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Goldfinger

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- Congratulations.|- Thank you.
Mr Romales and his friends|will be out of business.
He won't be using heroin-flavoured|bananas to finance revolutions.
Don't go back to your hotel, señor.|They'il be watching you.
- There's a plane to Miami in an hour.|- I'll be on it, but
first I have some unfinished business|to attend to.
Forgive me.
Why do you always wear that thing?
I have a slight inferiority complex.
Where was I?
Shocking!
Positively shocking.
Goldfinger
He's the man
The man with the Midas touch
A spider's touch
Such a cold finger
Beckons you
To enter his web of sin
But don't go in
Golden words he will pour in your ear
But his lies can't disguise what you fear
For a golden girl
Knows when he's kissed her
lt's the kiss of death
From Mr Goldfinger
Pretty girl
Beware of this heart of gold
This heart is cold
Golden words he will pour in your ear
But his lies can't disguise what you fear
For a golden girl
Knows when he's kissed her
lt's the kiss of death
From Mr Goldfinger
Pretty girl
Beware of this heart of gold
This heart is cold
He loves only gold
Only gold
He loves gold
He loves only gold
Only gold
He loves gold
One, two, three!
Who's over there?
- How's this?|- It's nice... Very nice.
- Just here?|- No, a little lower.
I thought I'd find you in good hands.
Felix! How are you?
- Dink, meet Felix Leiter.|- Hello!
- Felix, say hello to Dink.|- Hi, Dink.
Dink, say goodbye to Felix.
Man talk.
You must be slipping, 007, letting|the opposition get that close to you.
They got a lot closer to you in Jamaica.
What's on your mind? I'm on holiday.
Not any more, you're not.|Signal from London.
I knew M wouldn't book me into|the best hotel here out of gratitude.
He asked us to keep|an eye on him for you.
Auric Goldfinger.|Sounds like a French nail varnish!
He's British. But he doesn't sound like it.
Big operator, worldwide interests.|All seem reputable.
Owns one of the finest US stud farms.
- What's the tie-up with Washington?|- He's clean.
And where do l find him?
That's his pigeon waiting for him now.
Goldfinger's been taking him|to the cleaners every day for a week.
Morning, Mr Simmons!|Ready for our little game?
Sure. When you're ten grand|in the hole, you're ready for anything.
- Could I have my usual seat?|- You and your suntan!
Goldfinger's a fabulous card player.
- Same stakes?|- Let's double it.
Five dollars a point.
- Did you say five?|- My luck's gotta change some time.
OK.
I'll get back|and cable M you're on the job.
- Fill me in on the rest at dinner.|- Fine. I'll call you later.
- Four.|- So soon?
How many?
7, 12, 18, 32,
44.
Miss?
Hey, what are you...?
That's Mr Goldfinger's suite!
Yes, l know.
You're very sweet.
He just drew the king of clubs.|That makes his count 59.
He's got a diamond run: eight, nine, ten.
He's holding on to the six of spades,|so I guess he thinks you want it.
That last draw was the eight of hearts.
He needs kings and queens.
- Who are you?|- Bond. James Bond.
Come on, come on!
That's more like it!
- What's your name?|- Jill.
- Jill who?|- Jill Masterson.
- Tell me, Jill. Why does he do it?|- He likes to win.
- Why do you do it?|- He pays me.
- Is that all he pays you for?|- And for being seen with him.
Just seen?
Just seen.
I'm so glad.
You're much too nice to be mixed up|in anything like this, you know.
Now hear this, Goldfinger.|Your luck has just changed.
I doubt if the Miami Beach police|would take kindly to what you're doing.
Nod your head if you agree.
Nod.
Good! Now start losing, Goldfinger.
Shall we say $10,000?
No, let's be generous.
Let's make it $15,000.
May I see?
Hell, I can see this is really my day!
Gin!
Over and out.
That should keep him occupied|for quite some time.
I'm beginning to like you, Mr Bond.
Call me James.
More than anyone I've met|in a long time... James.
What on earth|are we going to do about it?
