Goldfinger (1964) Script

Cleaned, corrected and timing moved ahead by Tronar


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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?


Yes, Mr. Bond?

Beach 79432, room 119.


Hello, Felix? Get over here right away.

What's up? The girl's dead.


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.


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?


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... eh... 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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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!


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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?


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?


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.


But the atomic device, as you call it, is already obviously in this country.


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.


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.


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...


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.


What happened? Where's Goldfinger?

Playing his golden harp.

It's no good!

No, you don't.

This is no time to be rescued.