Original subtitles

Mysterious attacks on villages in England.

And in Pran.

Fire!

Attacks by Russian soldiers.

Fire!

Soldiers out of cold storage.

And controlling them, the sinister Colonel Stanislaw.

And against him, Troy.

It's 1945.

Russian ambassador and an old friend. I like Paris.

The attacks were contained.

Then suddenly... World War III.

Well, Martin, seems it isn't all over. Another attack.

Must be an isolated group, overlooked by the parents.

Perhaps. One way to find out.

Just two.

I was right.

An isolated pocket of resistance.

One of them was carrying it.

Yes, no matter their targets were here.

What about this?

Used to be an ammunition dump.

And this?

Used to be a barracks.

Used to be?

Seems to be the operative word, doesn't it, Colonel?

Small army with out -of -date equipment attacking out -of -date targets.

Maybe they've been out of radio contact for a while.

Like 30 years?

We'll find out when we interrogate the prisoners.

I regret, Colonel Martin, there are no prisoners left to interrogate. But they

were prisoners of war.

Who was responsible for such barbarity?

Age. Just age, Colonel. They all died the natural death.

See for yourself.

Hello, Mike.

They're all the same.

But... but how?

Why? Total degeneration.

Gambit speciality.

A speeded -up process of senility. That is the how of it, Colonel. The why, I'm

still working on.

Any more bugs?

Yes, those I have examined so far.

On autopsy, I've removed from the skull of several of the dead men this.

Some kind of radio device.

Transmitter? Receiver?

We will have our electronic experts check it out.

This is more like it.

I really feel I'm back in France now.

Can we do something special this evening?

A nouvelle exposition, ah, Bobo?

Yes, yes.

Comedy for our stairs.

You said that with a positive lack of enthusiasm.

Monsieur?

You're worried, aren't you?

Care to share it?

World War III.

The Russian ambassador?

That's what he said, World War III.

But not with any conviction, did he?

I don't know.

Call him back and ask him. I can't.

Toy is ideologically opposed to me.

He's a good friend to Boo.

It would only embarrass him if I called him.

So you've got to wait for him to call you.

Well, reading between the lines, the danger is over.

You think so?

The French authorities have rounded up or killed 250 of our secret army, our

brave men.

Unfortunate that they had to end up in such a way.

But it is better for all of us in the long run.

It might easily have escalated into another world war.

Yes.

Anyway, it is over.

250 men.

That was our entire force, was it not?

Our entire force.

You'll be able to return to Moscow now, Colonel?

Oh, I think I shall stay a day or two, sample the dubious delights of Western

decadence.

Bonjour.

Remember Dr. Lepage?

It seems that she and I share the same interest in...

I'm sure that you'll find that you and Steed also have much in common.

Unfortunately, Gambit and I have other things to do.

Wipe swapping in broad daylight.

The world is changing.

Now, just a minute. She's with me.

Steed's a gentleman.

That's disputable.

Ah, well, as you said, there's other things to do. It's scavery. It's

gone to your head, and you finally decided to let me... Work.

Work to do. Work.

Steed's worried.

So am I.

Look, we've got to check out every single dead soldier.

These are the personal effects of every man.

A cable from Comrade Toy.

From our embassy in Paris.

Get me Toy on the phone immediately.

A scrambled line.

Comrade Kirov, the number was quite clear.

250 men.

You told Colonel Stanislav this?

Yes. Is something wrong, comrade? Very wrong. The full complement of our secret

army was 252. The two missing men are undoubtedly K agents on special

assignment. One of them is Stanislav's own father.

Where is the colonel?

Out at the moment. Prepare papers of arrest.

Arrest him as soon as he returns.

Yes, I...

What

would a Russian soldier be doing with a deposit slip in his boot?

And a very old one of that, of every 1946.

Entrepot Sincere.

Two of you have been selected as K -agents for special assignment.

You will be activated.

at the same time as the conventional fighting units, but you will not be

awakened until at least 48 hours later.

Hey, Monsieur, what you doing here?

This is private.

I don't really know what we're doing here. We're helping Steed not to worry.

Or we're pushing him towards nervous breakdown.

Dead.

Stabbed.

Burned.

Soldiers.

Square one.

Do you realize that the fourth depository will be in soon?

And there are nine more to go.

Could we have to... We have to stop Steve, Mary.

Allons -y.

