The story of Scotland’s most unexpected secret agent... a Highland cow.

Not every hero wears a cape. Some wear curls and horns.

In the misty glens above Glen Coe, she grazed unnoticed—just another shaggy Highland coo. But behind those gentle eyes lay the mind of a covert operative. Codename: Secret Agent Number Three. Her mission? Infiltrate enemy networks and protect Scotland’s most precious secrets.

She was trained in silence. Raised among legends. And now… she’s back in action.

It started with a raven.

Atop the crumbling stone wall near Loch Laggan, a black bird landed and dropped a capsule. Secret Agent Number Three approached cautiously. Inside: a small slip of parchment.

“Operation Seagull Redux is in motion. You are activated.”

The past stirred. Beneath those hooves lay stories untold—and now, a mission reborn.

Arisaig House once trained WWII’s bravest spies. Now, it stood empty—except for one Highland cow.

Secret Agent Number Three traced the grounds with precision. This was where the Special Operations Executive once taught sabotage, codes, and survival. But something new stirred beneath the ferns: an old code carved in stone.

"The war never ended. It only paused."

Not all betrayals die in the past.

“Pickle the Spy,” a real Jacobite double agent, once hid a map revealing post-war caches buried across the Highlands. Secret Agent Number Three now had reason to believe someone was hunting for it—under the guise of environmental work.

And one of them had already reached Perthshire.

At a cattle show near Stirling, Secret Agent Number Three blended in like any prize beast. But behind the hay bales, she met her contact: Fergus—a retired border collie and ex-MI-Bark operative.

“They’re targeting the Kinlochleven hydro station next,” he warned.“Time to move.”

Even in peacetime, old enemies find new ways to strike.

A buzzing drone shattered the night silence. Secret Agent Number Three bolted across Glen Nevis, weaving through bracken like a ghost.

With a flick of her horn, she baited the drone into a crash dive—straight into Loch Linnhe.

One cow. One drone. Game over.

A long-forgotten Dundee hair salon once run by Nazi spy Jessie Jordan had reopened. Secret Agent Number Three visited under cover of darkness.

Behind the crumbling floorboards, she uncovered a transmitter still humming.

“Secret Agent Number Three… not all allies are who they seem,” a voice crackled.

The Cold War never really ended—it just changed masks.

In Jedburgh, Secret Agent Number Three was ambushed. Not by a foreign operative—but by Agent Thistle, a stoat she once trained beside.

He’d switched sides. Sold intel to Berlin’s shadow unit.

Secret Agent Number Three escaped using her most iconic move: a cowbell decoy and the art of standing very, very still.

In a moss-covered croft, she found it—a carved stone from the days of the Jacobites. It bore an image of a cow and a raven, surrounded by code-like symbols.

This wasn’t art. It was a cipher.

One that led to a network of sleeper agents placed after the war.

On the Isle of Skye, Secret Agent Number Three summoned the old network.

There was Glenna the red deer. Isla the pine marten. Bruce the eagle. All part of the long-dormant Fauna Division, trained in secrecy for a day just like this.

“Scotland is not just land,” Secret Agent Number Three said.“It’s legacy. We protect both.”

Near Holy Loch, a shadow base monitored the ancient hydro grid. Secret Agent Number Three and her team struck.

Power out. Communications jammed. Documents secured.

Inside: proof they were planning to dismantle Scotland’s water-based energy hubs from within.

With the plot exposed, Secret Agent Number Three returned to the glens. She didn’t need medals. Just pasture and peace.

But beneath the heather, her encrypted collar blinked. A new signal pulsed from the north.

A spy’s job is never truly over.

They say she’s just a myth. A story told to tourists.

But every time strange hoofprints appear after a drone crash… or a sabotage attempt fails mysteriously… locals just smile and nod.

“Aye. She’s still out there.”

And they raise a toast to the spy who never retired: Secret Agent Number Three.