The headquarters of SMI6 was bit… unimpressive, thought Bond as he walked through the front entrance. He supposed that it made sense to have a base at the bottom of Edinburgh Rock, but the place was a bit dank at times.
He found N at his desk, where he was filling out a mound of requisition forms. After a moment he cleared his throat slightly, which made N look up. “Aha, Bond! There you are! I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Passport control was something of a pain, sir. They wanted to know why I’d spent so much time in England and what the provenance of the haggis I’d bought in Harrods for my mother was.”
N looked at Bond. “A good point.” Then he shook himself slightly. “Well, we’ve made some progress here. You will be glad to hear that you have a licence to kill again. Well, a licence to maim, we’re still working on the kill bit. The negotiations with the EU are proving to be something of a trial. Q Branch – sorry, R Branch – has your equipment.”
Bond perked up. “I have a mission sir?”
N waggled his hand slightly. “Yes and no. You’re still not licenced to maim overseas – not that Scotland has many overseas interest at the moment. However, we’ve heard that the North Korean embassy in Edinburgh will be in a room over a pie and tatties shop near Murrayfield. We need you to observe whoever they send.”
Well, it was better than nothing. “Very well sir. Oh – do I have a designation yet?”
“Um, yes,” N muttered as he signed another piece of paper. “MI6 have been somewhat… sticky about you retaining your old designation. Apparently MI6’s new 007 is one Rhodri Llewllyn.” Oh. That tosser. “As a result we have been forced to come up with a new designation system. You are now… Scottish Professional Operative One.”
Bond cringed inside. “Could you reconsider that please sir?”
“Why?”
“Because that spells ‘Spoo’. And whoever is the next person to get a designation would be Agent Spot.”
N frowned. “Ah. I see your point. We’ll look into it. Well – off you go. Mind that you remember to save your receipts. The First Minister’s still having a spot of bother with the finances. Turns out that certain oil reserves aren’t as full as he said they were.”
Bond nodded respectfully and then wandered off to R Branch, which he found in a smallish room off a corridor. Q – sorry, R – was sitting on a chair and scowling at a collection of objects. Then he noticed Bond. “Ah – 007!”
“Sorry R, it’s Agent Spoo now.”
R’s bushy white eyebrows waggled with confusion for a moment, like two caterpillars headbutting each other. “Spoo?”
“N’s working on a new designation.”
“Oh good. Now – I’d tell you to pay attention, but this shouldn’t take long. Here’s your equipment.”
Bond looked down at the table. On it lay a set of knuckledusters, a cheap mobile phone and some lockpicking tools. “Is that it?”
R coughed with embarrassment. “Yes, well, funds are a little low at the moment. I’m sure that we’ll do better soon. Oh and I forgot something.” He pulled something out of his pocket. “Your bus pass. Try not to lose it Agent Spoo.”
Bond sighed deeply, pocketed everything and then wandered out. Well, he had an Embassy to observe. Perhaps he should have stayed in London?