{y:i}You walk in a room
{y:i}A woman can feel the heat
{y:i}One look is a guarantee
{y:i}Nights could be long and sweet
{y:i}The message is clear
{y:i}Like nothing I've ever known
{y:i}But from all that I hear
{y:i}Forget about long-range plans
{y:i}Cos this man's got his own
{y:i}To get mixed up with {y:i}a man who says never
{y:i}May be big trouble, but then
{y:i}I just could be the woman to take you
{y:i}And make you never say never again
{y:i}Never, never say never again
{y:i}You've got all the moves
{y:i}Ah, but baby I got 'em too
{y:i}No matter your attitude or your mood
{y:i}I'll come through
{y:i}The touch of your voice
{y:i}The feel of your eyes on me
{y:i}You leave me no choice
{y:i}Though I know there's danger there
{y:i}I don't care, let it be
{y:i}To get in bed with {y:i}a man who says never
{y:i}May have no future, but then
{y:i}I just could be the woman to reach you
{y:i}And teach you to never say never again
{y:i}I'll bet you, I'll get you
{y:i}I'll reach you, I'll teach you
{y:i}I'll take you, I'll make you
One minute, 47 seconds, sir.
- Not too shabby, sir. - But dead, 007. Dead!
You should have studied the plot more carefully.
Fanatical revolutionaries kidnap a millionaire's daughter.
Of course she could have been brainwashed. Could have turned.
- Evidently she did. - With due respect, sir,
I played for two weeks and I only got killed once.
Twice. The land mine on the Black Sea beach.
Correction, sir: I lost both legs. I did not die.
You were immobilised.
It can never be the same playing with blanks.
It {y:i}is somewhat different in the field.
With your life on the line, you... Well, your adrenaline gives you an edge.
Is your edge sharp? That's the difference between a double-0 and a corpse.
Since you took over, sir, you've had little use for the double-0s.
I've spent most of my time teaching,
- not doing. - Oh, I'll make you no secret.
I hold your methods in much less regard than my illustrious predecessor did.
But my duty is to keep you up to par.
Too many free radicals, that's your problem.
- Free radicals, sir? - Toxins that destroy the body and brain.
Caused by eating too much red meat and white bread, and too many dry martinis.
- Then I shall cut out the white bread, sir. - You'll do more than that, 007.
From now on, you will be suffering a strict regimen of diet and exercise.
We shall purge those toxins from you.
- Shrublands? - You've got it.
- Have you got an assignment, James? - Yes. Yes, Moneypenny.
I'm to eliminate all free radicals.
Do be careful.
- Welcome to Shrublands, sir. - Thank you.
My word. They don't make them like this any more.
- It's still in pretty good shape. - This way, sir.
Your body's got enough scar tissue for an entire regiment.
- Right... But it's still in pretty good shape. - We'll be the judge of that, Mr Bond.
Our job is not just to rehabilitate you. It's to re-educate you.
I want t{y:i}o open your mind to the virtues of nutrition, proper exercise, meditation
and, hopefully, spiritual enlightenment.
I'd like you to see the iridologist at four, have a colonic at five
and then you can cut along to the light-dining room for a cup of parsley tea.
Mr Bond, I need a urine sample. If you could fill this beaker for me...
From here?
{y:i}Bonjour.
- Box 27 4 and quickly, please. {y:i}- Ah, oui. S{y:i}uivez-moi.
We have invested extensively in the Middle East and Central America
to promote insurgency and revolution.
Fortunately our capital outlay has been handsomely offset
by the resultant sales of armaments and missiles.
You will note that we have supplied both rebels and government forces
on an equal basis.
In matters of death, SPECTRE is strictly impartial.
Now for the future. SPECTRE's most audacious enterprise of any,
next to which our previous ventures are inconsequential.
Our esteemed Number One is in complete charge of the entire operation,
which will henceforth be called "The Tears of Allah".
He will now join us.
According to plans, an American air-force officer
has been introduced to a cruel mistress: heroin.
I understand he is now our willing and obedient servant.
{y:i}A surgical operation {y:i}has been performed on him.
