All language subtitles for Goldfinger.1964.720p.BluRay.x264-SiNNERS_eng

Yahoo!

- Congratulations.
- Thank you.

Mr. Ramirez and his friends
will be out of business.

At least he won't be using heroin-flavored
bananas to finance revolutions.

Don't go back to your hotel, señor.

They'll be watching it.

There's a plane leaving
for 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? Yes.

Shocking.

Positively shocking.

How's this?

That's nice. Very nice.

Just here?

No, a little lower, darling.

I thought I'd find you in good hands.

Felix! 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,
didn't they?

But what's on your mind? I'm on holiday.

Not anymore, you're not.
Signal from London.

Might have known M
wouldn't book me into

the best hotel in Miami Beach
out of pure 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 apparently quite reputable.

Owns one of the finest
stud farms in the States.

What's the tie-up with Washington?

He's clean, as far as CIA is concerned.

And where do I 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, I'm ready.

When you're 10 grand in the hole,

you're ready for anything.

Could I have my usual seat?

You and your suntan.

That Goldfinger's a fabulous card player.

Same stakes?

Let's double it. $5 a point.

Did you say five?

My luck's got to change sometime.

Okay.

I'll get back to the office
and cable M you're on the job.

You can fill me in on the rest at dinner.

Fine, I'll call you later.

- Four.
- So soon?

- How many?
- Seven, 12, 18, 32, 44.

Miss?

Hey, what do you...

That's Mr. Goldfinger's suite.

Yes, I 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 very much 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?

Well, 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?

I know the best place in town.

Station W.E.B.S. brings you
the latest in world news.

Washington.
At the White House this afternoon,

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.

Right...

- How about breakfast?
- Okay.

- Not too early.
- I'll call you around 9:00.

Yes, 9:00 will be fine.

- So long, James.
- Good night, Felix.

It's lost its chill.

Why, you...

It's all right, there's
another in the fridge.

Who needs it?

My dear girl, there are some things
that just aren't done,

such as drinking Dom Perignon '53

above a temperature of
38 degrees 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 up?
- 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's been known to happen
to cabaret dancers.

It's all right
so long as you 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,
have you?

You were supposed to observe
Mr. Goldfinger, not borrow his girlfriend.

Instead of that,
Goldfinger goes off to Europe,

and it's only by the grace of God,
your friend Leiter,

and my intervention with
the British embassy in Washington,

that you're not in the custody
of the Miami Beach police.

Sir, I'm aware of my shortcomings,

but I'm prepared to
continue this assignment

in the spirit you suggest,

if I 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 7:00. Black tie.

Now, 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?

You'll come around 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 I 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, Mr. Bond,

are the official depository
for gold bullion

just as Fort Knox, Kentucky,
is for the United States.

We know, of course,
the amounts we each hold,

we know the amounts
deposited in other banks,

and we can estimate
what is being held for industrial purposes.

This enables the two governments
to establish, respectively,

the true value of the dollar and the pound.

Consequently, we are vitally concerned
with unauthorized leakages.

I take it you mean smuggling?

Yes.

Gold, gentlemen,
which can be melted down and recast,

is virtually 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 pounds.
Most of it came from this country.

Why move it?

Because 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.

Providing, of course, you have
the 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 jeweler.

He's legally entitled

to operate modest
metallurgical installations.

His British one is down in Kent.

As yet, we have 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,

then the bank could institute proceedings

to recover the bulk of his holdings.

I think it's time Mr. Goldfinger and I 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
at the bottom of Lake Toplitz

in the Salzkammergut.

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
the rest of your equipment in the morning.

Of course, sir.

Morning, Q.

Good 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.

To be concealed in the car you're trailing

while you keep out of sight.

Reception on the dashboard here.

Auto-visual. Range, 150 miles.

Ingenious. And useful, too.

Allow a man to stop off
for a quick one en route.

It has not been perfected
after years of patient research

entirely for that purpose, 007.

