"There he is," says the voice in my earbuds. "Guy in the parka, row of seats on the right. There's a spot next to him. Sit there."

I take a seat next to the guy.

"Pull out your phone and mess with it. Act natural."

I pull out my phone and look at it, fumbling with my thumb. No messages. Then a message comes in.

ding!

THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME. CUT IT OUT ALREADY. YOU CAN DO IT! TURN AROUND AND LEAVE THE AIRPORT

"Ok, he's going to get up in a minute, but he's going to leave something behind in his seat. A small scrunched up paper bag. Don't look at it!"

The guy gets up and leaves.

"In about a minute, you're going to grab that bag and put it in your pocket as you stand up. But not till I give the signal."

ding!

AREN'T YOU GETTING BORED OF THIS? WE ARE!!! QUIT. THE. GAME.

I'm have a deja vu.

"Ok, real casual, reach over and grab the bag, now stand up and put it in your hoodie pocket, and walk back down the concourse the way you came."

ding!

AH HA! ARE WE STARTING TO GET THROUGH TO YOU? IT'S OVER. TURN AROUND AND LEAVE.

So I pressed the button.

Nothing happened. Then the hippie goth girl at my table had a nose bleed.

What was she? Some kind of drug addict? Asking me for money?

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," she said. "What did you just DO?"

I was still holding the silver pen in my hand. Thumb still on the button. She was staring at it.

"Gimme that!" she snarled, grabbed the pen from my hand, and took off. Blood splattered on the table.

That couldn't be good. There was no voice in my earbuds. What was I supposed to do?

So I followed the trail of blood.

"Don't look back," says the voice in my earbuds. "Eyes forward. Nobody's following you, but you can never be sure who's looking."

Well, whoever is texting me seems to be looking.

ding!

"Don't answer that," says the voice. "Just keep walking down the concourse. See that Wolfgang Puck's ahead? That's where you're headed."

I keep heading down the concourse. A big flight must be unloading, because it's getting crowded with people walking my way.

"Now, take a seat. Anywhere will do."

I take a seat at one of the tables in the food court. It's got crumbs and looks sticky.

"Excellent. Next, take the bag out of your pocket. Reach in and take out what's inside."

I take the crumpled paper bag out of my hoodie pouch and pull out what's inside. It's like a fountain pen, heavy, and made of brushed silver metal. It's got some kind of gem set into it. Like a button.

"Push the button."

I lift my thumb to press it...

"Hey!" says a girl who is now sitting across from me at the table. She has red hair, but not recently washed. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm on a school trip and got separated from my friends, and, well, they've got all our travel money, and I'm really hungry. Would you mind giving me a bit of money for a salad? Or you could just buy it for me. I'm really sorry to have to ask..."

"There he is," says the voice in my earbuds. "Guy in the parka, row of seats on the right. There's a spot next to him. Sit there."

I take a seat next to the guy.

"Pull out your phone and mess with it. Act natural."

I pull out my phone and look at it, fumbling with my thumb. No messages. Then a message comes in.

ding!

STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. ABORT THE MISSION.

"Ok, he's going to get up in a minute, but he's going to leave something behind in his seat. A small scrunched up paper bag. Don't look at it!"

The guy gets up and leaves.

"In about a minute, you're going to grab that bag and put it in your pocket as you stand up. But not till I give the signal."

ding!

DON'T DO IT. TURN AROUND AND LEAVE THE AIRPORT. NOW!!!

I flip on the browser on the phone. Oh but I'm not connected to the airport wifi.

"Ok, real casual, reach over and grab the bag, now stand up and put it in your hoodie pocket, and walk back down the concourse the way you came."

ding!

Too late. I'm already headed down the concourse.