{y:i}As a result of a corneal implant,
{y:i}his right-eye print is an exact replica of {y:i}that of the president of the United S{y:i}tates.
{y:i}He will soon be moved to {y:i}a convalescent clinic near London.
{y:i}I have chosen Number 12 {y:i}to have the responsibility
{y:i}of taking the most tender loving care
{y:i}of Captain Jack Petachi.
I beg your pardon. Is there no speed limit here?
She's not staff. She must be one of those private nurses.
My name is Bond.
Oh, {y:i}you're Mr Bond! I believe I'm having you in half an hour.
- Oh, splendid! Your room or mine? - Mine.
That's it. OK, now just move back on the couch for me, please. That's it.
Let's have this arm on the shoulder. This one... no, underneath there. Good.
OK, now just relax.
Yes, there are slight lesions of the thoracic vertebrae.
Now, if you just hold still...
Yes. Some sacroiliac strain at the base of the spine.
There {y:i}is a more beneficial therapy for a man's lower back.
- Oh, really? - Mm.
And what might that be?
I thought I'd... surprise you, James.
Well, you have. Come in.
No, no. I can't come in. You know if they found me here they'd fire me on the spot.
I won't let anyone find you. Don't worry. I have {y:i}my reputation to think of.
I don't think you got {y:i}your reputation by living on a diet of wild rice. So...
Lentil delight. Dandelion salad.
Goat's cheese.
Beluga caviar. Quail's eggs. Vodka.
Foie gras.
Strasbourg.
{y:i}In question time {y:i}at the House of Commons,
{y:i}the minister said that local authorities {y:i}should be given far wider...
Jack's been smoking again!
Jack was ordered not to smoke.
Smoking is dirty.
It gets into Jack's eye.
Jack must do as he's told if he wants his fast cars and his pretty clothes.
- And if he wants to keep his sister alive... - You leave Domin{y:i}o out of this!
Mmm. James?
Get up!
Now let's just take a look, shall we?
Ah! Very good.
With a contact lens both eyes will look exactly the same.
Now, darling must do his little trickie in eight seconds.
Then nursie will give baby his candy.
Mm?
P... three... four... one...
Come on, Jack!
- Oh, damn! - Try it again, darling!
- Who's that? - A man!
- At the window! - Don't move.
- Did he see you? - I don't know.
I guess he could have.
- Do you know him? - Oh, yes!
007.
Good morning, Mr Bond. Miss Fearing tells me you're making fine progress.
Oh, yes.
But I must say, you're looking a bit peaked this morning.
- I was up all night. - Don't overdo it.
A herbal enema should fix you up.
Thank you... Sounds terrific!
I'll be done in a minute.
Heavy, Mr Bond?
Let's try again.
{y:i}Through the defensive walls...
{y:i}He shoots... It's there!
You lunatics!
I send you to a health farm to get yourself in shape. Instead you demolish it!
I've had to notify the local police, pull out the special branch, muzzle the press
and allocate a large chunk of my meagre budget to renovating the establishment!
- A man {y:i}didtry to kill me, sir. - Caught you seducing his wife, did he?
No, sir, not at all. But I lost four pounds and God knows how many free radicals.
That is the kind of attitude that tempts me to suspend you, 007!
This test assesses distance and accuracy
of cruise-missile release from the support country.
These ALCMs, with dummy warheads,
will go from terrain following to inertial guidance, over water, toward the target.
- We hope! - S{y:i}tand by.
{y:i}Countdown is go for dummy-warhead {y:i}loading and B-1 flight.
{y:i}Let's hope we never {y:i}have to use the real thing.
All right, men, this is it. Let's make it a good one.
{y:i}Mr President, please stand by
{y:i}while authority for this procedure {y:i}is confirmed by eye-print check.
{y:i}If confirmation is not authenticated within {y:i}eight seconds, the base will be sealed.
{y:i}Eight... seven...
{y:i}- six... five... - Come on!
{y:i}- four... three... two... - Come on!
{y:i}one. Thank you.
