— 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.
— 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.
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. 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.
