The Nazi Hunters Read online

  Once again he explained to Ben-Gurion his reasons for joining the team, and the Prime Minister assented, asking only how long he would be.

  “Three to four weeks,” Harel estimated.

  Ben-Gurion came around his desk and shook Harel’s hand. “Dead or alive, just bring Eichmann back with you,” he said. His brow furrowed as he reflected on this. “Preferably alive. It would be very important, morally, for the young generations of Israel.”

  Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion in 1948.

  Shalom and Gat spent Sunday, May 1, driving around San Fernando in an old Chevrolet, testing every possible route for the night they would capture Eichmann. Streetcar crossings were a particular problem for a clean getaway: In many areas, one could not drive for more than a few blocks without having to stop to wait for a streetcar to pass and the barrier to lift.

  Their own cars were another issue. There were very few new vehicles in Argentina because of the struggling economy. Rentals were expensive, difficult to find, and utterly undependable. Each time Yaakov Medad rented a car, he had to show ID and put down a large security deposit (sometimes as much as $5,000), which risked arousing suspicion and exposing the Israelis’ presence in the country. Yet they were going to need a pair of reliable large sedans — a rare breed of vehicle in Argentina — for the capture itself.

  Isser Harel arrived in Buenos Aires later that day and met with his team at Maoz in the evening. Shalom detailed what they had learned from their surveillance. Harel listened closely, occasionally nodding his head. He agreed that Eichmann’s strict routine and isolated neighborhood were ideal for the operation.

  Then he told them about the preparations for the El Al flight. Since the plane was scheduled to leave Israel on May 11 and to depart from Buenos Aires on May 14, their window to capture Eichmann would be a narrow one.

  Yosef Klein, the manager of El Al’s base in New York’s Idlewild Airport (now John F. Kennedy Airport), could not work out why El Al headquarters wanted him to fly to Argentina — or why it had to be immediately. But that was what the telex message said: “Go to Buenos Aires. Meet up with Yehuda Shimoni. Arrive by May 3.” He expected that they would be putting together some kind of charter flight.

  Klein flew first class with Swissair to Rio de Janeiro, arriving on May 2 for his connecting flight to Argentina. The trip was going to be an enjoyable, relaxing jaunt, he had decided. The thirty-year-old bachelor planned to have some fun and to visit the newly built city of Brasília, about to be inaugurated as Brazil’s capital.

  Yosef Klein, El Al.

  In the first-class cabin, he met Yehuda Shimoni, the manager of El Al. They exchanged greetings and sat down together. Klein noticed that Shimoni, whom he had known since joining El Al in 1952, was unusually tense and asked him if anything was wrong.

  Shimoni shifted in his seat and spoke quietly. “We have a major assignment. There is likely one of the Nazi strongmen who escaped from Europe in Buenos Aires. The Israeli secret services suspect that they have located him, and they are following him. There’s a good chance that he is the right man. If they do get hold of him, it will be our job to get him out of Argentina and into Israel. And for this purpose, there will be a special flight, under certain covers.”

  Klein could hardly believe what he had just been told. He was too shocked to say anything more than “We’ll do it, if it’s possible.”

  Shimoni then explained that it was Adolf Eichmann they were after and what the Nazi officer had done during the war. Klein remained silent, and Shimoni reassured him that his job had nothing to do with catching Eichmann. He was there simply to look after the flight.

  For a while, the two sat quietly as Klein was overcome by memories of the past. He had been in Auschwitz with his family: The guards had separated him and his father from his mother and younger brother and sister, who were sent immediately to the gas chambers. His father had said that Yosef was seventeen, not fourteen, and this had saved his life.

  Later that night, after they landed, Klein and Shimoni sat down with Isser Harel in a café in the city. Shimoni would be leaving in a few days, and then Klein would be on his own.

  “What your job entails,” Harel told him, “is to make all the arrangements for the flight.” Even though Klein did not speak Spanish or know the airport, he would be responsible for everything associated with the plane from its arrival to its departure. He needed to establish good relations with all the relevant Argentine ministries, as well as with the service companies and other airlines that would be accommodating El Al, which had no infrastructure in the country. Furthermore, Harel wanted Klein to survey the airport, its facilities, and its customs and passport procedures and recommend the best way to get their prisoner on board the plane.

  “We’re not here just to do a job,” he said, sensing that Klein needed some encouragement. “This is the first time the Jewish people will judge their murderer.”

  On May 3, Yaakov Gat spent yet another morning in a café, expecting Peter Malkin and Rafi Eitan to come through the door. Yet again they failed to show. They were late arriving in Buenos Aires, he thought — too late. Moshe Tabor, who had landed the day before, had met with them in Paris, but he did not know the reason for their delay. If they had been caught attempting to get into Argentina with false passports, then Ephraim Ilani, at the embassy, had yet to receive word.

