black SUV drives up. “Señor Rivera?” Some guy asks out of the window. “Jorge Rivera, gravedigger for Sona?” Sucre’s like, oh right, that’s totally who I am. The guy offers a ride, and when Sucre politely declines, Well-dressed Panamanians file out and follow him. One of them had a deal with Sucre’s predecessor – could he get this package in to the prison? “I don’t go inside” Sucre says, but he says that the last guy – you know, the one Susan killed – managed to do it. If Sucre will just give it a try, just get this one package inside, he’ll give him $5k. Sucre takes the package.

“So um. What the hell is my deal, seriously?”

New Guy is at the new water supply, and Bellick shows up to commiserate and advise. I don’t give Wade Williams enough credit, probably because his character is so despicable and non-dreamy, but man, in addition to giving a consistently fantastic performance, is a real damn trooper. He spent the first two episodes in tighty whiteys and the rest in those perfectly awful tiger-stripe Sinbad/MC Hammer/Joey Buttafuco pants. Way to man up, Mr. Williams. Bellick says he tried to hang on to his wallet too, and he spent the next two days “kneecap deep in human feces.” New Guy glances hilariously toward Bellick’s knees and turns down his offer of a hunk of cheese. Michael, meanwhile, is buying watches, and he looks up to find New Guy giving him a nice Clint Eastwood staredown. Michael, who is the International Staring Contest Champion, three years running, can’t resist a little steely eye, but remembers he’s trying to keep a low profile and scuttles away.

Michael and Whistler are hanging a “privacy curtain” on Michael’s cell so they can work on their makeout, I mean, breakout plan in secrecy. No reason you can’t do both, gentlemen. Michael instructs Whistler to watch the “sun in his eyes” guard from his cell while Michael will be studying the other guy. Whistler says they’re going to need a lookout, and Michael says to fetch Mahone. “I thought we were stringing him along?” Michael: “Looks like we just ran out of string.” Aw yeah. He hands Whistler one half of the binoculars. A monocular.

T-Bag is hard at work in his new position as drug dealer/ass kisser. Lechero calls him over: You know what they say about all work and no play! T-Bag kisses more ass, but Lechero is talking about the other job he gave him, i.e., snitch. “But I haven’t heard anything” Teodoro says meekly. Lechero tells him to listen harder. T-Bag’s face once again looks like maybe this is exactly, exactly what he wanted Lechero to do. T-Bag really should have been dead by now, six or seven times over, but I do like the Iago thing he’s got going here. It’s suits the character and the actor well. Sister Mary Puta shows up for her regular “prayer meeting” and T-Bag goes to watch the game with Lechero’s guys. They really, really hate him, but they have no idea that he’s a total fucking psychopath. It will be interesting to see how that aspect plays out. Sammy scootches away on the sofa like T-Bag has cooties. Which he probably does.

“But! Now! There’s nooowhere to hide, since you pushed my love aside! I’m out of my head, hopelessly devoted to youuuuuu!”

Mahone is acting as a lookout for Whistler, who is looking through the afore-mentioned monocular. My spellcheck totally thinks that’s a real word, incidentally, but ironically, it doesn’t recognize “spellcheck.” Anyway, he wonders what Mahone’s next chapter is. Mahone answers by staring off dreamily at nothing for a few seconds. “I suppose you were married to the job,” Whistler guesses. Drank too much, insomniac, typical lawman. Well, pretty close, Whistler, but you left out all the dead people. Meanwhile the guard “hasn’t so much as scratched his jock in an hour,” but just as Whistler’s getting discouraged, Michael’s glare from yesterday shows up, causing the guard to turn around. Whistler tries him out, tossing a ball out into the yard, and the guy doesn’t see a thing. Mahone says he’s going to check on Michael.

But instead, he goes out into the yard and finds New Guy, who he walks right by, maybe even nods a little, then quickly ducks out of sight. New Guy also quickly runs off. The hell?

Whistler reports back to Michael. The glare hit the guard around 3:13, and he didn’t look to his left at all for the next six minutes. Meanwhile, Michael has noticed that his guard is a sports fan. He’s got a TV up in the tower, and does a lot of antenna adjustment. New Guy is hovering around outside the cell. Whistler reminds Michael that static isn’t something they can count on, but MacGyver Michael says, “there is a device we can build out of common materials,” which made me laugh out loud. I like to think it was an homage to the dialogue on MacGyver, which made this look like Shakespeare. Which it’s starting to anyway, what with the damn body count. Anyway, Michael spots New Guy but when he darts out to find him he’s gone. Mahone catches him in the courtyard, and they have a totally awesome pissing contest about New Guy learning to mind his own bidness. He claims to be innocent, but he’s not very convincing. Mahone awesomely shoves him around a bit and tells him to take a walk. It’s so hot I’m embarrassed on behalf of my entire gender.

