Hunting Eichmann
Page 22
Code-named Doron (gift), their second find was more a villa than a house. The architect had designed a sprawling affair with several wings on multiple levels and a maze of rooms unpredictable in their placement, size, configuration, and entrance. With little effort, they could build a secret chamber that would take the police hours, if not days, to find. The villa was a couple of hours from Garibaldi Street, and there were several routes into the area. The extensive manicured grounds surrounded by a high stone wall also limited spying by nosy neighbors. The only drawback was that a gardener serviced the property, but they felt that they could keep him away.
The team now focused completely on planning the capture itself.
After their first day's work in Buenos Aires, Shimoni and Klein met with Harel at a café, their faces revealing their extreme agitation. Shimoni explained that the Argentine protocol office was not prepared to welcome the Israeli delegation until May 19, a week later than they had expected. There was no way to negotiate with them without drawing too much attention to the flight.
After the El Al officers left, Harel discussed the repercussions with Shalom. Either the team would have to postpone the capture date or risk holding their captive for ten days, until the plane could take off on May 20. Neither was a good option. Delaying increased the odds that Eichmann would change his routine or, much worse, that he would discover that he was being shadowed and run. Extending his imprisonment in the safe house gave those looking for him—whether his family, the police, or both—more time to find him, and the team would have to endure waiting day after day in seclusion.
Shalom felt that they should postpone the operation by at least a few days. Harel feared that even this minor delay would give Eichmann a chance to elude their grasp. Needing time to think—and hoping to discuss the situation further with Rafi Eitan if and when he arrived—Harel put off making a decision. One thing was certain: the news heightened the risks for everyone involved.
On the evening of May 4, Eitan and Peter Malkin finally arrived in Buenos Aires. Only the doctor and the forger had yet to arrive to complete the team. Eitan and Malkin had been held up in Paris with documentation problems, then Eitan had been bedridden with food poisoning, and they had had difficulty rebooking a flight.
Shalom collected them at their meeting place in a 1952 Ford clunker. With the operation only six days away, they wanted to go straightaway to San Fernando.
As they drove north, a light rain fell and a cold, blustery wind picked up. Knowing the roads in Buenos Aires thoroughly by this point, Shalom took them to San Fernando by the shortest route. On the way, he updated the new arrivals on the operation. By the time they neared the neighborhood, the drizzle had turned into a downpour, but Malkin still recognized some of the landmarks and streets he had studied in Aharoni's reports. Suddenly, Shalom came to an abrupt stop. They were on a street running parallel to Garibaldi. Two young soldiers materialized on either side of the car. One held a red flashlight; both were armed and carrying truncheons. Shalom stayed calm; he had run across enough roadblocks and spot checks to know that this was routine. In his pidgin Spanish, he explained to one of the soldiers that they were tourists, searching for their hotel. The soldier did not reply, focusing his light first on Shalom, then on the license plate. Rain streamed off the brim of his hat as he contemplated whether they were a threat. After an age, he waved them on, to the relief of the three Israelis.
Several blocks away, Shalom pulled over to the side of the road. "We'd better leave the car here ... I'd hate for those soldiers to see it again."
Within an instant of exiting the car, they were drenched from head to foot. Malkin hiked across a field pocked with mud, cursing that he had worn a suit and dress shoes. But when he reached the lookout post on the railway embankment, he forgot about everything except the house on which his binoculars were now trained. The post was perfectly positioned, and Malkin was able to see Eichmann's wife clearly through the front window. Then he checked his watch. According to Shalom, Eichmann would arrive within the next few minutes.
Since the first day Malkin had read the file on the Nazi, his presence had loomed ever larger and more evil. In Vienna alone, on his first assignment to force the Jews out of Europe, Eichmann had shown his true nature. He enjoyed striding through the Palais Rothschild, where the Jews lining the hallways retreated from him in fear. He also enjoyed publicly humiliating the city's Jewish leaders by striking them across the face or calling them "old shitbags" in meetings. After the pogrom led by SS men in civilian attire, during which forty-two of Vienna's synagogues were set afire and more than two thousand families were driven from their homes, Eichmann was remorseless, arriving at the Jewish community's headquarters to announce that there had been "an unsatisfactory rate of disappearance of Jews from Vienna." Already in 1938, the thirty-two-year-old reveled in being called a "bloodhound."
Reading about Eichmann's activities had only started the process of demonizing him for Malkin. His fear of failure when it came to grabbing Eichmann also played a part. But the greatest factor was confronting his own family's loss in the Holocaust. Before Malkin left Israel, he visited his mother and, for the first time, asked her what had happened to his sister Fruma. He learned that she had attempted to get out of Poland with her family but that her husband had not been convinced that they needed to leave. Malkin spent most of that night staring at his sister's photograph and reading the letters she had sent their mother before being shot in a camp outside Lublin. In each one, Fruma had asked if he was all right, while all along she and her family were running out of time because the killing machine that Eichmann had helped build was coming for them.