- Yes. What?|- I'll tell you at dinner.
Where?
Well, I know the best place in town.
Station WEDS brings you|the latest in world news.
Washington. At the White House today,
the President said|he was entirely satisfied...
That makes two of us.
- Hello.|- Leiter here.
- Felix!|- Well, now?
What's that? Dinner?
No, look, I'm sorry.
I can't. Something big's come up.
How about breakfast?
- OK.|- Not too early.
- l'll call you around nine.|- Yes, nine o'clock will be fine.
- So long, James.|- Good night, Felix.
It's lost its chill!
- Why, you!|- There's another in the fridge.
- Who needs it?|- My dear, some things just aren't done.
Such as drinking Dom Pérignon '53
above a temperature of 38º Fahrenheit.
That's as bad as listening|to the Beatles without earmuffs.
Now... where is this passion juice?
Jill?
Yes, Mr Bond?
Beach 79432. Room 119.
- Hello?|- Hello, Felix.
Get over here right away.
- What's happened?|- The girl's dead.
- Dink?|- No, Masterson. Jill Masterson.
And she's covered in paint. Gold paint.
Gold?
All over?
She died of skin suffocation.|It can happen to cabaret dancers.
You should leave a small bare patch|at the base of the spine
to allow the skin to breathe.
- Someone obviously didn't.|- And I know who.
This isn't a personal vendetta, 007.
It's an assignment like any other.
And if you can't treat it as such,|coldly and objectively,
008 can replace you.
You've hardly distinguished yourself.
You were to observe Mr Goldfinger.|Not borrow his girlfriend.
Instead, Goldfinger goes to Europe|and it's only thanks to Leiter
and my diplomatic intervention
that you're not being held|by the Miami Beach police!
Sir, I am aware of my shortcomings.
But I'm prepared to continue this|assignment in the spirit you suggest
if l knew what it was about,
sir.
What do you know about gold?|Not paint, bullion.
I know it when I see it.
Meet me here at seven.
Black tie.
What do you know about gold,|Moneypenny?
The only gold I know about|is the kind you wear.
You know, on the third finger|of your left hand.
One of these days|we really must look into that.
What about tonight?|Come round for dinner
and I'll cook you a beautiful angel cake.
Nothing would give me greater pleasure
but unfortunately I do have|a... business appointment.
That's the flimsiest excuse|you've ever given me!
Some girls have all the luck!
- Who is she, James?|- She is me, Miss Moneypenny,
and kindly omit the customary by-play|with 007. He's dining with me
and l don't want him to be late.
So there's hope for me yet?
Moneypenny...
Won't you ever believe me?
We here at the Bank of England
are the official depository|for gold bullion.
Just as Fort Knox, Kentucky,|is for the United States.
We know the amounts we each hold and|the amounts deposited in other banks.
We can estimate what is being held|for industrial purposes.
Thus, both governments can establish
the true value|of the dollar and the pound.
Consequently, we are concerned|with unauthorised leakages.
I take it you mean smuggling.
Yes.
Gold, gentlemen, which can be melted|down and recast, is all but untraceable,
which makes it, unlike diamonds,|ideal for smuggling,
attracting the biggest|and most ingenious criminals.
- Thank you, Brunskill. That'll be all.|- Thank you, sir.
Have a little more of this...|rather disappointing brandy.
- What's the matter with it?|- I'd say it was a 30-year-old Fine,
indifferently blended, sir.
With an overdose of Bons Bois.
Colonel Smithers is|giving the lecture, 007.
Gentlemen, Mr Goldfinger|has gold bullion on deposit
in Zurich, Amsterdam, Caracas|and Hong Kong - worth $20 million.
- Most of it came from this country.|- Why move it?
The price of gold varies|from country to country.
If you buy it here at $30 an ounce,|you can sell it in, say, Pakistan at $110
and triple your money.
- If you have facilities for melting it down.|- And has he?
Apart from being a legitimate|bullion dealer, Mr Goldfinger poses...
No, that's not quite fair.
Is, among his many other interests,|a legitimate international jeweller.
