by Isser Harel
While all this was going on I never moved from my seat in the employees’ canteen. I calculated that almost three hours had passed since the car had left to pick up Eichmann and his guards. I hadn’t made any reporting arrangements in connection with the car’s departure from the safe house because I knew that if anything went wrong I would be powerless to help. Nor had there been any word from Yitzhak yet. Two things could have happened: either he had run into trouble or he had met his colleagues on the way and joined the convoy.
After a long drawn-out wait – I felt that time had never crawled as it did that evening – I saw one of our men elbowing his way toward my table through the packed crowd. I looked at my watch. It was exactly eleven o’clock. Eichmann, he told me, had arrived a few minutes before, and four men were with him, including the doctor. They were all wearing crew uniforms. An escort car driven by Rafi had followed them all the way. The journey and the entry through the main gate had passed off safely. At the moment they were parked at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for further instructions.
I got up and went there. I had no difficulty finding the two cars at the spot described to me. I exchanged a few words with Rafi and Avrum and turned toward the car in which Eichmann was sitting. He was wearing a crew uniform and looked fast asleep. I asked the doctor about his patient’s condition. He replied that Eichmann was capable of standing on his feet and walking, provided he was supported on both sides, but he was incapable of acting on his own initiative and it was doubtful that he could answer questions. It was possible that he could see and hear, but it was a virtual certainty that he understood nothing of what was happening around him or what was being done to him. In any event, he was incapable of interfering with what was going on. The doctor judged that we could proceed to the next stage – passing through the checkpoint and boarding the plane.
The three cars moved off, Adi driving the first one, Eichmann and his guards in the second, and the remainder of the crew in the minibus. The convoy drove back through the main gate, continued along the highway for a few hundred yards, and turned right onto the side road leading to the Argentine national airline’s maintenance area.
As the little procession approached the gate, the sentry went to the first car. Adi called out to him, as he had done dozens of times during the last few days, ‘Hi, Israel!’ All the guards knew Adi well, and they all liked him for being cheerful and polite. The sentry glanced at the car’s passengers and saw that they were wearing the uniform of the company whose plane was parked in that area. Some of them were noisy and jolly, as if reluctant to leave the gaiety of Buenos Aires. Some looked tired, and a few were even dozing. The three men sitting in the back of the second car were really asleep. The sentry raised the barrier and the three cars drove in. They didn’t go straight to the plane but made a wide circle to avoid the lighted hangars on the way.
Several minutes earlier a few men from the night shift of the Argentine company had turned up to see the Britannia. Arye Fridman gave them a friendly welcome and answered all their questions. When he saw the cars approaching, he quickly drew the visitors around to the other side of the plane. He saw a large party of crew members get out of the cars and walk toward the plane. Before turning back to his visitors, he noticed that one of the crew was supported by his companions. He must be ill, he thought. Arye’s guests didn’t appear to notice anything unusual. When he saw the crew arriving, he hastened to take leave of them.
As instructed, the crew formed themselves into a tight bunch at the foot of the steps. Eichmann walked in the middle, held up by Ezra Eshet and Yoel Goren. Vedeles, standing beside the plane, saw a man in company uniform leaning on two crew members who were strangers to him and guessed immediately who it was.
As the three of them started walking up the steps, the neighboring searchlights lit up the gangway and the men standing on it. To speed things up, Vedeles supported Eichmann from behind, and when his hand touched Eichmann’s back he was astonished at his own lack of response – he felt no more than a slight revulsion at the contact.
Kurt Mayer was waiting in the doorway of the plane. The steps were a little too low for the Britannia, and Kurt was standing at the top to help the crew up. He lifted Eichmann a little and pulled him inside. They took him straight to first class and sat him down in the forward seat, at the side next to the window. There were eight seats in all in the first-class compartment and, in accordance with instructions, these were taken by the crew. They were all told to feign sleep, so that if questions were asked the answer could be that they were the relief crew having a rest prior to taking over their duties on the second lap of the flight. So as not to disturb their slumbers, the lights weren’t switched on in that compartment.