Now, his hands numb from the cold and rain, Malkin held the binoculars up to his face, and a thousand thoughts about Eichmann, his sister, and the operation coursed through his brain. He saw a bus approach down Route 202. It stopped at the kiosk, and a man in a trench coat and hat descended onto the street. In the darkness, Malkin was unable to see his face, but there was something about the man's deliberate, leaning stride that matched his vision of Eichmann.
"That's him," Shalom whispered.
Malkin stared down from the embankment. The sight of the lone figure walking through the driving rain burned in his mind: this was the man he had come to capture. Malkin was already calculating the type of takedown he would use and where on this stretch of road he would make his move.
What neither Malkin nor Eitan knew was that Zvi Aharoni had traveled for part of the way with Eichmann that night. In an attempt to track where their target boarded bus 203, Aharoni had gone to the station in Carupa, eight stops from San Fernando, dressed in overalls like many workers in the area. As he boarded the old green and yellow bus, he caught sight of Eichmann seated in a row halfway down the aisle, among the throng of factory workers and secretaries. Aharoni made sure to look away, so as not to be caught staring, and handed the driver the 4 pesos for the ticket. If the driver asked him a question in Spanish, he would surely draw attention to himself. Fortunately, he did not.
As Aharoni walked down the aisle, he noticed that the only empty seat was directly behind Eichmann, who was oblivious to Aharoni as he passed. He slid into the seat, barely noticing the steel springs that jutted through the worn leather seats. Aharoni was close enough to be able to reach out and put his hands around the Nazi's neck. As the bus shuddered to a start, he felt a rush of emotion that left him physically weak. Severely distressed, he could not wait to get off the bus at the San Fernando station. If there was ever any doubt in his mind that they were after more than just a man, this brief encounter dispelled that notion. They were closing in on evil itself.
The identifying photo of
Eichmann, found by his
pursuers in the late 1940s
Bildarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz /
Art Resource
Simon Wiesenthal, Nazi hunter
© UPPA / Topham / The Image Works
Eichmann during the war
© Roger
-Viollet / The Image Works
Tuviah Friedman, Nazi hunter
Mirrorpix
The Red Cross passport Eichmann used to escape Europe
Buenos Aires Shoah Museum
Eichmann fleeing Europe on the Giovanni C, headed for Argentina, 1950
© C. Strub / Sueddeutsche Zeitung Photo / The Image Works
Dr. Fritz Bauer, attorney general for
the state of Hesse, West Germany
© Topham / The Image Works
Eichmann in hiding,
Tucumán, Argentina, 1955
AKG Images / NordicPhotos
Isser Harel, Mossad chief
Moshe Milner / Government Press Office, Israel
Zvi Aharoni, Mossad agent in Argentina
Zvi Aharoni
Surveillance photo of Eichmann's house on Garibaldi Street
Zvi Aharoni
Surveillance photo of the area where the Mossad team planned
to capture Eichmann Zvi Aharoni
The truck used by Aharoni during surveillance
Zvi Aharoni
Eichmann outside his house, as photographed with a
hidden briefcase camera Zvi Aharoni
Left Eichmann's daughter-in-law,
Margarita, briefcase camera photo
Zvi Aharoni
Eichmann's son, Dieter, briefcase
camera photo Zvi Aharoni
The Mossad team
Zvi Aharoni
Eichmann in captivity,
wearing blacked-out goggles
Zvi Aharoni
Yosef Klein, El Al station chief
El Al / Marvin G. Goldman Collection
Zvi Tohar, El Al pilot
El Al / Marvin G. Goldman Collection
The El Al plane, Britannia 4X-AGD, used to take Eichmann out of Argentina
Peter R. Keating / Marvin G. Goldman Collection
Eichmann in Ramle
Prison, Israel, April 1961
John Milli / Government Press
Office, Israel
Eichmann in the glass booth at his trial, May 1961
Government Press Office, Israel
Zeev Sapir testifies at the trial, June 1961
Government Press Office, Israel
18
THE DAY AFTER his arrival, Rafi Eitan instructed everyone to meet at Maoz. Since receiving word that the operation was going ahead, he had grown coldly determined. He knew what needed to be done, and there was no way he would allow Eichmann to elude or escape them—even if it meant taking the extreme measure of strangling him, as Moshe Tabor had earlier proposed. Now that Eitan had seen where Eichmann lived for himself, they could move forward with planning how exactly to take him.
In the living room of the Buenos Aires apartment, the agents ran through what they knew. It was clear from all their surveillance that they should capture Eichmann on his walk home. Kidnapping him from his bunker of a house introduced too many variables, including the possible actions of his wife and sons and the chance that he had a weapon. It was also unlikely that they would find a better location than an isolated stretch of road at night.
Still, there were many questions: Where between the bus stop and his house would they seize him? How would they position their cars? Would Malkin hide in the ditch beside the road and ambush him, or should they pull up alongside him in a car and grab him that way? Who would drive? What would they do if Eichmann ran? They discussed the numerous possible variations, all of them having already spent hours both alone and together on the same subject. They agreed that they should take him as soon as he turned onto Garibaldi Street, away from any passing traffic. But the question of where the cars were to be placed was a stumbling block. Eitan wanted to do some daytime surveillance with Malkin before they finalized the plan.
