24I think at least three geological eras passed since we last checked in with Jack and Co. Glaciers have melted, species have come and gone, and yet traumatized teen Derek still hasn't managed to locate a pack of standard FBI-issue wet wipes. (Seriously, kid. You got a little something right there.) The weeklong wait between episodes notwithstanding, I'm still plenty fired up to find out what happens when terrorists stop being polite and start getting real. Turns out those canisters from the airport bunker are chock-full of nerve gas, as Curtis and the boys in Forensics are able to suss out by analyzing a few dead rats. (Hmm, dead rat, you say? You don't suppose this is actually a message from the bus-crash mastermind in Neptune, do you? Somebody call Keith Mars, stat.) Elsewhere, we've got a first lady on the lam, a dirty CTU agent who not only bedded Chloe but who also apparently didn't realize he's dirty, and a mee-yow-worthy interrogation going on between the many loves of Jack Bauer. Speaking of which, as excited as I am for a fraught-with-subtext, emotional-yet-manly bedside reunion between soul mates Jack and Tony ("Brokeback ICU," anyone?), I must confess, I'm always game for a good zag just when you think the show's about to zig. Specifically in this case: Jack plugging an assassin in the throat with a shiny pair of surgical scissors. Tenderness can wait, so long as there's some good grappling goin' on. (You know what I mean. Shut up.) Still, Jack's comment to McGill about his history with Tony has me eagerly awaiting the CTU remix of a certain

Killers song we all know and love and the chorus might just go a little something like this: "There ain't no suspect for this crime, Tony was a friend of mine, so come on, oh come on, oh come onnnn...." Oh, except Jack finds out before the end of the episode that the suspect is in fact Walt Cummings. Way to step all over my VH1 moment there, Mr. SmartyPants. Chana Shwadlenak