All language subtitles for 605. Split

(theme music plays)

(barking)

Hello, Frank.

Hello, Harry.

Anything happening?

Nobody's stolen
my secret papers.

Nobody's infiltrated
anywhere.

Nobody shot the prime minister.
Nobody's pushed the red button.

The world is still intact.
Nothing, it seems, has happened.

Another uneventful night.
Can I buy you a coffee?

No, thanks, I've got
to finish these reports.

You know, Harry, for you,
dedication has become a vice.

(telephone rings)

Hello?

Man:
May I speak to Boris, please?

Who?

Boris.
Is he there?

I'm sorry, you must
have the wrong number.

Sure I can't persuade you
to change your mind, Harry?

After all, all work
and no play...

Harry...

(silenced gunshot)

(whistling tune)

Frank!

Frank...

Mercer here.

This is an emergency!

Someone's murdered
Frank Compton.

I'm sorry about your holiday,
Lord Barnes.

So am I.

We wouldn't have asked you back
unless it'd been very urgent.

I would have come back
if it hadn't been urgent.

I'm sorry,

but this whole business
has knocked me sideways.

(tires screech)

An agent murdered
is bad enough,

but when
it happens inside

the Ministry
of Top Secret Information,

the most security-conscious
area in the country, well...

Oh, frankly,
I don't believe it.

I still don't believe it.

Hello, sir.

Hi.

(elevator whirs)

The profound silences are
my prerogative, Major Rooke.

What progress are we making?

None.

Hmm. Who, um...
Who found the body?

Harry Mercer.

- Is he a good man?
- None better.

Steed's questioning him now.

He must've been lying there
the whole time.

That's what gets me.

I was sitting there
writing my report,

and all the time,
Frank was...

When we find out...
If we find out...

We'll find out.

Ah, Steed,
I'm glad you're here.

Good morning,
Lord Barnes.

It's a bad morning.
It's a disastrous morning.

- You're Mercer?
- Yes, sir.

- You found him, eh?
- And, yes, sir.

And the murder weapon,
you made an immediate check?

I want it found.
I want the whole place combed.

We already have it.

Compton's own gun, sir.

His own gun?

- Any fingerprints?
- Only his own.

All right.

You better tell me all
the facts from the beginning.

Mercer was writing
his report in here.

- Alone?
- Yes, sir.

- He finished at...
- 5:30 exactly.

He started to leave,
and he moved to about here,

and then he saw Frank Compton
lying on the floor
there under the table.

Yes,
and then I gave the alarm.

Of course we checked everything
immediately, all the staff,

- personnel, all the exits.
- (telephone rings)

And we double-checked
on all the visitors

- to the area here yesterday.
- The result was a negative.

Hello? Who?

Boris?

The cellar, the roofs,
the grounds.

I'm afraid you've got
the wrong number.

Nothing remains unchecked,
negative.

I won't accept negative.

I won't accept
anything less than positive,

positive action,
positive plans, results.

But we're covering
all the visitors here

- within the last month.
- The last month?

The last year, Major.

I want every member of the staff
rescreened and interrogated.

I want a complete rundown
on Frank Compton,

his movements retraced up
until the moment that he died,

the cases that he worked on,
the people he'd met.

Better try
Operations Security.

It's in the micro-files.

What have you done
to your hand?

A legacy from Berlin,
October '63.

Really?

- He must've been mistaken.
- King: Who?

Harry Mercer, when he said
he was in Berlin in '63.

He couldn't have been.
I was there at that time.

I was involved in quite
a little fracas or two,

and I know that Harry
was nowhere in the area.

Well, as you said,
he must've been mistaken.

Unless he's lying.

No, he must've got the dates
mixed up, that's all.

That's not all
he got mixed up.

Ambidextrous.

Where'd you get that?

Mercer's desk.
Funny.

Clearly the handwriting
of a strong, weak,

happy, sad, anxious,
carefree man.

Is that a fact?

No, I made it up.

Well, let's find someone
who can give us the facts.

Remarkable.

Quite remarkable.

Remarkably remarkable.

Would you care to... remark
on the remarkability?

Yes, I would.

Well?

Well, this first section here,
you want the facts?

- The facts.
- Factually.

It's remarkable.

- Yes, you said that.
- Twice.

This first section of writing,
a neat, precise hand,

the work of a reliable man,
a man to be trusted,

an industrious man,
gentle by nature,

yet strong character,
dedicated,

a man of great loyalty
and moral strength.

But this next section here,

the penmanship is the same.

It's definitely written
by the same hand.

(laughs)
I can't see how it can be.

Why not?

Well, the personality
of the writer

has completely changed.

It's...

it's fantastic.

