Opening Narration
Narrator: Introducing four experts in the questionable art of crime. Mr. Farwell, expert on noxious gases, former professor with a doctorate in both chemistry and physics. Mr. Erbie, expert in mechanical engineering. Mr. Brooks, expert in the use of firearms and other weaponry. And Mr. DeCruz, expert in demolition and various forms of destruction. The time is now and the place is a mountain cave in Death Valley, U.S.A. In just a moment, these four men will utilize the services of a truck placed in cosmoline, loading with a hot heist cooled off by a century of sleep, and then take a drive into the Twilight Zone.

Farwell: Piece de resistance now. The real combination. Ultimate ingenuity. It is one thing, gentlemen, to stop a train on its way from Fort Knox to Los Angeles and steal its cargo. It's another thing to stay free to spend it, and spend it we shall.
DeCruz: Yeah, but when?
Farwell: Don't you know, Mr. DeCruz? I would have thought that this aspect of the plan would be particularly key in your mind.
DeCruz: Rip Van Winkle. That's what we are. Four Rip Van Winkles. I'm not sure.
Farwell: What are you not sure of, Mr. DeCruz?
DeCruz: Just lying down in one of these, these glass caskets and getting put to sleep. I like to know what I'm doing.
Farwell: You know what you're doing. I've explained it very precisely to you. All four of us will be placed in a state of suspended animation, and when we wake up, that's when we'll take our gold and enjoy it.
DeCruz: I say everybody takes his cut now and takes his own chances.
Brooks: That's what you say, DeCruz, but that ain't what we agreed on. Now, we agreed we'd stash the gold here and then do whatever Farwell tells us to do. So far he ain't been wrong, not about anything. The train, the gold, the gas he used to put a whole trainload of people asleep - everything! All we had to do was step over a lot of horizontal folks snoring, transfer a fortune like it was cotton candy.
Erbie: Amen to that.
DeCruz: Amen to that, sure, but how about to this? None of you mind being helpless and closed up in these?
Brooks: No, Mr. DeCruz. None of us mind.
DeCruz: How long, Farwell?
Farwell: How long? I don't know exactly. I can only surmise. I would say that, I would say approximately one hundred years from today's date. One hundred years, gentlemen, and we shall walk the earth again, as rich men, however, as extremely rich men.
DeCruz: One hundred years. Just like Rip Van Winkle.

Falwell: Why is it, Mr. DeCruz, that greedy men are the most dreamless, the least imaginative, stupid?

Closing Narration
Narrator: The last of four Rip Van Winkles who all died precisely the way they lived, chasing an idol across the sand to wind up bleached dry in the hot sun as so much desert flotsam, worthless as the gold bullion they built a shrine to. Tonight's lesson...in the Twilight Zone.

When they show a close up of Decruz's shoes in the panel truck, they are polished to a high shine, despite walking through a desert area.