Suspense.
And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure,
William N. Rogerson.
The Sixth Commandment is short and explicit.
Thou shalt not kill.
Yet there are exceptions to the rule regrettably beyond number.
A man who kills is a murderer or a hero depending upon the circumstances.
And circumstances alter cases such as the circumstances of a people's struggle for freedom.
We offer you a neat point of morality to ponder as we present Escape to Death starring Mr.
Francis Lederer.
And now Mr. Francis Lederer in Escape to Death.
A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense.
Outside it's snowing more heavily now.
Covering the streets of Budapest with soft whiteness.
Covering the old uglier snow and ice with their patches of dirty gray and angry red.
So red of the blood of the freedom fighters.
The fools.
A little more brandy, Dr. Golnar.
Thank you.
And tell me doctor, how do you find it treating Russian soldiers?
About the same.
You know the dying scream, the sick ones curse.
The ones who are not so bad make eyes at my nurse.
A man is the same regardless of the uniform.
I feel warm and safe.
Here with me are Laszlo Kogosz, former head of the secret police and now deputy premier
and Marshal Nikolai Chekhov, Russian commander in Hungary.
I must admit I am quite flattered by the attention of these important men.
And that is where you come in, doctor.
Forgive me, I...
What were you saying?
The subject was devotion to duty and country.
Comrade Kogosz was just observing how hard you have worked to preserve Hungary.
Well, after all, commander, I am a doctor.
It is my mission in life to save, not to destroy.
I look at it this way.
In medicine there are quite often times when a cancerous growth must be excised to save
a life.
At the moment Hungary is overrun with a capitalistic malignancy, these idiots have chosen to call
freedom.
Freedom.
Freedom from what?
Themselves or those who have always defended them?
Kogosz, you were right.
Dr. Golnar is the only man for the job.
Job?
What sort of a job?
Well, not that I would question any assignment.
Doctor, you have been selected for an extremely dangerous mission.
You are going to escape to the West.
Escape?
Why, you must be joking.
Hardly a joke, doctor.
Why should I escape?
I am a supporter of the new regime, I am a member of the party.
My wife and my children are here, my career is here, my very life is here in Budapest.
Exactly.
Nevertheless, you will escape to the West and if your mission is successful, return
to us.
Merci.
I don't understand.
Look carefully at the snapshot, doctor.
Do you recognize this woman?
Of course, that is, this is Korina Zanova.
I delivered her child a number of years ago.
Wasn't she minister of something or other in Imre Noj's cabinet?
Indeed she was.
Also, she has escaped us, but we know where she is.
A refugee camp just outside Neustadt in Austria, about 25 kilometers from the border.
And you want me to go after her?
Correct.
You were her doctor.
She has a broken shoulder by the bullet of an idiot who could not shoot straight.
What is more natural than for you to help her?
But how can I?
You will carry a special hypodermic needle that has been dipped in a powerful poison.
Is there anything finer than an injection to soothe the nerves?
Why, this is monstrous.
Korina Zanova must not live to tell her story to the United Nations people.
She is the only one who knows the truth about what has happened in Hungary.
What she has to say is exactly what the West wants to hear, but will not do.
But I'm a doctor, I'm not a secret agent.
You are a secret agent now, doctor.
But there must be others better qualified.
None more so than you.
But what you suggest is murder.
The elimination of an enemy of the state is an act of the highest heroism.
Ideological nonsense.
I can't do it.
I'm a healer, I'm not a destroyer.
You spoke a moment ago of your children, your wife.
Yes, but what do they have to do with...
Say nothing of your career and your life.
All of this can be brought to an abrupt and untimely end.
Why, you wouldn't.
You know better than that.
Of course we would.
Very well.
What must I do?
That's better.
And now for the details.
We have prepared a special pair of shoes.
The right heel contains an NVD identification tag to show in case you are taken by my men.
The left, the poison needles for the hypodermic.
You will also have the Hungarian army password for the next three days.
They should protect you in the event of an arrest.
Well, how will I get across the border?
A train leaves Budapest for Gyor and Soproni at daybreak tomorrow.
You will be on the train.
Look at this photograph.
Study it well.
This is Lajos Molnar.
You must find him the moment you board the train.
He's one of the freedom fighters most daring border runners.
20 miles west of the city the train will be stopped and searched by Russian soldiers.
You must persuade Molnar to hide with you.
Take him to the third coach from the engine, a car reserved for children.
