by Neal Bascomb
On May 10, Bauer received his reply from Cohen. "I assure you this matter is being attended to intensely," Cohen wrote. "We expect to be able to report exact details shortly. Until then, we, and that includes you, have to be patient, and in the interest of the matter, I implore you to calmly wait for further information." The message was clear: Bauer was to hold tight.
Tuviah Friedman was also in a state of suspense. He had not made any further announcements about Eichmann after receiving letters from Erwin Schüle stating that any action might jeopardize the ongoing investigations. From what Friedman understood, the follow-up investigations by the World Jewish Congress proved that the information Lothar Hermann had provided was yet another false clue in the hunt for Adolf Eichmann.
As for Simon Wiesenthal, his brief flurry of activity with the Mossad had contributed nothing other than adding several more pages to his file on Eichmann. Contact had been abruptly cut off and no explanation given to Wiesenthal. In spite of his obsessive efforts to find Eichmann over the fifteen years since the Nazi's disappearance in the postwar chaos, Wiesenthal was resigned to the fact that the fugitive would elude justice for many more years to come.
As Eichmann was returning to his house on Garibaldi Street after work on May 10, a black sedan pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down his window and asked in Spanish how to get back to Buenos Aires. Eichmann gave him directions, very ill at ease with how closely the four men in the car seemed to be watching him. Before the sedan disappeared into the night, Eichmann noticed that its license plates were from the city. Why, then, would they need directions? Could this somehow be related to the two men who had approached his daughter-in-law Margarita six weeks before?
As soon as he got home, he told his wife about the black sedan. He brushed it off as nothing—at worst, the secret police doing a routine check in the area—but Vera was worried. Eichmann ate his dinner and smoked one cigarette after another, but he did not play his violin as he usually did. Lately, he had been practicing a piece by Andreas Hofer, "My Love, Do Not Forget Me," a break from his favorites, Mozart and Haydn. That evening, he was too tired. In bed that night, his wife slept uneasily next to him, dreaming about her husband in a white shirt that suddenly turned crimson.
Neither of them had anything to fear from that black sedan—the Mossad team had no reason to approach him so obviously. But now Eichmann was wary.
"We're planning for the operation to take place tomorrow," Harel told Yosef Klein earlier that evening. "So, just be aware of that. Suppose we get discovered—the police might get hold of the story somehow. I just want you to be aware."
Klein got the message. If he felt threatened or heard that the operation had been compromised, he was to go straight to the embassy for protection. Harel also advised him to make himself as visible as possible at the airport throughout the next day. That way, he could not be implicated in the capture.
Once they had discussed these preventive measures, their meeting followed the usual format. Klein had drawn a picture of the airport—its every entrance, building, runway, and guard position, as well as the locations of some windows and doors. He had also outlined the routine movements into and out of the airport, as well as staff shift changes. He had learned how Harel liked to do things. For each and every aspect of the flight—servicing and stationing the plane, moving the crew into the airport, boarding passengers, and many other details—Harel had wanted to know every alternative and possibility. Then he had tested each against the other, dismissing some, recommending others. After this review, he had ranked the scenarios in order of preference and determined the possibility of switching between them in case the unexpected occurred.
Klein told Harel that one such unexpected situation had developed already. Earlier that day, when he had gone to TransAer's maintenance area, he had found soldiers and police everywhere. He was still not sure why this was the case, but he had heard that the Americans were using one of their hangars for military aircraft. Whatever the reason, El Al could no longer use this spot. They needed a new location. Their second alternative had already been selected: the facilities of Aerolineas Argentinas. Although these facilities were closer to the main terminal than TransAer's, the area was poorly lit at night and guarded by only a few soldiers. What was more, it could be accessed without passing through the entrance to the main terminal.
