Diamonds Are Forever
Where is he?
I shan't ask you politely next time.
Where is Blofeld?
Where can I find him?
Who are you?
My name is Bond. James Bond.
Is there something I can do for you?
Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.
There is something I'd like you|to get off your chest.
Where is Ernst Stavro Blofeld?
Speak up, darling. I can't hear you.
We now come to phase four: the nose.
In my opinion, the most difficult part|of a plastic transformation.
I want the operation done tonight.
- But, señor...|- There's no time left.
But, Señor Blofeld,|this is a most delicate procedure.
Keep the temperature|at precisely 80 degrees.
Making mud pies, 007?
He would have been me|in a matter of days
if you'd given the poor fellow a chance.
Such a pity. I was dying to see|how the operation turned out.
Get his gun.
Hold it! Get your hands up.
Welcome to hell, Blofeld.
Star of South Africa.
83.5 carats rough.
47.5 carats cut.
The Akbar Shah. 1 16 carats rough.
Are you paying attention, 007?
The Akbar Shah, 1 16 carats rough.
But surely, sir, there's no need|to bring in our section
on a relatively simple smuggling matter.
Sir Donald has convinced the PM|otherwise.
May I remind you, 007,|that Blofeld's dead.
The least we can expect from you now|is a little plain, solid work.
Good morning, gentlemen.
- Sir Donald will see you now.|- Thank you.
Good morning, Sir Donald.
- This is Commander Bond.|- How do you do? Please sit down.
- Sherry?|- Not for me, thanks. Doctor's orders.
- Commander Bond?|- Yes, thank you.
You've been on holiday, I understand.
Relaxing, I hope.
Hardly relaxing but... most satisfying.
Pity about your liver, sir.|It's an unusually fine Solera.
- '51 , I believe.|- There is no year for sherry, 007.
I was referring to the original vintage|on which the sherry is based, sir.
Tell me, Commander.
How far does your expertise extend|into the field of diamonds?
Hardest substance found in nature.|They cut glass. Suggest marriage.
They've replaced a dog|as a girl's best friend. That's about it.
Refreshing to hear there's one subject|you're not an expert on.
Perhaps I'd better give you|a brief background into our problem.
Eighty per cent of the world's diamonds|come from mines in South Africa.
Most are dug out ofshafts|of diamond-bearing clay
at depths ofup to 3,000 feet.
The whole process, from start to finish,|is subject to an airtight security system.
It's an essential precaution,
though the industry prides itselfon|the loyalty and devotion ofits workers.
Naturally the security measures|tend to ensure that loyalty,
as do the extensive amenities|and social services we provide.
There's a permanent staff|of doctors, nurses,
The whole process, from start to finish,|is subject to an airtight security system.
It's a necessary precaution,
though the industry prides itselfon|the loyalty and devotion ofits workers.
Mother nature's finest killer, Mr Wint.
One is never too old|to learn from a master, Mr Kidd.
Dr Tynan? Good evening.
Who are you? And where is Joe?
Joe couldn't make it tonight.
I'm Mr Wint.
This is Mr Kidd.
What's the matter with him?
It's my wisdom teeth.|I haven't had 'em out yet.
Would you mind having a look, Doctor?
I'm not going to hurt you. Just open.
No, no. Open wide.
how everyone who touches|those diamonds seems to... die.
- Stop right there! Who are you?|- Dr Tynan sent us.
- Why didn't he come himself?|- He was taken sick.
Bitten by the bug.
He sent this for you.
If God had wanted man to fly...
He would have given him wings, Mr Kidd.
No security system is perfect.
We've always accepted|a percentage of smuggling.
But over the past two years, despite all|our precautions, it's gone up alarmingly.
And none of the stones|have reached the market.
Sir Donald thinks someone's stockpiling.
Our concern is that someone might dump|them on the market to depress prices or...
Make you agree to perpetual blackmail.
What we need to know is
who the stockpilers are.
The letter U
is for umbrella.
We take it lest it rain.
We hope we shan't want it
till we're home again.
Two men to see you, missy.
I shan't be long, children.|Joshua is going to read you a story.
How nice to see you again!
- Where to this time?|- Amsterdam.
Amsterdam! Oh, how lovely!
I shall have to bring back some pictures|of the canals for the children.
Ask, and ye shall receive, Mrs Whistler.
Thus endeth the lesson|for today, gentlemen.
Several recent murders in South Africa|have complicated matters.
If they shut down operations|before we discover them...
It would be catastrophic for us
and for the government.
- I've always fancied a trip to South Africa.|- You're going to Holland.
For some time we've had our eyes|on a smuggler - Peter Franks.
He's due to leave for Amsterdam.
Do we know who his contacts are?
We do function|in your absence, Commander.
Mr Franks. There's a message|for you at Passport Control.
That door over there.|You can park outside.
Your passport is quite in order.