He's legally entitled to operate|modest metallurgical installations.
His British one is down in Kent.
We've failed to discover|how he transfers his gold overseas.
And Lord knows we've tried.
If your department can establish|that it is done illegally,
the bank can take action|to recover most of his holdings.
I think it's time Mr Goldfinger and l met.
Socially, of course.
I was hoping you'd say that.
It might lead to a business talk...|Mr Goldfinger's kind of business.
- I'll need some sort of bait.|- I quite agree.
This is the only one we have|from the Nazi hoard in Lake Toplitz.
But there are undoubtedly others.
Mr Bond can make|whatever use of it he thinks fit.
Providing he returns it, of course.
It's worth $5,000.
You'll draw it from Q branch|with your equipment in the morning.
Of course, sir.
- Morning, Q.|- Morning, 007.
This way, please.
My, we are busy this morning!
It's not perfected yet.
- Where's my Bentley?|- It's had its day, I'm afraid.
- But it's never let me down.|- M's orders, 007.
You'll be using this Aston Martin DB5|with modifications.
Now, pay attention, please.
Windscreen - bulletproof.|As are the side and the rear windows.
Revolving number plates, naturally.
Valid all countries.
Here's a nice little transmitting device,|called a homer.
You prime it by pressing that back|like this. You see?
The smaller model is now|standard field issue,
to be fitted into the heel of your shoe.
Its larger brother is magnetic.
Right. It'll be concealed in the car|you're trailing while you keep out of sight.
Reception
on the dashboard here.
Audiovisual, range 150 miles.
Ingenious, and useful too.
Allow a man to stop off|for a quick one en route.
It has not been perfected|out of years of patient research
entirely for that purpose, 007.
And incidentally we'd appreciate its|return, along with your other equipment.
Intact, for once,|when you return from the field.
You'd be surprised at the wear and tear|that goes on out there in the field.
- Anything else?|- I won't keep you for more than an hour
if you give me|your undivided attention.
We've installed|some interesting modifications.
You see this arm here?
Now, open the top and inside are|your defence mechanism controls.
Smoke screen. Oil slick.
Rear bulletproof screen.
And leFTand right|front-wing machine guns.
Now, this one I'm particularly keen about.|You see the gear lever here?
Now, if you take the top off,
you'll find a little red button.
- Whatever you do, don't touch it.|- And why not?
Because you'll release|this section of the roof
and engage and fire|the passenger ejector seat.
Ejector seat? You're joking!
I never joke about my work, 007.
- Ready, Blacking?|- Yes, sir.
An old member has dropped by, sir.|Same handicap as yours.
- I wondered if you'd rather play with him.|- Where is he?
- Mr Bond.|- Yes?
This is Mr Goldfinger.
- How do you do?|- How do you do?
- You can leave now. The first tee is clear.|- Fine.
- Hawker will caddy for you, Mr Bond.|- That'll be splendid.
Shall we make it a shilling a hole?
- I'll take some tees.|- Yes, of course.
You must excuse Oddjob, Mr Bond.
He's an admirable manservant
but mute. He's not a very good caddy.
Golf is not yet|the national game of Korea.
This meeting is not a coincidence.
What's your game, Mr Bond?
- My game?|- You didn't come here to play golf.
A 1940 smelt from|the Weigenhaler foundry at Essen.
- Part of a smelt of 600.|- They vanished in 1944.
When the Nazis were on the run.
- Do you have access to more?|- Yes, from the same source.
Interesting.
- Two holes to go.|- Yes, and all square.
Then you have no objection|to increasing the stakes?
- No. What do you have in mind?|- The bar of gold you have, naturally.
- It's worth $5,000.|- Oh, I'll stake the cash equivalent!
Naturally.
Strict rules of golf?
But of course.
Bad luck, you're in the rough.
What a pity. Here it is.
No, it's not. He plays a Slazenger 1.
Strict rules of golf, Goldfinger.|Five minutes are almost up.
A lost ball will cost you|stroke and distance.
I'm still training him as a caddy.
Successfully, too.
Slazenger No.1.
Good.
