SAS stood for the Special Air Service, a British special-forces unit that was the greatest in the world in both name and substance. Those in it didn’t call the organization the SAS, however; just “the Regiment.”
Until a month ago, I’d been one of them.
Calling it the best wasn’t out of bias or conceit. It was a simple fact. The selection tests to get into the Regiment were the harshest in the world, and even those who failed earned praise for having made an attempt. The level of training you received upon admission was globally considered the most excellent as well. Peacekeeping forces from every allied nation would come to us to learn from our skills. Ever since its formation on the Arabian Peninsula in World War II, it had seen plenty of actual combat. We’d be secretly deployed to shady places at home and abroad to do our jobs efficiently and go home. It was a band of professional warriors—taciturn, vulgar, sweaty, and loyal to their own.
It was comforting to exist in that world since it contained only professionals, but being part of that sort of thing for so long made it easy to forget that most people weren’t that way. Every once in a while, you’d happen upon a complete idiot who forced you to remember that such types still existed. Sometimes, folk like that could ruin all sorts of things for you. In fact, one such moron was the reason for my discharge.
It all started in Ankara, the capital of Turkey. I’d falsified my identity to gain entrance to the country for an operation, which I proceeded with carefully. I can’t say much about it, but my mission was to set up a “conversation” with a high-ranking military official who we were almost positive was in contact with a certain foreign power. With help from a local collaborator familiar with the region, I established a plan, and I was all ready to carry it out the following day.
Then that associate leaked a photograph of me.
Either the guy was trying to distract himself from his anxiety, or he was stoned—but whatever the case, he took a selfie in the café that night, with the caption With a friend from the SAS!! followed by a bunch of emoticons, then uploaded it to Instagram. I was behind him; he covered me up with a sticker, but some nearby window glass, polished to a sheen, caught my reflection perfectly.
It boggled the mind to think anyone could have done something so foolish in the middle of a mission.
I caught word the next morning and was understandably furious. Sadly, there was nothing I could do. After immediately reporting the incident to my superiors, the mission was called off. They ordered me to withdraw; I was out of Turkey within four hours.
Though I returned home safely, I was in an awkward position. Operatives in the Regiment worked on highly secretive missions, and we needed to avoid having our faces revealed. Look at any book or article about the SAS—the hard rule about public photographs was to blur out the head. More than a few people had a bone to pick with the SAS. Any identifiable members were in immediate danger.
Frontline work was no longer an option for me. My superiors offered me the choice of taking on rear support operations, but I wanted to stay in active service.
The whole thing was unfair, but the responsibility lay with me. I obviously didn’t have a good eye for people, and I hadn’t noticed the picture being taken. The mission had failed, and my comrades ended up having to clean up after me. Try though I did to help, there was no longer anything I could do.
I couldn’t afford to stay in the Regiment any longer. Thus, I’d resigned from the military after twenty years of service.
Several old friends and acquaintances who heard about my plight had offered to let me stay with them. There were many job opportunities, too—private-military-company operative, weapons-company observer, combat instructor… There was even an offer from a publishing agent wanting to know if I’d write a book. To top it all off, and I don’t know how they heard about me, but a big entertainment-promotion company even e-mailed me to see if I wanted a namesake TV program. Everyone loved those shows where former special-forces agents had to survive in extreme environments. I was assured the ratings would be phenomenal.
Even after leaving the SAS, its shadow continued to loom over me. I’d have no worries about being able to fill my belly for the moment, at least, and I was grateful for the many offers. Yet the only response I gave was that I’d consider the propositions and respond later.
To be perfectly honest, I was hurting. I had been reborn in the Regiment and had lived my life there. The SAS had been my world, and I was deeply shocked when I had to leave it against my will. No matter how pleasant the conditions in my new workplace would be, regardless of pay, that pain wasn’t the sort that mended quickly.
And so I had decided to be a vagabond for a little while until my frayed nerves calmed. The first step on that trail was here in Japan.
There was another reason I hadn’t started my next job right away.
Now that my face was public, I knew that some who were less than friendly toward me would be watching. This wasn’t a persecution complex. Imagine how big a problem it would cause for the British government if a terrorist organization were to kidnap a former SAS member and hold him hostage. Ponder on how much top secret intel could be wrung from me if a foreign spy were to catch me in a honeypot. I wouldn’t be taken in so easily, of course, but there was nothing saying that enemies wouldn’t try.
Me departing the UK and wandering was also so I could keep an eye on my general vicinity and wait for things to blow over. A few years after leaving active service, my value as an asset to those villains would drop dramatically.
Such had been the plan anyway…
I was surprised—I hadn’t thought someone would be after me right from the outset. Turkey, Afghanistan, South Africa, Thailand… There were stacks of grudges. Still, this one had come to collect sooner than I’d expected.
I pretended to hang up and returned the smartphone to my pocket. I’d check on the tail again, decide between leaving the area and taking control, then execute—just like I had done so many times in the past. Now that someone was glaring bullets into my back as I walked through the airport, the only thing on my mind was how to deal with this situation.