Anyone seeing you|in that outfit, Moneypenny,
would certainly be discouraged|from leaving the country.
What can I bring you back from Holland?
In a ring?
Would you settle for a tulip?
Ahead is one of|the oldest bridges in Amsterdam.
The Skinny Bridge.
It was built over 300 years ago
by two sisters who wanted|to visit each other every day.
Unfortunately they ran out of money. So|that is why it is called the Skinny Bridge.
On your right,|those beautiful old houses
can be seen in the paintings|of our famous painter, Rembrandt.
And now, ladies and gentlemen,
if you will look to your left|as we go down the Amstel, you can see...
Mrs Whistler did want some pictures|of the canals for the children.
How kind of you, Mr Kidd.
The children will be so thrilled.
Franks. Peter Franks.
Come up. Third floor.
Make yourself at home!|I'll be out in a minute!
Help yourself to a drink!
Is Mr Case not at home?
There is no Mr Case. The T is for Tiffany.
I was born there, on the first floor,
while my mother was|looking for a wedding ring.
I'm glad for your sake|it wasn't Van Cleef and Arpels.
Weren't you a blonde when I came in?
I tend to notice little things like that.|Whether a girl is a blonde or a brunette.
And which do you prefer?
Providing the collars and cuffs match...
We'll talk about that later.
Let me have your glass.
I'll get you some ice.
That's quite a nice little nothing|you're almost wearing. I approve.
I don't dress for the hired help.
Let's see your passport, Franks.
Occupation: transport consultant?
That's a little cute, isn't it?
- I'll finish dressing.|- Please don't. Not on my account.
I don't care much for redheads.|Terrible tempers.
But somehow it seems to suit you.
It's my own.
But it is in need of some soft lighting.
- I know a little restaurant...|- I never mix business with pleasure.
- Neither do l.|- Good!
Then save the cute remarks until after|you get the diamonds into Los Angeles.
- Where are they now?|- That's not your problem.
Your problem is getting them in.
- How much is there?|- 50,000 carats.
At 142 carats an ounce, that's|an awful lot of ice. That won't be easy.
That's why you're being paid 50 grand.
What did you think it was going to be?|A pair of earrings?
And, Franks, for God's sakes,|come up with something original.
I've got to hand it to you, Q.|Quite ingenious.
An obvious little notion.|Thought it might come in handy.
M's been trying to get in touch with you.|That Peter Franks fellow's escaped.
Killed one ofthe guards|on the way up to London.
Are you there?
- Yes?|- Peter Franks.
- Guten Abend.|- Good evening.
- You are English?|- Yes, I'm English.
I speak English.
- Who is... your floor?|- Three, please.
Is he dead?
I sincerely hope so.
- Who is he?|- No idea.
This chap's been following me|all day today.
You've just killed James Bond!
Is that who it was?
It just proves no one's indestructible.
You don't kill James Bond and|wait around for the cops to arrive!
We've got to get those diamonds|out of here fast!
Where are they?
A little old lady dropped them by|yesterday morning.
I think we ought to let Mr Bond|carry the load from here on out.
All the things one wanted to say|to one's brother... when it's all too late.
Let me assure you|of our deepest condolences.
Would you please board the aircraft?
- We were inseparable, you know.|- Please, Mr Franks.
Lufthansa announce the departure|of flight LH450 to Los Angeles.
Please fasten your seat belts,|and no smoking until airborne.
They're both aboard. I must say,|Miss Case seems quite attractive.
For a lady.
Lufthansa announce the arrival|of flight LH450 from Amsterdam...
- Mr Franks?|- Yes.
Follow me to Customs, please.
Peter Franks, Jerry.
Get some lunch, Jerry. I'll take over.
Death certificate, please, Mr Franks.
Well, well, well!|Felix Leiter, you old fraud.
On behalf of the CIA,|welcome to America.
Someone sent their brain trust|down to meet you.
I give up. I know|the diamonds are in the body,
Alimentary, Dr Leiter.
So long, James. Keep in touch.
The rest of your luggage|has been cleared, Mr Franks. OK, fellas!
You wanna sit in the front, Mr Franks?
It's a lot smoother ride|in the front, Mr Franks.
Yes, I believe I'll sit in front.
The stiff - deceased back there.
Your brother, Mr Franks?
Yes, it was.
I got a brudder.
Mr Franks, I'm Morton Slumber.
Please accept my heartfelt condolences|at this most difficult hour.
He is heading|for a better world, Mr Slumber.
There is some consolation in that.
Now then, if we're ready|to begin the final journey...
May his soul rest in peace.
Oh, yes. Amen.
If you'd come into my comfortable office,|we will bring you the urn.
I'm so happy you chose our half-couch,|hinged-panel, slumber-on casket.
I'm sure your brother|would have appreciated it.
I'm sure he did.
Please, be seated.
Ashes to ashes...
