James Bond crosses the Border once again as Her Majesty’s Government panics

But the days of SMERSH and SPECTRE – proper foes for a man like Bond – were long gone. His old boss M was living in comfortable retirement as a paid adviser to an Israeli internet security firm. James Bond felt like an anachronism.

So why had he been called into HQ after so long on gardening leave? Uniquely, he still had his “00” status – his licence to terminate with extreme prejudice any threats to Her Majesty’s realm. Bond had chuckled at the media furore over the so-called covert human intelligence sources (criminal conduct) bill. This legislation gave official immunity to Britain’s spooks to break the law. The Labour Party had whipped its MPs to support the bill. “As if we ever needed the headmaster’s permission,” thought Bond, tapping the Walther PKK pistol that nestled under his armpit.

READ MORE: Scots must pick a side in confronting the ghouls of the British state

But since the fall of the Berlin Wall, Bond had not been called to eliminate any of the country’s enemies. His memos suggesting black operations against the EU had been returned covered in various illegible civil service signatures and stamped “too risky”. As 007 entered the office of the latest head of the Secret Service – the door was no longer the traditional green baize but a neutral frosted glass – he realised that perhaps his services were back in fashion.

Seated before him were the men who now ran what was left of the empire. He recognised Gove, the canny Scot who held the portmanteau post of Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. In other words, he was fixer-in-chief. The name Gove was a cover. His real name was Graeme Andrew Logan. Govie (his nickname in the Service) was a political hardliner. He had been a journalist, then worked for the BBC, a sure indication of an MI5 affiliation. Later Govie had written a book comparing the Good Friday Agreement in Ireland to appeasing the Nazis in the 1930s. Bond mused that if Govie was in charge of this operation, then it meant there was a serious threat to England and its way of life.

Also, there was a scruffy, balding man in a dirty T-shirt fidgeting with a laptop computer. His slovenly appearance was in sharp contrast to the 007’s impeccable Saville Row tailoring. Bond’s undiminished memory for a guilty face soon recognised the man as the PM’s adviser, Cummings. Bond had read the file on Cummings and knew he had spent three years in Russia between 1994 and 1997. That meant Cummings was working for one side or the other. But which?

M’s replacement started to speak, but Govie intervened and took charge. “We have a serious problem we think you can help us with, Commander Bond,” he said, motioning 007 to an uncomfortable metal chair. Bond’s chiselled features took on a professional interest. He longed for the old days when he could smoke.

Govie went on: “Here is a copy of our latest secret Cabinet intelligence report on the situation in Scotland. Please read and destroy. Under no circumstances is it to fall into enemy hands.” Bond read it at speed. This task was made easier because he had read a leaked version in the Daily Telegraph the previous week. As he read the document, Cummings scowled.

“The nub of the issue is this,” said Govie, warming to his theme. “The Jocks have been subverted. There have been 11 opinion polls in a row claiming they want independence from the Mother Country. The blighters even support membership of the EU. If the Scots quit the Empire, then the game is up. Northern Ireland will go – though given the bloody DUP that could be a blessing in disguise. Even the Welsh are getting uppity. Soon we’ll need to build a moat around the M5. We are counting on you, James, to help us out.”

"WHAT we need to know,” interjected Cummings, “is whether you have any personal objections to helping us with this matter?” Cummings was referring to the fact that Bond’s father Andrew had been Scottish while his mother had been Swiss.

Cummings viewed anyone with a mixed Jockland-Euroyte heritage as immediately suspect. He even had suspicions about the PM’s Turkish ancestry, never mind the fact that Govie had been born in Aberdeen. England was under siege.

Bond let a few seconds go by in order to make Cummings nervous. Then he said with a cold smile: “When do I start?” That afternoon, Bond was driving north to Scotland in his big, grey Bentley, with a bag of golf clubs in the back. He remembered Edinburgh and his schooldays at Fettes College. He had made friends with the young man on the horse and cart who delivered the school milk. Whatever happened to him? Then there were the school maids. Bond put down his foot hard on the accelerator. Soon he was crossing the Border for the first time in many decades.

Bond checked in to the Caledonian Hotel in Edinburgh. Except it was no longer called that. It was now the Waldorf Astoria. There were other changes visible. Edinburgh was a clearer, more modern city than the one he had left behind.

A lot of the old stuffiness had gone. There was a sense of self-confidence that had not been there before. He visited the Holyrood Parliament for the first time, designed by a Catalan. So unlike the crumbling Palace of Westminster. He remembered the smell of the ancient breweries that used to stand in this part of town. Now there was the smell of something else in the air: change?

READ MORE: This is what we can expect if Michael Gove unleashes his Unionist 'attack dogs'

Back at the Caley (aka Waldorf) Bond had a meeting with the local MI5 spook, a journalist called Daniel Defoe. The news was not good. Defoe had been instrumental in spreading black propaganda for the Union during the 2014 independence referendum. His job had been persuading the Scots to believe they were too poor and too thick to run their own affairs.

“But James,” Defoe despaired. “The buggers now think they are as competent as anyone else. They even think Boris Johnson is a fool. You need to find out whose put them up to this and eliminate them.”

After Defoe left, Bond went to the Caley bar and had the barman mix him a special drink: three measures of gin, one of vodka, and a half measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken not stirred. Then he walked confidently to Charlotte Square, to the house of the First Minister. He was ushered into her office. “The name’s Bond,” he introduced himself. “James Bond.”

The FM was all business. “Commander Bond, I want to thank you for giving us the internal Cabinet report outlining the Gove plan to create a special government unit to combat the democratic right of the Scottish people to self-determination. It is my privilege to invite you to join us as head of counter-intelligence operations for the forthcoming independence referendum.”

(In fond memory of Sean Connery)