  In their absence, the rest of the team continued their surveillance of Eichmann, shadowing his movements to and from his job at a car factory to see if there was a better spot to snatch him than outside his home. They forged ahead with their search for suitable safe houses, and, after forty-eight hours of intensive work, their efforts were rewarded with two buildings.

  The first was in the quiet neighborhood of Florencio Varela, eighteen miles southwest of Buenos Aires. The large two-story house, code-named Tira (“palace”), had several advantages: easy access to both the capture area and the airport, an eight-foot-high perimeter wall, a gated entrance, no caretaker, and a garden and veranda shielded from view by trees and dense shrubs. It was by no means perfect. There were neighbors on both sides, and the house lacked an attic or basement in which to hide the prisoner. Still, it was a good backup for the other property.

  This second and better villa, code-named Doron (“gift”), was only a couple of hours from Garibaldi Street, and there were several routes into the area. The extensive manicured grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall. The only drawback was that there was a gardener, but the team felt confident that he could be persuaded to stay away. This was where they would hold Eichmann until it was time to bring him to the airport.

  After their first day’s work in Buenos Aires, Shimoni and Klein of El Al again met with Harel at a café. One look at their faces told Harel there was a problem. Shimoni explained that the Argentine protocol office was not prepared to welcome the Israeli delegation before 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.

  Harel considered the options. They would have to either postpone the capture or risk holding Eichmann for ten days until the plane could take off on May 20. Neither was a good choice. Delaying increased the chances that Eichmann would change his routine or, much worse, that he would discover he was being watched and run. Extending his imprisonment in the safe house gave anyone who would be looking for him — his family, the police, or both — more time to find him.

  After the El Al officers left, Shalom joined Harel at his café table. Shalom suggested they postpone the operation by at least a few days. Harel feared that even this minor delay would give Eichmann a chance to evade capture. Needing time to think — and hoping to discuss the situation further with Rafi Eitan, if and when he arrived — he put off making a decision. One thing was certain: The news increased the risks for everyone involved.

  On the evening of May 4, Rafi Eitan and Peter Malkin finally appeared at their meeting place. They had been held up in Paris with documen
tation problems and a case of food poisoning. Shalom collected them in a 1952 Ford clunker. With the operation only six days away, they wanted to go straight to San Fernando.

  As they drove north, a light rain fell and a cold, blustery wind picked up. By the time they neared Eichmann’s 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.

  Surveyors’ map of Garibaldi Street used by the capture team.

  Suddenly, on a street parallel to Garibaldi, two young soldiers materialized, one on either side of the vehicle. Shalom stopped the car abruptly. He stayed calm; he had run across enough roadblocks and spot-checks to know that this was routine for Buenos Aires. In his pidgin Spanish he explained to one of the soldiers that they were tourists looking for their hotel. The soldier did not reply, shining his flashlight 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.

  A few 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.”

  They exited the car and within moments were drenched from head to foot in the downpour. Malkin hiked across a muddy field in the dark, cursing his 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. He checked his watch. According to Shalom, Eichmann would arrive within the next few minutes.

  His hands numb from the cold and rain, Malkin held the binoculars up to his face again. He saw a bus approach down Route 202. It stopped at the kiosk, and a man in a trench coat and hat got off.

  “That’s him,” Shalom whispered.

  The sight of the lone figure walking through the driving rain burned in Malkin’s mind: This was the man he had come to Argentina to capture. He was already calculating the type of takedown he would use and where on the stretch of road he would make his move.

  What none of the three men knew was that Zvi Aharoni had traveled part of the way with Eichmann that night. In an attempt to work out where Eichmann boarded bus 203, Aharoni had gone to the station in Carupa, eight stops from San Fernando, dressed in worker’s overalls. As he boarded the old green and yellow bus, which was thronged with factory workers and secretaries, he saw Eichmann sitting halfway down. Aharoni looked away so as not to be caught staring and handed the driver four pesos for a ticket. If the driver asked him a question in Spanish, Aharoni would surely draw attention to himself. Fortunately, he did not.

  Walking down the aisle, Aharoni realized that the only empty seat was directly behind Eichmann, who was oblivious to him as he passed. He slid into the seat, barely noticing the steel springs that jutted through the worn leather. He was close enough to reach out and put his hands around Eichmann’s neck.

  As the bus shuddered to a start, Aharoni felt a rush of emotion that left him physically weak. Severely distressed, he could not wait to get off 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 doubt. He felt they were closing in on evil itself.

  The next day, Rafi Eitan instructed everyone to meet at Maoz. In the living room of the apartment, the agents ran through everything they had learned. It was clear from all their surveillance that they should capture Eichmann on his walk home. They discussed the numerous possible variations of carrying out the abduction and agreed that they should get him as soon as he turned onto Garibaldi Street, away from any passing traffic.

  As for the date of the operation, they had all heard that the El Al flight was not due now until May 19. Eitan made it clear that Isser Harel had decided there would be no delay. It was better to risk holding Eichmann for longer than first planned than to let him slip through their fingers. May 10 was now the date, just five short days away.