- Dust to dust.|- Exactly.
At a moment like this, I'm sure|you'd rather be left alone, for reflection.
We've selected a private niche for your|brother in our Garden of Remembrance.
The one with the restful chartreuse|curtains and Angel's Breath gold trim.
I hope you'll find everything in order.
The arrangements|have been impeccable
Heart-warming, Mr Wint.
A glowing tribute, Mr Kidd.
You dirty, double-crossin' limey fink!|Those goddamn diamonds are phonies!
No, don't tell me. You're St Peter?
Paste! Glass!|Where's the real stuff, Franks?
Where's the real money? You wouldn't|burn 50,000 real dollars, would you?
One last break.|Where are the real diamonds?
You get me the real money
and I'll bring you the real diamonds.
Where do you think you're goin'?
I hear that the Hotel Tropicana|is quite comfortable.
My condolences, gentlemen.
Very comfortable.|But there's one problem.
I want the real merchandise -|rather quickly.
Q hasjust arrived with it.|We'll be up with them in the morning.
So I'd sit tight ifl were you.|There's no sense in looking for trouble.
Just enjoy yourself, James.|I'm sure you know how.
Quite. I'll probably take in a show.
How do you like me so far?
People say I have|the body of Rock Hudson.
If he ever finds out what I'm doin' to it,|he'll be madder than hell.
I call these girls my Acorns.
Actually, they're a gift from Willard Whyte,|who is upstairs right now
playing Monopoly with real buildings.
Tryin' to find Willard Whyte is like|tryin' to find a virgin in a maternity ward.
On behalf of the Whyte House,|I wanna let you folks know
you've been a lousy audience.
So get lost. See ya later.
- Shady, we just adored your act!|- What taste, style!
And we have a few suggestions.
Critics and material I don't need!|I haven't changed my act in 40 years.
Hold it! Don't go in there.
We didn't get the real diamonds,|so we need Tree - alive.
That's most annoying.
- Get down there!|- Crap. Boxcar, the loser.
That's it, pussycat.|I shot the whole wad.
What do you say? Back to my place?
You're a nice person, Maxie.|Really, you are.
Why don't you go and take a nap?|And I'll see you next year.
May I have $5,000? No, make it $10,000.
Is there some problem?
Gentleman wants $10,000 credit|with a $2,000 limit.
My name is Franks.
Mr Franks' credit's good.
- Good luck to you, Mr Franks.|- Thank you. I'll have two stacks now.
Give the gentleman 4,000.
Hi! I'm Plenty.
- But of course you are.|- Plenty O'Toole.
Named after your father, perhaps?
Would you like some help?|On the craps, I mean.
That's very kind of you.
Coming out. Coming out.
Next shooter is a lady.|Ladies are lucky. For the lady.
Nine. Mark nine.
Seven, loser. The lucky lady craps out.
New shooter. Your shot, Mr F.
- Willard Whyte speakin'.|- Tree is dead. Turn on number two.
It's Peter Franks.
Hard ten. Ten's the number.
I'll take the full odds on the ten.|200 on the hard way.
The limit on all the numbers,|250 on the eleven. Thank you very much.
Say! You've played this game before!
- Now what do we do?|- Don't bother me with details, Bert!
Just get me the diamonds!
You handle those cubes|like a monkey handles coconuts.
Thank you, gentlemen,|for such a sterling service.
That's 50,000 dollars!
Minus $5,000 for you... Ieaves me|$45,000, and thank you very much.
It was nothing, really!
You know something, Peter Franks?|You're a terrific guy!
A little weird, but a terrific guy!
Why don't we go someplace|and have a drink?
If you'd like to come in, Plenty.
How pretty!|What a super place you have!
Just give me one second, lover.
I'm afraid you've caught me|with more than my hands up.
What the hell is this?!|A perverts' convention or something?!
You can't do this to me!
Stop that! I've got friends in this town!
Exceptionally fine shot.
I didn't know there was|a pool down there.
Let's get down to business.|I presume you've come for the real...
The real diamonds.
Good evening, Miss Case.
Sorry about your fulsome friend.
I'll bet you really missed something.
The evening may not be|a total loss after all.
Why don't we talk a bit first?
What would you like to talk about?
You pick a subject.
- Diamonds?|- Good boy!
And you want to know where they are,|and whether I'm working alone or not.
So far, so good. Keep going.
And if not, then with whom.
So you can inform your superiors and...
acquire the diamonds.
I'm very impressed.
There's a lot more to you|than I had expected.
Presumably I'm the condemned man,
and obviously you're the hearty breakfast.
You're not going to tell me|where the diamonds are, are you?
Sooner or later you'll have to talk.
They'll make you.
At the very least, you'll never|get out of town alive.
I can solve that little problem.
It's lucky for me that I ran into you.
You get the diamonds, I get us out.
I can't very well help you|and then stick around.