{y:i}Presidential authority is confirmed {y:i}for change of test procedure.
{y:i}Dummy warheads will be replaced {y:i}by W-80 thermonuclear device.
{y:i}Have a nice day.
Jack!
Bravo!
No! No!
Ooh, my poor angel!
My sweet baby!
Mr Kovacs, how much longer?
They're coming. They're almost in range.
S{y:i}afety offiicer to base. Radar confirms {y:i}both missiles on descent trajectory.
What the hell's going on here? They've got maximum thrust.
{y:i}About to cross minimum cruise height.
{y:i}- Descending below minimum height... - Damn! We've lost 'em!
We've got them!
{y:i}- Well, Kovacs? - The fish are netted.
Put them on ice.
I am supreme commander of SPECTRE,
the Special Executive for Counterintelligence,
Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion.
{y:i}Yesterday morning the American air force
{y:i}launched two cruise missiles {y:i}from S{y:i}wadley air base in Great Britain.
{y:i}Through the ingenuity of S{y:i}PECTRE, {y:i}the dummy warheads they carried
{y:i}were replaced with {y:i}live nuclear warheads.
{y:i}Your weapons of destruction {y:i}are now safely in our possession
{y:i}and will be moved to two secret targets.
{y:i}Please note the serial numbers of {y:i}the missiles. They will confirm the truth.
{y:i}Your weapons of deterrence {y:i}did not deter us from our objective.
{y:i}A terrible catastrophe now confronts you.
{y:i}However, it can be avoided by {y:i}paying a tribute to our organisation,
{y:i}amounting to 25%of your respective {y:i}countries' annual oil purchases.
{y:i}We have accomplished two of the {y:i}functions the name S{y:i}PECTRE embodies:
{y:i}terror and extortion.
{y:i}If our demands are not met within seven {y:i}days, we shall ruthlessly deploy the third:
{y:i}revenge.
That would be $25 billion a year!
Order!
This would destabilise the monetary system!
I call this meeting t{y:i}o order!
The foreign secretary wishes to address you! Lord Ambrose.
Gentlemen, we are faced with the ultimate nightmare:
the abduction of nuclear warheads.
But how is this possible?
Up to now, our procedures relating to nuclear hardware
have been absolutely foolproof.
I hope the American government realises its awesome responsibility in this matter!
NATO has a joint responsibility to solve this problem.
But if this gets out, it will cause worldwide panic!
How well has this information been contained?
Apart from those present in this room,
the information resides only with the CIA and British Intelligence.
Wonderful! That means by now it's all over the Kremlin!
I know your feelings, M, but I insist you reactivate the double-0s.
As you wish, sir.
{y:i}Maximillian Largo, born Bucharest, 1945.
{y:i}Industrialist and philanthropist.
{y:i}Resident Nassau, Bahamas. {y:i}No known criminal associations.
You still here, Moneypenny? You should be in bed.
James, we both should be. Instead I'm looking everywhere for you.
Forget that. M wants to see you right now. It's panic stations upstairs.
He's been with the prime minister all day. I think you're back in business, James.
- Morning, gentlemen. - Morning!
- The latest reports? Everything OK? - Yes, sir.
- Morning. - Morning, Charles.
In secret, the Americans are trying to trace the missile
on their eastern seaboard.
The other allegedly threatens the oilfields of the Middle East.
How well protected are they from the air?
Everyone's collaborating. The Americans, NATO, the Japanese...
They're putting up an air screen a mosquito couldn't get through.
Our concern is that the warhead may already be in position.
The worst devastation would result from a subterranean explosion.
You see, the oil-bearing strata in the area...
Interconnected by a surprisingly delicate structure.
It would be a sort of ripple effect.
What's the Americans' story on how the damn things were stolen?
The release of ALCMs has to come from the president.
Even that has safeguards. It can only be authorised after a scan of his right eye.
The only irregularity is that a communications officer
unofficially left the base at the time of launch. A certain Captain Jack Petachi.
If this Petachi was involved,
is it conceivable that he could have used a false eye?
Oh, do come along, Bond!
