TOM EATON: Licensed to kill time for pussyfoot president
Superspy with a mission
James Blob knocked on the dark mahogany door and pushed it open. M looked up from his game of Candy Crush with a look of mild relief. “Ah, 007,” he barked. “Thank God. This game really sucks you in. Heavens, look at the time.”
Blob shrugged and took a cigarette out of the silver case he kept in his breast pocket. It was the job, and there was no-one better at the job than Blob, one of just an elite handful of agents in the SA State Security Agency to be rated double-O: licensed to kill time.