With Eichmann safely installed, the two captains went into the cockpit. Within a few seconds the engines started up. The aircraft began to move, turned around, and taxied toward the tarmac. It reached the apron at exactly eleven-fifteen.
It was only afterward, of course, that I was told all about what was happening while I sat and waited for the news of the convoy’s arrival at the plane.
Kenet and his companion had arrived at the safe house as planned, at nine o’clock. The roads were empty. As they drove along, they kept a lookout at the side of the road for Yitzhak’s car, but it wasn’t there, nor was there any sign of an accident. They were still hoping to find him waiting at Tira, but no one there knew anything about him either.
Kenet and the other man found themselves plunged into a veritable hive of feverish activity. Eichmann had been bathed, and Eli had finished shaving him and was now putting the finishing touches on his make-up. Then they dressed him in company uniform. Eichmann had known for a few hours that they were about to take him away from Buenos Aires and, without being asked, offered his full cooperation.
When the doctor began preparing him for the injection of the drug, he remarked that it wasn’t necessary, they could trust him to behave quietly. When he realized that they obviously had no intention of relying on his promises, he helped as best he could with the injection. The doctor used a special needle which could be left in the vein, so that he could administer small additional doses of the drug without the blood coagulating. His object was to keep Eichmann’s senses blurred without actually putting him to sleep, having in mind that if the necessity should arise to put him out completely the dose could be increased without anybody noticing. This could be done even in a moving car without endangering the prisoner’s life.
By the time they took Eichmann out of the house the injection had already started working, and they had to help him walk. All the same, he noticed that they hadn’t put a jacket on him, and he asked them to dress him exactly like the others so that he wouldn’t be conspicuous.
His cooperation during those last few hours went so far that he began taking an active interest in the conspiracy and finally even showed concern for the success of the operation. Was it his slave mentality coming to the fore? Or could it be the hope that pleasing his captors would help save his life? Nobody had time to give it any thought.
Eichmann was put into the back of the car, between the doctor and Ezra Eshet, who were both wearing company uniforms. The doctor sat in such a position that he could give Eichmann more of the drug should he show any signs of increased wakefulness. This was, of course, the reason why they hadn’t put on Eichmann’s jacket. When they were already seated in the car, he asked Kenet if they would please bring him his glasses, as he ‘would need them in Tel Aviv.’
He dozed throughout the journey. The car he was in and the one escorting it had to stop only once, at the railway crossing. The whole journey went off without a hitch.
After taking leave of the convoy driving Eichmann to the plane, I returned to my command post. Shimoni was waiting at my table. As we sat, wondering what was happening at the plane, the roar of motors blasting the air gave us our answer. Shimoni recognized the Britannia engines immediately. For me it was a signal to move my headquarters to a more forw
ard post.
A few minutes later I was established in the lounge for departing passengers. I found a quiet corner where I could keep an eye on what was happening. I didn’t want to maintain overt contact with Shimoni in this lounge where there was so little traffic. We agreed that he should go to Yosef Klein and Adi Peleg for their report on developments and then give me a prearranged signal. Shortly afterward I saw him come in – his beaming face made signals superfluous.
In the distance I could see Adi Peleg and some of the crew who had earlier boarded the plane with Eichmann; I imagined they had disembarked to pass through emigration. I noticed that the task force men who had escorted Eichmann were not among the group waiting in the passenger lounge, and I gathered that they had decided to stay on the plane along with some of the genuine crew, so that the latter could provide cover for Eichmann and his guards. I deduced that everything was going according to plan and assumed that it was in order for some of the crew to remain on the plane while the others attended to formalities on their behalf.
