Lost and Found

“At this time,” said the sing-songy voice over the speaker, “we ask that if this is your final destination, please remain seated. All passengers with a connecting flight, please exit the aircraft now. Thank you.”

“Oh, that’s me. I’m connecting to San Diego,” said the man I’d met two hours ago when we boarded. “It was great talking to you. Best wishes on that account. I hope you nail it.”

“Thanks, and I hope you have a nice vacation.”

He smiled, nodded back, and I gave the man a hearty handshake. My father always taught me that a man with a weak handshake was not to be trusted.

He stood, gathered his belongings around him, and retrieved his carry-on bag from the storage compartment above the seats. “Hey look at that, we have the same carry-on,” I noted. “I love mine. How bout you?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great. This is only my first trip with it, but I love it so far,” he replied with a smile. “Safe travels,” he said as he walked away.

After I was able to get off the plane, I grabbed the shuttle to the conference center and made my way in. Check in only lasted until 4pm, so I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss it. It was crowded inside, and as I waited in line I found my wallet in my carry on.

“Hi, I’m checking in,” I told the lady at the table as I handed her my ID.

“Wonderful, Mr….” she looked down at the card I gave her, “Mr. Green.”

Confused, I responded, “No, no, I’m not Mr. Green. I’m Mr. Stanley. Phil Stanley.”

“Hmm, that’s odd. This ID says Dan Green,” she said as she handed it back to me. “Actually looks a lot like you, too. Coulda fooled me,” she added with a shrug.

I took the card back and examined it. Sure enough, this wasn’t my ID. “Shit. This is the guy I just met on the flight here.” I looked back to the check-in lady while shaking my head, “You couldn’t just check me in without my ID, could you?”

A pained look spreading over her face, she said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stanley, but I can’t. I need your ID. Security, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand. I’ll try to figure this out.”

I walked over to the hotel attached to the conference center to see about getting a room. Looking around the lobby, I was a bit stunned. This wasn’t the kind of place I normally got stuck with. They’d really gone all out for this one, I thought. I wondered what it would cost me if I couldn’t use my prepaid reservation and had to foot the bill myself.

I went to the bar first. I needed a moment to think. After being burned twice with lost luggage, I was now adamant about not checking bags unless I absolutely had to. This was a short trip, so I was able to get everything in my carry-on. But now this. Ridiculous.

I ordered a Manhattan, and as the bartender was making it, I decided to let him in on this fiasco. “Can you believe this? I just got off a plane, and apparently the guy who sat next to me grabbed my bag instead of his. They look identical. Now I’m stuck here with no ID, no credit cards, and no phone,” I said as I looked through the bag. Finding the other man’s phone, I continued, “Well, actually I have all those things, but none of them are mine.”

“Oof, bummer man,” the young bartender replied. “Well, if you have cash, I can supply you with drinks.”

“Yeah, luckily he had some in his wallet. I’ll just have to keep track of what I spend so I can pay him back.”

I continued looking through the bag for any information that might help me get in touch with the man, and I came across a little black book. It appeared to be a well-worn, leather-bound journal of some sort. I didn’t want to pry into his business, but I also wanted to find the guy and get my stuff back, so I opened it up.

It was, in fact, a journal. The first page was dated exactly one year ago to the day. Strange, I thought, but I started reading. It listed several tasks accomplished that day. Pretty unremarkable stuff.

Turning the page, I saw more tasks and locations listed. Suddenly, a déjà vu moment came over me. These lists felt oddly familiar. I kept thumbing through the pages, seeing increasingly familiar items. Everything was listed specifically enough to elicit a memory from me, but not specifically enough to be definitely about me. By the time I got halfway through it, I was nearly convinced that this little black book was a recording of my actions each day for the last year.

But the strangest thing about this – it all appeared to be in my own handwriting.

My heart rate increasing, I quickly flipped the pages until the writing ended. The last item noted read as such:

-Sat in hotel bar and flipped through journal.

I gasped and dropped the book. This was too much. Was I dreaming? Had I had one too many in this bar? What was going on?

Unnerved, I put everything back in the bag, left some cash for the bartender, and headed over to the desk. I needed a room and a bed. Now.

As I slowly approached the desk, I pulled the ID and a credit card out of the wallet from the bag. I wasn’t going to be able to get a room without them, and they wouldn’t let me use them if I tell them they’re not mine, so I had to pretend to be Dan Green.

