by Ramy Vance
Die Again To Save the World
Die Again To Save the World™ Book One
Ramy Vance
Michael Anderle
The Die Again to Save the World Team
Thanks to our Beta Readers
Kelly O’Donnell, Rachel Beckford, John Ashmore, Larry Omans
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Veronica Stephan-Miller
Deb Mader
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Zacc Pelter
Dorothy Lloyd
Dave Hicks
Diane L. Smith
Jeff Goode
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
The Skyhunter Editing Team
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2021 by LMBPN Publishing
Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design
http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
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Las Vegas, NV 89109
Version 1.00, June 2021
ISBN (ebook) 978-1-64971-851-8
ISBN (paperback) 978-1-64971-852-5
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Author Notes Ramy Vance
Author Notes Michael Anderle
Other books by Ramy Vance
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Authors
Chapter One
Reuben—Tuesday, February 14, 9:36 a.m.
Reuben walked to work with an extra bounce in his step. Today he was going to ask Aki Yamashiro out. Sure, she’d probably reject him. Sure, he’d need to find a large boulder to hide under when she did.
He was going to do it anyway. Today he was going to face his fears, step up to the plate, do whatever any other motivational cliché demanded.
Today he was going to take his chance, goddamn it.
As he neared the CIA’s offices in downtown New York, he stopped at the corner of Broadway and Thomas and looked up at the five-hundred-fifty-foot-tall skyscraper that was his workplace.
He took a deep breath. “You can do this,” he assured himself in a quiet voice. “Yesterday, you had a moment. Valentine’s is coming. She’s single, you’re single. You can do this.”
A nearby car honked, causing Reuben to jump. “Argh, maybe you can’t.”
From behind him, he heard a voice. “It doesn’t matter. Do it, don’t do it. She’ll never remember.”
Reuben turned, startled to see a homeless man standing a few feet from him. He wondered how the guy got so close.
“Excuse me?” Reuben asked as he instinctively fished around in his pockets for loose change.
The man smelled like mac and cheese and a hint of lilac. “Ask her or don’t. She’ll never remember. No one will—no one but you, Repeater. You are the only one who can remember. You and you alone.”
“Remember what?” Reuben found a quarter. He tried to hand the change to the man.
He looked at the coin like it was diseased. “You are the only one who remembers the Repeats. Some intuitives experience déjà vu, but you, Mr. Hash Brown, remember everything.”
Reuben took a step back. “What…what did you call me?”
The homeless man tilted his head. “Repeater.”
Reuben shook his head. “No, not that. Mr. Hash Brown. How did you know?”
“Why would I call you something so processed?” The man smiled, exposing two uneven rows of yellow teeth. “Me, I only eat organic.”
“No, I distinctly heard you call me by the nickname my mom…” Reuben trailed off. “You know what? Never mind. Do you want the change or not?”
“What I want is for you to remember the future and fix it,” the homeless man roared, causing Reuben to take two steps back onto the road.
A courier jetted past Reuben, knocking him back onto the sidewalk with a thump.
“I don’t think you can fix anything.” The homeless man waddled away with a cackle. “At least, not this version of you.”
Reuben watched him go as he stood, dusting himself off. Not the confidence-inspiring morning he’d hoped for.
If he couldn’t stand up to a homeless man or avoid death by bicycle, how would he ever find the courage to ask Aki out?
Before he could talk to Aki, he needed to do his job. Right now, that meant compiling a report for the Division director, Sven Larson, on anyone and everyone who ever came in contact with CIA’s hot suspect of the month, a teenager from Iowa named Julian Schaeffer.
Working from an anonymous tip, the CIA had found trace amounts of a manufactured isotope of strontium in a dumpster near his home, along with a bunch of other shit that shouldn’t be in any suburb. They’d also recovered a small amount of metal mesh and several damaged microwave ovens—probably not related. The radioactive material had caused major waves in the department, as it should. The department was A, baffled as to how the kid could get his hands on such materials, and B, had no idea where the materials were now.
God help us all.
Instead of arresting him, they’d decided to watch the kid's every move.
Ever watch a teenage boy's every move? They spend ridiculous amounts of time in the bathroom…ah…grooming themselves.
Reuben remembered those days.
Hell, Reuben still lived them.
