by Neal Bascomb
Soon after Malkin had finished, Aharoni arrived with Yoel Goren, one of the Mossad operatives who had come on the El Al flight. Goren was the one who, more than two years before, had investigated the house in Olivos and discounted the possibility that Eichmann could possibly live in such a ramshackle place. Despite his false assessment, Goren was an obvious choice to aid in this last chapter of the mission because of his fluent Spanish and knowledge of Buenos Aires.
The men led the prisoner down into the kitchen and sat him in a chair. On the table was a needle and a tube. Dr. Kaplan entered the kitchen, glad to be of use after ten days of idleness. He rolled up Eichmann's right sleeve and then soaked a cloth with alcohol. As he moved to press the cloth against Eichmann's arm, the prisoner recoiled.
"It isn't necessary to give me an injection," he said. "I won't utter a sound ... I promise."
"Don't worry," the doctor said. "It's nothing, just something to control your excitement."
Aharoni added, "You have a very long journey ahead of you. The medication will help you to overcome all the strain."
The doctor moved to inject the needle into Eichmann's arm.
"No, no ... I'm not excited at all," Eichmann insisted.
"Please," Malkin said. "We have to do this. We have orders."
Eichmann capitulated and laid his arm in his lap. The doctor inserted the needle into a vein and attached the tube to the needle. Then he administered a dose of sedative. Eichmann soon faded, mumbling, "No, no. I don't need it."
"We're ready to travel," the doctor said, his finger on Eichmann's pulse.
At 9:00 P.M., Yaakov Gat and Rafi Eitan grabbed Eichmann under the arms and brought him into the garage. He was conscious but barely able to speak. He looked drowsily at the others, all in their El Al uniforms, and said, "I don't look right. I have to put on a jacket." They had not dressed him in one because it would restrict access to his arm, but they were encouraged that Eichmann actually seemed to be trying to assist.
Gat jumped into the limousine's back seat and drew Eichmann down beside him. The doctor also sat in the back, ready to inject his patient with more sedative if the situation warranted it.
"Don't worry," Eichmann mumbled again, understanding more than his listless eyes revealed. "You can rely on me. I won't need any more injections."
Aharoni started the engine, and Yoel Goren slid into the passenger's seat. Malkin opened the gate for them—he and Nesiahu were staying behind at Tira in case there was a problem and the rest of the team needed to return to the house. Eitan and Tabor were to follow in another car. The limousine turned out of the driveway and into the night.
Meanwhile, Captain Wedeles gathered the El Al crew members who had yet to be informed of the reason for the flight in a secluded corner of the Hotel Internacional lobby. The seven individuals included the radio operators, pursers, and stewardesses. All of them had spent the past twenty-four hours having a splendid time in Buenos Aires, dining on huge Argentine steaks, touring the city, and shopping. They were unsettled to see how serious Wedeles looked and were curious as to why Yosef Klein and Adi Peleg were standing beside him.
"We're advancing the return departure," Wedeles said. "Please be downstairs in an hour. No shopping. No nothing. After that, you're to stick with me. If I get up, you get up with me. If I sit down, you sit down—because I want you all around me at all times."
"You're participating in a great event," Peleg said, stepping forward to explain. "Don't ask me what it is, but we're taking a very important person back with us to Israel. I will tell you his identity later on."
"We'll be boarding the plane in three cars at the maintenance area," Wedeles continued. "In one of the cars will be that man."
The crew members were not terribly surprised by the meeting, as most of them had sensed all along that there was something unusual about the flight. They all made sure they were packed and ready on time. Before they left, Luba Volk arrived at the Internacional.
Klein approached her in the lobby. "Are you going to the airport?"
"Of course," Volk said. Although she now knew there was much more going on with this flight than met the eye, she still planned to see her friends off.
"Please, please, do me a favor. Don't go to the airport," Klein said softly. "It's dangerous, and unfortunately I can't talk about it ... but don't go to the airport. Just forget it. Remember that you have a young boy."
Volk saw that Klein almost had tears in his eyes, and she promised not to go. She bid him and the others goodbye and returned home, knowing well that it was her name that appeared on the stream of papers filed with the Aviation Ministry for the flight.
The crew climbed aboard the minibus that was idling outside the hotel entrance and waited. Nobody asked any questions. Klein had already left, on his own, to check that everything was ready for the flight.
At the airport, in the Argentine national airline's maintenance area, Avraham Shalom looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past ten. Captain Zvi Tohar, several of his flight crew, and the two mechanics had spent the past two hours checking the plane. Tohar reported that everything was in perfect order. Shalom then went to survey the entrances to the airfield, to make sure there was no special security on duty nor anybody suspicious lurking around. Finding no cause for concern, he went to the terminal, where he informed Harel of as much. Then he made his way to the airport parking lot to await Eichmann's arrival.
In the aeronautical services office in the control tower, the navigators Shaul Shaul and Gady Hassin pored over the most recent meteorological data between Buenos Aires and Dakar, studying the high-altitude forecast charts for wind distributions, temperatures, and areas of expected turbulence. A direct path between two points was rarely the most efficient way to fly. Any tailwinds they found or headwinds they avoided might prove to be the difference between success and failure, particularly given how far they were pushing the Britannia's maximum range with their long nonstop flight, the likes of which had never been attempted with this plane.