We could be on a plane and|out of the country by tomorrow night.
Rio... Hong Kong...
I know a good tailor in Hong Kong.
All right. I'll get the diamonds,|you get the plane tickets.
No. The airport's too obvious.
A rented car should|do us fine for openers.
That's good thinking.
And since you're the one being watched,|I'll get the diamonds, you get the car.
That's very good thinking.
I have a feeling this is the beginning|of a wonderful relationship.
Where do I pick up the diamonds?
When was the last time|you visited a circus?
Circus Circus proudly presents
the Flying Palacios!
- She's in the building.|- Right. Stand by.
James, next time, pick a contact point|when you're standing up.
- Felix, if she gives your men the slip...|- Relax. I have 30 agents down there.
A mouse with sneakers on|couldn't get through.
Give Maxwell his cue.
This is Quarterback.
Operation Passover, commence.
Quarterback to Tight End.
Operation Passover, commence.
She's on her way. So far, so good.
- Good luck, Felix. I'll see you later.|- Where are you going?
The car rental agency.
Our little rendezvous?
You don't actually think she'll show up?|That's a thousand-to-one shot.
No, more like even money.
Her devotion to larceny|versus my... incomparable charm.
All right, kiddies!|Ready? Aim! Fire!
What did I tell you?|Didn't I promise you a winner every time?
There you are, young man.
Boys and girls, here we go again.|All you have to do is just take your gun...
Here we have a little lady,|here we have a little man,
and here we have a big lady.
You're a little out of your league,|aren't ya, sister?
Point the gun. You know what to do.
All ready? Get set.
Now hold it till I say go.
Come on! That's it!
Everybody point right at the clown.|A winner every time!
There we are! All right!|That's the way to do it!
Look at that!|And we have another winner!
Annie Oakley on the end!
Here we are. What an eye! What an eye!
Wait a second!|I saw the whole thing!
The machine's fixed!|Who's she - your mother?
Blow up your pants!
One win! She only had one win!
You're supposed to have 24|to win that dog!
Will you give it a rest, kid?
All right, boys and girls! Here we go!
Here for the first time, see Zambora,|strangest girl ever born to live.
She was captured|near Nairobi, south Africa,
and is believed to be part ofa cruel,|inhuman experiment.
This beautiful girl|will be locked into a steel cage,
will change very slowly|into a ferocious 450-pound gorilla.
Please be very still, ladies and gentlemen.
We must have absolute silence
so we wouldn't disturb Zambora|from her transcendental state.
We must warn you that|in every scientific experiment
there's always a danger.
So keep in mind those curtains is an exit.
God forbid something should go wrong|over here, get outta here!
Now we start the transformation.
Very dangerous. Very quiet, please.
Wake, my beauty, wake!
Hey, lady, not through there.|The other way.
- No show?|- Felix, don't tell me you lost her?
We lost her.
Nice place you have here.
Take something off. Enjoy the sun.
You've got a lot of guts showing up here!
Letting me freeze my behind off|at a blackjack table for two hours
waiting for some nonexistent diamonds!
And what the hell|is my black wig doing in the pool?!
- She's...|- Dead.
Supposed to be you.|The next link in the pipeline.
What are you talking about?
Poor Plenty must have|stumbled in here looking for you.
I don't believe you.
A dentist is dead in South Africa.|That little old lady in Amsterdam.
Shady got his last night.|They've missed me once.
And you're next.
- Now, who's your connection?|- You sound like a cop...
- Who's your connection?|- All I know is voices on a phone.
They got me this place and told me|to wait for further instructions.
You'd find it difficult to hear under water.
- Now, where's the stuff?|- Who are you?
You're not a cop|and you're not Peter Franks.
You're not the type to turn|the other cheek. Where is it?
Eastern Airlines announce the arrival|of flight 112 from Los Angeles,
Fill it up, please.
It's Bert Saxby.
Willard Whyte's right-hand man.
Do you see the top? The penthouse?
They say Willard Whyte hasn't|set foot out of there in three years.
And no one has seen him - no one.
- How much is that?|- Did you pay for this?
Cut him off.
Hey, Curly! What about my stamps?
Where are you going?|Are you mad? Let me by!
Stamps? You ain't got no gas yet!
- OK, so shove a coupla gallons in!|- Well, back it up.
Keep leaning on that tooter, Charlie,|and you'll get a shot in the mouth!
Come on, lady, move it!
OK, lady, you win, you win.
- Will someone move that car?!|- Do what he says!
Hey! I wanted high-test!
Forget it, Curly!|You had your chance and you blew it!
- Hello.|- Hi.
- I haven't seen you here before.|- I'm Klaus Hergersheimer.
- New here?|- I've been here three years. G Section.
How are things in G Section?
Still the same old grind. You know.
Checking radiation shields|for replacement.
By the way, where's yours?
