We'll be landing in 20 minutes.
Want to play it easy or the hard way? And this isn't a tranquilizer.
You know a lot more about planes than guns.
That's a Smith and Wesson. 45.
If you fired this close, the bullet would go through me and the fuselage...
like a blowtorch through butter.
The cabin will depressurize, and we'll be sucked into outer space together.
If that's how you want to enter the United States, you're welcome.
I prefer the easier way.
That's very sensible.
There's always 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.
It's monitored into 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 registered to our old friend, Auric Goldfinger.
I'm glad he's making progress. Keep an eye on him, please.
Their flight plan gives Kentucky as their final destination.
Don't charge in on him and spoil anything.
He's evidently well on top at the moment.
- Mr. Bond, please. - Of course.
Anytime.
Thank you.
Do mind your step, Captain.
Just keep playing it easy.
Will you see everything's arranged with Mr. Goldfinger?
Of course.
Talented chaps.
They should be. I trained them.
Come on.
You're a woman of many parts.
I believe the bourbon and branch water is splendid here in Kentucky.
Now that we're both off duty, perhaps...
Manners, Oddjob. I thought you always took your hat off to a lady.
- He kills little girls like you. - Little boys, too.
- Dress rehearsal went well, skipper. - Good.
You'll get your final briefing 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 drop in on him. - He'll shout if he needs us.
They're all here, Mr. Goldfinger.
Oh, yes, yes! Thank you, Kisch.
Solo's gonna wear a hole in his shoes.
Gentlemen.
Why were we told New York and the West Coast were in on this?
- Look who's talkin'. - 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!
- I made a delivery. Where is my money? - I made a delivery, too.
You all made the deliveries we contracted for.
You owe me $1 million.
I owe each of you a million in gold bullion.
So pay!
Gentlemen, you can have the million today...
or ten million tomorrow!
$10 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! - 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. What's that map doing there?
This is my bank, the Gold Depository at Fort Knox.
In its vaults are $15 billion...
the entire gold supply of the United States.
Knock off Fort Knox?
Got a key?
Of a kind.
- There are 35,000 troops stationed. - 41,000.
Who's gonna say "boo" to them?
- Hey, what's going on? - What is this?
Man has climbed Mount Everest...
gone to the bottom of the ocean...
fired rockets to the moon, split the atom...
achieved miracles...
in every field of human endeavor except crime!
The underworld will rock with applause for centuries.
- Cut the commercial. - Get to the point.
You're wasting my time. The depository's impregnable.
The joint is bombproof, electrified, lousy with...
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. 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 organization, Mr. Midnight, brought a consignment...
of these canisters across the Canadian border.
They contain Delta Nine.
- What's that? - An invisible nerve gas.
It 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 everyone has been immobilized...
my task force which, Mr. Strap and his people smuggled from Mexico...
will approach Fort Knox...
in motorized equipment along Bullion Boulevard...
which runs past the depository...
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 move then to the main entrance and demolish it.
How, may I ask?
You made that possible, Mr. Solo.
Your influence in shipping circles brought through customs uninspected...
a consignment labeled "Machine parts. "
All that will remain is to descend into the vaults...
where the bullion is stored.
I've heard enough. If you have no objection, I'll take my money now.
What's the matter, Solo? Too big for you to handle?
Gentlemen.
We must respect Mr. Solo's decision. Excuse me while I take care of him.
Make yourselves comfortable.
Pussy! Who taught you judo?
The gun you took.
Oh, the gun.
The gun, of course.
We must have a few fast falls together sometime.
Strap, if he's got the right answers...
we don't have to be there; the boys can handle everything.
- They closed up the fire pit. - I don't like this.
What's going on?
The gas!
Such a pity you did not choose to remain with the others, Mr. Solo.
Mr. Bond, I thought you were resting in your quarters.
They are delightful, but it's too nice to stay indoors.
I ran into Miss Galore and she suggested we join you.
Mr. Solo, Mr. Bond. Another of my distinguished guests.
Leaving us so soon, Mr. Solo?
Unfortunately, he has a pressing engagement.
I'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 is an excellent driver. You will be at the airport soon.
Good-bye, Mr. Solo. Some other time, perhaps.
Happy landings, ol' 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? You missed the turn.
They've turned to the right.
Where's your old pal headed?
Ten will 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.
Thank you.
Your share of Operation Grand Slam will make you a very rich woman.
Why else would I be in it?
You'll retire to England, I suppose?
No. I've spotted an 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 are his friends.
Let's convince them he needs no assistance.
For their benefit, Pussy, let'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.
Incidentally, Delta Nine nerve gas is fatal.
You are unusually well-informed, Mr. Bond.
You'll kill 60,000 people uselessly.
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.
Sixty men would take 12 days...
to load it onto 200 trucks.
At the most, you'll have two hours...
before the military moves in and makes you put it back.
Who mentioned anything about removing it?
The julep tart enough?
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...
is a specialist in nuclear fission.
But of course! His government's given you a bomb.
I prefer to call it an atomic device. It's small, but particularly dirty.
- Cobalt and iodine? - Precisely.
If you explode it in Fort Knox...
the entire gold supply of the United States...
will be radioactive for 57 years.
Fifty-eight to be exact.
I apologize. It's an inspired deal.
They get what they want: Economic chaos in the West.
And the value of your gold increases many times.
I 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 very risky.
On the contrary, the risk is all on your side.
If the authorities try locating 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, I'm afraid.
Forgive me.
I 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.
Well, 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 defenseless. - 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, 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. - 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 the condemned man his last request?
You've asked for this.
Get up.
Certainly.
Now let's both play.
Pussy Galore to Champagne Leader. Commence Rock-A-Bye Baby. Good luck.
Speed: 220.
Wind check: Westerly.
Champagne Leader to Champagne Section. Commence dive now!
Ready for Rock-A-Bye Baby.
Commence spray on countdown. Five.
Four. Three.
Two. Zero.
Champagne Leader to Grand Slam Leader. The baby is asleep.
I repeat. The baby is asleep. We're going home now.
Out.
Good morning, Mr. Bond. For once, you are exactly where I want you.
- The bomb's here. - Let's get moving, Brigadier.
- Right. Move in. - Move in, commando tactics.
Minimum offensive fire until I signal bomb has been neutralized.
Bomb disposal unit to accompany "DOG."
Good-bye.
Mr. Ling, it is merely a matter of timing.
He's one of 'em, 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.
Come on. Get going. Hurry up!
What kept you?
You okay, James? Where's your butler friend?
He blew a fuse.
Three more ticks and Mr. Goldfinger would have hit the jackpot.
- Did you get him? - Not yet, but he won't get far.
- And Pussy? - She helped us switch the canister gas.
What made her call Washington?
I must have appealed to her maternal instincts.
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.
- Good-bye, Felix. - So long, James. Good luck.
- Thank you, Brigadier. - Good luck.
I am glad to have you aboard.
Congratulations on your promotion...
Goldfinger.
- Lunching at the White House, too? - In two hours, I shall be in Cuba.
And you have interfered with my plans for the last time.
It's 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.
- What happened? Where's Goldfinger? - Playing his golden harp.
It's no good.
No, you don't!
This is no time to be rescued.
Translation And Subtitles By Captions, Inc. Los Angeles