If that's his original ball,|I'm Arnold Palmer.
It isn't.
- How do you know?|- I'm standing on it.
Why, you craFTy old...!
Leave it.
- The ball you found, sir?|- Yes, Slazenger 7.
Let's have a little fun with Mr Goldfinger.
Like me to mark it or knock it in?
Play it.
- This for a half.|- That's right.
One to go, that will be the clincher.
Fine.
Did you switch 'em, sir?
- Then we've got him.|- If he doesn't notice the switch.
- It's your honour, sir.|- It's all right.
Down in five.
I have to sink this to halve the game,|right?
- You win, Goldfinger.|- It seems I'm too good for you!
You play a Slazenger 1, don't you?
- Yes, why?|- This is a Slazenger 7.
Here's my Penfold Hearts.
You must have played the wrong ball|on the 18th fairway.
We are playing strict rules, so
I'm afraid you lose|the hole andthe match.
She's a beauty. Phantom III, '37, isn't she?
- You are clever and resourceful, Mr Bond.|- Thank you.
Perhaps too clever. Twice our paths|have crossed. Let's leave it at that.
Didn't our first meeting convince you?
I see. You're worried about me|not giving you a return game.
Both of us know perfectly well|what we're talking about, Mr Bond.
But I see that it is necessary|to remind you.
Oddjob!
Many people have tried to involve|themselves in my affairs.
Unsuccessfully.
Remarkable. But what does|the club secretary have to say?
Nothing, Mr Bond.
I own the club.
I assume you want the cheque|made out to cash.
That would be perfectly satisfactory.
Goodbye, Mr Bond.
I believe this is yours.
Can l have your attention, please?
British United Air Ferries|announce the final call
for the departure|of their VF400 flight to Geneva.
British United Air Ferries announce the|departure of their VF400 flight to Geneva.
Mr Bond!
I've got you booked on the next flight|to Geneva, leaving in half an hour.
- Thank you very much.|- Right, sir.
Discipline, 007.
Discipline.
Are you all right? Here, let me help you.
- You know, you're lucky to be alive.|- No thanks to you.
You should've pulled over further.
Look at them!
A double blowout.|I've never seen one of these before.
- How could new tyres...?|- A defect of some kind, most likely.
I'm so glad it's the car and not you.
You don't look like a girl|who should be ditched.
Never mind that.|Please take me to a garage.
Certainly.
By the way, my name is Bond, Ja...
As quickly as possible.
- I'll take that.|- Yes, of course.
What's your name, by the way?
Soames. Tilly Soames.
Here for the hunting season?
I had a case just like that one.
It's for my ice skates.
Lovely sport.
- Where do you skate?|- St Moritz.
I didn't know there was ice there|this time of the year.
There's a garage.
Frulein!
I've had an accident.
How long will it take?
Thank you.
They say it'll take 24 hours to get|new tyres. There's a hotel nearby.
- Jump in. l'll run you down.|- That won't be necessary.
I hate to leave you here alone.
I can take care of myself.
Yes, l'm sure you can.
Well... don't forget to write.
Smuggling is an art, Mr Ling.
And art requires...
In this case, the bodywork|of my Rolls Royce is 18-carat gold.
We dismantle it here.
Reduce the gold in this special furnace,|which in turn...
..weighing approximately two tons.
I make six trips a year to Europe|in the Rolls Royce, Mr Ling.
It would be wiser to suspend|your other activities.
Mr Ling, please assure your principals
Operation Grand Slam|will have my undivided attention...
Let me go! You're breaking my back!
- What the hell are you doing here?|- I want to kill him!
- Kill who?|- Goldfinger.
- Well, I want him alive.|- I want him dead! He killed my sister!
TM. Tilly Masterson.
I knew your sister Jill.|I know what he did to her.
No, you don't! Let me go!
- So why did you shoot at me?|- I didn't. I was shooting at him!
Well, you're a lousy shot.
But somebody else around here isn't.
Come on.
Get in the car. l'll take care of him.
Run for that bracken when I tell you.
Now!
Good evening, 007.