I've been waiting a couple of days|for you guys to deliver them.
Gee, I'm sorry. You should have|given us a phone call.
Look, I've got one here.|Lucky for you, I carry spares.
You keep that on. You can't be|too careful about radiation.
Absolutely. I feel much safer with this on.
See you around.
Who are you? What do you want?
Klaus Hergersheimer. G Section.
Just... checking on radiation shields.
Now let me see. You are...?
Professor Dr Metz. Our shields are fine!
Now get out!
I'm sorry. It won't take a moment but
I must verify.
Metz. How do you spell it?
M-E... Will you please leave,|you irritating man?
Doctor, there's no reason|to run down the little people.
G Section may not be as important|to the operation as you are,
but we do have our orders.
Dr Metz... Willard Whyte for you.
Right. Out, out.
Yes, it's finally here.
Quite enough for completion.
We'll be through shortly.
No. No problems at all.
- Now will you get out of here?!|- Certainly, Doctor.
I've seen everything I need to see.
Thank you very much.
Hi. Sorry to bother you.|I'm Klaus Hergersheimer.
Checking radiation shields?
There he is! Behind the rock! Come on!
What is this? Amateur night?
Stop him, Harry!
Get him offthat machine. That isn't a toy.
Get out ofthat moon buggy!
It's gone berserk!
Hey, what do you think you're doin'?!
- What happened? The diamonds...|- Get in the car!
If you see a mad professor|in a minibus, just smile!
Fred, get the sheriff's office.
Drop me off at the next corner.|This is getting out of hand.
When you start stealing moon machines|from Willard Whyte,
goodbye and good luck!
Just relax. I have a friend named Felix|who can fix anything.
Is he married?
There goes that|son-of-a-bitchin' saboteur!
Relax! You've got a friend|named Felix who can fix anything.
Unfortunately, so can Willard Whyte.
Why, you dirty...
Come in, Larry. Larry?
Did you get him, Larry?
I think Larry got him.
- Sheriff...|- Attaboy, Larry.
Come in. Larry?
I got you now.
Why are we suddenly staying|in the bridal suite of the Whyte House?
In order to form|a more perfect union, sweetheart.
May I finally call you James?
What's going to happen to me?
You did talk to|your friend Felix about me?
What did he say?
Something about 20 years to life.|Nothing important.
- 20 years to life?!|- Relax, darling.
I'm on top of the situation.
Mr and Mrs Jones?
Yes, that's the name|on the register, Mr Leiter.
- What's the score with WW?|- Washington says no go.
- We sit still for now.|- Sit still?
And Miss Tiffany Case "Jones" has|a lifetime reservation at another hotel.
The kind the government... runs.
I'm cooperating, Mr Leiter.
Really I am.
I can vouch for that.
Felix, this is not the real White House,|and he's not the president.
- Why don't we go and see him?|- The president I can get you in to see.
But until Washington believes|Whyte's a thief, that's the way it is.
In the meantime, I'm sure|you and "Mrs Jones"
can find some way to amuse yourselves.
And just to make sure you're not|disturbed, I have a man upstairs.
And Hamilton... is right out here.
So long, James.
- Well, that's a switch!|- What's that?
The wolf being guarded|by the three little pigs.
I won't be long, darling.
Where are you going?
I'm just popping upstairs for a moment.
- Sixteenth floor?|- No, lady. Starlight Lounge only.
OK, folks. Stand clear|of the doors. Here we go.
Starlight Lounge to the left.|Express to street level only, folks.
OK. Stand clear of the doors. Here we go.
Howdy, son. We've been expectin' you.
You got anypersonal business|to take care ofin there,
you go right ahead.
First, I suspect you're wearin' a hog leg.
Would you mind standin' up|and takin' it off?
Isn't that nice?
You are a pleasant fella.
Why don't youjust come on in, son?
Relax. Make yourselfcomfortable.
That's good. Right on over there.
Good evening, Mr Bond.
Good evening, 007.
Double jeopardy, Mr Bond.
You killed my only other double,|I'm afraid.
After his death, volunteers were|- understandably - rather scarce.
Such a pity. All that time and expense
simply to provide you|with one mock-heroic moment.
Willard Whyte speakin'.
Yes, Governor. I got your message.
No, I'm afraid a personal appearance|is quite out of the question.
I'll send a deposition to the committee.
Thank you, Governor.
Well, that's a neat trick.
A voice box, Mr Bond.
Science was never my strong suit,
but the principle is easy enough.
Someone's voice patterns and resonance
stored in a small oral-signature tape.
And a miniature, transistorised version|is installed in his neck.
Or is it his neck? I never can remember.
Anyway, no matter. We both sound alike.
My congratulations to you both.
Nice little company.
Explosives, oil, electronics,|houses, aviation.
I've done rather well with it, too.
Tried to cut some of the fat off,|but Mr Whyte's a splendid administrator.