Sofia and Linc are putting through the jungle in the getaway vehicle making small talk. This was a good casting choice, because even though she’s telling the story of how she met Whistler – in a bar in San Isobel where she was a waitress – she and Linc have more chemistry than he ever had with Veronica, and way more than she has with Whistler. Anyway, before she can finish her story they’re greeted by heavily armed gentlemen demanding they get out of the car. All roads within 2 miles of Sona are state property. Linc, hilariously, says “we didn’t see any signs!” Sofia saves the day by directing them to her papers in the glove box, saying “This is why my friends don’t visit Panama.” The lead thug tells Linc this road isn’t for tourists, and if he sees him out here again, he’ll remember him. Yeah, not exactly inconspicuous, our Linc. They quickly conclude it’s time for Plan B. “How far is the coast from here?” wonders Linc. About 3 miles. More boats? Only bad things have happened on boats so far!

Michael is eyeing a microwave, and it’s probably not for popcorn. He wants it bad enough to sneak into some scary guy’s cell and try to snag it but it’s tied down. “Why?” Michael asks Whistler suddenly. “What’s so urgent we can’t get you out of here the day after tomorrow?” Whistler says he doesn’t know. He just knows it’s Michael’s job to get him out. They have less than 24 hours.

So you think Fox is hiring Sweat Stain Application Artists? Cause I’m available.

Linc buys supplies at a dock somewhere, and Sofia gets all snippy when he won’t tell her what he bought. He says they killed Sara and he’s trying to make sure they don’t do the same to LJ. If she thinks Whistler’s not on their list, she can just stay behind. Otherwise, shut up.

Sister Mary Puta has just finished her sacred work when she admits to Lechero that “Augusto” has stopped paying for her visits to Lechero. Lechero scoffs that he doesn’t pay for sex, and she knows, she tried to tell him but he says it’s Lechero’s job to pay now. And she needs the money; she doesn’t see anyone else. Yeah well, neither does he, he retorts. Well aren’t we stingy with our illicit narcotics profits!

Jorge the Gravedigger, AKA Sucre, hides the package in a crate of avocados or something. He almost gets caught but manages to bullshit his way out of getting fired or beaten or shot or whatever they’d do to him if they knew what he was up to.

Whistler and Michael are knitting together their escape net from a hammock. It’s all domestic and adorable. Whistler asks what happens after they get out – they meet someone from this Company? “Apparently,” mutters Michael. Whistler: “And they they’re going to kill me. You know that, right?” Michael says if they wanted to kill him he’d already be dead. Gah, it kills me that he thinks he’s doing all this to be with Sara. Kills me, people! And it’s not a shipper thing, it’s just a narrative thing, like, how could this not absolutely crush him? I don’t know how interesting he’ll be when he’s doubled over with guilt and grief all the time, not to mention furious with Linc. I guess maybe there’ll be some steely-eyed vengeance or something? That could be cool. That could be the part where Kellerman shows up. He always liked Sara, even when he was torturing her. Good times.

In the yard, T-Bag tells Mahone it’s “Twofer Tuesday,” which, ha. Mahone’s a little short right now, and I like how everyone says that like they’re just waiting for their direct deposit to be posted, but T-Bag grins hugely and says no worries, they’ll start him a tab.

The food truck’s being unloaded, and there’s Sucre’s little secret prize hidden in the avocados. Sammy strolls by and surreptitiously shoves it into his pocket.

Meanwhile, Michael has made off with the microwave, while Whistler asks him what the hell good that thing’s going to do them. Mahone is all kinds of high and stares out the window with his prized paper cup in hand, grinning like someone who genuinely thinks it’s funny that two weeks ago he was wearing thousand dollar suits and now he’s a junkie in a hellish Panamanian prison. Yeah, that is pretty funny. I’m glad he can see the humor in that. And this is the part in the episode where I stress that William Fichtner is so, so awesome. There, that was easy.

“This is the closest thing to a smirk you’re gonna get from me, pal, so enjoy it for the .4 seconds it lasts.”