  At Ezeiza Airport, Yosef Klein was organizing the return flight. He had met with officials at Aerolíneas Argentinas, the national airline, and at TransAer, a private local airline that flew the same planes, Britannias, as did El Al. He had also 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 a regular El Al service to Argentina. The potential to earn higher wages with El Al made everyone eager to help.

  Thanks to all his research, Klein had concluded that Eichmann could not be brought onto the plane through the terminal building. There were too many customs and immigration officers, and little escaped their attention. He needed to find a place to park the El Al plane that would allow the Mossad to get their prisoner on board.

  The TransAer hangar was the ideal spot, located at the edge of the airfield, where there were fewer guards. Since the airline flew Britannias, Klein could easily say that El Al wanted to park its plane there, should any spare parts or special maintenance be required.

  Back at Maoz, on the evening of May 5, Shalom Dani had arrived carrying several suitcases and boxes labeled FRAGILE. He immediately got to work forging documents. At just thirty-two years of age, Dani suffered from heart problems, but he was determined to be in on this job. When the Nazis occupied Hungary, his family had been moved from their village into a ghetto. His father had been killed at Bergen-Belsen, and Dani, his two siblings, and their mother had been shuffled among various camps until he crafted the passes that freed them.

  Now, in his left hand, Dani held a magnifying glass. With his steady right hand he fashioned a typewriter-perfect letter E with a fine-tipped black pen. The table in front of him was covered with colored pens and pencils, inks, dyes, small brushes, knives, clumps of wax, a hot plate, seals, cameras, film, bottles of photographic developer, and paper in every color and weight imaginable. He needed to create dozens of different passports, driver’s licenses, insurance cards, IDs, and other papers for the team.

  Moshe Tabor likewise worked alone throughout the days that followed. He punched out a number of sets of fake license plates for the capture cars and rigged a system to change them in seconds. These included a set of diplomatic plates. He also tinkered with a contraption to turn the backseat of the car into a trapdoor, which would allow them to hide Eichmann in the narrow space between the trunk and the seat if necessary.

  Moshe Tabor’s kit for making false license plates.

  Meanwhile, Avraham Shalom mapped out three separate routes to each safe house, with backups in case a road was blocked or they were followed. He also assisted Medad and Ilani with the search for suitable capture cars. Eventually, they found a black Buick limousine, only four years old, and a large Chevrolet sedan. It needed work, but Tabor could overhaul an engine as easily as winding a watch.

  Even more work was required to prepare for the prisoner’s arrival at Doron. The team stocked the house with beds and food, as well as all the equipment they had brought from Israel. They reinforced the security bars on the windows and changed the locks. Tabor surveyed the house and found a spot in the attic where they could hide the prisoner in case of a search. He moved some support beams slightly and built a false wall that opened on a hinge. The casual observer would never know it was there.

  Repeated, sometimes painful, rehearsals of the snatch were held in the garage at Doron. One agent would play Eichmann, walking down the street. Malkin or Tabor would grab him, and two others would help get him into the car. Eitan wanted this action down to fewer than twelve seconds, not giving Eichmann the chance even to scream. The team practiced ten to twenty times a night, each of them wanting the movements to become second nature.

  Throughout all this, the surveillance of Eichmann continued, despite the risks it posed. Malkin wanted to know every one of Eichmann’s
movements from the bus stop to his house, going so far as to count the number of strides he took to get there. Day after day, their target showed up at exactly the same time. He was in their sights.

  On May 8, a bitterly cold Sunday, Eitan and Shalom met the team’s doctor at a designated spot in Buenos Aires. In his early forties, of medium height, and wearing a sharp, expensive suit, Yonah Elian looked very much at ease, although he was traveling with false papers on a mission that could land him in an Argentine jail if things went badly. It was not the first time the Israeli secret service had called on him, but, because he was a Holocaust survivor, this mission was special.

  Dr. Yonah Elian

  They brought Elian to Doron, where he was introduced to Tabor and Malkin. “We’re glad you’re here,” Malkin said, shivering in the freezing room. “I hope you’ve had some experience with treating double pneumonia.”

  “Oh, I understood this to be a vacation.” The doctor grinned. “I thought I only had one patient to worry about.”

  They liked him immediately.

  In the city, Isser Harel actually was ill. The stress of the operation and his constant movement among eight to twelve cafés a day had left him with a fever and a thick cold. Nevertheless, this was no time to rest.

  That night, Rafi Eitan gathered the operations team together at Doron. A hand-drawn map was pinned to the wall. A broken blue line showed the path Eichmann took each day from the bus stop to his house. Bus 203’s route through the area was designated with a solid green line, and the surrounding streets were solid red. Key landmarks, including the railway embankment and the kiosk, were also detailed. A black X indicated the Eichmann house.