Damn thing runs itself.
I suppose you killed him.
Nothing so melodramatic.
I'm simply holding him|in cold storage, so to speak.
An insurance policy against any|outside interference with my plans.
The ideal kidnap victim.|No one's seen the man for five years.
Who'd miss someone|who's already missing?
How clever you are, Mr Bond.
Nice to see you haven't lost|that fine mental edge, 007.
Please don't get any foolish notions.
That missile is not a practical weapon.
Well, it's hardly worth the effort.
After all, I wouldn't know|which one of you to kill.
We appreciate|your predicament, Mr Bond.
We deeply sympathise.
Right idea, Mr Bond.
But wrong pussy.
I do so enjoy our little visits, Mr Bond.
However potentially painful they may be.
But I'm afraid this one|has come to an end.
What do you intend to do|with those diamonds?
An excellent question.
And one which will be hanging|on the lips of the world quite soon.
If I were to break the news to anyone,
it would be to you first. You know that.
But it's late, I'm tired,
and there's so much left to do.
Good night, Mr Bond.
Well, go on, go on. It's merely a lift.
Or perhaps I should say "elevator".
In any event, I'm sure|you'll find it much more convenient
than mountaineering about|outside the Whyte House.
You press L, Mr Bond.
The word "lobby" begins with L.
If at first you don't succeed, Mr Kidd...
Try, try again, Mr Wint.
One of us smells like|a tart's handkerchief.
I'm afraid it's me.|Sorry about that, old boy.
I don't mind the cockamamie machine|breaking down twice a day.
But why the hell does it always have to be|500 yards away from the nearest hatch?
All right, Charlie.|It's your turn to play hunchback.
Thank you very much.
I was just out walking my rat|and I seem to have lost my way.
Willard Whyte speakin'.
This is Bert.
We got a problem.
What's wrong with your voice?|Got a cold?
Never mind about that.
I just saw James Bond in the casino.
- That's impossible.|- Come and see for yourself.
If he's half the genius they say he is,|we're in for real trouble.
- Calm down, Bert.|- It's a cinch he's not working alone.
This place must be|crawling with agents by now.
- I think we should move Willard Whyte.|- Nonsense.
Mr Whyte is perfectly safe|at his own summerhouse.
It's on the ridge,|about ten miles out of town.
I'm a little surprised, Bert.|It's not like you to panic.
I just don't enjoy messing around|with a guy as tough as James Bond.
Never mind James Bond.|You get down to that house.
I'm afraid Mr Whyte has suddenly|outgrown his usefulness.
- Do it cleanly, Bert.|- Don't worry.
Just leave everything to me.
That ridiculous contraption|actually seems to work, Q.
You've surpassed yourself this time.
Not a bit of it. Made one of these|for the kids last Christmas.
Maxwell, James and I|will head for the house.
Get set to hit the penthouse|as soon as we find Whyte.
Let me speak to Metz.
There's been a change.|Push all plans forward by 24 hours.
I'm joining you immediately.
Give me five minutes to get up there|and five minutes to find Whyte.
Are you sure you know|what you're doing?
Ask me again in ten minutes' time.
Tell Maxwell to stand by|to hit the penthouse.
Well, hi there!
Good morning... Bambi.
And I'm Thumper.
Is there something we can do for you?
I can think of several things offhand but
at the moment|I'm looking for Willard Whyte.
Why, he's right out there.
And that's all there is to it?
First... we're gonna have a ball.
All yours, Bambi!
You're on again, Bambi!
Willard Whyte is about to be executed,
and guess who's giving|breaststroke lessons.
- Where the hell is Whyte?|- I haven't found out yet.
Still haven't found out.
- CIA?|- No.
British lntelligence, Mr Whyte.|James Bond.
I see you've met my friends,|Bambi and Thumper.
Yes, we did have a bit of a chat.
What the hell's happened to me|and what can I do about it?
Let's get out of here first|and I'll explain it to you en route.
Tell Maxwell to hit the penthouse...
- Bert Saxby?!|- Yeah.
Tell him he's fired.
Hi there, Mr Q. Are you having any luck?
I'm being somewhat successful,|thank you.
Listen, Mr Q. I... I was wondering.
Have you heard any talk about me
from Felix or James?
No, I'm afraid not.
I guess I'm working|for the good guys now,
but I'm two steps away from|the slammer if they want me there.
I thought... you might be able|to put in a good word.
An electromagnetic RPM controller.
Been aching to give it a try. You see,
pressure on the case when|the desired symbols appear
causes the rotation of the cylinders to|stutter at the precise moment needed to...
Well, well, well.|Look what the cat dragged in.
I'm delighted to meet you, Miss Case.
I'd so dreaded the prospect of|making this tedious journey alone.
This way, Mr Whyte.
It was right here.
About six feet high, with a solar panel.