MacGyver Michael fiddles with the microwave, explaining to Whistler how he learned in school about electromagnetic pulses. Oooh, I forgot about Academic Michael. I’m swooning a little as he’s lecturing. So the pulses will basically crash anything electronic, including, presumably, Guard #2′s TV. Whistler guesses that Michael always won the elementary science fair, and Michael gives the teeniest little friendly smirk. They give the transmitter a test run, and the voices of the World Cup fans shrieking in protest tell them it works. It’s also messing with Guard #2′s TV. Whistler makes a lookout noise and Michael quickly pulls his monocular away from the window. The scope catches the sun just a bit, so that when the danger has passed and he looks through it again, the guard is staring right at him. He fires a shot right at the camera.

More shots fired. Alarms are going off, and T-Mac says the guards are coming in. Everyone runs out of Lechero’s penthouse, but he leaves T-Bag to guard Sister Mary Puta. Oh my. Not the best choice in chaperones there. Lechero tells Teodoro not to let them see her, no matter what. T-Bag whisks her away to safety. Or certain death, you never can tell with this guy,

The prisoners all line up in the yard, on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Hey, it’s the Colonel! Great, now I want one of his delicious flaky biscuits. Anyway, Lechero yells that they got no warning of this, but the Colonel says that a rifle scope was seen pointing at one of his men. D’oh.

Linc and Sofia find a deserted stretch of beach. He starts digging, presumably to bury his “supplies,” but refuses to answer any of her questions. He wants her to just shut up and look like she’s just hanging out at the beach, not burying any secret anything. So she’s all, fine, maybe I will! She unbuttons her blouse and reclines, in her little purple tank top, and yeah, she’s pretty hot. I cannot fault Linc for kind of turning into a grunting monosyllabic simian for a few seconds. More so than usual I mean. He digs some more.

“Yeah, so it’s padded. You got a problem with that? I didn’t think so.”

The Colonel’s men are searching the cells for the gun they think is hidden in there somewhere. Meanwhile, T-Bag is hiding Sister Mary Puta in a closet, and he’s just entirely too close to her. He even sweet talks her a little: “In this world we are all prostitutes. You are a queen.” Aw, shucks, Teodoro! You’re so charming when you’re not killing people! Some guards move in but inexplicably and luckily fail to search the closet. When they’re safe, Teodoro comforts her, ickily, by holding her, ickily. He actually smells her hair, making the kind of face I would guess those gross guys make when they finally receive the Japanese girl’s panties they bought on eBay. Eventually one of them does find Michael’s monocular, and, noticing all the other incredibly suspicious stuff lying around that cell with a clear line of sight to the guard tower, they lock his cell up for good measure.

They hand it over to the Colonel who demands to know whose cell it is. Michael says nothing, but feels too guilty when some other guy starts getting roughed up and finally shouts “it’s mine!” When the guard – the one who did all the shooting – approaches Michael with the scope, Michael pleads that it’s not a weapon. The guard proceeds to thwack him across the face with it. Now it’s a weapon. Yeah, you kind of walked right into that one, didn’t you? The guards says yes, he knows what it is, and why was Michael watching him? Oh, and this gun to your head? That is a weapon, just for the record. Michael: “I know what you think you saw but I wasn’t watching you!” Whistler is looking antsy as his ticket out of there is about to get his head sploded, so he finally speaks up. He says it was him, and he was just watching birds. See? He pulls out his little bird guide as evidence. Way to save the day, Birds of the Northwest Hemisphere! The Colonel is annoyed that he stormed all his men in here for a damn birdwatcher and now he looks like an idiot. When he asks Whistler why he didn’t speak up before, he says “I was scared.” He tosses the book back at him and calls him a coward, then gathers his troops and files out. Thanks for ruining the World Cup for everyone, birdwatcher! Michael manages to get his scope back, but returns to his cell to find it chained up. He reaches between the bars and can allllmost reach the microwave cord, but not quite. It’s rather exasperating. Poor, poor Michael, seriously.

Teodoro spots Lechero coming back up, and does this disturbing pervy/motherly thing with Sister Mary Puta, licking his thumb and clearing off a smudge of mascara. So she can look pretty for Lechero. And also because he’s a total fucking creep. T-Bag walks Lechero back, regaling him with tales of near misses, but his woman is safe. When he greets her she’s got her habit back on, and says she has to go. When he protests, she sort of jerks away from him and a wad of cash falls to the ground. T-Bag, like Whistler, takes the rap. He gave that money to her. He was going to replace it when he got his cut, he just didn’t have the chance to tell Lechero. “She didn’t have any money to get home,” he explains. Lechero’s all smiles, hey, Teodoro, always lookin out for me! Neither T-Bag nor I can tell if he’s genuinely pleased, or if it is the grin of a man who’s about to lose his shit. Answer: B. He doesn’t need T-Bag doing his thinking for him, and he punctuates this sentiment with a punch to the gut. As T-Bag throws up a little in his mouth (a phenomenon my friends and I call “merbling;” please feel free to spread it around the country), Lechero tells him to get the bucket to wash his feet. Whoa, so we’re dealing with Othello AND Jesus here. A surly Sammy watches from afar.

