Joe Wezley Returns

The Joe Wezley Pages

Chapter 1

Escaping Across The Moors

Joe Wezley was skitting across the shiny water riding the crest of the waves on his sailboard. The sun was blazing down making the splashes of sea water sparkle when he ploughed over the choppy surface. There was a strong wind that was gusting in spasms. Sometimes it added to the high speed that thrilled him so much.

His wiry muscles rippled as his tanned muscular body grappled and manoeuvred the light craft that he was controlling. With his hands holding firmly onto the boom and his feet secured in the deck straps of the sailboard. He moved gracefully over the gleaming surface of the sea crashing through its tiny waves.

The feeling of freedom to sail wherever he pleased and to scoot over the top of the water at speed was what excited him. It made him feel good this was his favourite way of keeping fit. To Joe there was no better relaxation than being alone on the sailboard. There he could do his own thing and do it how he wanted.

It was when Joe changed course that he first noticed a fast boat moving in his direction. Not wanting to get involved in an accident he altered course. He sailed away on a different bearing. He managed a casual glance at the boat which was giving him some concern. He was making every effort to avoid any accidents he was heading to a safer zone.

Joe Had Sailboarded Here Many Times

It was recognised as the sailboarder’s area. The fast boats had their own area a little up the coast.

He could see that the boat had changed its course and was almost heading directly for him. The fast boat moving towards him was obviously going to be speeding across his bow very soon. If it stuck to its present course then there was a good chance it would miss him.

He knew that he was in serious trouble when the boat altered course once more, this time it was heading directly towards him. It was still a good distance away but when suddenly the plumes of water showed him that the engines had opened up. The surge in power lifted the bow so that the front was raised high out of the water.

Joe now realised that he was definitely the intended target of the motorised missile. It was hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. He could only look in astonishment as the speedboat came forward bearing down on him.

He knew that this would be a contract killing and they would be trying to eliminate him forever. There was only one man who could be responsible for this and that was his archenemy Ramos Dahla.

Dahla Had Shown His Hand

The moment he had dispatched these men on this mission. Now Joe could see that there were two large figures they had appeared on the bow of the fast boat. They were both handling automatic sub machine-guns.

Joe could see that it would shortly be the right time to quickly abandon his craft. He let go of the boom with his hands and edged his feet free from the straps at the same time. Then springing backwards he did a flip dive into the sea.

He heard some of the shots that were fired from came from the machine-guns as they rang out their music of death. His swiftness had saved his life. The bullets ripped through the sails leaving dotted perforations where they had pierced the cloth. Where they had reached the mast it was missing. The first dotted line started from the left.

The projectiles had cut the top five metres off of the six-metre mast. The second line began from the right and had reduced the mast stump by a few more centimetres. Joe watched the speedboat as it ploughed straight through his wrecked sailboard.

It was the splatter of bullets that were too close for comfort they had made him move quickly. He dived down to a safe depth where he knew that he would be safe from the 9mm rounds that were meant for him.

Leaving it until the last moment before coming up for more air he swam to a different position. All of the time, his mind was working overtime trying to calculate how he could get out of this predicament.

Opening His Mouth Wide To Gather

As much air as possible he looked in the direction where he was sure the boat was heading. To his amazement the speedboat had stopped. He could hear the engines revving away frantically but they weren’t moving the craft. On seeing Joe reappear the two gunmen opened fire with a vengeance.

He took immediate evasive action by diving under the water once more. He swam towards the drifting boat and looked at the underneath to see what had happened. His sail and part of the mast and boom had fouled the propellers. They were all mingled up on the ends of the twin screws of the speedboat.

Now he could clearly see why the vessel wouldn’t be going anywhere. All of the blades had sheered off of the propellers when they had got entangled with his equipment, which was now only debris. This was indeed a stroke of good fortune. If the boat hadn’t been crippled then he would most surely have stood very little likelihood of survival. This spate of luck at least gave him a better chance. It might be a slim one but hopefully that was all that Joe would need.

His specialist training in the Special Boats Section of the Royal Marines would now become very handy. The SBS training was the toughest in the world and only a Royal Marine could join this special group who were the elitist of the elite.

It was specifically designed to save a man like Joe when faced with immediate danger. His enemies might outnumber him but his specialised training could give him the advantage to overcome the odds.

First Joe Had To Separate His Assassins.

He moved under the boat and came up for air under the bow. He could see one gunman who was firing his gun down into the water while walking slowly along the side of the craft. He could also hear the other machine-gun blazing away.