Let's think of a more logical explanation, shall we?
{y:i}OK, let's run through {y:i}that routine from yesterday.
- Let's go again. - OK.
Four, five, six, seven, down.
Max!
As usual, I have left you alone too long, I know.
But I brought you a gift.
I don't want any more gifts.
I just want you. That's all I want.
I know, but this is different.
- Look. Look. - Oh, Max!
- What is it? - It's very old.
Oh!
- What's the inscription? - Arabic. "The Tears of Allah."
The story is that the prophet wept for the barrenness of the desert
- and his tears made a well. - Mmm.
It's a legend, of course, but like all great legends,
it is also the truth.
It is the most valuable thing...
I have ever possessed.
Except you.
Hmmm.
- And you trust me to wear it? - A safer place I couldn't imagine.
And what if I ever leave you?
No, really!
Then I cut your throat.
Nice to know even old Q can surprise one of you double-0s occasionally.
Algernon!
Not quite perfected yet.
You could write a very binding contract with this.
Yeah, I wish {y:i}I had a new contract. They've slashed my budget.
You can't get the spare parts. And when you can, some strike stops delivery.
And look at this place! They keep it bloody freezing down here!
Plays havoc with my sinuses.
We're both humble servants of the Crown.
If the CIA made me an offer, I'd be off like a shot.
Unlimited resources, air conditioning,
28 flavours of ice cream in the restaurant.
It's a motorbike toy. If I can get the thing to work properly, I'll ship it out to you.
Wait a minute! I've got something in here that could be useful.
The prototype came from a KGB defector. Bit of a whiz kid in their technical section.
Not a bad chap, though like all defectors, prone to melancholy.
I suppose it's all that vodka and English weather.
Ah.
Rather tasty, this is. It looks like a watch, but it's really a laser.
- Keeps perfect time. - But for how long?
At least {y:i}your lifetime.
Good to see you, Mr Bond. Things have been awfully dull round here.
Bureaucrats running the place, things done by the book.
Can't make a decision unless the computer gives you the go-ahead.
Now you're on this, I hope we're going to have some gratuitous sex and violence.
I certainly hope so too. What is this for?
I'll show you. You unscrew it,
then stick it up your nose.
- It's for my sinus. - Well, I won't need one where I'm going.
Where's that, or are you not allowed to say?
- The Bahamas. - Lucky bloody you!
- Oh, sorry! - That's perfectly all right.
- What are you hoping to catch? - Something about 6'2", 190lb,
- with brown eyes. - Well, why bother going to sea?
- Let me help you. - Mr Bond!
- I say, Mr Bond! - Catch you later, perhaps.
Right.
Nigel Small-Fawcett, British Embassy, Nassau.
- How do you do, Nigel? - Sorry I'm late.
As you're an undercover johnny, I took the precaution of not being followed.
That's why you shouted my name across the harbour?
Oh, God, did I? Oh, I'm sorry.
Damn! Damn!
Sorry. I'm rather new to all this.
- What's the score with Largo? - He's highly visible here.
Enormously wealthy. Owns the biggest boat in the Caribbean.
Spends a lot of his time at a place called Bluebeard Reef.
Marine archaeology, I gather.
- You've met him? - Oh, yes. He's charming.
I mean... foreign, but charming nonetheless.
He donates a lot of money to worthy causes. He built a maritime museum
- and a new wing for the orphanage. - I'm sure he's very kind to his mother.
Don't know his mother.
You're not going to make any trouble, are you?
Let's face it, your reputation has preceded you.
- Do I look like I would make trouble? - Well, yes, frankly.
You'll jeopardise the tourist trade if you go around killing people.
Nigel, please. Just go back to your desk.
Find out where Largo's boat is at the moment. Call me later. I'll be at my hotel.
Jolly good. I'll get onto that at once.
And take full advantage of the natural cover.
- Is this {y:i}The Flying S{y:i}aucer? - Yeah. It sailed this morning.
Oh!
How reckless of me! I made you all wet.
Yes, but my martini's still dry. My name's James.
Hello, James. I'm Fatima Blush.