You are a brave man, Colonel, but also a foolish one.

Moscow contacted you.

252 men.

Why did you not speak about the other two men?

Because... Because between them, they are the key to the whole situation.

250 fighting men.

Dead, yes.

Expendable, yes.

But their task was always just to harass.

But the 2K agents...

They could start it.

Start what?

World War III.

It has to come, comrade.

We all know that. And it is the aggressor who will win it.

No one will win a third world war.

None will survive to be the victors. I know that.

And happily, now, so do the powers that be in Moscow.

Milk and water, men.

Sensible men.

Responsible men.

I am making out a warrant for your arrest, colonel.

You will return home.

To stand trial.

Colonel Toy is under arrest.

Special orders from Moscow. No, you fool.

It is he you must arrest.

You can read, I suppose.

An official document of arrest.

And whose name do you see upon it?

You lock him away and keep him incommunicado until further orders.

No, Colonel, you cannot do this.

Take him away.

After him. Kill him.

Now, next.

Rue Saint -Laurent.

Les entrepôts marchons, s 'il vous plaît.

Gambit. Empty.

Not quite.

A bullet?

No ordinary bullet.

Long -range magnum. Explosive tip.

An assassin's bullet.

Toy. Steve, I must talk to you. Without saying hello, without taking my hand in

comradeship. This is urgent.

Well, it must be now.

Come through.

I'm just mixing myself a scotch and soda, and you look as though you could

one. Steve.

There's an old Western custom.

Scotch whiskey inside.

Optimistic glow outside.

Now, what is it? World War III again?

It could be, if we don't move fast.

Tell me from the top.

It was in the old days of the Cold War.

We did not know which way the West would jump.

So we decided to stay one jump ahead.

So we planted a small army in every European country.

Planted?

Sleepers? Literally.

A method of suspended animation.

Guerrilla fighters hidden away in various storehouses.

Uh -huh.

All of them sleeping a scientifically induced sleep.

All to be awakened when or if the time came.

Awakened by a radio. A radio signal.

A transmitter buried in the plane.

Yes. How did you know?

I can still put two and two together.

And make six.

You are my kind of man, Steve.

Go on.

The radio signal was to be sent from one of our satellites in orbit.

The system would only be used in the event of impending war.

Strike first.

Steal a march on us from behind the lines. Yes, but something went wrong.

Uh -huh.

A wire crossed.

A transistor fused. I don't know. All I know is that the signal was triggered

while the satellite was over France.

Hence the small war that we're involved in now.

There's something else, isn't there?

The guerrillas have been overcome by the soldiers, but there's still something

else.

Two K agents at large.

K agents?

K for kill, in any language.

Two highly trained assassins with specific targets.

If either were to reach those tunnels, our countries, the whole world, would be

plunged into irrevocable war.

What target?

Joy!

Only you can save the world.

Stay back, or she dies.

You're going to have to kill us both anyway.

We're witnesses.

A bullet can be beaten.

It travels at upwards of 1 ,000 miles per hour, but it can be beaten,

anticipated, deflected.

I've only seen it done once, but it can be done.

Most stupidest, most ridiculous, most beautiful thing I've seen.

Never mind.

Steve.

Straight through the heart.

He taught us everything we know.

He was good.

And honest.

And true.

And he's still alive.

He can't be. How can he be?

Because I'm a gentleman.

I don't smoke myself.

But I carry them around for those of my friends who foolishly do.

This is delightful.

But we should get our priorities right.

Stopping World War III comes first. Don't you think?

He was my friend.

He came to warn me.

And he lost his life.

He wanted to warn you.

But warn you of what?

Two assassins with top priority targets.

Hmm. I don't know. Didn't tell me.

Perhaps it wasn't so vital.

Well, so far all the targets have been 30 years out of date.

There are some targets that never change.

I know you don't believe me.

In fact, I find it hard to believe myself.

Agents planted 30 years ago satellite signals that went wrong.

Exactly.

In fact, what we're up against, gentlemen, is an accident.

Their ambassador told you all this.

But he is dead.

So it is an unconfirmed report.

Steve has confirmed.

Yes. Yes, we have our English friend's word on it, but... It remains

by a French thought.

It fits the facts, as I know them. The facts we have from you, Colonel, are

still under review.

But... Grateful as we are for English friends' interest, I see no reason to

alarm the President or the Premier of an unconfirmed report.