I got up and walked out of the lounge to talk to Rafi and Avrum. We arranged then for some of the task force at the airport to join the flight. I thought that if a few of my people could go back to Israel this way it would make it much easier for the others to scatter and get out of Argentina. I told Rafi and Avrum that the ones we had chosen should wait in the vicinity of the passenger lounge for a signal from me.
I arranged with Rafi that those remaining in Buenos Aires should go out and look for Yitzhak, whose prolonged absence had me very worried. And I said that if he was not found right away one man would have to be left behind to continue the search while all the rest departed from Argentina as planned.
I reminded Ilani that as soon as the plane took off he was to return to Buenos Aires and release Barhon.
I didn’t tell anybody what I was going to do myself. I had my papers and luggage all ready with me, and I was free to make my decision at the last minute.
When I returned to the passenger lounge, nothing had changed. The crew was still crowded around the customs platform. I beckoned to Shimoni and asked him to hasten matters as much as he could so that we could advance the take-off time. He explained that the holdup had nothing to do with the plane but with the procedure that had to be undergone by the crew and the few passengers who were joining the flight. The customs men hadn’t turned up yet, he said, and that’s why everybody was waiting at the platform.
It was eleven-forty. I asked Shimoni to involve Klein in a last effort to make the proceedings move faster. Shimoni called Klein, who immediately went in search of a customs official. After five minutes he returned with an official who apologized for the delay and arranged the inspection quickly and efficiently. Less than five minutes later the men were at liberty to leave with their luggage. The porter hurried the suitcases and bags out to the plane waiting on the apron.
Now it was the turn of the men waiting near the lounge. At a signal from me they came and walked up to the control counter. They looked tense, probably because they didn’t quite know what was happening. I said, ‘Attach yourselves immediately to the group going out to board the plane,’ and off they went.
Just then Yitzhak appeared. He was perspiring and looked exhausted, strained, and worried. His eyes were not yet accustomed to the bright lights of the lounge, but I went right over and told him to join the others boarding the plane.
He wasn’t the last to walk out onto the tarmac. At the final moment I also joined the line, and within a few seconds I was on the plane. The doors were closed, the engines started their slow roar, and the huge aircraft began moving toward the runway.
It seemed we had overcome all obstacles and luck was with us till the end. And yet I wasn’t completely at ease. When the crew members had passed through customs control and were about to go toward the exit, I noticed a man in civilian clothes who was evidently at home in the airport and even looked as though he might hold an important official position there. He crossed the lounge with quick strides, walked through the exit door without being stopped, and almost ran toward the apron where our plane was standing. Another man ran after him. When I walked out onto the apron, the two of them were standing next to the plane.
My peace of mind was seriously disturbed and I couldn’t relax even when I was seated on the plane and it was already moving off. It reached the end of the runway, where it made a slow turn prior to taking off. The engines revved faster. Let them get going, let them take off! I was silently praying. But the aircraft remained on the spot for long, agonizing moments, as if gathering strength for the take-off. What was happening in the cockpit? Had they radioed the captain not to leave, or was he just waiting for a signal from the control tower?
The engines revved still faster, and it felt as if the plane was making a desperate effort to break an invisible chain shackling it to the ground. The equanimity that had stood me in such good stead even in the most difficult of situations suddenly deserted me. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Why didn’t we take off? Had our luck betrayed us inches before the finish line?
Then, with startling suddenness, the plane leapt forward with a deafening roar. It glided along the runway and a few seconds later rose effortlessly into the air. We soon left behind us the lights of the airport and the boundaries of Argentina’s sovereignty. Only then did I relax.
The time was five minutes after midnight on May 21, 1960.
27
IT WAS ONLY after we were airborne that I found out what had delayed Yitzhak. The car he was driving broke down, and after desperate attempts to get it started again he was forced to leave it at the side of the road. He had to walk a long way before finding a taxi to take him to the city. He didn’t dare drive up to Tira, so he told the taxi to wait and he set off again on foot. When he reached the safe house, only Dina and Eli were there, dismantling the hideout and getting rid of all signs that a number of persons had been living there. They were waiting for Rafi and Avrum to bring news and hoping that everything had gone according to plan at the airport.