You ski very well.
I do many things very well.
I'm sure you do.
- What brings you to Nassau, James? - I'm fishing.
- For what? - Anything I can get.
I know the best waters. I'd be very happy to show them to you.
Why would you do that?
I'd like you to find what you're looking for.
I'm all yours.
- Yes? - James, would you come down please?
Right away.
Ah! I think this should take care of you perfectly.
Oh, I'm sure it will.
- You're marvellously well-equipped. - Thank you, James.
- So are you. - Thank you.
What exactly are we going down for?
Sport... and a little fun.
You... you appear tense.
You affect me, James.
Well, that's bad.
Going down, one should always be relaxed.
Is it far to the reef?
It's far enough.
We've got time to kill.
- It's you! - Well, you did say you'd catch me later.
Oh, my God!
- 623 and... - 728.
728.
Here you are. No messages.
- Hello? {y:i}- Mr Bond! I've finally tracked you down!
Small-Fawcett here. I hope I haven't caught you at an awkward moment.
No, not at all. Just be brief. I don't have too much time.
{y:i}Just want you to know {y:i}that I'm on top of things.
I've found out that Largo's boat is en route for the south of France.
- Well done. - Oh, it was nothing, really.
If you're free tomorrow, why don't we go snorkelling?
- Sounds a wonderful idea. {y:i}- Oh, jolly good, Bond!
{y:i}Because I was wanting {y:i}to discuss with you...
- What's that? - Mr Bond?
- Proof that we made the right decision. - About what, darling?
Your place or mine.
I found a villa for us just where you wanted. It's perfect!
{y:i}The Flying S{y:i}aucer is anchored in the bay below.
And Q sent this.
Thank you.
- Gotcha! - Get down!
- Felix! - Not bad.
Not bad at all. Nothin' wrong with your reflexes. How you doin', buddy?
- What the hell are you doing here? - CIA sent me to ride shotgun with you.
- 326. - How do you do?
- Excuse my inexperience. Nicole. - I'm Felix Leiter. {y:i}Enchanté.
Thank you. My car is right there.
I ran some checks in the Langley computer.
- Anything on Largo? - No, he's squeaky-clean.
I must say, for once your hunch was wrong, buddy.
- Ho-ho! Algernon, right? - Yes.
I had the first one of those, and it blew up in my face.
A motorbike came for you from England. Here's the papers.
- What are you gonna do with it? - I'll know when I test it.
It's gonna be your ass, James.
Thank you!
- Felix! - Yeah?
Forget the soup.
- Feast your eyes on that. - What've you got here, James?
- That's Largo's lady. - Her name is Domino. Domino Petachi.
Petachi. The air-force officer killed in that car crash.
- Jack Petachi. - That's right. He was her brother.
Well, there's the man himself.
If he's got the bombs, do you think he'd have them on his yacht?
Unlikely. But get some scuba gear. We'll check her out.
- Right. - Hmm.
{y:i}Oui. On a tout ce que vous voulez.
{y:i}Bon. Au revoir, madame.
{y:i}Merci. Welcome to the {y:i}Centre de la S{y:i}anté. I hope you enjoy our facilities.
{y:i}Merci.
{y:i}- Bonjour. {y:i}- Bonjour, monsieur.
- Do you serve men here? - But of course.
Some men more than others.
Miss Petachi! N{y:i}o one told me you were here. I {y:i}am sorry.
- You speak English, yes? - Yes. Quite well, in fact.
Now... Hard or soft massage?
Oh, hard, please.
Well, perhaps we should begin with your back.
I... don't believe we've seen you around here before.
No, I was on a boat.
Ah. And what boat would that be?
- Oh, {y:i}The Flying S{y:i}aucer. - Oh!
- Mr Largo's boat. - Yes. Do you know Mr Largo?
Oh, I know {y:i}of him.
I know he owns many beautiful things.
Yes, he's a very generous man, Mr Largo.
I'm sure he is.
He's giving a charity ball tonight at the casino, for children.
- What a worthy cause. - Mm.
Perhaps I should attend.