My name is James Bond.
And members of your curious profession|are few in number.
You have been recognised.
Let's say by one of your opposite|numbers, who is also licensed to kill.
That interesting car of yours!
I, too, have a new toy, but
considerably more practical.
You are looking at an industrial laser,
which emits an extraordinary light,|unknown in nature.
It can project a spot on the moon.
Or at closer range, cut through|solid metal. I will show you.
This is gold, Mr Bond.
All my life,|I've been in love with its colour,
its brilliance, its divine heaviness.
I welcome any enterprise|that will increase my stock,
which is considerable.
I think you've made your point.|Thank you for the demonstration.
Choose your next witticism carefully,|Mr Bond. It may be your last.
The purpose of our two encounters|is now very clear to me.
I do not intend to be distracted|by another. Good night, Mr Bond.
Do you expect me to talk?
No, Mr Bond! l expect you to die!
There is nothing you can talk to me about|that I don't already know.
You're forgetting one thing.
If I fail to report, 008 replaces me.
I trust he will be more successful.
He knows what I know.
You know nothing, Mr Bond.
Operation Grand Slam, for instance.
Two words you may have overheard
which cannot have any significance|to you or anyone in your organisation.
Can you afford to take that chance?
You are quite right, Mr Bond.
You are worth more to me alive.
Who are you?
My name is Pussy Galore.
I must be dreaming.
I thought I'd wake up dead.
Tranquilliser gun. Knockout shot.
I see.
I'm delighted to be here.
And, by the way, where is here?
35,000 feet flying southwest|over Newfoundland.
That explains the humming.
That means you're in Mr Goldfinger's|Lockheed JetStar, heading for Baltimore.
- And you're his guest.|- I'm honoured.
I never realised he enjoyed|my company that much.
I don't suppose it'll be all fun and games.
Mei-Lei.
Can I do something for you, Mr Bond?
Just a drink.|A martini, shaken not stirred.
- Won't you join me?|- Not on duty.
I'm Mr Goldfinger's personal pilot.
You are?
And just how personal is that?
I'm a damn good pilot.
Period!
Well, that's good news. By the way,
- where is our host?|- He flew on ahead.
Thank you.
Here's to Operation Grand Slam.
This should be a memorable flight.
You can turn off the charm.|I'm immune.
We'll be landing in Baltimore,
our port of entry into the United States,|in 55 minutes.
Mei-Lei.
I would like to arrive|more appropriately dressed.
Did any of my luggage survive with me?
And my attaché case?
Black attaché case damaged|when examined. So sorry.
Apologies quite unnecessary.
Sydney, tell Mei-Lei|to keep an eye on him.
We'll be landing in 20 minutes.
Do you want to play it easy...|or the hard way?
And this isn't a tranquilliser.
Pussy, you know a lot more|about planes than guns.
That's a Smith & Wesson .45.
If you fire this close, the bullet|will pass through me and the fuselage
like a blowtorch through butter.
The cabin will depressurise and we'll|be sucked into outer space together.
If that's how you want to arrive,|you're welcome.
As for me, I prefer the easier way.
That's very sensible.
And there's so much going on|around Mr Goldfinger,
I wouldn't dream of|not accepting his... hospitality.
He'll be very glad to see you, too.
You like close shaves, don't you?
Washington, sir. On the green scrambler.
- M here.|- Leiter, sir.
It's about 007, sir.|We picked up his homer signal
from Friendship Airport, Baltimore,|where he's just landed.
Baltimore? Nice of him to let us know.
Last we heard, he was in Switzerland.
He came in on a private jet, ex Geneva.
Registered to our old friend|Auric Goldfinger.
I'm glad he's making progress.|Keep an eye on him for us.
Bluegrass Field, Kentucky,|is their final destination.
Don't charge in on him|and spoil anything, will you?
He's evidently well on top at the moment.
- Mr Bond.|- Of course.
Please.
Any time.
Thank you.
Do mind your step, Captain.
Just keep playing it easy.
Mei-Lei, will you see everything's|all right with Mr Goldfinger?