Once there, you will probably be safe.
Is that clear?
I suppose, Commander, but what is the reason for this little game?
Simply this.
Molnar has been over the border a dozen times that we know of.
You will use him to get across safely.
I see.
Is that all?
No.
There is one more thing.
You will earn the party's undying gratitude if you make this Molnar's last trip across
the border.
Well, then you demand two murders.
Dear doctor, not murders.
Two blows for the preservation of Hungary.
Yeah.
Yes, of course.
Well, now, if you will excuse me, I shall try to get some sleep.
By all means, doctor, and pleasant dreams.
There were no pleasant dreams that night.
There was no sleep.
There was no alternative.
No escape.
Before dawn, they came for me, took me to the secret police headquarters and gave me
the shoes.
Then they turned me loose with a group of political prisoners.
At the west station I board a creaking train and wait and wait.
They'll finally let lumbars out through the yards.
Now begins the race with time.
Desperately I push through the cars, through corridors, and the standing people.
Excuse me, please.
Oh, forgive me.
I must get through here.
Thank you.
Do you mind, miss?
Where is this fool?
I push, I shove, I twist, and turn for an endless crush of packed humanity.
A click of wheels singing their song of urgency.
The wind down.
We are stuck here.
We are stopping.
My twenty miles are gone.
The Russian guard will come aboard in a minute.
And then, the last, I see the man I must contact.
Lyoshmolna.
No wonder I had not found him.
He was headed the same direction as I.
Moving forward.
Amulna.
We are going the right way.
Amulna.
We are enormous.
We are gigantic.
This was about this great zamy government.
Slheavy anger about it, they just say.
Slavy anger about it.
Now.
Slavy anger about it.
It's less than this.
It's less that, this is chaos.
I have to stay away from being chased or escaped by properly positioned soldiers.
We are going the right way, but hurry.
Uh.
You said something.
Don't stop now, move.
The Russians are aborting to rear.
It is their custom.
We must reach the coach for the children.
Bush.
You shoot, you first.
Your arms?
Of course.
Now listen to me.
They are looking for one man, Lyos Molna.
Are you trying to die?
Come, we have one chance.
You hide.
See, down the aisle there, behind the knot of youngsters.
Hurry!
What are you doing?
You can't stay here.
How old are you, sonny?
Eight.
Do you understand about the Russian soldiers and those who fight them?
They killed my father.
I hit them all.
Good.
We will hide you soon.
Now you will sit on my chest.
Easy.
And this lad, sit across this bed.
Hello.
What will we do if they spot us?
Shoot I, and then next you're about.
That will keep the fire over the children's head.
Then we must leave the coach and fight them the best of you.
Sonny.
Yes, sir?
If they see us, you boys dive at their feet and stay down.
Is this clear?
I will not stand for heroics.
Yes, sir.
Now the long minutes drag into individual lifetimes.
Shikov and his MVDs, seem like worthless.
If they come one night, we'll shoot.
The pressing weight grows heavy on my chest as the time drags by.
Now the children suddenly grow quiet.
We know they are here.
You there!
Have you seen a big man with black hair and a bronze suit?
We know he came this way.
There may have been another with him.
Speak up!
I know!
I know where they are.
They're sitting on my chest.
I know! I know where they are.
They are hiding.
All right, speak. Where?
They have gone through to the engine. Two of them.
We saw them when they passed.
Good. Is that coming in? Let's go.
This was not the time to breathe freely. Not yet.
This was the time to wait with your heart in your throat.
And then at last comes the sound we are praying for.
Death is over.
The train is moving again.
All right, get out.
You must wear a thong.
Here, this is for you.
Give her some and then spread it around so all will have a bite.
Chocolate?
Where in the world, Colin? Where else?
The one who is in the open one needs energy, especially running the border.
You plan to cross again?
Perhaps. Come.
So I had enlisted the aid of the finest blockade runner in Hungary.
We weave our way through the children to the exit.
Then abruptly, Monas stops.
He turns.
Driving the barrel is automatic into my stomach.
Now, my friend.
What? What are you doing?
Men have tried to pull this one on me before.
He arranged to save my life and learn how and where I operate.
But never let it be said I was too hasty.
I will give you just 30 seconds to explain how you knew my name
and how you knew the Russians would board this train today.
In a moment, we continue with...
Suspense.
This is Johnny Baker with Communism on the Spot.
One of the great things about our democracy is that anyone can disagree
with what's being done by the government in Washington.