- It had these aerofoils that seemed to...|- Draw it for me.
Was Dr Metz on your payroll, Mr Whyte?
No. But I heard of him.|Everybody in our business has.
The world's leading expert|on laser refraction.
A committed idealist to peace.
And how in the hell Blofeld got|his hooks in him, I will never know!
How did he get security clearance|to work here in the first place?
From you, sir. I talked|to you personally about it.
I even recognised your voice just now.
I'm sure I must've told you
not to keep the usual duplicate|microfilm records of the project.
Tom, what did I tell you to do with this?
Send it to Vandenberg, sir.
Well, get 'em on the phone - now!
You won't believe this.
- Willard Whyte for you!|- Wow.
- This is a real honour, sir.|- Shove your honour!
- Where's that satellite I sent down there?|- Blasted off 24 minutes ago, sir.
Perfect trajectory. All systems go.|We expect to enter orbit right on the nose.
- Wait. Something's happened.|- Just a moment.
The scanners have gone crazy.
- Premature first-stage separation!|- It doesn't make sense!
Stand by to abort!
We can't control it, sir.
We can't. Something's taken over|the guidance system!
It's as if it had a will of its own.
And there's not a damn thing|we can do about it.
We're working on it.|I'll call you back, Mr Whyte.
Whatever it is,|your friend Blofeld's controllin' it now.
A vast supply of diamonds manipulated|by an expert in light refraction.
The first laser beam|was generated through a diamond.
And if old Metz deserves his reputation,
the power of that thing|could be incredible.
And Blofeld's got it.
- Where is it now?|- Approaching North Dakota.
Alert Strategic Air Command.
Gimme an open line to SAC.
Attention all personnel.|Attention all personnel.
We have a red alert. Stand by|for emergencyprocedure.
One of our missiles just "accidentally"|blew up in North Dakota.
Whatever's happenin',|Mr Bond, has started.
- Is this your herd?|- Mr Whyte, phone call from Washington.
- Urgent.|- I'll catch it in the john.
- What about Blofeld?|- Not a trace.
We found a tunnel. We'll check it out.
- Where's Tiffany?|- Do you mind if we find Blofeld first?
Come on! Let's hit that tunnel!
Washington just got word|from your friend with the cat.
Would you believe that this whole|damn country is bein' held for ransom
and we've got|till noon tomorrow to pay up?
So that's it. Well, I'm sure|you won't be alone.
An international auction,
with nuclear supremacy|goin' to the highest bidder.
Tell me, what does he need|to control that satellite?
A simple set of tapes|fed into a computer bank.
All he really needs is a building.
And these tapes? Large or small?
Conceivably any size.
From six inches to a cassette.
Assuming he's still using|your empire as a cover,
Blofeld could be anywhere on this map.
From Alaska to Florida.
From Maine to Oregon.
From Texas to... Baja California.
I haven't got anything in Baja!
There is still no official explanation
of the apparent nuclear accidents|in North Dakota and Russia.
Presidential news secretary John Fenner|refused comment on a report
that an emergency meeting of|the Joint Chiefs ofStaffis in session.
It is believed the United States and|the Soviet Union have assured each other
that no offensive action|has been taken by either nation.
Reports ofanother nuclear accident|in Red China are as yet unconfirmed.
Two more submarines have taken up|position not ten miles away.
Are those military aircraft|going to stand off forever?
What if they won't accept our ultimatum?|What if they attack?
Calm yourself, Metz. This farcical|show of force was only to be expected.
The Great Powers|flexing their military muscles
Iike so many impotent beach boys.
I deeply regret my threat to destroy|a major city unless they give in,
but the nuclear powers, like all bullies,|can only be intimidated by force.
- But how can you...|- They still have an hour left to reply.
One hour for both of us to achieve|our common dream: total disarmament
and peace for the world.
- Sir, there's a single plane approaching.|- Range?
Two miles, and closing.
Stage One alert, please.
All crew to Stage One.
Up the top! Second platform!
There he is!
- Aim!|- Hold your fire!
All recovery crew personnel,|proceed to docking level and stand by.
Good morning, gentlemen!|The Acme Pollution lnspection.
We're cleaning up the world. We thought|this was a suitable starting point.
How disappointing! I expected|one head of state, at the very least.
Surely you haven't come|to negotiate, Mr Bond?
Your pitiful little island|hasn't even been threatened.
Search him from his toenails to the last|follicle on his head. Then bring him to me.
I do so hate martial music.
As usual, Mr Bond,|you were absolutely right.
You guessed correctly that that box|contained the satellite control tape
and you came aboard presumably|hoping to substitute this
for the real thing.
So sorry to have ruined|the line of your suit for nothing.
Talking about lines,|which one did you use on Miss Case?
She has taken a reasonable attitude.
Like any sensible animal,|she's only threatening when threatened.
Well, it appears that|you're holding all the aces.