With his usual barrage of questions, Harel zeroed in on the main weaknesses of using the national airline. With standard procedures, they would tow the plane to the terminal an hour before departure, which meant there would be too much activity around the plane when they wanted to get Eichmann on board. Klein suggested that they inform Aerolineas Argentinas that they wanted to use all their facilities except their towing equipment, which they were unaccustomed to using on Britannias and which might damage the plane. After fielding an interrogation from Harel as to whether the airline would grow suspicious at the El Al request to taxi to the terminal and then to the runway by itself, Klein had the go-ahead to set it up. With Shimoni scheduled to leave the next day to coordinate the plane's departure from Israel, Klein would be alone to handle all these matters.
They still needed to determine the best way to get Eichmann through security and onto the plane, but Harel had to go.
At Tira, Moshe Tabor rushed to prepare the safe house for the prisoner's arrival. He had chosen a ten-by-twelve-foot room on the house's second floor for the cell. First, he placed a bed with a cast-iron headboard in the room. Then, with one-inch nails, he secured heavy wool blankets over the two windows and the four walls to muffle any sound from Eichmann. He rigged a bell in the room that could be activated from the front gate or the living room if the house was about to be searched. He was in the middle of constructing two separate spaces to serve as hiding holes, both padded heavily with blankets. One was underneath the veranda, where there was a foot and a half of clearance between the wooden floor and the concrete foundation. The other was in a small storage space above the room.
In another part of the house, Aharoni was attempting to teach Malkin the few phrases in Spanish that he would say to Eichmann before grabbing him, something to put their target temporarily at ease. At first Aharoni tried "Can you tell me what time it is?" and then "Excuse me, please?" Malkin, who had unusual difficulty with Spanish, settled for a simple "Un momentito, señor." Meanwhile, in the garage, other team members, including Shalom and Gat, were cleaning and polishing the two capture cars to make them look worthy of their diplomatic status. They also continued to practice changing the license plates and putting the prisoner in the hollow behind the back seat, using Tabor's hinged seat construction.
They interrupted all this activity for one final meeting with Isser Harel to go over the plan. In several cars, they drove to the center of Buenos Aires, to the safe house Ramim (heights), a collection of adjoining apartments in a tall new building. Those not at Tira also assembled there, including Shalom Dani and Ephraim Ilani. Ramim had been chosen so as to limit the number of people going in and out of Tira the night before the capture.
Harel stood before his men, and they went instantly silent. "You were chosen by destiny to guarantee that one of the worst criminals of all time, who for years has succeeded in evading justice, would be made to stand trial in Jerusalem," he began, saying each word deliberately, his voice firm, much as he had during the speech he had given before they had left Israel. "For the first time in history the Jews will judge their assassins, and for the first time the world will hear the full story of the edict of annihilation against an entire people. Everything depends on the action we are about to take."
It was a stirring beginning. Then the Mossad chief got down to business. He reviewed the capture plan and the responsibilities of each member. From the lead car, the one stationed on Garibaldi Street, Malkin would make the first move on Eichmann, and Tabor would follow. Aharoni was to drive, and Eitan was to remain out of sight, ready to lead the team and to assist where necessary. In the second car, parked on Rout
e 202, Shalom would be the driver, Gat would act as lookout, and Dr. Kaplan would be on hand to administer any medical procedures required.
Then they talked contingencies.
What should they do if they were to learn that Ricardo Klement was not Eichmann? This was still a possibility, albeit a faint one, thanks to the investigations of Aharoni. Still, his identity was the first thing they needed to verify. If they discovered that they had made a mistake, Harel instructed Malkin and Tabor to drive Klement several hundred miles north of the city and drop him off with some money. Then they were to cross over the border into Brazil while the rest of the team got out of Argentina.
What would happen if Eichmann managed to escape and reach his house? Harel commanded them to break into the house, using whatever means necessary, and to grab him there. If the police chased them before reaching the safe house, they were to use every evasive maneuver in their repertoire, to break every traffic law, and even to use the second car, the one driven by Shalom, to ram any pursuers.