And incidentally,
we'd appreciate its return,

along with all your other equipment,

intact, for once,
when you return from the field.

You'd be surprised

the amount of wear and tear
that goes on out there in the field.

Anything else?

I won't keep you
for more than an hour or so,

if you give me your undivided attention.

We've installed some
rather interesting modifications.

You see this arm here?

Now, open the top, and inside are
your defense mechanism controls.

Smoke screen, oil slick,
rear bulletproof screen,

and left and 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?

'Cause you'll release
this section of the roof

and engage and then fire
the passenger ejector seat.

Ejector seat? You're joking.

I never joke about my work, 007.

Ready, Blacking?

Yes, sir.
There's an old member 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 go straight off,
the first tee is clear.

- Fine.
- I'll get Hawker to carry 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 caddie.

Golf is not yet
the national game of Korea, hey?

This meeting is not a coincidence, hmm?

What's your game, Mr. Bond?

My game?

You didn't come here to play golf.

The 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.

And 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 with you, naturally.

It's worth £5,000.

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
a stroke and distance.

I'm still training him as a caddie.

Successfully, too.

- Slazenger Number 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.

Would you like me
to mark it or knock it in?

Play it.

- This for a half.
- That's right.

One to go. That'll be the clincher.

Fine.

Did you switch them, sir?

Then we've got him.

If he doesn't notice the switch.

- It's your honor, 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
somewhere on the 18th fairway.

We are playing strict rules,

so I'm afraid you lose
the hole and the match.

She's a beauty. Phantom
III, '37, isn't she?

You are a clever,
resourceful man, Mr. Bond.

Why, thank you.

Perhaps too clever.
Twice our paths have crossed,

let's leave it at that.

I should think our first meeting
would have convinced 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 check made out to cash?

That would be perfectly satisfactory.

Goodbye, Mr. Bond.

I believe this is yours.

May I have your attention, please?

British United Air Ferries
announcing final call

for the departure of their
DS-400 flight to Geneva.

British United Air Ferries
announce the departure

of their DS-400 flight to Geneva.

Mr. Bond?

That's all right, I've got you booked out

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 have pulled over further.

Look at them!

A double blowout.
I've never seen one of these before.

How could new tires...

Defect of some kind, most likely.

Anyway, I'm so glad
it's only the car and not you.

You don't look like the sort of girl
who should be ditched.

Never mind that.
Please take me to the nearest garage.

Certainly. By the way, my name is Bond...

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.

I've had an accident.

How long will it take? Thank you.

They say it will take
24 hours to get new tires.

There's a hotel nearby.

Jump in. I'll run you down.

That won't be necessary.

I hate to leave you here alone.

I can take care of myself.

Yes, I'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 to ingots,

which in turn will be released on the board
and weigh approximately two tons.

I make six trips a year to the continent

in the Rolls Royce, Mr. Ling.

It would be wiser
to suspend your other activities.

Now, Mr. Ling,
please assure your principals

Operation Grand Slam will have
my undivided attention.

Now, there are certain matters
we must discuss.

Let me go! You're breaking my back!

What the hell are you doing here?

I want to kill him!

- Kill who?
- Goldfinger.

I want him alive.

I want him dead. He killed my sister.

T.M. Tilly Masterson.

I knew your sister, Jill.

I know what he did to her in Miami.

No, you don't. Let me go!

If you wanted to kill him,
why did you shoot at me?

I didn't. I was shooting at him.

You're a lousy shot.

Somebody else around here isn't.
Come on.

Quick. Get in the car.
I'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 recognized,

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
not to be found 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 color,

its brilliance, its divine heaviness.

I welcome any enterprise
that will increase my stock.

Which is considerable.

I think you've made your point, Goldfinger.
Thank you for the demonstration.

Choose your next
witticism carefully, Mr. Bond.

It may be your last.

The purpose of
our two previous 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. I 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.

But he knows what I know.

You know nothing, Mr. Bond.

Operation Grand Slam, for instance.

