Whipsaw by Don Pendleton

again. He banged his head on a hard surface, probably the door frame, and he staggered drunkenly until she pushed him against a wall by placing both palms flat against his chest.
    "Don't move," she whispered. Her voice seemed to come from below his chest. He guessed she couldn't be any more than five two or five three.
    The dull thud of footsteps pounded back in the direction they had come. He heard the hinges squeak again, and shouted voices that seemed to be swallowed by the darkness as the door swung closed.
    For the third time her hand snatched at his sleeve, and again he followed her, bending low to avoid another crack in his skull. His head throbbed from the previous collision, and every step seemed to split the bone a little wider. He rubbed his forehead just below the hairline and found a lump the size of a robin's egg. His fingers came away sticky.
    They rattled down a stairwell, the woman pulling him like an angry mother dragging along a wayward child.
    He wanted to ask where they were going, but her pace was picking up and he had to concentrate on keeping up with her. Running in the darkness, he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He was getting tense, wary of slamming into another obstacle he couldn't see, and the anxiety helped to drain his reserves of energy.
    Reaching out with one hand, he brushed his fingertips against what seemed to be a rock wall, likely raw stone cut into rough blocks. Dampness trickled down over the stone, and something soft, probably moss, filled the seams. He still hadn't seen a glimmer of light, and marveled at the woman's ability to move so quickly in such impenetrable blackness.
    They were far enough away from the shop that he could hear nothing but his feet on damp earth, his steps drowning out those of the woman ahead of him. His throat felt raw, and his breathing rasped in his ears like a swarm of flies. His mouth was dry, and it felt as if his tongue were growing thick between his teeth.
    Just when he was about to call for a break, she began to slow down, and he stumbled to a halt. He leaned over and breathed deeply.
    "Where are we?" Bolan asked.
    "Does it matter?" she responded.
    "You've got a point," Bolan said. "Will you at least tell me who you are?"
    "You don't need to know that, either. Not yet."
    "You're a regular gold mine of information," Bolan commented.
    She ignored the sarcasm. "When you need to know, you will know. But not before." She stepped close to him and hissed, "Shhh!" Even though he couldn't see her in the darkness, he knew she was suddenly straining to hear something.
    Bolan held his breath. He, too, thought he could hear something. It was distant and muffled. It came from some distance behind them, but he couldn't tell whether it was all the way back at the shop or closer.
    "What is it?" he whispered.
    "I'm not sure. But we'd better go."
    Bolan nodded. Then, realising she couldn't see him, he whispered, "Okay."
    Again she reached out to grab his arm, but the tugging was more gentle, as if finally satisfied that he would follow her lead without argument.
    They had gone no more than fifty feet when she slowed again.
    "What's wrong?" he asked.
    "Nothing. There is a door here. Wait while I open it." He stood stock-still, listening to her work a latch in the darkness. There was no fumbling. It was almost as though her fingers had eyes. Smoothly the lock opened, and she pulled the door back. "Go on," she prompted.
    Bolan brushed against her as he stepped through the door. He stopped on the other side and waited for her to close and relock the door. A thunderclap echoed through the darkness, and Bolan heard her gasp.
    "They broke through," she said. "We must hurry."
    The words were no sooner out of her mouth than a wall of air slammed into them. The concussion knocked her to the floor, and Bolan heard her moan. He knelt on one knee and groped for her in the darkness. His fingers found rough cloth. It felt like denim, and he let his hand follow the seam of her pants to