After three days of twenty-four-hour surveillance, to all appearances, Schaeffer was a normal nineteen-year-old community college dropout who lived in his parent’s basement, smoked pot, played video games, and posted ridiculous memes on social media.
No way was he a criminal mastermind building weapons of mass destruction.
That was Reuben's opinion, not that anyone had asked for it.
Reuben glanced at Sven’s office as the first report finished loading. What
he saw caused butterflies to flit in his stomach.
There she was.
Aki Yamashiro.
They didn’t come finer than her. Smart, strong, sexy…she had all the Ss. Not to mention special agent.
So all the Ss and an A.
What would she want with a guy like him?
At twenty-five, Aki was a hotshot agent, a real-life Charlie’s Angel. An Asian-American goddess with short, bobbed hair that fell below her chin, framing her flawless, creamy complexion. Petite and athletic, she was slender and curvy in black skinny jeans, thigh-high boots, and a tight-fitting black top. As a field agent, she could dress however she wanted, and she didn’t waste the opportunity.
Not like him, with his business-casual tan khakis, blue button-down, and not-really-ironic argyle blazer.
They were the absolute yin and yang of good dress sense.
Reuben knew she’d recently broken up with her boyfriend Mike Fury, who was currently in rehab for anger management for punching his superior officer.
Who would have guessed a guy named Fury had anger issues?
Now, for the first time since he’d known her, they were both single.
Eh, who was he kidding? He was always single. Except for that time he was engaged. Yeah. Didn't work out. It never did.
Which meant now he had to act fast. For a girl like Aki, it took longer to microwave a burrito than it did to get a date.
What would he say?
“So, you know the other day when I was fixing your computer…maybe I could fix your heart.”
Oh, geez. Did I really just mutter that? Who am I, Milton from Office Space? OK, OK, Reuben, play it cool. You’re cool. She’s cool. Reuben groaned internally. Of course, she’s cool. She's always cool. What are you thinking? You have nothing to offer this girl! Other than a year of small talk and one great conversation yesterday, what have you got? A six-year-old Mazda…and, uh…uh…a decent retirement plan? Yeah, how would that go?
“Hey, you want to go for a ride in my old, beat-up Mazda and talk about 401(k)s?” He could see exactly how that would pan out.
He laughed aloud as he thought about the moment they had yesterday. Her computer had needed a defrag and some software optimizations—nothing fancy. Merely time-consuming. So he’d put on his “Office Jams” playlist on a little Bluetooth speaker while he worked.
Aki had sat patiently next to him, pretending she wasn't bored out of her skull.
Then one of his favorites had come on, and everything had changed. She’d suddenly clicked her acrylic fingernails against the desk and gasped, “You listen to Je Ne Sais Pas?”
His fingers froze mid-keystroke as he glanced down at his phone that now sat in her hands. She had switched from Office Jams to his more obscure playlists.
Je Ne Sais Pas was an underground rock band from Montreal. He’d started listening to them several years ago after his girlfriend left him for an older man who looked exactly like Michael Douglas.
Je Ne Sais Pas, he’d discovered, had the best angry breakup songs.
Reuben had glanced at her and laughed weakly. “Yeah, I’ve followed them since college, and—”
“Oh my God,” she’d gushed. “Me too. All my friends from NYU, we had this tradition to see them at this show once a year at the—”
“May Fest,” he’d blurted.
“Yes.” The word exploded from her mouth, and her palm hit the desk with excitement. “Did you ever go?”
“I… I…” He’d motioned weakly with his hands. Everyone in the Je Ne Sais Pas fan community knew about the annual May Fest show. Despite being a die-hard fan, he’d never made it to a show. Not once. Montreal had always seemed too far away.
Sitting before Aki, he’d realized that he’d not only missed the chance to see his favorite band but also be in the same room as her. Damn it. “No, I never made it. I tried a few times, but, uh…”
“Omigod.” She’d sighed and shook her head, her eyes misty with memory. “You should have gone. The concerts were amazing.”
He’d shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind, for when I reincarnate as Marty McFly. I’ll put it on the list with, ‘Don’t try to ask Marianna Prescott, the homecoming queen, to prom. It will only end badly.’”
She’d clasped her hands in delight as she laughed. “You’re too funny, Reuben.”
“Don’t be fooled. The cool-guy persona isn’t real. It’s like Superman—eventually, I have to turn back into full nerd-mode.”
