Never say never again ...

M said Mokonyane’s Aston had been modified by Q before export. Nomvula had taken the smokescreen dispenser option – ‘She needed to avoid the media and someone called Zondo.’

He looked out across the Thames River and breathed out a plume of e-cigarette smoke. He’d given up smoking Spanish cigarillos (it was a habit he shared with his grandfather, along with that old spook’s penchant for martinis – shaken, not stirred) … but today you weren’t allowed to smoke inside the MI6 HQ building.

He stared at the grey-haired woman standing beside. Grey as the day but sharp as a knife she was.

“I supposed it’s bloody Brexit,” he said, contemplating a future of fish and chips and pints of warm bitter.

“James,” she began in her kindest grandmotherly voice … before remembering where they were: “007. It is not ours to question government decisions. We need to export our unique product before the bloody Bosch and Japs get in…”

“Why do we have to sell this technology? My grandfather would have given you the Goldfinger just for suggesting it…”

“007. There are just three things left which this grand old empire is still good at: diplomatic deceit, binge-drinking and producing specially outfitted Aston Martins. .. and the last of those is the only one we can sell abroad.”

She added: “We’ve discovered there’s a booming market for them in South Africa.”

He thought for a moment: “But I thought the symbol of the ANC was the Range Rover?”

“It is, 007. But there is a discerning sub-set of buyers who believe in RET…”

Bond nodded. “Ah, RET – I remember we briefed Bell Pottinger on that and jolly clever it was. Sow racial division and you keep a country on the back foot. Radical Economic Transformation…”

M stopped. “Most of the people who say that, 007, have no clue what it means. Bell Pottinger tried, but it was too difficult to explain – but easy to shout. Actually, today, for these people, RET stands for Rapid English Transportation.”

She continued: “That is why Nomvula Mokonyane ordered one. She apparently saw your grandfather in one of his documentaries and she has loved Aston Martins ever since. You only live nine times, she said ... like a cat.”

M said Mokonyane’s Aston had been modified by Q before export. Initially, Nomvula had wanted the double machine guns, “but we told her if she needed any strikers gunned down, she should use her own experts – the SA Police”.

Nomvula had, however, taken the smokescreen dispenser option – “She needed to avoid the media and someone called Zondo” as well as the nail-scatterer (she had just got shares in a company which sells tyres, but she couldn’t remember who gave them to her.)

“Why are you telling me this?” 007 asked. “Because we want you to deliver another modified car to Pretoria.”

“Please M. No! Give me the Russian Spetznatz rather than facing a Gauteng taxi-driver in traffic!”

In the basement workshop, Q showed them the gleaming Aston Martin, demonstrating its secrets.

“Customer wanted an ejector seat, 007, just like in your Grandad’s car. Apparently, there’s a special passenger called Ace who is down for a ride…”

Most impressive was the hyperdrive Cloak of Invisibility which, when combined with the Accountability Avoidance System, enabled the driver to say, with a straight face: “I am shocked!”

007 thought for a moment. “Who is the customer and can he afford this?”

M answered: “His code name is Buffalo and he’s got an IMF cheque in his hand…”