The world swam as I fought back the nausea of the poison. I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing there—all I knew was what was on the note I’d found beside me when I came to in the hotel room.

“You are poisoned. Go to the news-stand in the duty-free zone and ask for a copy of last weeks Conde-Nest Traveler if you want to live.”

So here I was, on the mobile sidewalk in the airport, heading into the duty-free zone. The way my gut was burning I was half-dead and getting closer to death with each passing minute. Not sure how much time I had left I decided to risk the security agents and started running for the duty-free zone.