He realised that they were systematically firing into the water in the hope of killing him; they had started at the stern. Quickly he swam to the aft end and climbed aboard with his Banks-Fairbain commando knife in his hand.

The coxswain saw Joe climbing aboard and was about to shout when the commando knife embedded itself in his chest. The knife sticking out of his chest mesmerised him freezing with him with fear. The coxswain in his panic grabbed at the knife pulling it free from his body and threw it on the deck. The rushes of blood that came spurting through the open wound came pouring through his fingers. He used both hands desperately trying to stop it from gushing out so fast. The weird scream coming from his mouth attracted the attention of the two assassins. They had both stopped firing their weapons because their magazines were out of ammunition.

Hastily they started changing their empty magazines for full ones. When they spotted Joe they panicked started fumbling with them. In his rush to reload one of the assassins dropped his full magazine onto the deck. The jolt when it hit the deck released all of the ammunition that magazine too was now empty. Joe couldn’t believe that he could be so fortunate. It was his lucky day.

He grabbed the veries pistol that was close by with his right hand. Reacting sharply he pointed it at the other assassin and fired while he was cocking his reloaded sub machine gun. Joe was the first to fire and the most accurate. The big cartridge made a loud noise as it ignited and sent the flare screaming into the centre of the target.

The gunman yelled in horror as the force of the flare lifted him off of the deck of the boat dumping him into the sea. He couldn’t swim his panic made him spin round and round in the water. When Joe glanced at him he could see the phosphorous in the flare still burning away inside its victim who was sinking under the sea. As the body sank to the bottom the glow from the flare could still be seen. It was getting smaller as the body sunk deeper.

Not Having Enough Time To Reload

Another veries cartridge Joe dived into the other gunman with all the weight and momentum that he could muster. Joe was tall with a big muscular body his assailant was tall with a huge fat body that was a lot heavier than Joe’s. He caught him in the chest and they went over the guardrail gripped tightly in a hold together.

On the deck Joe would have had his hands full trying to take out this big guy without getting himself hurt. It was different in the water where he had the huge advantage of his swimming skills.

Like an eel he slipped behind the big man his arm quickly closing tightly around the man’s neck. When he completed the move he had his victim trapped in a Japanese wristlock.

Joe started sinking deeper. The gunman who was unable to control his own movements started panicking. He was going down backwards. He could move his arms and legs but none of them to his advantage. The vice like grip of the strong arm around his neck was somehow pushing his head forwards making it impossible for him to control the rest of his body.

The squirming torso allowed Joe to drop deeper and deeper more quickly. The assassin was panicking so much his mouth opened letting his life saving air float to the surface in a mass of bubbles.

Joe couldn’t take any chances he twisted his body violently. He felt the top of the vertebrae separate breaking the man’s neck and leaving the huge body lifeless. Joe released the body, which continued on its downward journey to Davie Jones’s locker. When he looked at it descending there were only a few air bubbles coming from the big man’s mouth.

Swimming Slowly Up To The Surface

Joe gradually released his own oxygen a bit at a time. After he emerged he glanced around looking at the debris floating about on the water. It was quiet and peaceful once more. He looked at the speedboat and thought ‘I know that thing isn’t going anywhere’. If he wanted to get ashore then he had no other choice he would have to swim for it.

He looked at the beach it was about five miles away. That would be nothing to him. He could remember when he used to swim five miles in the sea every morning before breakfast. It was a basic requirement of his training even in the middle of the winter. He could see the part of the coast where he lived but where he wanted to get to was probably another mile or so away. Setting off at a steady pace he swam for the beach and home.

When Joe arrived at the beach he automatically surveyed the scene. His mind was now fully operational and working flat-out searching for any dangers that might be lurking. He was thinking ahead and weighing up the events that he knew had taken place all at the same time.

He scanned the house briefly everything appeared to be satisfactory. Carefully he made his way across to it and entered. Once indoors he quickly ran through the messages on his answering machine. One in particular took his attention.

It Was Nartos He Said:

"Joe you must return quickly. Lake Pati has all drained away leaving the trophy house exposed. Whoever has done this has taken all of the Serpa’s gold. They have also taken the entire haul of gold covered shrunken heads."

"This is a terrible crime against our people they have humiliated us we now feel helpless. The Serpas will no longer have the respect of any of the neighbouring tribes. They know that their forefathers’ heads were kept along with our enemies in the famous trophy house."