But we could send a memo to security, tell them to tighten up their vigilance.

What happened?

They're going to send a message or a memo to security.

You're right to say.

So, we're on our own now?

Not quite.

I believe you, Steed.

Officially, my hands are tied.

Unofficially?

Let's have a council of war.

Well, while you're discussing the campaign, I think I'll take another look

the battlefield.

A museum.

General Gaspard.

He was a revered and gallant soldier.

He was a true son of France.

He was.

Found these on the assassin's body.

Another out -of -date target.

Out -of -date or not, he will be buried with full military honors.

He lived like a soldier.

And certainly died like one.

One being the operative word.

Two K agents.

One down.

And still one left to find.

That is every liquor we stock, monsieur.

Monsieur is making some kind of wager?

Monsieur is making some sort of publicity?

Monsieur is making up for lost time.

This is a new liqueur. New?

No. It has been on the market for, I don't know, 25 years, even more.

Exactly. New.

Excess is not pleasure.

Pleasure is one degree below excess.

You were telling me that when I was just a child.

Father.

Dear father, it's hard to understand. I know, I know.

The old wooden house below the steps.

The sound of the vulgar in the full flood of spring.

And like glazed glass, in winter, our skates would make a sort of snore as we

went across to collect the hot bread from Mother Zaborski.

My first pair of skates you made for me with your own hands, father.

Stanislav, my son.

The world is changing, but not for the better.

Stanislav, but how?

I waited outside the warehouse until you awakened, father.

Since then, I have followed you.

Give me a good man to protect my back.

And I shall march forward without fear.

I remember.

Stanislav.

You have grown strong.

I have grown old.

But you, father, you are still youthful. Full of purpose.

The war?

If I have been awakened... The war is very close.

It will start very soon. I promise you.

And Minsky.

The other K -agent is here. Minsky is dead.

But he didn't die fruitlessly.

He achieved his aim.

This General Gaspar, he was important?

Important, respected, loved.

He will be buried with full military honor.

Good, good.

Ah, Stanislav, even in the old days you outstripped me.

The day you gave the final briefing, you were a captain then, and I merely a

sergeant major. I am a colonel now.

Oh, you have done well, my son.

You will do even better, my father.

It is unfortunate.

Very unfortunate that General Gaspar is dead.

Particularly for him.

It will mean a funeral, of course.

Unless we bring in a taxi dentist and have him stepped.

Colonel Martin, your sense of humor is, to say the least, most odd.

Your English friends, perhaps.

Gaspar's death is unfortunate because it would mean altering the President's

itinerary. He will have to attend the funeral, of course.

Naturally, Gaspar was the true son of France and all that, but it'll be most

inconvenient.

And yes, Colonel, I know.

It is inconvenient for the poor departed Gaspar, too.

Fortunately, the general will be buried in his village cemetery.

And equally fortunately, that is an area easy to secure, so we should be able to

get it all over with the minimum of fuss and rapidly go back to the real

business of government.

The lighting is very pretty.

Either you're not well, or you're both somewhere else.

And somewhere else is where we ought to be.

Practically had to drag me there.

I mean, why should I want to go to a show like that, huh?

I'm a girl. I'm a girl.

I am a girl, and I will not let that fact go unnoticed.

She is a girl.

Indisputably.

All right, Purdy, we've taken a vote on it, and you're quite definitely a girl.

Of course, the vote wasn't necessarily unanimous.

Gay Perry.

Look, there's something bothering you, right? Right. And there's something

bothering you, right?

Right. Then why don't you both bring your bothers out into the open and

them?

General Gaspar.

But what?

I don't know. I'm not sure.

The photograph.

The photograph, right.

The photograph of Gaspar that the assassin was carrying.

That's too new.

Right.

Right.

The target was 30 years old. But the photo was bang up to date. Right.

Right. Which means?

The assassin got it out of some recent file, because... He wanted to kill

Gaspar, even though he was no longer a serving officer.

Right, right.

Right. You've been a great help.

Where has it got you?

Nowhere.

You're still a girl.

I doubt if the security perimeter will extend this far.

But just in case, I will remain here.

Give me a good man to protect my back.

That's my boy.

Well, my son, we are almost at the moment we spoke of so many years ago.

A few hours from now, the world will be a very different place.

It will be our world, our policies, our ideologies.

Always supposing there is still a world left.

Father.

Shoot straight and well.

I will.