Not only that, but the government itself will protect the individual's right to have his say.
If enough people see eye to eye, they can vote the leaders out of office.
This is not possible under the Soviets' one-party system,
where only one approved slate of candidates is offered the voter.
The people, therefore, have no way of publicly expressing their disapproval of governmental policies
or the conduct of high officials.
The only way Soviet politicians are put out of office is through the purge,
their removal by blacklisting, transfer, or physical liquidation.
And now...
we continue with Escape to Death, starring Mr. Francis Lettere,
a tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Is he bluffing, this huge man who has a reputation as the best blockade runner in Hungary?
What does he mean to press the trigger of the heavy automatic he has shoved into my middle?
Your time is almost up, my friend. Speak quickly.
If you must kill me, you must, I suppose.
Perhaps in your place I might be the same.
All right, all right. Say your piece.
I should not from pleasure, but necessity.
I'm a doctor, Franz Gelnab.
Some time ago I made the mistake of criticizing our emasculated premier in public.
I was arrested and held for a month.
This very morning I was released.
What has that to do with your knowing my name and that I would be on this train today?
Well, last night many patriots were executed.
I was marched out with a Russian firing squad, but, well, for some reason they did not shoot me.
On the way back two of the men were joking about how pleasant it would be when they could do that to Lajos Molnar.
The other replied he would like to see your face when the westbound morning train was stopped.
I see. Now the next question.
How did you know what I looked like?
Well, doctor.
To be frank, I do not function well with the gun pressing against my lower abdomen.
Thank you.
As for the question, it is impossible to answer to your satisfaction.
I had only a vague idea of your appearance.
When I saw someone about right, I spoke to him.
You were the only one who did not give me a blank stare.
To be truthful, I'm still not sure.
Are you the much-hated Molnar?
A bit of chocolate, doctor.
We traveled by rail only as far as Djer.
From there we board transport to Ciorna, where Molnar obtained a car of ancient vintage.
Now the early darkness has descended on us.
The bitter wind brings with it a light snowfall that makes it hard to see the road ahead.
The old cars dim lights.
How do you feel?
Not badly. Except for my feet. They are freezing.
Are you sure you understand about this crossing?
I think so, but we had better go over it again.
We leave the car at the edge of the woods, a few miles from Borsach.
The forest extends into the Austrian border.
Once there, you will surrender yourself to the Austrian border guards.
They will take you to the town of Rechnitz.
When you have identified yourself, they will ship you off the line to a big camp outside Neustadt.
Then you are not going with me?
Not for long.
The Austrians and I have a working agreement.
When I do not bring much, I do not stay long.
But such a risk, is it worth what you make?
I do not like that remark, Doctor.
There is no profit.
But I take across his information.
For the world. For Hungary.
Time goes swiftly now.
Eyes burn from straining to see Russian vehicles.
Twice we turn off across country, driving without lights.
To avoid uncoming Soviet trucks.
Then we reach the wooded sector.
We check our guns, leave the car.
And begin the long nerve-racking walk to the border.
Hold it.
Keep down.
Hear that?
Russians?
No, more tourists.
Why can't they not be quiet?
There they go.
Look at that woman running.
Stop!
I will shoot you!
Hurry, go this way.
While they are busy.
It is a nightmare.
Running this way, went over.
Makes me realize my age.
Suddenly a foot catches me in the back and go down my face against the hard ice.
And roll over, gun ready.
Molonized down on one knee facing away from me.
Then I realize what had made him so fat.
It wasn't all coat.
There are two of them in Russian uniform.
He gets both before they can fire.
And we are begin running.
At last he grabs him by the arm.
See that open space?
On the other side is Austria.
With the border guards.
Where are they?
Not far.
They will have you before you go another quarter mile.
Wait here while I hide my spray gun.
Instead of waiting where he said, I creep up behind him.
When he kneels beside a foreign tree to hide the Sten gun, I do it.
It is easy.
Too easy.
This first murder.
I'm running in zigzag pattern across the open snow in Austria.
I don't get far before too many foreign uniforms step out from behind the trees.
Halt!
Do you speak German?
Yes, of course.
Good, come with me.
The guards lead me over a trampled path in the snow to a long low shack.
Full of tourists.
One or two of them are near hysteria.
And all of their faces show the reaction of overexposure.
Some sit shivering alone.
Most huddle before the curved iron stove and try to drive their sopping feet.
