At Sword's Point by Katherine Kurtz, Scott MacMillan

sitting naked in his own excrement and urine.
    Gluckman looked into Drummond's face. "So tell me, Mr. Drummond, will you be so kind as to answer a few questions?"
    Drummond wanted to tell Gluckman to go to hell, but found himself nodding in agreement instead.
    "Good," the chubby Mossad agent said. "Then we can take off some of this tape." He nodded at Trostler, who reached over and ripped off the silver tape that covered Drummond's mouth.
    "I'm sorry you are in such a humiliating state, but its one of the side effects of the drug my associates used to subdue you earlier this evening." Gluckman managed an insincere smile. "As soon as you've answered my questions, you can clean up and go home." He smiled again. "Give me a hard time and you're dead."
    Drummond looked around the room at Trostler, Meier, and the other man, and decided that giving them a hard time was the last thing he wanted to do.
    "Okay," he croaked. "What do you want to know?"
    "I want to know everything you know about this man…" Gluckman held up a faded photograph of a man in a Nazi uniform. "SS Sturmbannführer Wilhelm Kluge."
    * * * *
    It was late afternoon when the Mercedes 500SLC pulled to the side of the road just a few miles outside the small German town of Paderborn. The door on the passenger side opened, and two young men in hiking boots, short pants, and thick pullovers climbed out and went to the back of the car. From inside, the driver released the trunk latch so the two young men could retrieve a pair of knapsacks. Slinging these on their backs, they set off purposefully in the direction of Wewelsberg Castle, little more than a kilometer away. In the rearview mirror, the driver of the Mercedes watched until the two hikers vanished into the forest. Adjusting his eye-patch, Scharführer Baumann then shifted the dark blue Mercedes into gear and drove on into town.
    Darkness was just settling when the hikers arrived at the castle. As they walked into the courtyard they saw Stephen Dornberger sitting on a stool, smoking a crooked Dutch cigar.
    "Hello, Uncle Stephen," the taller one said. "Have you got a room for me and Erik?"
    "Yes," Dornberger said. "The same as last time."
    "Anyone else in there?" Erik asked.
    "Just you and Karl and the young man I phoned about." Dornberger blew a stream of smoke toward the pale slice of moon showing from behind ink black clouds.
    "Good. What's he look like?" Erik asked.
    "About your height, but not as broad shouldered." Dornberger took a long pull on his cigar, its end glowing red in the darkness. "He has blond hair and a dueling scar."
    Karl gave a soft chuckle. "Baumann should like that."
    A lopsided grin crossed Erik's face. "Better take us in and let us introduce ourselves, Uncle."
    Anton von Tupilow was stretched out on his bunk reading when Erik and Karl came in and tossed down their knapsacks. Walking over to the bunk, Erik stuck out his hand.
    "Hi. Erik Klaussen. Hope you don't mind the invasion."
    "Not at all." The other took his hand and shook it. "I'm Anton von Tupilow."
    "Karl Braun," said the other hiker, as he walked over to where Anton had propped himself up on one elbow. "What brings you to Wewelsberg?"
    "Mostly my old motorbike," Anton said. "And a bit of curiosity."
    "Curiosity?" asked Karl.
    "Well, yes. Old castles are a hobby of mine, and I was interested to see this one, since it was restored before the war."
    "Do you know why it was restored?" Erik asked.
    "Well, first because it was a ruin," Anton replied with a grin, "but I've also heard that Himmler, the head of the SS, thought that it had magical powers."
    Erik had flopped down on the bunk under Anton's. "Magical powers?" he said. "Really? What sort of magical powers?"
    "Well, according to the legends, this castle could never fall to invaders from the East. So Himmler decided that it should become the grand commandery of an order of SS knights. He personally selected twelve SS officers as the foundation of his black order of knights, and