It was an extraordinary scene. In the centre stood the huge squat mausoleum, the sun glinting off the polished granite of its walls. Outside the big open field in which it stood, the roads – the Dixie Highway, Vine Grove and Bullion Boulevard – were lined with trucks and transporters two deep with the recognition flags of the gangs flying from the first and last vehicle of each convoy. Their drivers lay piled up outside the shelter of the surrounding guard wall of the vault while, through the main gate, poured the tidy disciplined squads from the train. Outside this world of movement there was absolute stillness and silence as if the rest of America was holding its breath at the committal of this gigantic crime. And outside lay the bodies of the soldiers, sprawling where they had fallen – the sentries by their pill boxes, still clutching their automatic pistols, and, inside the protecting wall, two ragged squads of soldiers in battle-dress. They lay in vague, untidy heaps, some bodies athwart or on top of their neighbours. Outside, between Bullion Boulevard and the main gate, two armoured cars had crashed into each other and now stood locked, their heavy machine guns pointing, one at the ground and the other at the sky. A driver’s body sprawled out of the turret of one of the vehicles.
Desperately Bond looked for a sign of life, a sign of movement, a hint that all this was a careful ambush. Nothing! Not a cat moved, not a sound came out of the crowded buildings that formed a backdrop to the scene. Only the squads hurried about their tasks or now stood waiting in their planned dispositions.
Goldfinger spoke quietly into his microphone. ‘Last stretcher out. Bomb squad ready. Prepare to take cover.’
Now the covering troops and the stretcher-bearers were hurrying for the exit, getting down under cover of the guard wall. There would be five minutes’ delay to clear the area before the bomb squad, now waiting bunched at the main gate, would go in.
Bond said efficiently, ‘They’re a minute ahead of time.’
Goldfinger looked past Oddjob’s shoulder. The pale eyes were aflame. They stared into Bond’s. Goldfinger’s mouth twisted into a harsh snarl. He said through his teeth, ‘You see, Mr Bond. You were wrong and I was right. Ten more minutes and I shall be the richest man in the world, the richest man in history! What do you say to that?’ His mouth spat out the words.
Bond said equably, ‘I’ll tell you after those ten minutes are up.’
‘Will you?’ said Goldfinger. ‘Maybe.’ He looked at his watch and spoke rapidly into his microphone. The Goldfinger squad loped slowly through the main gate, their heavy burden slung from four shoulders in a cradle of webbing.
Goldfinger looked past Bond at the group on the roof of the second diesel. He called out triumphantly, ‘Another five minutes, gentlemen, and then we must take cover.’ He turned his eyes on Bond and added softly, ‘And then we will say goodbye, Mr Bond. And thank you for the assistance you and the girl have given me.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Bond saw something moving – moving in the sky. It was a black, whirling speck. It reached the top of its trajectory, paused and then came the ear-splitting crack of a maroon signal.
Bond’s heart leapt. A quick glance showed him the ranks of dead soldiers springing to life, the machine guns on the locked armoured cars swinging to cover the gates. A loud-speaker roared from nowhere, ‘Stand where you are. Lay down your arms.’ But there came a futile crackle of fire from one of the rearguard covering party and then all hell broke loose.
Bond seized the girl round the waist and jumped with her. It was a ten-foot drop to the platform. Bond broke his fall with his left hand and hoisted the girl to her feet with a jerk of his hip. As he began to run, close to the train for cover, he heard Goldfinger shout, ‘Get them and kill them.’ A splatter of lead from Goldfinger’s automatic whipped at the cement to his left. But Goldfinger would have to shoot left-handed. It was Oddjob that Bond feared. Now, as Bond tore down the platform with the girl’s hand in his, he heard the lightning scuffle of the running feet.
The girl’s hand tugged at him. She screamed angrily, ‘No, No. Stop! I want to stay close to Pussy. I’ll be safe with her.’
Bond shouted back, ‘Shut up, you little fool! Run like hell!’ But now she was dragging at him, checking his speed. Suddenly she tore her hand out of his and made to dart into an open Pullman door. Christ, thought Bond, that’s torn it! He whipped the knife out of his belt and swirled to meet Oddjob.