What if they were caught with Eichmann? "Under no circumstances whatsoever are we to let him go or allow him to escape," Harel insisted. As many of the team as possible were to slip away, but once they were surrounded, Harel wanted Eitan to handcuff himself to Eichmann and ask for the authorities' ranking officer. Eitan was then to declare that they were Jewish volunteers, operating without governmental authority. They had heard that this notorious Nazi war criminal was living in Buenos Aires and wanted him brought to trial. Until they were promised that their captive would be held pending an investigation, Eitan was to do everything in his power not to be separated from Eichmann.
Although the team had always known the stakes involved in the operation, hearing what they were to do if they were caught made the risks even more tangible.
"Are there any questions?" Harel asked.
Thinking of his wife and two children (his daughter barely six months old), Yaakov Gat asked, "If there's a problem with the authorities, and they arrest us with Eichmann, how long can we expect to sit in jail in Argentina?"
"I checked," Harel replied, not surprisingly. "Maximum, ten years. But with diplomatic influence, maybe two or three."
"Who looks after our families?" Gat then asked, knowing it was a question the others wanted answered as well.
"I'm responsible," Harel said firmly. "I'm in charge."
Not one of the team doubted for an instant that their chief would follow through on his word. He was a difficult taskmaster, but his loyalty to his people was unquestioned.
Harel then told the men that if Eichmann did escape during the capture and the police were on their trail, they had to get out of Argentina fast. He suggested that they take a train out of Buenos Aires; the airports and hotels were sure to be searched first. Apart from the doctor, they all had enough experience to handle themselves.
Balancing this grim slate of contingencies, Harel reassured his men that he had complete trust in their skills and resourcefulness. In his view, their success was guaranteed. With that, he finished by wishing good luck to every one of them. They were now on their own.
Some stayed at Ramim for the night. Others returned to Tira or went to the safe house they had leased in the same neighborhood. Each man spent time mulling over the next day's operation.
Lying in his bed at Ramim, Shalom knew that despite their preparations, there were many opportunities for the operation to go terribly wrong. The traffic in the area was undependable. A neighbor might be walking along one of the adjoining streets and see them take Eichmann. The Nazi might manage to shout out, and someone might hear him—perhaps one of his sons. A police blockade might be set up in their path, or a reckless driver might hit their car. Or their vehicle might break down. Tira might prove unapproachable because of a random patrol. Despite these possibilities, Shalom understood that the time to take their chances had come.
In his room at Tira, Malkin tried on a new pair of fur-lined leather gloves. He had bought them partly to ward off any numbness from the cold, but also because he did not want to physically touch this man, this killer. Memories of his family dominated his thoughts, followed by a rush of fear that he might fail his team and, in some way, all the people who had died because of Eichmann. To push away this fear, he kept repeating to himself, "I'm going to catch him."
20
WHEN THE MOSSAD TEAM awoke on May 11, they faced a long day of nervous anticipation. Tabor and Malkin double-checked that the safe house was ready and finished the hideout. Shalom, Gat, and Eitan drove to San Fernando and back to check that no obstruction had appeared along the return routes they had chosen. Aharoni made a rushed trip to a garage to buy a new battery for the Buick limousine. By early afternoon, however, they had run out of ways to pass the time.
Everyone involved in the capture operation waited at Tira. Between games of chess and gin rummy, they looked for anything other than the operation to talk about, but it was useless. Some retired to their rooms to relax—maybe even sleep—but they were all back in the living room after a short while, more on edge than ever.
Malkin was one of those who attempted to lie down. He slowed his breathing to calm himself, but he kept thinking of Eichmann approaching him in the darkness and would then grow agitated.
An hour before they were scheduled to leave, Malkin splashed some water on his face and dressed for the operation. He pulled on a wig, along with a blue wool sweater and black pants, and for a long time stared at himself in the mirror, mentally charging himself up. Then he went downstairs, to find that almost everyone else was ready. Tabor had also covered his bald head with a wig and wore a heavy overcoat, looking even more gargantuan and imposing than usual. The other operatives had outfitted themselves in jackets and slacks. A few wore ties, to look more like diplomats, but they were not in disguise. Only Malkin and Tabor would be outside the car.