- Right down to the dragon lady here.|- Jealousy? From you, Mr Bond?
As La Rochefoucauld observed:
"Humility is the worst form of conceit."
I do hold the winning hand.
Why don't you let me take you|on a little tour of our facilities?
Your chance to see|the real tape once again.
Can I tag along, Ernst?
I'd put something on|over that bikini first, my dear.
I've come too far|to have the aim of my crew
affected by the sight of a pretty body.
No word yet from anyone!
Only 12 minutes left.
I suppose a little gentle prodding|is called for.
As you see, Mr Bond,|the satellite is at present over
If we destroy Kansas, the world|may not hear about it for years.
Perhaps New York.|All that smut and traffic.
It would give them a chance|for a fresh start.
Washington, DC. Perfect.
Since we have not heard from them,|they will hear from us.
- See to it, Metz.|- Washington. Right.
And this, presumably,|is the control bank with the coded tape.
Right again, Mr Bond.
All satellites are controlled|by a coded tape.
The trick is, of course, to have the code.
It all seems so perfectly simple. I suppose|one just presses that and out it pops.
Put it back, Mr Bond.
Is Superman giving you any trouble?
Put it back... very carefully.
You've suddenly|become tiresome, Mr Bond.
Target fixed! Commence countdown!
Ten minutes and counting!
Take him away and throw him in the brig.
And search him again, just to make sure.
Your problems are all behind you now.
Nine minutes and counting.
I did it. I switched the tape in the machine.
You stupid twit. You put|the real one back in.
Come on, let's go!
A weather balloon!
- What do you think, Mr Leiter?|- That must be the signal.
There isn't a low-pressure area|within 200 miles of here. Let's go!
This is Charlie One to Squadron.
Charlie One to Squadron.|Ready all guns andproceed to target.
I repeat: proceed to target.
Roger, Charlie One. Out.
Come on, Bond. Get the hell off that rig.
Eight minutes and counting.
Unidentified aircraft approaching rapidly.|Range... five miles.
But l... I don't understand!
- You said they wouldn't attack!|- The balloon was a signal.
The stupid fools must think|Mr Bond has accomplished his mission.
- Activate defences!|- Activate defences.
Seven minutes and counting.
This is Charlie One.
Six minutes and counting.
Get them on the radio, Blofeld!
- Tell them we give up!|- Give up?
I've waited too long for this moment.
They'll pay dearly|for making a fool out of me.
I see it all now.|You don't give a damn about peace!
- All you care about...|- Shut up, Metz.
Tiffany, my dear.
We're showing a bit more cheek|than usual, aren't we?
Take her below and|lock her up with Mr Bond.
What a pity. Such nice cheeks, too.
If only they were brains.
Destroy this, Metz.
Five minutes and counting.
Four minutes and counting.
Tell them we surrender!|This is utter madness!
One more word, Metz, and I'll|have you shot! Get back to your post!
Prepare my bathosub immediately.
Three minutes and counting.
All systems interlock.
Bathosub to crane. Commence lift.
Two minutes and counting.
Power and breathing systems on.
Release catch is open.
Bathosub to crane! Lower away!
Wake up, man! Lower away!
You stupid idiot! You could've killed me!
Lower! Not up!
One minute and counting.
Blofeld to Command Centre!
Blofeld to Command Centre!
Command Centre, come in!
40 seconds and counting.
Get the gun.
- Here!|- Shoot 'em!
So long, James! I'll wire M|you're on your way home!
Don't tell him|which direction we've taken!
If you're havin' a good time,
Iet the captain know and|I'll have him steam around in circles!
James, there's something very important|I've been meaning to ask you
I know in a relationship like ours, the|girl's not supposed to be the one to ask.
But I can't help it.
think before answering.
That I promise.
There must be some mistake.|I didn't order anything.
No mistake, sir.
On the specific instructions and with|the compliments of Mr Willard Whyte.
Prime rib enjus.
And for dessert,
the pièce de résistance,...
Ia bombe surprise.
That looks fantastic! What's in it?
But then there would be|no surprise, would there, madame?
- If madam would care to be seated.|- Thank you.
This will just take a moment,|and then we will leave you in peace.
Mouton Rothschild '55.
- May we begin?|- Please do.
A happy selection, if I may say.
I'll be the judge of that.
That's rather potent.|Not the cork - your aftershave.
Strong enough to bury anything.
But the wine is quite excellent.
Although, for such a grand meal,|I had rather expected a claret.
Unfortunately, our cellar|is rather poorly stocked with clarets.
Mouton Rothschild is a claret.
And I've smelt that aftershave before.|And both times I've smelt a rat.
He certainly left|with his tails between his legs.
Oh, yes. What were you about to ask me?
How the hell do we get
subtitles - repaired by Rehaki
DC Sniper 23 Days of Fear
D A R Y L 1985
Daddy Day Care
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