“And it’s going on all along your line?” Hendricks said.
“Yes.”
“How about our lines?” Without thinking, he touched the tab on his arm. “Can they—”
“They’re not bothered by your radiation tabs. It makes no difference to them, Russian, American, Pole, German. It’s all the same. They’re doing what they were designed to do. Carrying out the original idea. They track down life, wherever they find it.”
“They go by warmth,” Klaus said. “That was the way you constructed them from the very start. Of course, those you designed were kept back by the radiation tabs you wear. Now they’ve got around that. These new varieties are lead-lined.”
“What’s the other variety?” Hendricks asked. “The David type, the Wounded Soldier—what’s the other?”
“We don’t know.” Klaus pointed up at the wall. On the wall were two metal plates, ragged at the edges. Hendricks got up and studied them. They were bent and dented.
“The one on the left came off a Wounded Soldier,” Rudi said. “We got one of them. It was going along toward our old bunker. We got it from the ridge, the same way we got the David tagging you.”
The plate was stamped: I-V. Hendricks touched the other plate. “And this came from the David type?”