And I'll see you surprisingly soon.
- Talented chaps.|- They should be. I trained them.
Come on.
You're a woman of many parts, Pussy.
I believe the bourbon and branch water|is rather splendid here in Kentucky.
Well, now that we're both off duty,|perhaps...
Manners, Oddjob.
I thought you always|took your hat off to a lady.
- You know, he kills little girls like you.|- Little boys, too.
Well?
- Dress rehearsal went like a dream.|- Good.
Your final briefing is tonight.|That'll be all for now.
Welcome to Auric Stud, Mr Bond.
Lovely animal, isn't she?
Certainly better bred than the owner.
Show Mr Bond to his quarters, please.
Felix!
- Maybe we should just drop in on him.|- He'll shout if he needs us.
They're all here, Mr Goldfinger.
Oh, yes! Thank you, Kisch.
That guy Solo's gonna wear a hole|in his shoes.
Yeah, I like this!
Gentlemen!
Goldfinger, why weren't we told New York|and the West Coast were in on this?
Look who's talking!
I do not do business with Chicago.
I thought we had|a private business deal to settle.
Now I find I'm attending|a hoods' convention.
Goldfinger, I made a delivery.|Where is my money?
- I made a delivery, too.|- You all made the deliveries we agreed.
And you owe me one million bucks.
I owe each of you a million
in gold bullion.
So, pay!
Gentlemen,|you can have the million today.
Or ten millions tomorrow.
Did you say ten million?
As soon as my bank opens|in the morning.
Banks don't open on Sunday.
My bank will.
What's with that trick pool table?
- Cover him!|- Hey, cover those doors.
Turn those lights back on!
What are you trying to pull, Goldfinger?
There is no cause for alarm, gentlemen.
I don't like being cooped up|Iike this. What's that map doing there?
This is my bank.
The gold depository at Fort Knox,|gentlemen.
In its vaults are $15 billion.
The entire gold supply
of the United States.
Knock off Fort Knox!
- Got a key or somethin'?|- Of a kind.
There are 35,000 troops|stationed around there!
41,000.
And who's gonna say boo to them,|Goldfinger?
- What's going on here?|- What is this?
- The floor!|- What is this? A merry-go-round?
Man has climbed Mount Everest,
gone to the bottom of the ocean.
He has fired rockets to the moon.
Split the atom.
Achieved miracles
in every field of human endeavour...|except crime!
The underworld|will applaud for centuries!
- Cut the commercial!|- Get to the point!
It's pointless.|The depository's impregnable.
- The joint is bombproof, electrified...|- Bear with me, please!
Fort Knox is a bank. Like any other.
Larger, better protected perhaps,|but nonetheless a bank!
It can be... I think the expression is
blown.
My plan is foolproof, gentlemen!
I call it Operation Grand Slam.
I have devoted 15 years of my life to it.
Every detail has been|scrupulously prepared.
Every eventuality has been considered.
We'll operate on a split-second schedule.
Your organisation, Mr Midnight,
brought a batch of these canisters|across the Canadian border.
They contain Delta 9.
- Delta 9? What's that?|- An invisible nerve gas
which disperses 15 minutes aFTer|inducing complete... unconsciousness
for 24 hours.
Tomorrow at dawn,
the flying circus of my personal pilot,|Miss Pussy Galore,
will spray it into the atmosphere.
Once the population, including|the military, has been immobilised
my task force,|which Mr Strap and his people
smuggled across|the Rio Grande from Mexico,
will approach Fort Knox|in motorised equipment
along Bullion Boulevard,|which runs past the depository here
and intersects with Gold Vault Road.
This fence surrounding the depository,
as Mr Strap reminded us, is electrified.
It will be dynamited!
My task force will then move|to the main entrance and demolish it.
How, may I ask?
You made that possible, Mr Solo. By|using your influence in shipping circles
to bring through customs uninspected
a consignment labelled machine parts.
All that will then remain is to descend|to the vaults where the bullion is stored.
- I've heard enough.|- Let him finish.
If you have no objection...|I'll take my money now.