Two words you may have overheard,

which cannot possibly have
any significance to you

or anyone in your organization.

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.

Tranquilizer gun. Knock-out 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.

The humming means
you're in Mr. Goldfinger's

Lockheed Jetstar heading for Baltimore,

and you're his guest.

I'm honored.

I never realized 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 damned 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.

Apology is 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 tranquilizer.

Now, Pussy, you know
a lot more about planes than guns.

That's a Smith and Wesson .45,

and if you fired at this close range,

the bullet will pass through me
and the fuselage

like a blowtorch through butter.

The cabin will depressurize,

and we'll both be sucked
into outer space together.

But if that's how you want to enter
the United States, you're welcome.

As for me, 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 glad to see you, too.

You like close shaves, don't you?

Washington, sir, on the green scrambler.

- M here.
- Leiter, sir.

Leiter!

It's about 007, sir.
We picked up his homer signal.

It's monitored into
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.
- Yes, sir.

Keep an eye on him for us.

Their flight plan gives Blue Grass Field,
Kentucky, as 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, please.
- 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?

- Of course.
- And I'll see the supplies are here soon.

Talented chaps.

They should be. I trained them.

Come on.

You're a woman of many parts, Pussy.

I believe that the bourbon
and branch water's 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, 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 just drop in on him.

He'll shout if he needs us.

They're all here, Mr. Goldfinger.

Yes. Yes.

Thank you, Kisch.

That guy Solo's going to wear
a hole in his shoes.

I like this!

- Wait!
- Gentlemen!

Goldfinger,

why weren't we told that 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 hood's convention.

Goldfinger, I made a delivery.
Where is my money?

I made a delivery, too.

You all made the deliveries
we contracted for.

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 10 millions tomorrow.

Did you say 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's no cause for alarm, gentlemen.

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?

- Got a key or something?
- Of a kind.

There are 35,000 troops
stationed around there!

41,000.

And who's going to
say boo to them, Goldfinger?

- Hey, what's going on here?
- Hey, 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 endeavor

except crime!

The underworld will rock
with applause for centuries.

- Cut the commercial.
- Yeah, get to the point.

You're wasting my time, Goldfinger.

The depository is impregnable.

Look, 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, 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 the consignment

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 immobilized,

my task force,

which Mr. Strap had his people

smuggle across
the Rio Grande from Mexico,

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 arranging through your
considerable influence in shipping circles

to bring through customs uninspected

a consignment labeled "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?

Gentlemen, we must respect
Mr. Solo's decision.

Please excuse me for a few minutes
while I take care of him.

Make yourselves comfortable.

- How do we get it out?
- That's the bit I want to hear.

Pussy.

Who taught you judo?

The gun you took.

The gun.

The gun, of course.

We must have a few fast falls
together sometime.

Hey, Strap, if 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.

What's going on?

- I don't like this.
- What the...

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?

Unfortunately,
he has a pressing engagement.

Yeah. 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'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.

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 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.

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, 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 quite 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,

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.

And incidentally, Delta
9 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, 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.

Now, at the most,
you're gonna have two hours

before the Army, Navy, Air Force,
Marines move in

and make 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 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.

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.

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 10 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, eh?

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, Mr. Bond,
but 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?

Well, 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, 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 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 task force leader.

The baby is asleep.

I repeat, the baby is asleep.

We're going home now. Out.

Chafoo.

Good morning, Mr. Bond.

For once, you're exactly where I 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 neutralized.

- Minimum offensive fire...
- Come on.

...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...

Goldfinger!

Please, Mr. Gold...

He's one of them! So's 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!

Come on, you boys! 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 gas in 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, James. Good luck.

- Thank you, brigadier.
- Good luck.

I'm glad to have you aboard, Mr. Bond.

Congratulations on your promotion,
Goldfinger.

Are you 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.

Pussy.

What happened? Where's Goldfinger?

Playing his golden harp.

It's no good!

No, you don't.

This is no time to be rescued.