Bond 07 - Goldfinger

by Ian Fleming

  ‘What was that fairy-tale?’ Miss Galore’s eyes were shining with the vision.

  ‘Puss in Boots,’ said Mr Jack Strap in a surly voice. ‘Go ahead, mister. This is good. How do we get into the town?’

  ‘We come in,’ said Goldfinger, ‘on a special train that will have left New York City on the night of D – 1. There will be approximately one hundred of us and we shall be attired as Red Cross workers. Miss Galore will, I hope, provide the necessary contingent of nurses. It is to fill this minor but important role that she has been invited to this meeting.’

  Miss Galore said enthusiastically, ‘Wilco, Roger, over and out! My girls’ll look sweet in starch. Whaddya say, Jacko?’ She leant sideways and nudged Mr Strap in the ribs.

  ‘I say they’d look better in cement overcoats,’ said Mr Strap impatiently. ‘Whaddya have to keep on butting in for? Keep going, mister.’

  ‘At Louisville, thirty-five miles from Fort Knox, I myself and an assistant will ask to be allowed to ride in the leading diesel. We shall have delicate instruments. We shall say that it will be necessary for us to sample the air as we approach Fort Knox for, by this time, news of the mysterious affliction that has struck down the inhabitants will have reached the outer world and there is likely to be some panic in the surrounding area, and indeed in the country as a whole. Rescue planes may be expected to approach shortly after our arrival at dawn and an early task will be to man the control tower at Godman Airfield, declare the base closed and re-route all planes to Louisville. But, to go back for a moment, shortly after leaving Louisville, my assistant and I will dispose of the driver and fireman by as humane methods as are possible’ (I bet, thought Bond) ‘and I shall personally bring the train – I may say that I have the requisite knowledge of these locomotives – through Fort Knox to the bullion sidings alongside the depository.’ Goldfinger paused. He looked with slow, grave eyes round the circle. Satisfied with what he saw, he continued in the same even tone. ‘By this time, gentlemen and madam, your transport convoys should be arriving. The traffic controller will dispose them in the neighbourhood of the depository according to a pre-arranged plan, the airport staff will proceed by truck to Godman Airfield and take over, and we shall enter the depository, paying no heed to the sleeping bodies with which the landscape will be – er – decorated. Right?’

  Mr Solo’s dark eyes burned across the table. He said softly, ‘Sure, is right so far. Now mebbe you –’ he blew out his cheeks and gave a quick hard puff towards Goldfinger – ‘like this and the twenty-ton door he fall down. Yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Goldfinger equably. ‘Almost exactly like that.’ He rose and went to the table under the blackboard, lifted up the big ungainly carton and carried it carefully back and placed it on the table in front of him. It seemed to be very heavy.

  He sat down and continued, ‘While ten of my trained assistants are making preparations for the vault to be opened, stretcher teams will enter the depository and remove to safety as many of the inmates as can be located.’ Bond thought he noticed a treacherous purr underlying Goldfinger’s next words. ‘I am sure you will all agree, gentlemen and madam, that all unnecessary loss of life should be avoided. Thus far, I hope you notice that there have been no casualties with the exception of two employees of the Illinois Central Railroad who have received sore heads.’ Goldfinger didn’t wait for comment but went on. ‘Now,’ he reached out and placed his hand on the carton, ‘when you, gentlemen, and your associates have needed weapons, other than the conventional small arms, where have you found them? At military establishments, gentlemen. You have purchased sub-machine guns and other heavy equipment from quartermaster storekeepers at near-by military bases. You have achieved this by the use of pressure, blackmail or money. I have done the same. Only one weapon would be powerful enough to blast open the Bullion Vault at Fort Knox and I obtained one, after much seeking, from a certain allied military base in Germany. It cost me exactly one million dollars. This, gentlemen, is an atomic warhead designed for use with the Corporal Intermediate Range Guided Missile.’

  ‘Cheesus Kerist.’ Jed Midnight’s hands reached for the edge of the table beside Bond and gripped it.

  All the faces round the table were pale. Bond could feel the skin taut over his own tensed jaw. To break his tension he reached inside his coat pocket for the Chesterfields and lit one. He slowly blew out the flame and put the lighter back in his pocket. God Almighty! What had he got himself into? Bond looked back down the vista of his knowledge of Goldfinger. The first meeting with the naked brown body on the roof of the Floridiana Cabana Club. The casual way he had rapped Goldfinger’s knuckles. The interview with M. The meeting at the bank at which it had been a question of tracking down a gold smuggler – admittedly a big one and one who worked for the Russians – but still only a man-sized criminal, someone Bond had taken trouble to beat at golf and then had pursued coolly, efficiently, but still as only one more quarry like so many others. And now! Now it was not a rabbit in the rabbit hole, not even a fox, it was a king cobra – the biggest, most deadly inhabitant of the world! Bond sighed wearily. Once more into the breach, dear friends! This time it really was St George and the dragon. And St George had better get a move on and do something before the dragon hatched the little dragon’s egg he was now nesting so confidently. Bond smiled tautly. Do what? What in God’s name was there he could do?

