Our Sacred Honor

Our Sacred Honor
Джек Марс

A Luke Stone Thriller #6
“One of the best thrillers I have read this year. The plot is intelligent and will keep you hooked from the beginning. The author did a superb job creating a set of characters who are fully developed and very much enjoyable. I can hardly wait for the sequel.”

– Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos (re Any Means Necessary)

OUR SACRED HONOR is book #6 in the bestselling Luke Stone thriller series, which begins with ANY MEANS NECESSARY (book #1), a free download with over 500 five star reviews!

After being struck by an Iran-backed terrorist attack, Israel gives Iran a 72 hour ultimatum: clear out your military bases before we destroy them by air. Iran responds: enter our airspace, and we will launch nuclear attacks on Israel and on all U.S. bases in the Mid-East.

With 72 hours to stop a nuclear Armageddon, there is only one man to turn to: Luke Stone. The President sends Luke on his boldest mission yet: to airdrop into Iran and find the secret location of the underground nukes, so that the U.S. can take them out before it’s too late.

In a mad race against time, Luke takes us on a roller-coaster through the chaotic and confusing terrain of Iran, as he scrambles to find their most-guarded secrets and prevent a war from destroying all mankind. Yet as one shocking twist follows another, it may, even for Luke, be too late.

A political thriller with non-stop action, dramatic international settings and heart-pounding suspense, OUR SACRED HONOR is book #6 in the bestselling and critically-acclaimed Luke Stone series, an explosive new series that will leave you turning pages late into the night.

“Thriller writing at its best. Thriller enthusiasts who relish the precise execution of an international thriller, but who seek the psychological depth and believability of a protagonist who simultaneously fields professional and personal life challenges, will find this a gripping story that's hard to put down.”

Jack Mars

Our Sacred Honor

BOOKS BY JACK MARS

LUKE STONE THRILLER SERIES

ANY MEANS NECESSARY (Book #1)

OATH OF OFFICE (Book #2)

SITUATION ROOM (Book #3)

OPPOSE ANY FOE (Book #4)

PRESIDENT ELECT (Book #5)

OUR SACRED HONOR (Book #6)

HOUSE DIVIDED (Book #7)

Listen (http://www.amazon.com/Any-Means-Necessary-Stone-Thriller/dp/B01EXLJGDI?ie=UTF8&qid=1464382936&ref_=tmm_aud_swatch_0&sr=8-1) to the LUKE STONE THRILLER series in audio book format!

Now available on:

Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/Any-Means-Necessary-Stone-Thriller/dp/B01EXLJGDI?ie=UTF8&qid=1464382936&ref_=tmm_aud_swatch_0&sr=8-1)

Audible (http://www.audible.com/pd/Mysteries-Thrillers/Any-Means-Necessary-Audiobook/B01EXLJH0K/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srImg?qid=1464382945&sr=1-1)

iTunes (https://itunes.apple.com/us/audiobook/any-means-necessary-luke-stone/id1109547425)

“…we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”

Thomas Jefferson

The Declaration of Independence

CHAPTER ONE

December 9th

11:45 p.m. Lebanon Time (4:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time)

Southern Lebanon

“Praise God,” the young man said. “Praise Him. Praise Him.”

He took a long drag from his cigarette, his hand shaking as he reached to his mouth. He hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. For the past four hours, the world around him had been entirely black. He was a truck driver, skilled at driving the biggest rigs, and he had driven this one across the border from Syria, then through the hilly Lebanese countryside, moving slow on winding roads, lights off the entire way.

It was a dangerous drive. The sky was filled with drones, with helicopters, with spy planes, and with bombers – Russian, American, and Israeli. Any one of these could become interested in this truck. Any one of these could decide to destroy the truck, and do so effortlessly. He drove the entire way expecting that at any moment, a missile would hit him without warning, rendering him a flaming skeleton sitting inside a burned out steel relic.

Now he had just pulled the truck up a long, narrow path and parked it under an awning. The awning, held up with wooden legs, was made to look from the sky like typical forest cover – in fact, the top of it was covered with dense brush. Its location was right where they had said it would be.

He turned the truck off, the engine farting and belching, black smoke pouring from a stack on the driver’s side as the thing shut itself down. He opened the door to the cab and climbed down. As soon as he did so, a squad of heavily armed men materialized like ghosts, emerging from the surrounding woods.

“As salaam alaikum,” the young truck driver said as they approached.

“Wa alaikum salaam,” the militia leader said. He was tall and burly, with a thick black beard and dark eyes. His face was hard – there was no compassion in it. He gestured at the truck. “Is this it?”

The young man took another shaky drag from his cigarette. No, he almost said. Some other truck is it. This one is nothing.

“Yes,” he said instead.

“You’re late,” the militia leader said.

The young man shrugged. “You should have driven in that case.”

The leader stared at the truck. It looked like a typical tractor-trailer – perhaps something carrying lumber, or furniture, or foodstuffs. But it wasn’t. The militiamen went right to work on it, two climbing the back ladder to the top, two kneeling near the bottom. Each man had a battery-powered screwdriver.

Moving quickly, they removed the screws one by one that held the tractor-trailer fiction together. Within moments, they pulled a large piece of aluminum sheet metal off the side. A moment later, they pulled a narrower sheet off the back. Then they were working on the other side, where the driver could no longer see them.

He turned and looked out at the nighttime hillsides and forest. Across the darkness, he could see the lights of a village twinkling several miles away. Beautiful country. He was very glad to be here. His job was done. He was not a militiaman. He was a truck driver. They had paid him to go across the border and pick up this truck.

He was also not from this region – he lived far to the north. He had no idea what arrangements these men had made for his return home, but he didn’t care. Rid of the infernal machine he had just driven, he would gladly walk from here.

Headlights were coming up the narrow rutted road, a whole series of them. Seconds later, a line of three black Mercedes SUVs appeared. The doors opened in unison and gunmen poured from each car. Each man carried a heavy rifle or machine gun. The rear door of the middle car opened last.

A heavyset man with a salt-and-pepper beard and glasses pulled himself from the SUV. He leaned on a knobby wooden stick and walked with a pronounced limp – the residue of a car bomb attempt on the man’s life two years ago.