Hunting Eichmann (41 page)

As dawn approached, the team faced the final stage of its mission. Then it would be time for the members to make their escapes.

25

ON THE COLD, WINTRY
morning of the escape flight, tensions at Tira were sharper than at any other time during the mission. Even as they were preparing for their departure, the team members knew that many things could go wrong once they left the safe house.

Although there had not been any mention of Eichmann in the newspapers or on the radio, the police or security services might have kept deliberately silent about a search, and it was doubtful that the expatriate Nazi community would announce that it was on a manhunt itself. Beyond the danger of discovery by either of these forces, the team also ran the risk of being stopped by a random patrol, giving Eichmann a chance to indicate that he was being held against his will—even though Dr. Kaplan would have him sedated for the drive to the airport. The sedation itself was a challenge, despite Kaplan's experience as an anesthesiologist. The team also faced the possibility of an accident on Buenos Aires's chaotic roads, or the guards at the airport might prove to be more diligent than usual. And, of course, there were the dangers surrounding the flight.

By early afternoon, the team had finished most of its preparations and had nothing to do but wait—more time to contemplate what might lie ahead. The safe house was all in order. Malkin had done a test run with his disguise for Eichmann, who once again was afraid that they were getting ready to kill him. The doctor had put him on a strict diet in order to reduce the risk of complications resulting from the sedatives. Everyone had shed his or her old identity for a new one, and Eitan had reviewed the plan for getting Eichmann to the airport that evening.

Outside Tira, the other operatives were busy with their own responsibilities. Aharoni removed any traces of his presence at the safe house where he had been staying. Then he donned a suit and tie, looking every inch the chauffeur, and flagged a taxi to the Israeli embassy. There Yossef provided him with a new Chevrolet limousine with diplomatic plates in which to bring Eichmann to the airport. He also gave him a new diplomatic passport that identified him as a member at the South American desk of the Israeli Foreign Ministry, and an international driver's license. His days as a German businessman were over. Aharoni left the embassy in the limousine and went to have it thoroughly inspected at a garage. They needed to be extra careful.

At Maoz, Shalom Dani rushed to finish the last of Eichmann's documents. He even had an official medical certificate from a local hospital stating that he had suffered head trauma in an accident but that he was now cleared to fly. Harel had earlier arranged for a
sayan
to fake the injury, check in at the hospital, and obtain an authentic release form. Dani easily changed the volunteer's name to Zichroni, Eichmann's alias. Now he was finalizing Zichroni's passport.

Tabor spent most of the day at the airport. After inspecting the Britannia with the two mechanics, he set about preparing a secret compartment to hide Eichmann in case the plane was searched. He built a hinged false wall in front of one of the lavatories in the first-class cabin. When Tabor was finished, no one would have suspected that there was a bathroom in that part of the plane.

Avraham Shalom also was spending a fair amount of time at the airport, ensuring that the guards whom he had befriended over the past week had not been shifted to different posts and that they knew he would be coming in and out of the gate throughout the day. He reconnoitered the roads from Tira yet again, finding no new checkpoints along the routes he had chosen. Still, there were scores of security men in the city and around the airport; Shalom was nervous about the drive with Eichmann.

He shared his concerns with Harel, who had stationed himself at a restaurant in the airport terminal to coordinate the day's activities. Although some police and soldiers took their meals in the large hall, the restaurant was always crowded, the conversation and clanking dishes were deafening, and people were constantly milling in and out of its doors. Harel could stay there for hours, meeting all his operatives for their briefings, without anybody giving him so much as a second glance. Given the plane's scheduled departure at midnight, he was ready for a long day.

Harel listened to Shalom with understanding. More than any other member of his team, Shalom constantly replayed the scenarios of everything that could go wrong and the backup plans that were in place in the event that something did. These scenarios had kept him awake most nights over the past few weeks.

Even in these anxious hours before smuggling Eichmann out of the country, with so much on the line, Harel still held out hope of capturing Mengele as well. The newly arrived Mossad men were expecting his call ordering a commando operation the moment the Auschwitz doctor was found.

It was not to be, however. Harel had sent Meir Lavi, the
sayan
who had met with him on the night of Eichmann's capture and to whom he had given the message about the typewriter, to attempt to gain entry to the boarding house in Vicente López. Lavi, who pretended to have a package to deliver, failed in his attempt, but he did manage to reach the tenant on the phone. She did not speak Spanish, and when they switched to English, her accent revealed her to be American, not German.

Hilel Pooch went to the house a few hours later, wearing overalls and a tool belt. He told the woman that he had been called to fix the water heater. Pooch identified her as an American as well and noted that she acted perfectly at ease, openly offering her name. Although she refused him entry to the house because she had not been informed about any repair call, it was obvious that she was neither German nor hiding anything. Mengele was gone.

Lavi and Pooch delivered their reports to Harel in the early evening. Harel was very disheartened. He had prayed for a lucky break, but time had run out on them. The hunt for Mengele would have to wait for another day. At 7:30
P.M.,
Shalom and Aharoni arrived in the smoky, cacophonous restaurant and informed him that the team was ready for the transfer to the airport. Having received confirmation from Klein that the plane and the El Al crew also were ready, Harel gave his operatives the go-ahead.

Back at Tira, the team prepared for their departure. Those traveling to the airport dressed in El Al uniforms and packed the last of their belongings. After the doctor gave Eichmann a thorough physical examination, Malkin went into his cell to apply his disguise.

Earlier in the evening, Eichmann had become highly agitated when Aharoni had informed him that they were taking him to Israel that night, cautioning him not to resist. But now he seemed relaxed, re-signed. Malkin dyed Eichmann's hair gray and applied makeup to his face, aging him further by drawing lines on his forehead and around his mouth and shadowing the skin underneath his eyes. He glued a shaggy mustache onto Eichmann's top lip. Then he dressed Eichmann in a crisp white shirt, blue pants, polished shoes, and an El Al cap with a blue Star of David on the front.

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.