- I prefer the easier way. - That's very sensible.
Besides, 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?
(Moneypenny) Washington, sir. On the green scrambler.
- M here. - Leiter, sir.
It's about 007, sir. We picked up his homer signal.
It's monitored from 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 Goldfinger.
I'm glad he's making progress. Keep an eye on him for us.
Their flight plan gives Kentucky as their final destination.
Don't charge in and spoil anything. He's evidently well on top at the moment.
- (Mei-Lei) Mr. Bond? - Of course.
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?
I'll see you 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.
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. You'll get your final briefing tonight. That'll be all for now.
(whistling and shouting)
Ah!
Welcome to Auric Stud, Mr. Bond. Lovely animal, isn't she?
- Certainly better bred than the owner. - Show Mr. Bond to his quarters, please.
(beeping)
Felix.
- Maybe we should just drop in on him. - He'll shout if he needs us.
- They're all here, Mr. Goldfinger. - Huh?
Oh, yes, yes. Thank you, Kisch.
That guy Solo's gonna wear a hole in his shoes.
(laughter)
Hey, yeah, I like this!
Gentlemen!
Goldfinger, why weren't 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 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? - When my bank opens in the morning.
- Banks don't open on Sunday. - My bank will.
What's with that trick pool table?
- (first man) Cover him. - (second man) Cover those doors.
(third man) Turn those lights back on.
- What are you trying to pull, Goldfinger? - There is no cause for alarm, gentlemen.
(fourth man) I don't like being cooped up like 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? - (laughter)
- Got a key or somethin'? - Of a kind.
(man) There are 35,000 troops stationed around there.
- 41,000. - And who's gonna say boo to them?
Hey, what's going on here?
- The floor! My feet! - What the hell is this?
Say, 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 endeavor except crime.
(Goldfinger) The underworld will applaud for centuries.
(man) Cut the commercial. Get to the point.
You're wasting my time. 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 organization, Mr. Midnight, brought these canisters across the border.
They contain Delta 9. 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 the population, including the military, has been immobilized,
my task force, which Mr. Strap smuggled across the Rio Grande,
will approach Fort Knox in motorized 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
a consignment labeled "machine parts".
All that then remains is to descend to the vaults where the bullion is stored.
- I've heard enough. - Let him...
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.
Please excuse me while I take care of him. Make yourselves comfortable.
(men discuss plan)
Pussy.
- Who taught you judo? - The gun you took.
Oh, the gun.
The gun, of course.
We must have a few fast falls together some time.
Hey, Strack. He's got the right answers.
We 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?
(hissing)
The gas!
(yelling)
(coughing and spluttering)
Such a pity you did not choose to remain with the others, Mr. Solo. However...
Ah, Mr. Bond, I thought you were resting in your quarters.
No, 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.
- Leaving us so soon, Mr. Solo? - He has a pressing engagement.
- I'd like to get started, Goldfinger. - When you gotta go, you gotta go.
My plane will get you to New York on time with your excess luggage. (laughs)
Allow me.
My chauffeur's an excellent driver. You'll 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.
(beeping)
(car horn)
He's on the move.
(beeping)
Slow down. Don't crowd him.
Are you blind or something? You missed the turn.
They've turned to the right just ahead.
- Where's this old pal of yours headed? - Ten'll get you one it's a drink or a dame.
(machinery whirs)
- 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, 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, Kish?
- Two men in a car with binoculars. - Touts looking for racing tips.
There's another possibility, however. Kish, ask Mr. Bond to join us.
We were quite right to spare Mr. Bond's life if those gentlemen 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. - Hah.
He wants you.
Ah, Mr. Bond, sit down.
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.
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.
60 men would take 12 days to load it onto 200 trucks.
At most, you'll have two hours before the army moves in and makes you put it back.
Who mentioned anything about removing it?
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 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 US will be radioactive for 57 years.
58, to be exact.
I apologize, Goldfinger. 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.
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 try 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 it for yourself. Too closely for comfort, I'm afraid.
Forgive me, Mr. Bond, but I must arrange to separate my gold from the late Mr. Solo.
As you said, he had a pressing engagement.
Ah, 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?
Well, the new Miss Galore. Where do you hide your gold knuckles in this outfit?
Oh, I never carry weapons after business hours.
- 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, 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.
I repeat: The baby is asleep. We're going home now. Out.
(blows)
Ah.
(blows)
Good morning, Mr. Bond. For once, you are exactly where I want you.
(humming and ticking)
(distortion)
- The bomb's here. - Let's move, Brigadier.
- Right, Jack, move in. - Move in, commando tactics.
Minimum offensive fire until I signal bomb has been neutralized.
Bomb disposal unit to accompany DOG.
Goodbye, Mr. Bond.
Mr. Ling, it is merely a matter of 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.
N-No. No!
Aagh!
Aaagh!
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 gas canisters.
By the way, what made her call Washington?
I must have appealed to her maternal instincts.
Come on, James, get aboard. 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. - I told the stewardess liquor for three.
- Who are the other two? - There are no other two.
- Goodbye, Felix. - Good luck.
- Thank you, Brigadier. - Good luck.
I'm glad to have you aboard, Mr. Bond.
Congratulations on your promotion, Goldfinger.
- Having lunch at the White House, too? - In two hours I shall be in Cuba.
And 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.
At the moment she is where she ought to be: at the controls.
Aargh!
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.
# 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
# He loves only gold
# Only gold
# He loves gold