I ducked under a railing to bypass security.

A guard chased after me. I stumbled toward the news stand, crashed into it.

“Last week’s Conde Nast Traveller,” I croaked. “Hurry.”

The man handed me the magazine. I gave him a bill, I had no idea what it was. Things were getting dark. I opened the magazine. There was a baggie taped to the inside cover with a pill inside. A note was attached: “Swallow me.” I tore open the baggie, the pill fell to the floor. I dropped to my knees. I could hardly see anything. I felt for the pill, found it, swallowed it. Everything went dark.

When I woke up, the security guard was staring at me, terrified. “I told them you were drunk,” he said, “that I knew you. The note said you’d come.” He put a note in my face.

“A sick man will ask for the Conde Nast Traveller at the news stand,” it read. “Once he comes within fifty feet of you, he must stay within that range, or devices I’ve implanted will release lethal poison into both your bloodstreams. The next note is in the magazine.”