The Wrecking Crew Page #3

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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.

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