She’d laughed again, harder this time. “So, like, at midnight? Do you automatically grow a Star Wars robe, don a replica lightsaber and watch Firefly reruns on Disney+?”
“The Mandalorian."
"What?"
"The Mandalorian is on Disney+, and it's Star Wars. You got your nerd stories so mixed up,” he’d chided.
“Did I?”
"Firefly is Whedon. Star Wars is Lucas. Every nerd knows that."
"Humph. You learn something every day."
“I guess you do.” He’d smirked and pushed his chair away from her computer. "Done, by the way."
Aki had leaned in to test her computer. “I got the Star Wars part right, didn't I? I mean, you're into it, right?"
"Yeah," he’d said dreamily. She was so close he could smell her shampoo. Cinnamon and strawberries. God, she smelled great.
“If it redeems me in your eyes, last Halloween, I tried to get my hair to do those side buns like Princess Leia and wore a sexy robe.”
Reuben had given her a coy smile, but inside he thought he might be having a heart attack. Merely the thought of Aki dressed like Princess Leia made every one of his fantasies come true.
“OK,” he’d conceded. “But you’re on nerd probation. I’m going to have to see photo evidence.”
“Photo evidence?” She raised an eyebrow and grabbed her phone off the desk. “Fine. Here’s your evidence.”
She’d passed it to him. There on her RedBook social media profile was a photo of Aki dressed in the sexiest Leia costume ever.
He’d blushed, stammering, "Ah, that's, ah, a very revealing, ah, hairstyle."
Aki was red-faced with stifled laughter.
He’d handed her phone back and bowed to her. “I guess I could pull some strings. Get you inducted into closet nerddom.”
She’d laughed harder. “Closet, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” Then, before he could stop himself, “You’re way too hot to be a real nerd.”
The comment had fallen hard, and the moment was gone. He'd totally struck out. He’d stood to leave.
Then, she’d surprised him. As he was leaving, she’d smiled. “You’re a nice guy, Reuben. Why can’t I find a nice guy like you?”
What had he said in reply? “You’ll find someone.”
Reuben cringed as he replayed those words. That was then. Now he had another shot. What had the homeless guy said? “A repeat?”
Yeah, a repeat. Why not?
All right, Reuben, pull it together. It’s now or never.
Pulling his last report up quickly, he readied himself for glory or total failure.
Trying to affect a casual, cool-guy stroll up to Sven’s office, he rehearsed what he was going to say. Right now, his best plan was the 401(k) approach.
Sven motioned him in.
Reuben handed Sven the file. “I thought I’d personally bring the Schaeffer report. I knew it was urgent. I also did some digging into the Canadian and—”
"The Canadian?" Sven asked.
"Yeah, ahh… It's an alias, sir. Some gangster that Agent Fury wanted me to look into before, you know…" Reuben turned to Aki and gave her a sympathetic smile.
"He went batshit crazy," Aki said. "No need to pussyfoot around it."
"You're right." Reuben turned to Sven and added, "Before he went batshit crazy."
Aki laughed.
Sven did not. Instead, he touched his swollen left eye. “Right now, all I can manage is Schaeffer. This Canadian bullshit can wait for now. I mean, what kind o
f criminal alias is ‘the Canadian,’ anyway?” Now it was his turn to laugh.
Sven flipped the file open, ignoring Reuben.
Aki must have noticed the brush-off because she said, “Thank you, Reuben. Excellent work and initiative, don’t you think, Sven?”
Sven smiled perfunctorily, engrossed in the report.
“Well,” Aki rose from the couch, “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
“Well, I only came in to drop off the report.” Reuben gestured back out toward the hall, but Sven held up a finger for him to stay.
“You know Schaeffer’s a threat to national security, right?” the Director asked.
“Yes, sir.” Reuben’s reply was automatic.
“Don’t bullshit me, kid.” Sven snorted. “I’ve been in this business long enough to spot lies. You don’t believe he’s our guy, do you?”
Reuben wasn’t sure how to respond. It was common to ask operatives trick questions. After all, they all worked for an agency built on secrecy, lies, and agents who double-crossed so many times that it would make the average Joe's head spin.
He decided to go with the truth on this one. “No, I don’t. I think he’s a kid who got mixed up in a game he doesn’t even know he’s playing.”