Goodbye, my son.

We are restricting the mourner to close relatives only.

Fortunately, General Gaspar left few of those.

So, close relatives in the first car.

The second car carrying representatives from the military and the government.

The third car will carry the president.

I suppose he does have to alight from the car.

It would be unthinkable for him not to lay a wreath. The papers would be onto

right away. The military would take it as an insult. All hell!

Would be let loose. What I'm trying to achieve, Minister, is for no hell to be

let loose.

Not the smallest whiff of women's home.

The cemetery is a difficult place to control.

Easy for someone to hide.

And I want it thoroughly searched one hour before the funeral takes place.

Then held secure.

It will be a small ceremony, not easy to cover.

So the president will only be out of his car for a few seconds.

I insist that you use all your power to persuade the president.

If not, if anything should go wrong, you will share the responsibility.

Well, I... I shall speak to him.

Good.

All right, gentlemen.

Let us pray for a quick burial and no problems.

An air of gloom.

I detected it as soon as I entered.

We Frenchmen are sensitive that way.

An air of failure.

A battle cannot be lost until it has been fought.

Someone once said that.

Sir Everington Steed, a relative of mine, he was a Waterloo.

Well, that sets a precedent.

Waterloo was nice and straightforward.

Musketry, sabres.

An hour off for lunch.

Two hours.

Don't forget you were fighting the French.

Some good has come of it all. They have woken up at last at the ministry, and

they are allowing me to tighten up security.

The president's public engagements have been cut down to a minimum.

Is that where you're going now, a public engagement?

Hence the uniform.

Very chic.

Will it be fun?

Hardly.

General Gaspar's funeral.

Funeral?

The first assassin killed an old general.

A revered old general.

He was bound to be buried in style.

With full military honor.

The president will obviously be there.

That could be cause and effect.

Planned. And set up.

Perfect for set -up.

Ideal for a sniper.

Colonel Martin seems to have everything under control.

I'd say that was a... A grave moment?

Speed.

It's okay. They're okay.

Take three men and look around at the church.

Steed.

Steve, what are you doing here?

I came to pay my respects to the General.

Crest like that?

Come on, Steve.

The real reason.

An idea.

It may not mean anything.

If you have an idea, I'd like to hear it.

Gaspar's death.

It could be a set -up.

Eh? The President is coming here to honour him.

Out into the open.

I have Titan security.

I'm sure you have.

But three extra helping hands?

Be my guest.

I'll get my men to check again.

I'll check the approach roads.

I'll go look in the woods.

I'll check over here.

Steed? I'm on the western perimeter.

Nothing. Nor me.

Eleven o 'clock. One hour to go.

Keep checking.

You, my friend, could shake my arm and spoil my aim.

Gambit? Come in.

It's almost twelve.

I know.

I haven't found a thing.

Nor me.

Listen, everything seems to be all right here. I'm coming over to join you.

I'd be delighted.

Apart from that, it's a good idea.

You'll be on the only high ground for miles.

I'm going to keep patrolling the approach roads.

Okay.

Nothing at all.

I think we misread the whole thing, Gambit.

Maybe.

Five more minutes or so and it'll all be over.

Maybe.

Swan.

Swan.

What time is it?

About twelve.

The exact time?

One minute after.

One minute after?

The church.

Steed! Steed!

The church bell! It didn't chime! It didn't chime!

Oh, Gambit. Come on.

Without a hitch. And dead on time.

Despite that clock.

The clock's long.

Probably an English clockmaker.

Gratitude.

Oh.

And a banquet tonight, hmm?

I shall send a car for you all.

I know a place where grenouille and cailloux are superb.

And the liquor d 'Orléans, magnificent.

See you later.

That's Frog's legs and snails.

Yes, well, it's still the cure.

Firewater and snake venom fits very, very good. There's a dead viper coiled

the bottle.

Mes amis, there's a VIP on his way up to offer decorations upon you all.

Decorations?

Honours. Medals?

I wonder what they'll be.

Croix de guerre.

Les gens d 'honneur.

Les Siberian stars.

The Mongolian medal.

And for you, the little mothers of the earth,

and tractor drivers and heavy industry award.

For France. For us.

For the world.

Full service is rendered.

If MI5 were to hear about these... Oh, well.

Now, a very special Steed Award... To my... To myself...

And to my very dear friend.

Aha.

Merci, mademoiselle.