ay manhole
cover set in the ground. "Get in."

Hendricks lowered himself. The two soldiers and the woman came behind
him, following him down the ladder. The woman closed the lid after
them, bolting it tightly into place.

"Good thing we saw you," one of the two soldiers grunted. "It had
tagged you about as far as it was going to."

* * * * *

"Give me one of your cigarettes," the woman said. "I haven't had an
American cigarette for weeks."

Hendricks pushed the pack to her. She took a cigarette and passed the
pack to the two soldiers. In the corner of the small room the lamp
gleamed fitfully. The room was low-ceilinged, cramped. The four of
them sat around a small wood table. A few dirty dishes were stacked to
one side. Behind a ragged curtain a second room was partly visible.
Hendricks saw the corner of a cot, some blankets, clothes hung on a
hook.

"We were here," the soldier beside him said. He took, off his helmet,
pushing his blond hair back. "I'm Corporal Rudi Maxer. Polish.
Impressed in the Soviet Army two years ago." He held out his hand.

Hendricks hesitated and then shook. "Major Joseph Hendricks."

"Klaus Epstein." The other soldier shook with him, a small dark man
with thinning hair. Epstein plucked nervously at his ear. "Austrian.
Impressed God knows when. I don't remember. The three of us were here,
Rudi and I, with Tasso." He indicated the woman. "That's how we
escaped. All the rest were down in the bunker."

"And--and _they_ got in?"

Epstein lit a cigarette. "First just one of them. The kind that tagged
you. Then it let others in."

Hendricks became alert. "The _kind_? Are there more than one kind?"

"The little boy. David. David holding his teddy bear. That's Variety
Three. The most effective."

"What are the other types?"

Epstein reached into his coat. "Here." He tossed a packet of
photographs onto the table, tied with a string. "Look for yourself."

Hendricks untied the string.

"You see," Rudi Maxer said, "that was why we wanted to talk terms. The
Russians, I mean. We found out about a week ago. Found out that your
claws were beginning to make up new designs on their own. New types of
their own. Better types. Down in your underground factories behind our
lines. You let them stamp themselves, repair themselves. Made them
more and more intricate. It's your fault this happened."

* * * * *

Hendricks examined the pho