What's the matter, Solo?|Too big for you to handle?
We must respect Mr Solo's decision.
Excuse me for a moment while l take care|of him. Make yourselves comfortable.
- How do we get it out?|- That's the bit I wanna hear!
Yeah, it'd better be good!
Pussy!
Who taught you judo?
The gun you took.
The gun.
The gun, of course.
We must have a few|fast falls together some time.
Hey, Strap!|He's got the right answers.
You and me don't even have to be there.|The boys can handle everything.
Hey, they closed up the fireplace!
- I don't like this!|- What's going on here?
The gas!
Such a pity you did not choose to remain|with the others, Mr Solo. However...
Mr Bond, I thought|you were resting in your quarters.
They are delightful.|But it's much too nice to stay indoors.
I ran into Miss Galore|and she suggested that we join you.
Mr Solo, Mr Bond.|Another of my distinguished guests.
- Hello.|- Leaving us so soon, Mr Solo?
- He has a pressing engagement.|- Yeah. l'd like to get started, Goldfinger.
- Boy!|- When you gotta go, you gotta go.
My plane will get you|to New York on time
with your excess luggage.
Allow me.
My chauffeur's an excellent driver.|You will be at the airport in a few minutes.
Goodbye, Mr Solo.|Some other time, perhaps?
Happy landings, old boy.
I found him under the model.
Operation Grand Slam.|I did enjoy your briefing.
So did I.
He's on the move.
Slow down, don't crowd him.
Are you blind or something?|You missed the turn!
They've turned to the right|just ahead here somewhere.
Where's this old pal of yours headed?
Ten'll get you one, it's a drink or a dame.
Dead.
- Mechanical failure, maybe?|- Unless he switched it off.
Why would he do that?
- Drive to the farm, it's all we can do.|- Right.
Your share of Operation Grand Slam will|make you a very rich woman, my dear.
Why else would I be in it, Mr Goldfinger?
You'll retire to England, I suppose?
No, I've spotted a little island|in the Bahamas.
I'll hang up a sign, ''no trespassing'',
and go back to nature.
- Yes, Kisch?|- Two men in a car with binoculars.
Touts looking for racing tips.
There's another possibility, however.
Kisch, ask Mr Bond to join us.
We were right to spare Mr Bond's life|in Switzerland,
if those gentlemen are his friends.
Let's convince them|he needs no assistance.
For their benefit, Pussy,|Iet's make him as happy as possible.
I suggest you change|into something more suitable.
Certainly.
Business before pleasure.
He wants you.
Mr Bond. Sit down, please.
Mint julep?
- Traditional, but satisfying.|- Yes, thanks.
Sour mash, but not too sweet, please.
You disappoint me, Goldfinger.
You know Operation Grand Slam|simply won't work.
And incidentally|Delta 9 nerve gas is fatal.
You are unusually well informed,|Mr Bond.
You'll kill 60,000 people uselessly.
Ha! American motorists|kill that many every two years.
Yes, well... I've worked out|a few statistics of my own.
$15 billion
in gold bullion weighs 10,500 tons.
60 men would take 12 days|to load it onto 200 trucks.
At the most, you'll have two hours
before the army, navy, air force, marines|move in and make you put it back.
Who mentioned anything|about removing it?
Is the julep tart enough for you?
You plan to break into|the world's largest bank
but not to steal anything.
Why?
Go on, Mr Bond.
Mr Ling, the Red Chinese agent|at the factory?
He's a specialist in nuclear fission...
But of course!|His government's given you a bomb.
I prefer to call it an atomic device.
lt's small but particularly dirty.
- Cobalt and iodine?|- Precisely.
lf you explode it in Fort Knox, the...
..entire gold supply of the United States|will be radioactive for...
..57 years.
58, to be exact.
l apologise, Goldfinger.|lt's an inspired deal.
They get what they want -|economic chaos in the West.
And the value of your gold|increases many times.
l conservatively estimate... ten times.
Brilliant.
But the atomic device, as you call it,
is already, obviously, in this country.
Obviously.