"Now everybody will learn where the trophy house is. It will no longer be the secret it was. Whoever did this is now our tribe’s greatest enemy. We must find this person and cut his head off and bury it in the ground as deep as we can. That will send that man’s spirit on its way down to hell that will be the only way that we can regain our tribes self respect."

Joe could guess who had been successful in looting the trophy house and he was pretty sure that Nartos would be thinking on those same lines. Ramos Dahla would be the most likely of all of the suspects. It was typical of his style to carry out such outrageous robberies.

He was also Joe’s prime suspect for sending the team of hired assassins to take him out. Joe recognised the signs they had Dahla’s signature written all over them. If Dahla’s men had succeeded in taking Joe out then he might have been able to sleep more comfortably at night.

Fortunately for Joe they had not achieved their objective. The headhunters wouldn’t have the same capabilities and resources of finding Dahla that Joe Wezley had so it all depended on him succeeded.

Now the gunmen had failed to complete their murderous errand Joe had the satisfaction of knowing. Dahla would be constantly looking over his shoulder expecting to see his appearance at any time.

Dahla wasn’t a man who accepted failure lightly if one team failed to get rid of Joe Wezley. Then another would be ordered into operation immediately. Joe was lucky for the fact that he had killed all three of his executioners. It would give him a little time.

Calculating His Next Move

Joe quickly packed some gear into a holdall to take with him and then he went to the car. It was a last moment decision ‘leave the car’ he thought. Dahla had discovered where Joe lived and he had acquired the knowledge of what Joe’s pastime was.

Joe had to assume that nothing was safe? The car might be wired to blow up. He couldn’t afford to miscalculate the slightest item or possible incident. He felt that he didn’t have enough time to check the car out for explosive devices so he gave the scramble’s bike a quick once over to see if it had been tampered with.

Confident that the bike was OK to use, he strapped on the pannier and tied his holdall to it. When it was ready he wheeled it outside of the garage. Not bothering to lock up.

He sat astride the bike then he turned on the ignition. It started with a mighty roar first time. Content that this was his best chance to getting some distance between him and the next hit squad he sped away heading across country going over the moors.

It would soon be dark so he wanted to cover as much ground as possible while there was some light. He had only been going for about ten minutes when he saw a light helicopter coming his way from over the horizon. Automatically he stopped the bike sliding it close to a large rock and hastily throwing his camouflarged poncho over the bike and himself.

Helicopter Search Had Begun

He watched the chopper fly over his position and disappear over the mounds. Obviously they hadn’t spotted him or they would have come back for another look. He rode over to some higher ground and watched the chopper hover above where he knew that his house was situated.

Then he watched the chopper as it flew out over the coast and out to sea. Joe knew that when they spotted the abandoned speedboat drifting aimlessly on the water. The alarm would be raised for they would know that Joe Wezley had escaped from his planned execution.

He watched the chopper dip down below the cliffs to the right. He assumed that they would be taking a closer look to see who was still onboard the crippled craft. The speed that the chopper rose up told him they had the answers that they were looking for.

Again the helicopter flew in the direction of Joe’s house and hovered a little distance away from it. He watched the rockets trails as they progressed towards his residence. Then there was one mighty explosion as his house disintegrated into a pile of rubble with a big cloud of dust rising above it.

He was flabbergasted to say the least the fact that they managed to blow up such a well-built house to smithereens meant that the job was meticulously planned. Some of the explosives had to have been planted before hand all that was needed then was the detonator and the rockets did that job.

That way the action could be accomplished whichever way the desired individual chose. Dahla could surmise that Joe would have anticipated his activity once his first team had failed to extract him from this earth.

When Joe was aware of his situation then he would be a very extremely difficult target for Dahla to nail. Dahla had a doggedness that was unequalled; he would pursue Joe Wezley with every means available to him.

Dahla Now Had A New Team

Dahla had a good set-up now it was best that he’d ever had. He had met and conversed with some very astute criminals whilst he was in prison. He had acquired some new ideas to go alongside his own.

He now had a more professional and experienced staff of criminals working for him. They would meet once a month and each department would report in their progress or achievements.

Then they would debate the direction that each division should pursue in the coming month. When a satisfactory agreement had been reached the resources would be made available to support the project immediately.

When the evening sky started to darken more rapidly it left Joe very little time to make himself comfortable for the night. Riding across the moors with his lights blazing away on his bike was out of the question if he didn’t want to be seen.

