Burn Notice

My name is Michael Westen I used to be a spy until...

We got a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted.

When you're burned, you've got nothing...

no cash, no credit, no job history.

You're stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in.

- Where am I? - Miami.

You do whatever work comes your way.

You rely on anyone who's still talking to you.

- A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend... - Should we shoot them?

An old friend who used to inform on you to the FBI...

You know spies... a bunch of bitchy little girls.

- Family, too... - Hey, is that your mom again?

- If you're desperate... - Someone needs your help, Michael.

Bottom line... as long as you're burned,

you're not going anywhere.

Previously on "Burn Notice"...

Mike, what the hell is going on over there?

Sam, you know that prisoner we tried to keep from escaping?

Don't tell me.

He's out, Sam. He's free.

His name's Simon. That's all I know.

Madeline Westen?

- Yes? - FBI.

I saw your son attack a police officer, Mrs. Westen!

Your son shot at me! He tried to kill me!

You have no idea who your own son really is!

If Michael wanted to kill you, you'd be dead.

You are under arrest.

Me and Fi want to talk to you about this whole business with Simon.

No more lone-wolf crap.

We gotta know that you're with us.

- I'm with you. - Good.

We're gonna be careful. We're gonna watch each other's backs.

Combat knives for everyone just in case.

Sorry, guys.

Was that an apology?

Michael Westen.

I'm calling about a former employee of yours...

Simon.

Simon got away.

He's with management.

I'm going after him.

No, we talked about this! We're in this together!

You can't follow me this time, Fi.

Put the gun down!

Oh, he owes you now, boy.

It's just a matter of time...

till you're just like me.

Just like me.

Where's my son?

I have no idea.

God only knows what hole he's in now.

He is gone!

Name brands and decor can often tell you a lot

about who you're dealing with.

Official agencies operate with government budgets.

You can usually rule out the idea of federal involvement

as soon as you see a pricey antique

or a pair of $1,200 shoes.

Michael Westen.

In the flesh.

It's an honor. Truly.

Hey, have a piece of fruit.

We get the best tangerines here.

Where am I?

Ah, well...

some folks call it a private holding facility,

others, a secret prison,

and... I think it's officially listed

as a document-processing center.

So you can take your pick.

Here. Have a tangerine.

I'm not hungry.

Why am I here?

We have a lot to talk about.

That business between Simon and management.

It's the tip of a very nasty iceberg.

Great work, by the way.

Rescuing the old man like you did.

Trust me, I didn't do it for him.

But you did it.

And now he's back

at an undisclosed location.

And Simon is locked away tight...

all thanks to Michael Westen.

I know you're upset that we burned you,

but it's nice to know that we can work together sometimes,

when it counts.

Huh?

Friends at last.

I'm not your friend.

I'll try not to take that personally.

Now, you've had a long day.

Here's some reading material...

to pass the time.

I think you'll find that interesting.

Let me know when you're ready to talk.

It takes a while to learn how to read intelligence files.

They start as stacks of unrelated documents,

but stick with it long enough and a pattern can emerge.

Of course, not all intelligence is reliable,

which means when you're done checking the file...

You have to check the source.

Guard!

I read your file. What does it all mean?

Why don't you tell me?

Come. Sit.

Assassinations, crop burnings,

little wars around the world,

all connected to some fat bank accounts.

Very interesting.

What does it have to do with me?

Well, that depends.

Depends on what?

On whether we can work together.

We need your help, Michael.

Ha ha.

You need my help.

See? All this?

We're trying to stop it.

And whoever owns those fat bank accounts is fighting back.

Simon's escape wasn't some kind of accident.

It was an attack... against us.

Who is us, exactly?

There's some things governments do well,

like run a military or a post office.

And then there are some things that they need help with,

things best done by people who...

no longer have official ties to the government.

- Like burned spies. - Precisely.

And that's where we come in.

Where you come in.

I know you have a lot of connections.

I find it hard to believe that you can't do this without me.

Listen, Michael,

if this was some foreign government, you might be right.

We're good at that sort of thing.

But this...

this is a new kind of problem.

This is somebody willing to let a guy like Simon blow up Miami

to protect his cash flow.

I mean, bottom line... you may not like it,

but we're on the same side here.

Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical about that.

Look, I know you've had bad experiences

with some of our operatives.

Look, and a few turned out to be unstable, corrupt,

occasionally psychopathic, but the point is, Michael,

that's over.

There's a reason why we recruited you.

I'm glad you changed your hiring policies,

but flattery's not gonna make me work for you.

Nobody's making you do anything, Michael.

Look, I understand your reservations.

I mean, we burned you.

And our methods...

well, let's just say we draw the line at different places.

But at the end of the day,

you're gonna want to side with us,

rather than whoever's behind all of this.

And we need to find him.

I'm gonna be your errand boy?

Not an errand boy, Michael,

a partner.

Now, you wanted the file.

Where would you start?

When you peel away the shell companies

and the dummy bank accounts,

a lot of these little wars

all track back to the same weapon supplier,

Gregory Hart.

He uses a sat phone to do his banking.

You can find him with that.

If I were you, I would talk to him.

Why don't we talk to him together?

I'll set it up.

We'll go down and see what he has to say.

And then you can decide whether...

you're in or out.

First time out of Miami in a while, huh?!

How's it feel?!

Lovely!

We've got hart in the guerilla camp up the road!

Sounds like they're ready for us!

Hey, I said it's a new day, didn't I?

Hey, you want to shoot me? Go for it!

I'll take a rain check!

Yeah, that's the spirit.

All right, let's do this.

Illegal-weapon sales is a multimillion-dollar industry.

For a big-time gun runner,

it's easy to live the life of luxury.

The problem is,

when you've spent your career dodging local law enforcement

and making mortal enemies,

it's much safer hiding in a tent in the jungle

than enjoying a piece of beachfront property.

Congratulations. You got me.

I assume you want to talk to me, so what's on your mind?

Well, let's start with, "who do you work for?"