Once they had finalized their route, they checked carefully through the NOTAMS (notices to airmen) for forbidden flying zones, restricted altitudes, and expected military air exercises along their path. Then they filled out their flight plan for air traffic control—a plan that did not resemble in the least the one they had just mapped out. As far as air traffic control was concerned, they were planning on traveling to Recife, then on to Dakar—just as on their incoming flight. Anything else would cause unwelcome questions to be asked. Although they had scheduled their departure time for 2:00 A.M. on May 21, Tohar wanted the landing wheels up by midnight, throwing off anyone who planned to interfere with the flight.
Aharoni drove conservatively on a circuitous route to the airport, avoiding the checkpoints on the major roads. Eichmann was quiet in the back—almost too quiet for Aharoni and Gat. They feared that he might be acting drowsier than he actually was to prevent the doctor from administering any more sedative; then, at an opportune moment, perhaps while boarding the plane, he might scream out for help and ruin everything.
Apart from keeping an eye on the escort car behind them and watching out for random patrols, there was not much else to think about for the hour-and-a-half drive. They were forced to stop at one railway crossing, but otherwise the journey was uneventful. The cars managed to avoid every checkpoint until they reached the airport's main entrance, where they were waved through because of their diplomatic plates.
At a preappointed spot in the parking lot, they met Peleg and the minibus carrying the crew. Shalom also was there. It was almost 11:00 P.M. Someone ran to alert Harel, and he came striding out into the lot. He looked into the limousine. Eichmann appeared to be asleep, but Dr. Kaplan assured Harel that he was able to see and hear, though not alert enough to know what was going on around him. More important, he was unable to offer any resistance. Gat was still not reassured but kept his fears to himself. Harel gave the order to move out to the maintenance area where the plane was parked.
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Peleg took over the escort car that Eitan had driven to the airport. Shalom sat by his side in the passenger's seat. Both of them had gone in and out of the airport often enough to know the guards by their first names. They would lead the convoy through the gates into the maintenance area. Behind them was the limousine, driven by Aharoni, and last was the minibus with the plane's crew.
The line of vehicles drove back out through the main entrance and onto the highway for several hundred yards before making a right turn. This took them along the fence surrounding the airport until they reached another gate. Harel had wanted them all to act slightly drunk and raucous, thereby explaining why one of their crew was passed out in the back seat, but Shalom had decided to dismiss that suggestion. He knew the guards well enough, and any untoward behavior might raise suspicions.
When they stopped at the gate, an armed sentry approached the first car, where he recognized Peleg and Shalom. He raised the barrier and waved them forward, pleasantly shouting, "Hi, Israel!" The limousine and minibus slowed down long enough to give the guard a glimpse inside to check that everyone was wearing an El Al uniform. They drove into the airport, keeping away from the lighted hangars, and made their way to the national airline's area.
"Be absolutely silent," Gat warned Eichmann as they neared the Britannia. "We're about to go onto the plane."
The prisoner did not even register the warning. The limousine stopped at the bottom of the steps, where Tohar was waiting for them. Spotting a policeman walking toward the convoy, Eitan jumped out of the back of the escort car.
"Do something with the policeman," Eitan whispered urgently to the captain.
Tohar hurried toward the official and steered him to the back of the plane, where he wouldn't be able to see the steps.
When the way was clear, Gat lifted Eichmann out of the limousine. His legs had almost no strength, so Yoel Goren supported him from the other side. The El Al crew filed out of the minibus.
"Form a circle around us and follow us up the steps," Eitan ordered.
Wedeles was right behind Eichmann as Gat and Goren brought him up the steps. The prisoner's feet dangled limply, hitting each step as the men climbed up. An airport searchlight panned across the gangway. Wedeles put his hand on the small of Eichmann's back to help push him upward. Everyone was crowded closely around, making Eichmann all but indistinguishable in the mass of El Al uniforms. Then they were all on board the plane. On the tarmac, Aharoni took a few deep breaths in relief, and Yosef Klein reassured himself that their part in the mission was almost complete.
Inside, Gat and Goren brought Eichmann to the back of the plane and sat him in a window seat in the first-class cabin. Gat took the seat across the aisle, and the doctor sat directly behind just in case. Of the five remaining first-class seats, Goren took one, and the others were filled with El Al crew members. A stewardess sat next to Eichmann and covered him with a blanket. She still did not know who he was and speculated that he might be some kind of scientist.
"Pretend to sleep," Gat instructed them all.
A purser dimmed the overhead lights and drew a curtain across the entrance to the cabin. If customs or the police boarded the plane before takeoff, they were to be told that the relief crew was getting some rest. Eichmann remained oblivious to what was happening around him.
At 11:15 P.M., the Britannia's doors were closed, and Tohar fired the engines. Then the plane taxied to the terminal.
As the Britannia neared the apron in front of the terminal building, Isser Harel felt the reverberations from its engines against the window. They had Eichmann on board. Once the crew passed through customs and the Mossad operatives who were returning on the flight had boarded, they would be set to take off. That moment could not come soon enough for Harel. He constantly expected the police or a band of former Nazis to rush into the airport demanding that the flight be stopped.