“I am so totally psyched about this sucker punch I’m about to give you!”

Whistler finds Michael quietly freaking out outside his chained-up cell. “What do we do now?” Michael doesn’t know. This turns into a little lovers’ spat – aw, their first fight! – wherein Michael basically reiterates that he still doesn’t buy Whistler’s fisherman/birdwatcher story, but he has no choice but to break him out. Whistler reminds Michael that the bird book is his only hope to please the bad guys, and he’s trying to give them what they want, just like Michael is. Michael is exasperated and just hisses for him to leave him alone. Whistler is starting to panic, remembering that they broke into his flat and took an address book, so they can find everyone who’s important to him. Whistler obviously hasn’t seen the last couple of seasons, so Michael has to remind him, heartbreakingly, that they’ve already found everyone he cares about. Gah! Poor Michael. You have no idea.

Linc has dug an ice-chest sized hole in the sand. He opens up to Sofia a little: He and Michael wanted to come down here and start a dive shop like the one they were at today. When she asks why they can’t just do that when this is all over with, Linc retorts with the understatement of the year: “Too much bad stuff has happened.” Word, Linc. He says he wants to show her something. I’ll just bet you do. No, he shows her – but not us – what’s in the ice chest before he buries it. “Our getaway vehicle,” he tells her, and did I mention it was in an ice chest? So we’ll see how that turns out. Really small SCUBA gear? It’s a better “what’s in the box” cliffhanger than the last one, anyway. He wants her to tell Whistler what she saw, and that they’re all in this together. She looks kind of bewildered, but not horrified, so I think it’s safe to assume there are no hacked off body parts in there. He starts walking away from the beach into the jungle and she follows. Eventually – three miles away, presumably – they come to a clearing where they have a nice view of the Sona All-Inclusive Resort and Spa.

“Hey, the brochure said there were three sparkling swimming pools and an ocean view!”

As morning comes to Panama City, Fernando “Jorge the Gravedigger” Sucre meets up with the drug dealer guy expecting his $5k, but gets presented with a cigar. Sucre is appalled! A gentleman such as yourself, a total stranger dealing in bribery and drug smuggling, would never go back on your word! The guy hands over his money and another package. Sucre says oh no, he only agreed to do it once, but the guy makes it very clear that that was just a suggestion, and it’s in everyone’s best interest that Sucre continues their arrangement.

Michael is back in thinking mode. If they’re going to get out today (note: TODAY!) they’re going to have to replace everything they lost, starting with an exit point. New Guy finally confronts Whistler, all “hey, I know you, right? McFadden! Nice, 1997!” Whistler very emphatically and very unconvincingly declares that he’s mistaken him for someone else. The guy swears he remembers Whistler because he was with the Ambassador. Ooh, intrigue! Michael and Mahone are watching this entire exchange, and Michael’s patented Steely-Eyed Glare is unmistakably suspicious, but they don’t really have a choice at this point. Mahone just says “come on, guys, I have something to show you.” I’ll just bet you do. Okay, sorry. Anyway, he takes them over to his window, where he fondles his paper cup from earlier and gestures out at the guards milling about. See, that one there, he has coffee every day, one in the morning and one after lunch, and yay, I love when they remind us that Mahone is a freaking federal agent and is probably pretty useful for these sorts of things. The guard crumples up his cup – identical to Mahone’s – and tosses it to the ground. Michael stops being annoyed long enough to be interested. “If we get to that cup,” Mahone says, “we get to the guard.” Whistler finishes. Michael: “We gotta move.” Dun!

So what is the deal with Whistler? He’s hiding something, but I’m not sure it’s evil. And does Sofia really not know or is she part of all this? What the hell is Michael going to do when he realizes he did all this crap for Sara’s severed head? Linc really should lie about, say, the timeline involved, and probably the method as well. “They killed Sara in a totally humane way and gave her a proper burial like ten minutes after you broke out, dude! Tough break, huh?” Who’s the new guy? Will Sucre’s new position as official Drug Smuggler come in handy somehow? And when will Susan stop making that face?

Two weeks off for the World Series, so you have some time to think about it!