HIS MAJESTY'S SECRET DISSIDENT (PART 1)

“The heretic is the one who speaks against the community from a place within its territory. He is the enemy within. The heathen, by contrast, is safely behind the walls, excluded by his own invincible arrogance.” - Roger Scruton, England: An Elegy

Bond was even more dismayed with His Majesty's newly elected government than he had been with the last. It occurred to him that the country was rapidly being poisoned by an ideology disturbingly reminiscent of China's Cultural Revolution under Mao. The secret agent was seriously questioning who the 'good guys' were and who were the bad.

Many times in the past, Bond had been conflicted over missions he’d been ordered to carry out under administrations he held in little regard—that was par for the course in his line of work. But with this new breed of autocrats, he feared that following their orders might mean betraying the last remnants of patriotism still lingering in his contrarian heart. He wondered if, by complying with their instructions, he might unwittingly contribute to the country’s accelerating decline, aiding those he could only describe as full-blown communists.

And yet it was also true that the nihilist in Bond cared less about the country's fate now that the Queen had died. Everything good about the place seemed to have been buried along with her and Britain now appeared set on a path of wilful self-destruction, infected by a virus of collective self-loathing. A ruling class intent on building a dystopian future by erasing the nation’s past had now taken the reins. And that wasn't the only problem. To Bond’s mind, the present King was a feckless fool, hypnotised by a sinister utopian dream spun by the World Economic Forum, with its chilling mantra, “You will own nothing, and you will be happy.”

Bond didn’t own much himself, and was rarely happy, yet he took comfort in the thought of others building lives, families, and homes for themselves. He would never enjoy that reality, living mostly between hotels and airport lounges, but his work had been motivated by a duty to protect the public from external threats and if they had no country or future to believe in, what was it exactly he was protecting? Firmly believing that the enemy was now deep within the castle walls, he needed to re-evaluate his role—perhaps even consider leaving the country that appeared hell-bent on committing national suicide.

He had a place in Liguria, left mostly to ruin from neglect. Now seemed as good a time as any to make repairs and forget the issues of King and country. But just as he unzipped his suitcase, preparing to leave for Italy, his phone rang. Bond grimaced, knowing full well only one person would call him at such an ungodly hour.

M.

It appeared the castle walls had ears.

To be continued ...