But bringing it to Fort Knox undetected
could be risky. Very risky.
On the contrary, Mr Bond.|The risk is all on your side.
If the authorities|should attempt to locate it,
who knows where|it might be exploded?
Perhaps the Polaris submarine pens|at New London,
Cape Kennedy,
near the White House.
But we are speculating idly.|Operation Grand Slam will be successful.
You will be there to see for yourself.
Too closely for comfort, l'm afraid.
Forgive me, Mr Bond,
but l must arrange|to separate my gold from the late Mr Solo.
As you said,|he had a pressing engagement.
Very chic, Miss Galore.|Don't you agree?
Please entertain Mr Bond for me, Pussy.
I'll join you both later.
How about it, handsome?
Don't you think it's time|we got to know each other socially?
The new Miss Galore.
Where do you hide your gold knuckles|in this outfit?
I never carry weapons|aFTer business hours.
Yeah? So you're off duty?
I'm completely defenceless.
So am I.
That's my James!
Beautiful place Goldfinger has here.
Yes, I'm glad you're enjoying it.
Too bad it all has to end|tomorrow morning.
He's quite mad, you know.
Well, now. What do we have here?
007 seems to have the situation|well in hand.
Come on, I'm bushed.|Let's get back to the motel.
- You're quite a girl, Pussy.|- I'm strictly the outdoor type.
I'd like to think|you're not in all of this... caper.
Skip it. I'm not interested. Let's go.
What would it take|for you to see things my way?
A lot more than you've got.
- How do you know?|- I don't want to know.
Isn't it customary to grant|a condemned man his last request?
You've asked for this.
Get up!
Certainly.
There.
Now let's both play.
Pussy Galore to Champagne leader.
Commence Rockabye Baby. Good luck!
Speed: 220.
Wind check: westerly.
Champagne leader to Champagne|section. Commence dive... now.
Ready for Rockabye Baby.
Commence spray on countdown.
Five,
four, three, two,
zero.
Champagne leader|to Grand Slam task force leader.
The baby is asleep.
l repeat, the baby is asleep.|We're going home now.
Out.
Good morning, Mr Bond.
For once,|you are exactly where l want you.
- The bomb's here.|- Let's get moving, Brigadier.
- Right, Jack, move in.|- Move in, commando tactics.
Minimum offensive fire until I signal|bomb has been neutralised.
Minimum offensive fire|until I signal bomb has been neutralised.
Bomb disposal unit to accompany DOG.
Goodbye, Mr Bond.
Mr Ling, it is merely timing...
He's one of them, so is the girl.
I'll get her, you get the door open.
We're trapped!
The bomb... I'll take the fuse out.
Don't be a fool!
You can be a hero, I'm not!
No, no!
Keep going! Hurry up!
What kept you?
You OK, James?|Where's your butler friend?
He blew a fuse.
Three more ticks and Mr Goldfinger|would've hit the jackpot.
- Did you get him?|- Not yet, but he won't get far.
- And Pussy?|- She helped to switch the canisters.
By the way,|what made her call Washington?
I must have appealed|to her maternal instincts.
Come on, James. Get aboard.|You can't keep the President waiting.
Special plane, lunch at the White House.|How come?
The President wants|to thank you personally.
- It was nothing, really.|- I know that, but he doesn't.
I suppose I'll be able to get a drink here.
I told the stewardess liquor for three.
- Who are the other two?|- There are no other two.
- Goodbye, Felix.|- So long. Good luck.
- Thank you, Brigadier.|- Good luck.
I'm glad to have you aboard, Mr Bond.
Well, congratulations|on your promotion, Goldfinger.
- Are you going to the White House, too?|- In two hours l shall be in Cuba.
You have interfered with my plans|for the last time, Mr Bond.
It's very dangerous to fire guns in planes.|I even had to warn Pussy about it.
- By the way, where is she?|- I will deal with her later.
She is where she ought to be...|at the controls.
Pussy!
- What happened? Where's Goldfinger?|- Playing his golden harp.
It's no good.
Oh, no, you don't!
This is no time to be rescued.
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