He could calculate that all of the roads around the moor were presently being watched. In the morning at first light he could expect an all out search for him to commence.

Joe started to weigh up his options. The first one was he had to make the most of the darkness of the night; try to get as far away from the area as possible. If so he would have to be able to mislead them into thinking that he had gone in one direction whilst travelling in another.

There was always the other option of making a run for it. This was the most risky but it appealed to him the most because it would be the quickest way to avoid a prolonged and arduous evasion of his enemy.

Joe Was On His Own Turf

He knew exactly where he was and he knew the terrain like the back of his hand. He might be able to use his local knowledge to assist him to get away. The moon was beginning to shine. He was aware that it could be a bright night as there should be a full moon.

The moon was brightening up when Joe spotted some lights roving across the moor. He couldn’t tell how many there were but there were more than he liked. This meant that they knew for sure that he was still alive and that he was out on the moor somewhere.

Well it looked like they had made Joe’s decision for him. He now had very little option but to make a break and go for it. When he started up the bike he would be heading in the direction of the main motorway.

If he could get on to that then he would be reasonably safe even if it was being watched. It was now almost clear enough to be able to see where he was travelling without his headlights on.

Ahead of him there was a valley at the bottom was a wide stream he wanted to avoid the stream if it was at all possible. There were several man-made walls running right across the valley they separated the ranges of land for the cattle or sheep to graze on.

Keeping his mind on the job in hand he remembered that one area of the wall had collapsed and was in urgent need of repair. He wondered if he could mount the top of the wall from this place and ride across the valley without having to negotiate the stream.

If he could do this then he might be able to escape his pursuers and get clean away. With his mind made up he started up the bike and set off across the moor.

Using The Wall He Made His Escape

It was almost like riding in daylight because the sky was so clear. When he came to the fractured part of the wall he turned on his headlight and successfully mounted the top of the wall and started to ride along it.

The stone wall was hundreds of years old. It had survived centuries of battering by the elements and severe weather conditions that often occurred out here but otherwise it was still very solid.

Joe was taking it steady his pursuers were closing in on him now that they could see where he was. He wondered if any of them would try to follow him along his high track. He couldn’t afford to look back because he needed all of his concentration to stay on top of the wall.

Joe could see the glimmering coming from the stream as he passed over it. The water sparkled with the moonlight as it trickled around the boulders. It was running higher than he had thought that it would be for this time of the year, the water was usually low.

Now he was glad that he had made the right decision. When he was well past the stream he made some extra allowances for soft ground. Then he rode the bike jumping off of the top of the wall and landing safely on the ground.

He looked over his shoulder there were four bikes left on top of the wall he wondered if they would all make it over the stream. There was a lot more of them earlier so he assumed that some of them had fallen off. As each bike rode along the wall more of the stones became looser and it was impossible for the last riders to stay on it.

He carried on taking it for granted that his undesirable accompaniment would stick to his tail. They would be trying to harass him into making a mistake. Little did they know that it was he whom was in control of the situation?

The Hunters Were Being Snared

The hunters were being lured into very dangerous territory? Up ahead there was a marsh bog that had saved many a local in years gone by. They all talked about it down the pub, telling stories of escape from various pursuers.

They only ever spoke about it to their own kind and Joe knew exactly where the track was. There was a path that went through the centre of the marsh bog and that was in the direction of where he was heading.

Like hounds chasing a fox the other riders were scrambling to get in front they all wanted to get at Joe first. After all there would be a large bounty on his head for whoever should take his sculpt.

Joe rode along the one and only track that permitted a safe journey to the other side of nature’s marshy grave. The others followed closely behind him they were gaining ground all of the time.

One chap who was the closest was making very good progress across the hidden bog when he realised that his companions were no longer backing him up. He looked over his shoulder to see where they had all gone. On doing so he unwittingly wandered off of the track.

He and his bike came to a sudden halt. He had stopped going forward and he was now going downwards instead. The water from the bog entered his engine and it cut out. Suddenly everything went silent except for the bog’s sucking noises.

There was nothing that he or anybody else could do. On realising his predicament he looked around for help but there was none forthcoming. In his panic he could see parts of his comrade’s arms sticking out of the bog as they were gradually being absorbed deeper into the watery mire.

Joe now had the time to watch his enemy disappearing into their murky graves. He had switched off his headlamp and was sitting on his saddle. He was making sure that his problems were over, if only for a short while.

He alone knew his present position and that of his enemies. Taking his time he made his way to the motorway heading towards his destination.

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