  Goldfinger held up his hand. ‘Gentlemen and madam, believe me, this object is an entirely harmless lump of machinery. It is not armed. If I hit it with a hammer it would not explode. Nothing can make it explode until it is armed and that will not happen until The Day.’

  Mr Billy Ring’s pale face was shiny with sweat. The words trembled slightly as they hissed out through the false grin. ‘Mister, what ... what about this thing they call – er – fall-out?’

  ‘Fall-out will be minimal, Mr Ring, and extremely localized. This is the latest model – the so-called “clean” atomic bomb. But protection suits will be issued to the squad that first enters the ruins of the building. They will form the first in the human chain that will remove the gold and pass it to the waiting trucks.’

  ‘Flying debris, Mister? Chunks of concrete and steel and so forth?’ Mr Midnight’s voice came from somewhere in his stomach.

  ‘We shall take shelter behind the outer steel stockade of the depository, Mr Midnight. All personnel will wear earplugs. There may be minor damage to some of the trucks, but that hazard must be accepted.’

  ‘Da sleeping guys?’ Mr Solo’s eyes were greedy. ‘Mebbe dey jess sleeps a liddle longer?’ Mr Solo obviously didn’t worry too much about the sleeping guys.

  ‘We shall move as many as possible to safety. We must, I am afraid, accept minor damage to the town. I estimate that casualties among the population will approximately equal three days’ toll on the roads of Fort Knox. Our operation will merely serve to keep road accident statistics at a steady level.’

  ‘Damn nice of us.’ Mr Midnight’s nerves had now recovered.

  ‘Any more questions?’ Goldfinger’s voice was bland. He had read out the figures, estimated the prospects for the business. Now it was time to put the meeting to the vote. ‘Details remain to be worked out exactly. In that, my staff here’ – he turned first to Bond and then to Miss Masterton – ‘will be assisting me. This room will be our operations room to which you will all have access by day or by night. The code word for the project is “Operation Grand Slam”, which will always be used in referring to the project. May I suggest that those of you who wish to participate should brief one, and only one, of your most trusted lieutenants. Other staff can be trained for their functions as if this were a run-of-the-mill bank robbery. On D – 1 a slightly wider briefing of staff will be necessary. I know I can rely on you, gentlemen and madam, if you decide to participate, to treat this whole project as an operation of war. Inefficiency or insecurity will of course have to be dealt with decisively. And now, gentlemen and madam, I will ask you to reply on behalf of your resp
ective organizations. Which of you wishes to enter this race? The prize is gigantic. The risks are minimal. Mr Midnight?’ Goldfinger turned his head an inch to the right. Bond saw the wide open X-ray gaze devour his neighbour. ‘Yes?’ There was a pause. ‘Or no?’

  19 ....... SECRET APPENDIX

  ‘MR GOLD,’ Jed Midnight pronounced sonorously, ‘you are undoubtedly the greatest thing in crime since Cain invented murder and used it on Abel.’ He paused and added emphatically, ‘I shall count it an honour to be associated with you in this enterprise.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Midnight. And you, Mr Ring?’

  Bond was doubtful about Mr Billy Ring. He had scrawled plusses against all the names except Ring and Helmut Springer. To Mr Ring he had allotted a nought, to Springer a minus sign. He had come to his conclusions by watching eyes, mouths, hands, but nothing had been betrayed by The Grinner’s unwavering false smile. The wink in his right eye had been as steady on the pulse-beat as a metronome and he had kept his hands below the table.

  Now Billy Ring brought his hands up from below the table and formed a cat’s cradle with them on the green baize in front of him. For a moment he watched the two thumbs twirling, then he raised his nightmare face to Goldfinger’s. The tic in his right eye had stopped. The two rows of teeth began to operate like a ventriloquist’s dummy. ‘Mister –’ he found difficulty with his b’s, m’s and p’s and produced them by bringing his upper lip down over his teeth like a horse does when it takes sugar out of your hand – ‘long time now my friends and I been back in legal. What I mean, the old days of leaving corpses strewn all over the landscape went out with the ’forties. Me and my associates, we do all right with the girls, the hemp, and the racetrack, and when we’re short there’s our good friends the Unions to slip us the odd fin. Ya see, mister –’ The Grinner opened his hands and then put them back into the cradle – ‘we figger the old days are gone. Big Jim Colossimo, Johnny Torrio, Dion O’Bannion, Al Capone – where are those guys today, huh? Mister, they’re pushing up the morning glory by the fence. Mebbe you weren’t around in the days when we used to hide up between fights in Little Bohemia up behind Milwaukee? Well, siree, in those days, people were shooting at each other so fast you’d often need a programme to tell the act from the spectators. So all right, people got tired of it – those that hadn’t already got tired to death, if you get my meaning – and when the ’fifties come along and I take over the team, it’s unanimous that we get out of the fireworks business. And now what, mister? Now you come along and put it to me that me and my friends assist you to let off the biggest fizzbang in history! So what do I figger to say to your proposition, Mister – er – Whoosis? Well, I tell you, mister. Everybody’s got his price, see? – and for a billion dollars it’s a deal. We’ll put away the marbles and bring out the sling-shots. We’re in.’