Harel left his table in the restaurant and met with Klein, who assured him that everything was ready. Harel then hurried outside the terminal, where Eitan and Shalom had just arrived by car from the hangar. They reported that the transfer of Eichmann onto the plane had gone flawlessly. Eitan and Shalom were staying behind with Malkin to return the cars and remove the last traces of their presence before decamping from Argentina themselves. They shook hands, wishing each other luck on their respective journeys.
Harel headed back into the passenger lounge, where he was joined by Aharoni, Tabor, and the two Mossad agents who had come on the El Al flight. Medad entered the lounge last, his car having broken down on the way to the airport. The agents had piles of luggage to take back to Israel.
Klein approached Harel. "You surprise me with this crowd!"
"They're all my people. Don't worry," Harel reassured him, although even he thought they had overdone it in terms of numbers.
Still concerned, Klein walked away. At 11:30 P.M., he received word that the plane was ready for takeoff. Porters had loaded the luggage onto the plane, but the customs and passport control officers had yet to appear to allow Harel and his entourage, as well as a few El Al crew members who were also waiting, to board the plane. Since there were no other flights leaving at that late hour, it was not likely that the officials were busy elsewhere.
Minute after minute passed with no sign. As midnight approached, Harel and Aharoni paced nervously back and forth in the passenger lounge. Had someone spotted them carrying Eichmann onto the plane? Had the airport been tipped off that there was something suspicious about the flight? Was there going to be a raid? Harel contemplated sending word to Tohar to depart without them, but he decided to wait a few minutes longer.
Then Klein managed to locate a customs official. The tall, heavily bearded officer walked into the lounge and apologized for the delay. From his sheepish grin, they knew it had merely been a mix-up. The officer gestured them toward the exit and stamped their passports, wishing each of them a hearty "Bon viaje!"
As Harel crossed over to the Britannia and climbed the stairs into the plane, he noticed a man in a suit dashing out of the terminal from another exit and speaking urgently with an airport official. Harel had a sinking feeling that something was wrong. Then the plane doors were closed behind him.
In the cockpit, Tohar ran through the preflight checklist with his crew. Electrical system. Check. Fuel quantity. Check. All gauges indicate proper functioning. Check. As Harel was belting himself into the cockpit jump seat, Tohar ordered the flight engineer to start the engines. All four propeller engines fired without any problem.
Following procedure, Tohar called the control tower. "El Al is ready to taxi. Request clearance to Recife." Then he gave them the checkpoints and altitude that Shaul had provided for their false flight plan to Brazil.
The tower responded. "El Al, proceed to runway. Hold for takeoff clearance en route to Recife."
They were almost away, thought Harel. The man he had seen run out of the terminal wasn't a problem after all. Regardless, Harel wished that they were already in the air.
Tohar released the brakes, and the Britannia rolled forward on the taxiway to its takeoff position. As the plane cleared the airport terminal, the tower radioed again. "El Al, hold your position. There is an irregularity in the flight plan."
Everyone in the cockpit froze. Harel was certain that they had been discovered. Tohar did not seek further clarification from the tower. Instead, he halted the plane and turned around in his seat to see what Harel wanted to do. The rest of the cockpit crew was silent, hardly able to breathe.
"What happens if we ignore the tower's command and take off for Dakar?" Harel asked.
The cockpit crew knew that Tohar was an Israeli air force reserve pilot and that he had experienced enough tight situations to do what needed to be done. Tohar doubted that the Argentine air force was on standby, but if the flight left without clearance, a fighter plane might be scrambled. He could fly the Britannia low to the ground and evade the radar, first heading south instead of north to Recife, throwing off
their pursuers for a while. However, he told Harel, the risks were substantial.
"There's still one more option," Tohar said with deliberate calm. "Before having the Argentine air force put on our tail, we should check and see if they really know that Adolf Eichmann is on board. Let's not create a problem that doesn't exist."
Harel nodded, even though any further delay would give the authorities time to alert the air force or to prevent the Britannia from leaving altogether.
Tohar turned to Shaul. "They are saying there's an irregularity in the flight plan. So, let's send the guy who prepared it to the tower to find out what is going on."
Shaul was the senior navigator; it was his responsibility.
"If you don't return in ten minutes," Tohar warned, "we'll take off without you."
Klein was standing on the apron beside the airport terminal, completely at a loss as to why the plane had stopped. He had checked and rechecked everything. There was no reason the Britannia should not have departed—unless its secret passenger had been exposed. Klein attempted to gain eye contact with someone in the cockpit, but nobody was moving, nor did they open a window to call out to him. After what felt like hours, Klein saw one of the pilots gesture for stairs to be brought to the plane's side.
Then the Britannia's doors opened, and Shaul stepped out. Klein met him at the bottom of the steps. "What the hell is happening?"
"The tower wants something to do with the flight plan," Shaul said.
Klein felt momentary relief at the explanation, even though he knew this might merely be a pretext. It was highly unusual for a plane to be stopped and the navigator called out.