There are two men however who sit to one side and watch the arrivals.
After a moment one of them gets up and comes over to me.
I recognize him for what he is and...
I become acutely conscious of the MVD symbol in my right heel.
Your name, sir?
Dr. Franz Gellner, recently of Pest.
Doctor, huh?
You'll be a welcome addition.
Are you asking political asylum?
Yes, I...
I'm asking political asylum.
All right, doctor, we'll try to rush you through.
I'll go and see if I can't scare up a medicine kit for you.
There are a number of cases that need help.
Excellent, I will be only too glad to help.
Just a moment, doctor.
Your right shoe.
I look down and my heart stops.
The trick heel, the one with the Russian secret police identification in it, has come loose.
Now it is slit halfway off the heavy walking boot,
its thickness protruding beyond the back of the shoe on its grooved track.
A man could break his neck with a heel like that.
Here, let me get my gun.
I'll tap it back in place.
There, all fixed.
Isn't that better?
Yes, much better.
The worst is over.
All that remains is to be patient until I can be moved up the highway to Neustadt.
They find a medical kit for me and I become the angel of mercy again,
preparing, mending, curing,
but thinking only of my plans for Korina Zanova.
Finally the day arrives.
All right, all right.
This is the relocation center at Neustadt.
All families remain together.
A single woman on the left, please.
Excuse me, are you the Hungarian doctor they said would be with this group?
Yes, Dr. Franz Gurner, at your service.
You can't know how glad we are to see you.
Come with me, please.
Thank you.
You may not realize this, doctor, but you have a number of friends here,
people you have treated at some time or other.
Yours must have been a very large practice.
Oh, fair size, I suppose.
Of course, obstetrics was my specialty, understand?
I imagine I do know quite a number of women here.
It's you, doctor.
Incidentally, I don't suppose it happened across a woman named Korina Zanova, have you?
Both she and her child, let's see, I, oh yes, Aya was her name.
There were patients of mine.
Are they here?
Oh, now isn't that a shame.
I think they have just gone.
The Americans are flying them to New York either today or tomorrow.
I will be glad to check for you.
Meanwhile, please make yourself at home here in my quarters.
Go in, wash up while I see about Korina Zanova.
I go into the washroom but not to wash up.
I flip off the heel of my left shoe, take out the poison needle,
and attach it to a hypodermic from the medicine kit.
I pace the colonel's quarters, waiting, waiting.
It is too late for the plan to fail.
She must still be here.
She has to be.
Well, doctor, you are in luck.
Korina Zanova has not yet left.
She is over in the clinic this moment.
She was quite pleased to hear you had escaped.
We go quickly across the compound to a large building
and in through a crowded entryway.
Finally, we reach an inner room.
There we are.
Just see Austrian Colonel, myself, and Korina Zanova.
Doctor, doctor, how very nice.
Almost seven years since little Aya.
You should see her.
She is here somewhere.
She still remembers you well.
You too, very excuse me.
Don't keep her too long, doctor.
The plane leaves in an hour.
No, of course not.
Now the final moment has arrived.
And I am nervous for the first time.
The long hunt is over.
I put a bag down.
I open it, trying to keep my fingers from trembling
as I remove the deadly needle.
Well, doctor, is it not a blessing for us being here
away from the twisted minds and the bored thinking at home?
Oh, yes.
Yes, indeed.
Tell me, Korina, how has that shoulder been treating you?
About like any broken shoulder, I guess.
To you as my doctor, I admit, it does hurt, especially at night.
I had thought so.
Well, roll up your sleeve.
I'll give you a little shot.
A new tranquilizing drug to make you feel better on the plane.
All right, doctor.
Thank you.
Mommy, mommy, I have...
Oh, there he is, doctor, doctor.
I have found him.
Do you not know never to touch anyone when they have a needle in their hand?
Now you have made the doctor stab himself.
Oh, I'm sorry, mommy.
Will it hurt?
Mommy, he looks so funny.
What is it, doctor?
What's the matter?
Uh...
Doctor!
Suspense.
In which Mr. Francis Lettere starred in William M. Robeson's production of
Escape to Death by E. Scott Floor.
Listen.
Listen again next week when we bring you another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Supporting Mr. Lettere in Escape to Death were Norma Jean Nilsen, Margie List,
Charles Rodolick, Jack Crouchon, Dick Beals, Fritz Feld, Paul Dubov, and Ted D'Courcier.
Suspense.