Remarkable.

How has it changed?

Well, this writing indicates
a mind of great cunning,

a brutal, extrovert man,

a man who will stop at nothing
to achieve his ends,

a man to whom cruelty
means pleasure,

to whom loyalty means nothing,
a mean man,

devious, scheming, dangerous.

Thoroughly nasty piece
of work, in fact.

Would this kind of man
be capable of murder?

Very, very capable.

Odd.

Odd and quite a coincidence.

A brutal extrovert man
who'd stop at nothing,

mean, scheming,
dangerous.

That's a first-class description
of Boris Kartovski,

one of their top agents.

So where's the coincidence?

Kartovski was the fellow who was
involved with me in that fracas

in Berlin, October '63.

Panic's still on.

Did you find anything?

No.

I checked the files.
Nothing.

(telephone rings)

- Hello?
- Rooke.

Yes, Steed.

I want you to root out
all the information you can

on a member of the opposition,
Kartovski,

Boris Kartovski.

That should be simple enough.

Bound to have
some information on him.

Yes, it's not
information I want.

It's a specimen
of his handwriting.

What?
I'm not sure if we can...

Well, he must've
passed messages or broken a code

or something like that.

You dig out all you can.

I'll do my best.
Can't promise, though.

Yeah, right, bye.

You should call it a day, Harry,
get some rest.

Boris Kartovski...

(door closes)

Put me through.

Put me through to the...

The Nullington
Private Hospital!

(telephone rings)

Nullington Hospital.

Tell the doctor...

Tell the doctor that...

What?
Who is this?

Harry...

Harry...
Harry...

Harry Kartovski!

Dr. Constantine,
I have Mercer on the line.

- What?
- Listen.

Tell the doctor it's...

Harry... Boris!

It's... it's Boris!
No, tell the...

Help me.

Tell the doctor
it's Boris...

Mercer...

Kartovski! Help...

Help me.
Help me.

Petra?
Look, talk to him.

Calm him down.
Tell him to sit tight.

Tell him we'll help him.

He's breaking up.

I told you.

I explained there might be
an element of failure risk.

But to Mercer,
and right now at this moment...

we're so close, Doctor.

So close to wrecking
the whole Ministry of TSI,

smashing it,
disintegrating,

destroying it from within.

Mercer is a threat
to our objective.

We must be rid of him.

(classical piano music
playing)

(telephone ringing)

(music stops)

(ringing continues)

Hello?

Man: Hello.
Is that you, Boris?

Evening, sir.

Good evening, sir.

Good evening, sir.

Good evening, sir.

(elevator whirs)

No!

Here's Mercer's file
and the other thing you wanted...

- a specimen of
Kartovski's writing.
- Ah.

It must have happened
just before I found him.

I must've been
within yards of the killer,

within seconds of the murder.

I know how he must've felt
when he found Compton.

Baffled and so...
So helpless.

So do we all.

In a case like this,
there's usually some lead,

something
you can follow up, but...

He was admitted to hospital.
Mercer.

A few weeks ago,
he had a minor accident

and was admitted
for a few hours.

It was
the only unusual incident

in an otherwise routine
existence.

Not that unusual.

Could happen to anyone.
Happened to me some time ago.

All the same, I think I'll
take a look at this hospital.

- Good morning, sir.
- Good morning.

Mercer.

Well, Mr. Mercer...

Oh, no, no,
you misunderstand.

I'm inquiring
about Mr. Mercer.

We have no one of that name
in the hospital.

A casualty,
a minor road accident

about three weeks ago,
Harry Mercer?

- Well, Mister...
- Steed, John Steed.

Just how can we help you
concerning Harry Mercer?

Well, I should like
to speak to the doctor

- who handled his case.
- Get down there.

It will mean going through
the records,

and if the doctor's
not on duty,

well, it'll mean
a long wait for you.

Oh, not to worry.

I'll make myself
comfortable here.

Ah, Dr. Constantine,
this gentleman

would like to know about
a casualty patient named Mercer.

- Mercer?
- Harry Mercer.

Are you a relative?

No, but I'm a close friend.

I see.

Well, we don't usually
give information,

but I do remember this.

A road accident,
wasn't it?

Nothing serious,
a mild concussion.

You handled the case?

- I did.
- And?

And what?

Forgive me, what exactly
do you wish to know?

How long was he here?

One hour, possibly two,
certainly no longer.

Did he have any visitors?

No.

And there was nothing
unusual about the case?

I told you, a mild concussion
of the simplest nature.

I only wish all our
road casualties were so minor.

Well, thanks anyway.

- Good day.
- Good day.

I don't like it when Steed
gets this close.

Uncomfortably close.

