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.