As for the operation's timing, they had all heard that the El Al flight was not due until May 19 and that perhaps they should postpone the capture. Eitan made it clear to everyone present that Harel had decided there would be no delay. The chief reasoned that it was better to risk holding Eichmann for longer than first planned than to let him slip through their fingers. What was more, if they scheduled the capture too close to the flight's departure, there might be unforeseeable delays (Eichmann might travel out of the city or get sick), and they would not be able to postpone the plane without setting off any alarm bells. May 10 was still the date, and it was not open for debate, despite anyone's misgivings.
The team ran through their individual responsibilities for the coming days. The strain was beginning to wear on the advance team, who had spent almost two weeks working round the clock—all the while under the stress of avoiding detection. There was still much to be done, and Eitan added one more task to the list. They were to practice grabbing and getting Eichmann into the car. Every second would count.
At Ezeiza Airport, Yosef Klein was making rapid progress on the arrangements for the El Al escape flight. Over the past few days, he had met with officials at the national airline Aerolineas Argentinas, and TransAer, a private local airline that flew Britannias. They both offered their services and outlined standard airport procedures. In his tours of the terminal, airfield, and hangars, Klein had taken care to befriend everyone from the baggage handlers, customs officers, and policemen to the service crews, maintenance workers, and staffs of both airlines. He intimated that this diplomatic flight might be a test run for regular El Al service to Argentina. When that happened, El Al would need to hire local staff. Given how little most of the airport workers were paid, the potential to earn higher wages with El Al made everyone more than helpful.
Now well acquainted with Ezeiza, Klein was certain that Eichmann could not be brought onto the plane through the terminal building, even if he were concealed in a trunk or some other contraption. There were too many customs and immigration officers, and with the heightened security from both the terrorist attacks and the anniversary celebrations, little escaped their attention. He needed to find another place to park the El Al plane that would allow the Mossad to get Eichmann on board.
When Klein visited the TransAer facilities that afternoon, he found the ideal spot. The airline's hangar was located at the edge of the airfield, where there were fewer guards. Since the airline flew Britannias, Klein could easily explain that El Al wanted to park its plane there should any spare parts or special maintenance be required. When he asked the private airline if this would be possible, it agreed.
Meanwhile, Luba Volk, who had not yet been informed of the flight's true purpose, was at the Israeli embassy with Yehuda Shimoni, completing the various letters to the Ministry of Aviation that formally requested permission for El Al to enter Argentine airspace and land at Ezeiza. She did not have an office, and she needed the help of the embassy's secretarial staff because she was not completely fluent in Spanish. Just as she was about to sign the letters, she got nervous and put down her pen. She had a premonition that if she signed her name, there would be trouble in the future.
"Maybe it would be a good idea if you signed the letter instead of me," she said, turning to Shimoni. "After all, it's a onetime flight."
"No, no. That doesn't make sense. You're the official El Al representative in Argentina," Shimoni explained. "If I sign it, they could refuse."
Volk relented and penned her name.
On the evening of May 5, behind closed doors at Maoz, Shalom Dani was forging a passport. In his left hand, he held a magnifying glass. With his steady right hand, he fashioned a typewriter-perfect letter E with a fine-tipped black pen. On the table in front of him and scattered throughout the small room were the accouterments of his craft: a multitude of colored pens and pencils, inks, dyes, small brushes, X-Acto knives, clumps of wax, a hot plate, seals, cameras, film, bottles of photographic developer, and a small store's worth of paper in every color, stock, and weight.
The forger had arrived only a few hours before, carrying with him several suitcases and boxes labeled FRAGILE that contained these supplies. He had bur
ied the more suspicious items, such as the seals and some of the paper stock, among the more typical items that would correspond with the profession on his passport: artist. Dani's appearance—thin, pale, hollow-cheeked, bespectacled, and melancholic—matched the description. He had come straight to the safe house, which he suspected he probably would not leave, even to take a walk, until the operation was over. He needed to create dozens of different passports, driver's licenses, insurance cards, IDs, and other papers for the team.
None of the team knew that Dani was slowly being weakened by heart problems, and, at only thirty-two years old, he was not about to tell them. He wanted in on this job. Dani's family had been removed from their Hungarian village into a ghetto when the Nazis had occupied the country. His father had been killed at Bergen-Belsen, and Shalom, his two siblings, and their mother had been shuffled between various camps until he had crafted passes that had freed them. They had hidden out in an Austrian town until the end of the war. Shalom had then turned his natural artistic talents to forging immigration papers for Jews to settle in Palestine. After the Israeli War of Independence, he had studied at the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris and had then joined the Mossad. In the mid-1950s, his work—forging old French and Moroccan passports for eighteen hours a day, seven days a week—had allowed thousands of Moroccan Jews to escape to Israel.
Dani had still been living in Paris, working for the Mossad and studying the art of stained glass, when Harel had tapped him to come to Argentina. The team had relied on his passports and identification papers to get into Argentina, without a single problem. Dani was not one to accept praise easily, and he no doubt would have been surprised to learn that his colleagues valued him above anyone else on the team.