We'll have to get rid
of Mr. Steed.

(rings)

Hello?

- Lord Barnes?
- Oh, Steed, yes.

You said that you were involved
in an accident recently.

Uh, yes, just a minor bump,
you know.

But you were admitted
to hospital.

For a short time, yes.

Do you mind if I come
and talk to you about it?

If you think it's important.

Yes,
I'll be expecting you.

You rang, milord?

Yes, Miller, you can take
a few hours off.

I don't want
to be disturbed for a bit.

- You go and enjoy yourself.
- Yes, thank you, milord.

Oh, and, Miller?
Don't bother to lock up.

As you wish, milord.

(doorbell rings)

Lord Barnes?

Steed!
What has happened?

My dear fellow,
are you all right?

Miss King...

drawing upon my not
inconsiderable experience

as a calligraphist...

Please, just a simple
explanation,

words of one syllable?

Identical.

Identical?

This and this, both the work
of the same personality.

But that's impossible.

My dear lady,

I am the foremost authority.

The same personality?

Brutal, extrovert,
and dangerous?

Very, very dangerous.

Feeling any better?

Much better, thank you.

Must have shaken you up.

It's an occupational hazard.
You get used to it.

He's pretty cool,
whoever he is,

to attack you here
under my roof.

Well, the front door
was open.

Ah, that would be Miller,
my butler.

I'll talk to him,
don't you worry.

Oh, which reminds me,

you wanted to talk to me
about something.

- Yes, that accident you had.
- Yes?

Which hospital
were you taken to?

Which hospital,
which hospital?

Do you know, Steed,
I simply don't remember.

It was some time ago.

Ridiculous, it's completely
slipped my mind.

- If it does occur to you...
- I'll let you know right away.

I was...

I was feeling
a bit extrovert.

(chuckles)

You'll let me know
when you remember?

What?

The name of the hospital?

Uh, yes, yes,
I'll let you know.

(classical piano music plays)

(banging keys tunelessly)

Subject...

myself.

I am...

alarmed...

to check a change...

in my behav...

(door opens)

Ah.

Look at this.

I checked with
the handwriting experts,

and both specimens of
the handwriting are ex...

(telephone rings)

Hello?

Steed.
Get back here straightaway.

Hurry.

Well, what's the...
Lord Barnes?

See you later.

(doorbell rings)

Oh, Major Rooke.

Is he in?

- Nope.
- Oh.

I wanted to talk to him
about some handwriting.

So did I.

- What did you have...
- What did you... I'm sorry.

Look.

Both the handwriting
of Boris Kartovski.

A letter written
by Lord Barnes.

But that's who Steed's
gone to see.

- Huh?
- Lord Barnes!

Doctor.

Failure number two.

He's breaking up, Doctor.

It's obvious he's
breaking up like Mercer.

- Well, we did anticipate...
- A failure risk?

You said that.
All right, I accept that.

The question is...

what do we do now?

Doesn't make sense, Lord Barnes
killing one of his own agents.

And what about
the first killing?

Lord Barnes wasn't even
in the country.

- Doesn't make sense.
- It makes some kind of sense.

One thing is certain...
Barnes's a traitor,

a dangerous traitor.

There he is.

Steed, I must...
I must tell you...

(gunshot)

Lord Barnes was about to...

Not Lord Barnes.
Boris Kartovski.

A specimen
of Kartovski's writing.

Letter from Lord Barnes.

Don't know how they did it.

Some new technique,
plastic surgery?

Anyway,
that was Boris Kartovski.

Impossible.

I shot Boris Kartovski,
Berlin, 1963.

I shot him
through the heart.

(buzzer buzzes)

He wants you to stand
where he can see you.

He likes to look at you.

He was always one
for a pretty woman.

His appetite was remarkable,
voracious.

And he could be cruel.

So cruel.

He frightens me.

There's no reason
why he should.

He's not a monster.

On the contrary,
he's a monument,

a medical triumph.

Isn't that so, Boris?

When he was brought to me,

he was without hope,

not dead, but with a bullet,
Steed's bullet,

so deep in his heart
that an operation,

even a transplant
was out of the question.

I kept him alive.
Didn't I, Boris?

With my skills,
I kept you alive.

You call that alive?

Well,
his brain still lives.

The mind and personality
of Boris Kartovski

still unimpaired,
lucid, brilliant.

And that's only part
of my achievement.

To take that mind,

the mind of the best agent
we ever had,

and with this,
to transfuse it,

to infuse his will,
his thoughts,

his ego
into another man's brain,

into that part of the mind that
remains dormant in all of us,

unexplored, waiting,

waiting to receive
the personality of Kartovski,

to restore him
to active duty,

to give him
a healthy body again,

a strong hand with which
to hold a gun.

