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You unlock this door
with the key of imagination.

Beyond it is another dimension-

a dimension of sound,

a dimension of sight,

a dimension of mind.

You're moving into a land
of both shadow and substance,

of things and ideas.

You've just crossed over
into the twilight zone.

Yes?

Is this major kuchenko?

Who is calling?

This is major kuchenko,
isn't it?

Who is calling?

Major, you don't know me,

but i've heard
of your recent arrival here,

and i wanted you to know
that you have friends.

Who is this speaking?

Is this a friend also?

Yes- a good friend, major.

Not known to you yet, perhaps,
but soon to become acquainted.

May i impose upon you
to remain in your room...

and why?

Why do i have to
stay in my room?

We'll be
making contact

with you very soon,
major.

Your well being
is our deep concern.

Now, kommissar?

Major, may i count on
you to show good sense?

For your own safety,
remain in your room.

You'll be seeing your
friends before long.

Good-bye.

Now, kommissar.

The fox is
in the trap.

I could make his head
leave his body

from this distance.

That would give you
pleasure, wouldn't it?

A great deal
of pleasure, kommissar.

Tell me when.

Even when he lies down,
i can still aim for his head.

Yes, i believe
it, boris.

I know of
your prowess.

Oh, put that gun
away for a bit.

Put it away?

Oh, lay it aside.

What, are we not going
to kill him?

The impatience
of the bourgeois.

They do not sip wine.

They gulp it down
like a soft drink.

They do not caress women;
they devour them.

They do not sniff at the essence
of a rare perfume.

No... they try to jam it
into their nostrils.

Boris, the gentleman will die.
Indeed, he will.

But i want him to die
with finesse,

with subtlety
and a degree of thought.

That is a good death.

I did not know
there was a good death

and a bad death.

Uh-huh.

A good death is
the death of art.

A bad one is the
death of a butcher.

You, boris,
are a butcher.

I am an artist.

You will have your
death tonight, boris,

within a few hours,

but we will have
killed with artistry

and not with
a meat cleaver

or an explosive bullet

or any other of the
butcher's tools.

No, no.

This death will be
like a ballet.

A cat and a mouse.

This is the latter-
the intended victim-

who may or may not know
that he is to die,

be it by butchery or ballet.

His name is major ivan kuchenko.

He has, if events go according
to certain plans,

perhaps three or four more hours
of living.

But an ignorance shared by
both himself and his executioner

is of the fact that both of them
have taken a first step

into the twilight zone.

Yes?

Major kuchenko?

Who is it?

A friend.

Don't worry.

Turn off the lights
if you want to,

find a hiding place.

I'll come in
with my hands up.

I've got my
palms open.

Major kuchenko?

And you are...?

A friend.

May i come in?

Thank you.

You are the one

i spoke to
on the telephone?

Mm-hmm.

We had a brief
chat earlier.

Well, it's quite a
place you have here.

Who occupied it
before you?

A rat?

I had no luxury
of choices.

No, indeed,
you have not.

In that respect, you are
a very poor man, major.

But, then again,
you have a bed,

pictures on the wall,

a carpet...
such as it is.

Well, quite
an adequate accommodation.

Ah... and a most
wonderful view

of a brick building
alongside.

Well, major,
there are worse places

to spend an evening in.

I know.

I have been to
many of them.

Indeed. Indeed, you have.

Siberia is quite cold, isn't it?

I've been told it has
a most unfortunate climate.

You have been
told right.

It is a freezing
jungle.

A freezing jungle.

Oh, that's marvelous-
lovely imagery.

Siberia as
a freezing jungle.

You make reference,
of course, to the people.

I make reference
to some people.

Oh...

it must have been
unpleasant for you.

Sufficiently unpleasant
to motivate you

to renounce
your native country

and to try and seek
asylum elsewhere,

which brings us
up to date.

You were
a political prisoner.

You escaped.

You served
a term of 12 years,

and now you arrived here
in a neutral country,

and you are desperately
trying to get an aircraft

to take you out of here
to a western nation.

But, uh... you feel
you are under surveillance?

I know i am under
surveillance.

Well, do you know
by whom?

Very well.

Well, tell me.
Who are they?

Look in the
mirror, kommissar.

Discerning, major.

You remember faces.

I remember pain.

I remember some
interrogations

that went on
for many months.

I remember one
particular man

who smoked a long
cigarette in a holder,

stood in a corner,
nodding and smiling

while i went from
agony to agony.

So, major...

may we dispense
with the amenities,

the masquerades,
the little give and take

between two strangers
feeling each other out?

Now we get to the point.

Did you honestly think
we would permit you

to book passage on an aircraft
out of here?

Impossible.

As a former member
of the military

even as far back
as 12 years ago,

you possess information
that we would find...

embarrassing
to have released elsewhere.

So it's not really to our
advantage that you leave here.

Of course, it would be simpler
and more convenient

to accompany me
back to our embassy.

I am sick... tired and torn,
kommissar, but i am not insane.

I would sooner cut my wrists
over a sink and bleed to death!

No, major.

I am afraid we are of two minds
about that kind of death.

Gently, gently, major.

Here.

I brought some
amontillado-

quite rare and most
pleasing to the palate.

I'm afraid
i will have to repeat

i am not insane.

I'm quite aware
of what will happen to me

if i were to drink
any of that.

With your indulgence, major,

if you assume this to contain
cyanide or some other poison,

you're quite wrong.

You see,

i don't share
your death wish.

I'm quite a
healthy man

with excellent
expectations

as to my longevity.

No, no, no, no, no.

I was only proposing
a social drink

between the two of us.

Iwill drink first.

Such a ritual.

