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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.

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