(chuckles)

The ultimate infiltration,

a traitor hidden within
an unsuspecting mind.

Barnes is dead.

We'll need a replacement,
you understand that?

Very well.

The same method as the others,
a faked road accident?

Tell Morrell to stand by.

We're still at
the experimental stage,

- you agree that?
- Yes.

I'd like to go a step further,
explore a new avenue.

The personality of Kartovski,
of a man,

within the brain
of a woman.

Steed, I think I'll get a second
opinion on this handwriting.

- Right.
- See you later.

Look, there's no point
in both of us searching.

I'll be better off tackling
things at the Ministry end.

- I'll check with you later.
- Right.

- Ah, Miller.
- Sir.

About Lord Barnes.

Oh, it's a tragedy, sir.
A terrible tragedy.

Do you feel that
you can talk about it?

Yes, sir, but I really
don't think I can add

to what I have
already told you, sir.

He gave you the afternoon off,
and when you returned later,

he was getting into his car.

He was in a panic, sir, at least
that's how it looked to me.

Very distraught.

I thought there might
have been an accident, sir.

What made you think that?

Well, I'm sure I heard him
mention a hospital, sir,

something about having
to get to the hospital.

Hospital...

You will feel no pain,
Miss King,

no pain at all.

Unless you try to fight it.

Then, well, your suffering
will be considerable

and so unnecessary.

The technique
is irresistible.

Ultimately, we must win.

I advise you to relax,
Miss King,

and you will experience
only a feeling of well-being,

a drifting into sleep.

Remember, Miss King, relax.

Let his mind flood
into yours.

(whimpers)

I think we might allow
ourselves the luxury

of splitting a bottle together,
don't you?

A small celebration.

After all, this is likely
to take some time.

An excellent idea.

Boris, don't forget
you're dealing with a lady.

Think some nice thoughts.

(humming tune)

(yelps)

(blows landing)

The machine!

That one.

No, on top, on top, there.

I can't promise
you'll play the violin again.

Thank you, Doctor.

At least I'm still me.

Boris Kartovski?

Not exactly up and around,
but definitely alive

and very active,
mentally speaking.

There's the real villain
of the piece.

Looks like
a home perm device.

No, it's a sort
of mind transfuser,

makes his mind go
into someone else's.

Get back to the ministry,
see Major Rooke,

tell him
what happened here.

I'll be all right.
Hurry, hurry.

I'd like to have stayed
and had a chat, Kartovski.

Have to be later.
(shudders)

Call the doctor,
tell him...

(elevator whirs)

(cabinet doors pounding,
Petra shouting)

(gunshot)

The machine!

Hinnell!

The machine!

Hinnell!
It's my life's work!

Hinnell!
Hinnell! Please!

Hinnell, please!
The machine, I...

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

Nullington Private Hospital?

That's right, Steed's
waiting for us there now.

- Come on.
- Not just yet.

Close the door.

- Major Rooke.
- No.

Not Rooke.

Not Rooke.

Boris.

The others, Barnes, Mercer,

they were failures,
abject failures.

They broke up.

The way you're breaking up.

No! Perfect.

I am
the perfect prototype.

I.
Boris Kartovski.

I don't have to be triggered
in any way.

We...
I think for myself.

I am the perfect prototype!

Help me.

I will have to kill you,
Miss King.

Oh, for pity's sake, help me.

- Major Rooke...
- I am going to kill you,
Miss King.

Kill. Kill. Kill!

You won't beat me.
Not me. Boris Kartovski!

Rooke! Rooke!

Major. Peter. Rooke.

Pick it up.

Steed, pick up the gun
and kill me.

Steed.

Pick it up and kill me.

Please pick up the gun
and kill me!

Oh, Steed!

If you don't kill me,
I'll kill you!

Please!

Kill you, old chap?

I'd rather cure you.

Hello?

Steed:
Come on in.

Won't keep you a moment.

It's all right.

Help yourself to a drink.
What do you fancy?

What have you got?

Everything.

Everything.

Well, um, in that case,

I should like a tall
crystal glass of crushed ice

permeated with grenadine,

laced with a mixture
of Cantonese sake

and Crème de Violette,

topped with a measure
of Calvados,

a tablespoon
of Devonshire cream,

and a fresh,
unripe strawberry.

Bottom drawer down.

I haven't got
any of those,

but champagne sounds
far more digestible.

I'm sorry to keep you waiting,
but I was changing.

Changing?

Oh. My suit.

Ooh, the leg was hit
in the thigh in the hospital.

(groans)

Sorry.

For a moment, I wondered
who had gotten into you.

(theme music plays)