Yitzhak sketched a rough map of where he had left the car and asked them to have it repaired and returned to the rental agency. Then he dashed back to his waiting taxi to rush off to the airport.
Yosef Klein was the one person who knew why the plane was held back on the verge of departure. Those last fifteen minutes before take-off were the worst Klein had experienced during his entire stay in Argentina. All day long he had hustled around, sparing no pains to guarantee that everything would be ready in time and that the flight wouldn’t be delayed.
As midnight drew near and he knew Eichmann was already on the plane, he realized that these were the decisive moments. He mentally recapitulated all the arrangements made that day, lest he had forgotten something, but he could think of nothing left undone. Not a thing. Everything was in order, and in a few minutes the plane would be in the air. There, they were already closing the doors. And look, the plane was moving on the runway. But what was happening over there? Why were they stopping? What were they waiting for?
Klein got in touch with the control tower to find out what was detaining them. He was told that there was a slight holdup, a triviality, some little technicality missing from the flight plan.
Is that the genuine reason for the delay or is it only an excuse ? Klein wondered. In his mind’s eye he saw the anxious faces of the men on the plane, probably no less tense than he was himself. He rushed off at top speed to fill in the missing detail. He knew that if the aircraft was still delayed after that, then it meant that everything had been discovered. …
But now the plane started racing along the runway and a few seconds later it was in the air. Klein was dizzy with the happiness that flooded him in those few seconds.
He was still standing and watching the plane which had become a tiny dot of light in the night sky when his happiness was rudely dispelled. A passenger who had expected to be on the flight had just walked into the lounge and been told that the plane h
ad left without him. He was Aharon Dovrat from the Ministry of Commerce and Industry. He had come to Buenos Aires on the special flight to visit relatives and to transact certain business on behalf of the ministry. When he heard that there was a chance for him to leave Argentina within two days, he made up his mind not to miss it. Naturally, he had inquired about the plane’s departure time and was told explicitly that it was two A.M. And now, having arrived nearly two hours ahead of schedule, he found the plane had gone. What sort of nonsense was this? How could they have misled him so? Where was the person in charge?
Since there was nobody else to make his complaints to, he poured out all his wrath on poor Klein, who knew very well that officially the man was right. Klein apologized, but there was one thing he couldn’t do – he couldn’t explain to Dovrat why the plane had to leave before time. Without knowing this, Dovrat couldn’t be expected to put up with Klein’s inadequate explanations. He demanded that Klein communicate with the control tower and order the plane back. Klein said this was impossible, the plane was already far away, with a long journey ahead of it, and if it was brought back now it would have to be refueled and all sorts of formal arrangements would have to be made which would upset the whole timetable. Dovrat eventually had to go back to Buenos Aires – but not without promising Klein that when he got to Israel he would demand an inquiry into the inconvenience and humiliation he had been subjected to.
Dovrat couldn’t have known that desperate but unsuccessful attempts had been made that evening to locate him in Buenos Aires and tell him to come to the airport earlier. Years later I had the opportunity of apologizing for the unpleasantness he had been caused.
Shortly before we left Buenos Aires we received clearance to fly through Brazilian air space and make a transit landing at Recife, but the incident at the Recife airport was still fresh in the crew’s memory and they refused categorically to suffer the airport controller’s rudeness again. For security reasons, too, we were not prepared to risk an intermediate stop in the Western Hemisphere and the two captains consequently decided to make every effort to fly the Britannia nonstop to Dakar, in West Africa. It was a difficult and strenuous undertaking, and in the pilots’ cabin the atmosphere was charged with tension. Not so the service crew – they were distinctly relieved that the clandestine part of the operation was successfully over.