Such a tribal rite.

Kommissar, you have
only one purpose with me.

Why don't you try
to get it over with?

If you want to disarm me
to get rid ofthis,

it will take more
than a social wine.

Yes, indeed.

As to my business
with you,

we both know
what that is.

I am to see to it
that you are dead

by tomorrow morning,
and you shall be, major.

With a certain
degree of immodesty,

i can tell you

i have killed
800 times you,

but i've done it
with subtlety,

with interest,
with ingenuity.

I am the last of
the imaginative
executioners.

And how do you intend
to kill me?

Let me tell you
what, major-

let's have a drink
of wine first,

and then i'll tell you.

Sante.

Ah. Excellent.

Flavor, bouquet,

just the proper
amount of dryness.

It's really a most
exceptional wine.

Join me, major.

Very well, kommissar.

I will have
a drink of wine.

Then i may killyou.

Yes, you may
very well try.

And now let me tell you
something about us.

Let me explain the difference
between you and me.

You are a malcontent,
major.

You can never accept
that which is ordained.

I, on the other hand,
i adapt to my situations.

I don't have
a very large salary,

and my job-
at least the way it's laid out-

is rather a dull one:

Finding traitors and defectors
and doing away with them.

And in your case...

in my case...

in your case,
i choose to prolong it,

and in the process
of this prolongation,

i have come up with...
with something that i think

is a most bizarre
and novel method of execution.

One designed
to challenge your talents,

for we both are worthy
adversaries- you and me.

I feel... very weak.

You... you, monster.

You drugged me.

Oh...

greetings, major kuchenko.

First of all,
to clear up one point-

as must be evident to you,

i've been imbibing this
particular drug for many years

and have reached a point
where i can drink it

by the gallon
and be quite unaffected.

As you've probably perceived,

i'm rather a gamesman
when it comes to killing.

I have my own rules
and ethics that apply,

and, major kuchenko,

listen to the following
quite carefully.

This is the game,
and these are the rules.

You have been asleep
for roughly three hours.

During that time, i have placed
a booby trap in this room.

It is not visible,

but it is attached
to a very common object.

If you trigger this object, you
will immediately be blown up.

Now the following proposition:

If during the next three hours,

you are able to find this
booby trap and cut the wire,

you'll be permitted
to leave the room alive.

This is a guarantee,

but the following conditions
are of the essence, major.

You must actively search
for this booby trap,

and you must find it
and render it unusable.

Attempt to turn out the lights,
and you'll be shot at once.

The moment you stop an active
search, you will be shot,

or if you are unable to find the
trap at the end of three hours

or attempt to leave the room
during that time, i'm afraid

the same conditions apply.

You will receive
a bullet in the head.

So, there you have it, major.

As a fellow expert
in the art of booby traps,

i think you will admit, major,

that this situation has its
own special imaginative quality.

The doorknob.

Interesting idea.

That bible
that looks

as if it's been
pulled out.

Possible.

I think he's
found it.

I doubt it.

The dresser drawer.

Wait and see.

You seem so sure.

Sure?

That he'll
find the trap.

Not at all.
That's not what i'm sure about.

What i mean to say
is that i'm reasonably sure

he'll find it, but he'll
find it when it's too late.

Is he at the table?

He's stripping
the bed.

That's where you
put it, isn't it?

In the bed.

Warm now, boris.
Extremely warm, but not hot.

Then where?

Please, kommissar,
tell me!

What's he doing now?

Well, what's he doing now?

He's at the
telephone.

I thought for
a minute...

you thought what?

The telephone.

Hot, boris.

Extremely hot.

The telephone?

Precisely.

The telephone.

But...

but he just lifted
the receiver.

Indeed.

He lifted the receiver
to call out.

If, on the other hand,

the major's phone
were to ring,

and he were
to answer it...

that's it!

That's it.

If he picks it up
afterit rings.

Ah, you've got it now,
my friend.

If the major's phone rings
and he answers it,

i've placed a tiny plastic bomb
inside the mechanism.

The explosion...

the explosion will only occur

after the ring and the lifting
of the receiver,

at which point, major kuchenko
will not even have time

to say hello.

Vassiloff!

Shoot me!

Shoot me, vassiloff!

Shoot me!

Why don't you kill me,
vassiloff?!

Shoot me, vassiloff.

What's the
time, boris?

Ten minutes to five.

Almost dawn, kommissar.

He's got another
ten minutes.

Well, i think
it's time to, uh...

how shall we say...

"implement" the thing?

Yes, would you ring
room 963, please?

Thank you.

Now, kommissar?

No, no, no, no, no!

Hello.

Hello!

Yes, would you ring
room 963 again, please?

Kommissar?

It would have been
better, wouldn't it?

It's all right.

I'll get him in
the next city...

now that i know

that he is a most
resourceful adversary.

No, boris!

I'm sorry, sir.

The line seems
to be disconnected.

I'm unable to reach your party.

It's all right, operator, i...

i have reached them.

Flight 17, transocean airways,
now departing for new york city

via belgrade, rome, london.

All aboard, please.

Major ivan kuchenko,
on his way west,

on his way to freedom-

a freedom bought and paid for
by a most stunning ingenuity.

And exit
one kommissar vassiloff,

who forgot that there are
two sides to an argument

and two parties on the line.

This has been the twilight zone.

And now, mr. Serling.

Next time out
onthe twilight zone,

we enlist the talented
typewriter of earl hamner, jr.

And present a stunningly
conceived show called,

"stopover in a quiet town."

It will star barry nelson
and nancy malone

and it will provide
the kind of shock ending

that punches the emotional eye
with unexpected force.

Next time,
"stopover in a quiet town."

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