Dr. Kaplan sat on one of the couches, his medical bag drawn close to his side. Obviously ill at ease, he was idly shifting chess pieces around the board, his face blank.
Before they left, Eitan reviewed their plan one more time. He offered no eloquent words of inspiration. Each of them knew what he needed to do. It was half past six, time to go.
Adolf Eichmann started his day as usual, rising from bed at the crack of dawn. He shaved, washed himself with a pail of water, and then had breakfast. Before he left, his wife told him about her nightmare. She warned him to be careful, but he told her there was nothing to worry about. He left his house, caught bus 203 at the kiosk, and began his daily two-hour trek to work. He switched buses twice, catching the one for the final leg at the Saavedra Bridge, which separated the city center from the outlying districts of Buenos Aires. This bus was usually filled with the same people every day, mostly his fellow workers at the Mercedes-Benz plant. Typically, he never said much to the other passengers during the twenty-mile ride southwest of the city. Some of them knew his name, Ricardo Klement, but that was about it.
Once at the plant, he clocked in like everyone else and put on a pair of dark blue Mercedes-Benz overalls to keep from dirtying his pants and shirt. As foreman, he spent the morning walking the assembly line, inspecting the work in progress. When the 12:30 P.M. whistle blew, Eichmann took his lunch break, alone, at the same restaurant a block away from the plant at which he ate every working day. An hour later, he returned to work exactly on time and finished out his shift. Typically, he left the plant in time to catch the 6:15 bus back to the Saavedra Bridge, but that evening he had a short trade union meeting to attend. Otherwise, it was just another day. This was not the existence he had imagined for himself when he had been climbing the ranks of the Nazi Party, enjoying ever more the power and the spoils of his position. Eichmann remained embittered over the past, but as aimless as his life was now, at least he was free.
Aharoni turned the Buick limousine off the highway, heading toward Route 202 in the darkness. Eitan sat by Aharoni's side, and Tabor and Malkin were in the back. Only a blustery wind and the distant ru
mble of thunder broke the silence. They all kept their eyes trained on the road, though occasionally they glanced at one another, recognizing how much each depended on the others for the success of the operation—and, potentially, for their own freedom or even lives. This realization bonded them together in a unique way. There was also a touch of fear in the air, but they had long since become accustomed to tuning out that feeling so that it barely registered.
At 7:35 P.M., they reached Garibaldi Street. Shalom, driving the Chevrolet, had taken a different route to the target area, but they arrived at the same time. Gat was next to him in the passenger's seat, at relative ease because he knew they had a good plan. More than that, he had faith in the team. In the back seat, the doctor was silent, looking at the operatives through different eyes. They were almost a different breed, so calm in the moments before the operation began.
In five minutes, the bus would arrive. They had not wanted to be in the area for too long before the capture to avoid drawing attention to themselves, but now they needed to move to get into place. On Route 202, Shalom stationed the Chevrolet facing Garibaldi Street and turned off the headlights. Behind them, between their car and the railway embankment, a truck was parked. Its driver was preoccupied with eating his dinner, and Shalom had to hope that he would stay that way. There was nothing they could do about him now.
Aharoni stopped his limousine ten yards in from the highway on Garibaldi Street, facing toward Eichmann's house. Tabor and Malkin stepped out into the cold and opened the hood. Tabor leaned over the engine; he would be concealed from Eichmann when he turned onto his street. On the limousine's front left side, Malkin also bent slightly over the engine, as if to watch. Eitan slipped into the back seat, his forehead pressed against the cold glass as he kept his eyes trained on the bus stop. Staying in the driver's seat, Aharoni stared in the same direction through a pair of night vision binoculars. Their backup car was in place, roughly thirty yards away. Again, there was no reason for them to speak, only to wait and watch.