  ‘Grinner, you sure take one hell of a long time to say yes,’ commented Mr Midnight sourly.

  Goldfinger said cordially, ‘Thank you for your most interesting statement, Mr Ring. I am very happy to welcome you and your associates. Mr Solo?’

  Mr Solo prefaced his reply by reaching into his coat pocket and taking out a battery shaver. He switched it on. The room filled with the noise of angry bees. Mr Solo leant his head back and began running the machine thoughtfully up the right side of his face while his uptilted eyes sought decision in the ceiling. Suddenly he switched the razor off, put it down on the table in front of him and jerked his head down and forward like a snake striking. The black gun-muzzles of his eyes pointed threateningly across the table at Goldfinger and moved slowly from feature to feature of the big moon-face. Half Mr Solo’s own face now looked naked. The other half was dark with the Italian swarthiness that comes from an uncontrollable beard growth. Bond guessed that he probably had to shave every three or four hours. Now Mr Solo decided to speak. He spoke in a voice that brought chill into the room. He said softly, ‘Mister, I been watching you. You are a very relaxed man for someone who speaks such big things. Last man I knew was so much relaxed he got himself totally relaxed by a quick burst of the chopper. Okay, okay.’ Mr Solo sat back. He spread open palms in reluctant surrender. ‘So I come in, yes. But mister –’ there was a pause for emphasis – ‘either we get that billion or you get dead. Is okay with you?’

  Goldfinger’s lips bent ironically. ‘Thank you, Mr Solo. Your conditions are quite acceptable. I have every wish to stay alive. Mr Helmut Springer?’

  Mr Springer’s eyes looked deader than ever. He said pompously, ‘I am still giving the matter my full consideration. Pray consult my colleagues while I deliberate.’

  Mr Midnight commented impatiently, ‘Same old Hell. Waits for what he calls inspiration. He’s guided – messages from the Almighty on the angels’ wavelength. I guess he hasn’t heard a human voice in twenty years.’

  ‘And Mr Strap?’

  Mr Jack Strap crinkled his eyes at Goldfinger. He said smoothly, ‘Mister, I figure you know the odds and you surely pay the best since one of our machines at Vegas got the trots and gave continuous jackpots. I guess if we provide the muscles and the guns this caper’ll pay off. You can count me in.’ Mr Strap turned off the charm. His eyes, now frightening again, turned, with Goldfinger’s, to Miss Pussy Galore.

  Miss Galore veiled her violet eyes so as not to have to look at either of them. She said indifferently to the room at large, ‘Business ain’t been so brisk in my corner of the woods.’ She tapped with long, silver-painted finger-nails on the gold bar before her. ‘Mind you, I won’t say I’m overdrawn at the bank. Let’s put it I’m just a shade under-deposited. Yup. Sure I’ll come in. Me and my gals got to eat.’

  Goldfinger allowed himself a half-smile of sympathy. ‘That is excellent news, Miss Galore. And now,’ he turned to face across the table, ‘Mr Springer, might we ask if you have made up your mind?’

  Slowly Mr Springer rose to his feet. He gave the controlled yawn of an opera-goer. He followed the yawn with a small belch. He took out a fine linen handkerchief and patted his lips. His glazed eyes moved round the table and finally rested on Goldfinger. Slowly his head moved from side to side as if he was trying to exercise fibrositis in his neck muscles. He said gravely, like a bank manager refusing a loan, ‘Mr Gold, I fear your proposal would not find favour with my colleagues in Detroit.’ He gave a little bow which included everyone. ‘It only remains for me to thank you for a most interesting occasion. Good afternoon, gentlemen and madam.’ In the chilly silence, Mr Springer tucked his handkerchief carefully into the left-hand cuff of his immaculate pin-stripe, turned and walked softly to the door and let himself out.

  The door closed with a sharp click. Bond noticed Goldfinger’s hand slip casually below the table. He guessed that Oddjob was getting his signal. Signal for what?

  Mr Midnight said nastily, ‘Glad he’s out. He’s strictly a four-ulcer man. Now then –’ he got up briskly and turned to Bond – ‘how about a little drink?’

  They all rose and gathered round the buffet. Bond found himself between Miss Pussy Galore and Tilly Masterton. He offered them champagne. Miss Galore looked at him coldly and said, ‘Move over, Handsome. Us girls want to talk secrets. Don’t we, yummy?’ Miss Masterton blushed and then turned very pale. She whispered adoringly, ‘Oh yes please, Miss Galore.’

  Bond smiled sourly at Tilly Masterton and moved down the room.

  Jed Midnight had witnessed the snub. He got close to Bond and said earnestly, ‘Mister, if that’s your doll, you better watch her. Pussy gets the girls she wants. She consumes them in bunches – like grapes, if you follow me.’ Mr Midnight sighed wearily. ‘Cheesus how they bore me, the lizzies! You’ll see, she’ll soon have that frail parting her hair three ways in front of the mirror.’

  Bond said cheerfully, ‘I’ll watch out. There’s nothing much I can do. She’s an independent sort of a girl.’