I wasn’t the “breaking the law” type. My stomach was tied in knots as I intentionally made myself take step after step. I kept telling myself that I had to do this. Dan’s picture looks enough like me that they shouldn’t notice. It’ll be fine, I kept repeating in my head.

I handed the ID and credit card to the man behind the desk, but no words would come out. The world was swirling all around me. I was going to get caught using what amounted to a stolen ID and credit card. I could easily end up in a jail cell with no way to prove who I was.

After a few moments, he asked, “Checking in, Mr. Green?” Suddenly everything stood still, and I said calmly, “Yes, thank you.”

All the anxiety released, I continued, “I should have a reservation, but if I don’t, I’d like to book a room if possible.”

“Oh, no worries Mr. Green. I have you booked for one of our corner suites,” the man said with a smile.

This didn’t make any sense. The guy I met on the plane was catching a connecting flight to get to his vacation in San Diego. He wasn’t staying here. Why would he have a reservation?

“Ok, great. Thanks.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

My mind reeling, I got my key and made my way to the room. It was huge. Very nice. Nicer than any room I’d stayed at before. I guess Dan Green traveled in style.

In the room, I decided I’d try to call my wife. I punched the number into the phone and waited for the rings. But instead of ringing, a mechanical voice told me, “We’re sorry, this number is not in service.

” I cursed the ease of modern life for apparently letting me forget my wife’s cell number. All I ever did was tell my phone to call her.

Opening the bag again, I decided to look for more clues. I began taking out items and laying them on the bed. I couldn’t make sense of it, but everything was both familiar and also felt slightly off. Was this my stuff or not?

I picked up his phone again, figuring I might as well try to get into it. The lock screen appeared. Inadvertently, I touched my thumb to the home button….and the phone unlocked. My thumb print opened the phone.

Again, I felt my heart rate climb.

I looked at the bed. The little black book laid there. I hadn’t opened it since the bar. It had been in the bag until I pulled it out and put it on the bed two minutes ago. I knew that it was insane to think that anything would have changed inside it in the last thirty minutes. But I was also drawn to it. I needed to just take a look.

I picked it up, and I slowly opened it to the page where I saw the note about being in the hotel bar. The last note that was written in it.

But now, underneath the hotel bar note, there were two new lines:

-Checked into hotel

-Settled into room

Now I was panicking. This couldn’t be real. I must have had a few drinks at the bar, crashed in my room, and now I’m dreaming. This couldn’t possibly be real.

Reaching into the bag again, I pulled out the last item at the bottom of the bag. When I saw it, I immediately dropped it onto the bed. It was a bundle of cash, and the paper around it said $20,000.

Who traveled with this kind of cash?! What had I gotten myself into?

Then the phone rang.

Dan’s cell phone was ringing.

I picked it up and saw that the caller ID said simply, “HQ.” Feeling an urgency to figure out what the hell was going on, I answered it.

“Hello?” I said slowly.

There was a little static on the line. After a brief silence, a voice came from the other end. “Dan, is that you?”

Unsure of what else to say, I just blurted out, “Yes.”

“Ok, great. I was starting to worry that you hadn’t checked in for a while. How’s the operation going?”

Fumbling words in my head, I managed to say, “Everything’s going according to the plan.”

“Perfect. I knew you could do this, Dan. I told them you could. Great work,” the stranger speaking to me was very encouraged by this. She was also very familiar, but trying to place her voice sent an intense chill up my spine.

“Hey, it’s my job,” I responded, trying to sound confident but clearly failing.

“You sure everything is ok, Dan?” She paused for a few seconds, then continued slowly. “How bout you give me the code word.”

I froze. Of course I didn’t know a code word. Why the hell would a guy going on a vacation get a weird call about an operation and asking for a code word?!

The silence nearly drowned out the static on the phone. My mouth was unable to form any words.

Then the voice broke through the static and said, “Phil? Is this…,” she paused while my heart leapt into my throat, “Is this Phil Stanley?”

Suddenly the fear drained from my mind. My heart slowed to a cool 50 beats per minute. I wiped away the excess sweat that had accumulated on my brow. And in a calm, steady voice I replied, “No, this is Dan. Phil is dead. The substitution is complete. Code word: butterfly.”

“Excellent. Proceed with the mission, Dan. It’s been nice working with you.”