The Amber Trail by M. J. Kelly Page B

I don’t think you understand what you
have...” His voice trailed away. “How did you find this
place?”
    Dig glanced toward Raj. “My
father was a business associate of Max. But things have changed,
and I need to discuss something with him.”
    Girish’s face blotched red and
sweat beaded across his forehead. “Max isn’t here, and won’t be for
days.” He turned to Raj. “Did you bring him in here?”
    Raj stood stiffly. “He said he
had a meeting.”
    “ And so you just
drove him in here?”
    Raj’s gaze dropped to the
floor.
    “ Oh my...” Girish
pulled at his ear and paced in front of the vat. “Max is going
to...well...be upset.”
    Dig eyed the path back toward the
door. “Is there anyone else I can talk to?”
    “ No!” Girish said.
“There is nobody to talk to. You shouldn’t be here. You’re a
very silly boy.”
    Dig glanced around at the room.
“Well maybe if you can tell me where Max is, I’ll head over there
instead.”
    “ Ha!” Girish snorted.
“Oh no. You won’t be leaving now. You’ve dug your own grave in that
regard.”
    An emptiness balled in the pit of
Dig’s stomach. “Hang on,” he said. “There’s no need for that.” He
took a step backward, and the two men beside Girish dropped their
sacks of grain to the ground.
    Girish paced again and shook his
head. He turned to Raj. “You see what you did? If you drop your
guard you create needless suffering.”
    Dig took another step backward,
and Raj appeared at his shoulder to grab his arm. Dig tried to pull it away, but Raj held tight.
    “ Hey Raj,” Dig said.
“Let go mate.”
    Raj lifted his chin. “You lied to
me.”
    “ I had to bud.” Dig
lifted his foot. “And sorry, but I also have to do this.” He
brought his foot down hard on Raj’s toes. Raj grunted and Dig
pulled his arm free, then turned and ran for the exit.
    “ Get him,” Girish
shouted in a high pitched squeal. A scurry of feet followed him
toward the door.
    Dig pumped his
arms and ran as fast as he could, skidding around the corner
of the office, before he straightened and headed for the opening.
Voices shouted behind him.
    He burst into the sunlight and
skidded to a stop in the dirt. To his left, the path led away up
the ridge. To his right, the cluster of motorbikes sat together
beside the banyan trees.
    Dig swore, then dart ed across the
patch of dirt toward the trees. He found Raj’s motorbike in the
collection of machines and sat down.
    He stared at the controls for a
moment before he depressed the clutch and turned a small key on the
instrument panel. The bike hummed into life. He frantically turned
the bike around and faced it into the carpark. To his left, Raj and
the two men ran through the door of the brewery,
shouting.
    Dig took a breath, then revved
the engine and dropped the clutch. The bike jerked forward,
fishtailing wide arcs left and right in the dirt. He struggled to
control it.
    One of the men ran ahead of him
and tried to block his path out of the carpark. Dig wrenched the
handlebars to the right, but the man lunged and hooked a handful of
his backpack. The motorbike veered sideways, and Dig fought to keep
it upright before the man’s grip broke. The bike
shot forward, waver ing between potholes in the dirt.
    The engine roared, and Dig began
stamping at the gear lever. The bike jerked and spluttered, but he
held tightly to the handlebars and kept it pointed
forward.
    He dared a glance behind
him : the group of men
gesticulat ed as they dragg ed a second motorbike into the middle of the
car park. Dig ducked into the headwind and pulled the throttle back
as far as it would allow, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles
turned white.
    He followed the rutted dirt track
past the house, and then up the small rise to the old railway line.
He directed the front wheel between the tracks and bounced through
tufts of grass as the bike climbed the ridge.
    The wind bit at his eyes and
whistled in his ears as he sped up the track. He