The Wrecking Crew Page #2

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Blue light. Must be the second one.

Is this more interesting?

I also know you're off the team.

But I was on the team when

Operation Rainbow was being planned.

Would you put on the green light?

Operation Rainbow?

Operation Rainbow,

our code name for $1 billion...

What's your American word? Heist.

Heist?

- Would you change the light?

- Yes.

Yep.

I know what you're after...

and I like the way you're going about it.

- Thank you, Mr. Helm.

- It's all right.

Thank you.

I mean...

no, thanks. I mean, I don't use them.

Nobody's going to believe

this down at the office...

but I'm on a very tight schedule.

But I know where the gold is, Mr. Helm.

I'm not on that tight a schedule.

I love flexible men.

There's just two little words...

where it is...

how much?

I'm a gypsy, Mr. Helm.

My father was a gypsy.

And he taught us one thing:

Wise men enjoy pleasure...

before business.

I like your father's thinking.

I'm a wretched hostess, Mr. Helm.

I haven't offered you a thing.

I wouldn't say that.

What do you prefer?

To drink.

I've heard that you do...

drink.

Just call it a hobby. Scotch on the rocks.

I'm so sorry, I'm out of Scotch.

Can I give you something else?

Surprise me.

Mr. Helm...

for my cooperation, I want two things:

Massimo Contini destroyed...

and $1 million.

$1 million, huh?

You're in luck, Mr. Helm.

Get out of the car.

- Your hands in the air, please.

- Wait just a minute!

Your identification.

Wait just a minute.

I'm Freya Carlson

from the Danish Tourist Bureau.

For heaven's sake, put that silly gun away.

This is Matt Helm, one of America's

most distinguished photographers.

- That may be true, but...

- No news from the chateau yet.

Have you had your dinner?

Look, Miss Carlson, we've just received

reports of an explosion...

and a homicide in this building...

that your Mr. Helm was leaving so hastily.

I would say leaving the area

of an explosion hastily...

is an extremely sensible reaction.

- It must have been horrifying...

- Will you shut up?

- Come along, sir.

- I'm only trying to help.

Don't do me a...

You'll help me right into death row.

Why don't you split.

Go call the American Embassy.

- I'm not running out on you.

- Please, do me a... Run out. Desert!

Why, Mr. Helm, what a pleasant surprise!

- I hope so.

- What is all this?

Excellency, we're checking

an explosion and a homicide...

Then I suggest that you get on with it.

I'll vouch for Mr. Helm.

Yes, Excellency.

Mr. Helm, I am Count Massimo Contini.

I know you by your reputation, of course.

Count Contini, I've been trying

to get in touch with you for days.

We wanted permission to photograph

your chateau.

That would be my pleasure.

Shall we say 10:
00 tomorrow morning?

Yes, fine. 10:
00.

Who we? What's "we"?

Us. You and me.

My orders from the Tourist Bureau

are to work directly under you.

Directly under?

The first order is to get out of here.

Yes, sir.

Yes, ma'am.

Mr. Helm. I think we're stuck.

- We're what?

- We're stuck.

- We're stuck?

- Yeah.

- Good.

- Is that all you've got to say?

Oh, dear! I just ruined

a perfectly good pair of stockings.

Poor Lola made the headlines.

It was a rather noisy exit.

Arranged by you?

But of course.

She met with Mr. Helm

for only one reason: to betray you.

So I simply stopped by her place

and dropped off a gift bottle of scotch.

With that inevitable kick in it.

But you disobeyed my orders,

you risked the life of Mr. Helm.

Darling, we discussed all that last night.

It seemed to me that you forgave me. No?

Last night I was in a forgiving mood.

This morning I'm thinking realistically

of $1 billion in gold...

and Mr. Helm...

whose character we will now test.

Mr. Helm, His Excellency will see you now.

This way, please.

Miss Carlson. Mr. Helm.

You are prompt.

We couldn't wait to get started,

Your Excellency.

We?

I'll take notes

while Mr. Helm takes the pictures.

I'll take her anytime.

Miss Carlson, Mr. Helm,

my fiance, Miss Linka Karensky.

Miss Karensky, they told me...

Linka. Please call me Linka, Mr. Helm.

Make mine Matt, okay?

They told me the Count had great taste.

- Who told you that?

- I did.

Mr. Helm, we came here to work, remember?

Yes. Perhaps you'd like to start

in the conservatory.

Come along, my dear.

The view is simply breathtaking.

It sure is.

Was it something I said?

In our civilised business,

this is the traditional time...

to offer you a cigarette

or some liquid refreshment perhaps.

But since we are professional people,

on limiting time schedules...

I suggest that we dispense

with such amenities.

No, let's not dispense with

any of those things.

But, of course, you're right. Karl...

There's so little time for grace...

and civility in this vulgar world of ours.

I said it once and I'll say it again,

I like your style.

Actually, I would have preferred

to live in a different century.

Florence in the 13th, or Germany in the 18th.

Wouldn't you, Mr. Helm?

It'd be all wrong, I'd be dead by now.

Which brings me precisely to the point.

You see, I know who you are, Mr. Helm.

An agent of ICE.

And I know why you came to Denmark.

To recover $1 billion in American gold.

Somebody's putting you on, Count.

Please, Mr. Helm, stupidity has

a tendency to make me impatient.

However...

luckily, I dislike unnecessary violence...

which may lead to unnecessary publicity.

Therefore, you are going to South America...

on the next available flight.

With $1 million in cash.

I'd hate myself in the morning.

- $2 million?

- I'd hate myself twice in the morning.

I'd lose my sense of values.

You are interfering with plans as delicately

balanced as a Swiss chronometer.

Therefore I must kill you.

You remember what you said

about being stupid?

You think I walked in here

without knowing I could walk out?

Now, the Danish Tourist Bureau,

they know where I am.

And they know

the minute I'm expected back.

If I don't show up, you're going to be

up to your hips in cops.

Freya...

tell him the Tourist Bureau,

they know where I am, right?

- Oh, no, Mr. Helm.

- No, Mr. Helm?

No, our clients have complete privacy.

No one knows who you are.

Hold it! Smile!

They didn't smile.

You'll be all right. Yes.

All right, get over there.

Come on!

What makes you think she can swim?

- That's the only way to find out. Right?

- Yeah, right.

Get him!

Why are they bumping us, Mr. Helm?

They're coming, Mr. Helm!

Don't push me down. I can't see.

They're trying to kill us, Mr. Helm.

Drive faster.

Faster! You're an awful driver.

Hang onto your miniskirt.

At the tram, the road dead-ends.

Bring it down. Now!

It's occupied.

Please, just a minute.

For heaven's sake. Oh, no!

Get to the car.

You did? You'd better.

Each phase of the operation

has been advanced eight hours.

You will have the pleasure

of killing Mr. Helm.

Thank you very much, Your Excellency.

All right.

Get out and remember, we'll call you. Out!

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