Hunting Eichmann (36 page)

22

ON THE MORNING
of May 12, Gat sat Eichmann up in bed. He was still blindfolded, and his ankle was still chained to the bedpost. Gat gave him a glass of orange juice and spoon-fed him some eggs and crackers, which Eichmann ate fastidiously. He remained submissive and silent, uttering not a word of complaint. His hands shook constantly.

Aharoni arrived at the safe house soon after breakfast and sat down in front of the prisoner, a notebook and pen on the table by his side. In his clipped, staccato German, he took up his interrogation where he had left off.

"I just have a few simple questions for you," he said. "Answer them, and we won't have any problems."

"Yes, sir," Eichmann answered obediently.

"Why did you use the name 'Otto Heninger' last night?"

"That was my name for more than four years."

"Where was that?"

"In Germany. I worked there as a lumberjack before coming to Argentina."

Without any reluctance, Eichmann chronicled his escape at the end of the war, from his last meeting with Kaltenbrunner, to his going into the mountains, to being imprisoned by the Americans, to his escape across Europe to Argentina. He preened over outfoxing his enemies, and he showed no hint of remorse for anything he had done in the past.

"Why didn't your family live under the name Klement, like you?" Aharoni asked, knowing well that this had been Eichmann's undoing when his son Nick had met Sylvia Hermann.

"You don't expect me to ask my family to lie for me," Eichmann said in disgust.

Aharoni was incredulous at the comment. Eichmann's wife and sons had been lying for him for years. The answer was typical of many the interrogator would receive, as Eichmann twisted reality to suit his ego. On the prior instructions of Isser Harel, Aharoni switched to questioning Eichmann about other former Nazis living in Argentina. First he asked him if he knew the whereabouts of the Auschwitz doctor Josef Mengele.

"No, I don't know that."

"I suppose you don't even know if he's in Argentina?"

Eichmann shook his head.

"And Martin Bormann?" Aharoni asked. Hitler's private secretary, who was convicted in absentia and sentenced to death at Nuremberg, remained at the top of the list of Nazis who had yet to be found. "Do you know anything about his whereabouts?"

"No, I have no idea."

"But didn't your friends help you with the false papers you needed to reach Argentina?"

"That was a long time ago."

Aharoni offered Eichmann a drink, which he refused. He changed the subject again, this time inquiring what Eichmann's wife would do when he did not come home. They needed to know what to expect.

"Nothing," he said confidently. "She's frightened. She doesn't understand."

"What about your sons Nick and Dieter?"

"They will know something has happened."

"Will they go to the police?"

Eichmann said that he thought they would not, at least not straightaway. As for the former Nazis in the German community, he suggested that they would be too worried about saving their own skins to do much about find ing him. It was clear to Aharoni that Eichmann thought little of his former colleagues and also that he was telling the truth.

The interrogation continued for several more hours, the two men sitting a few feet apart in the small chamber. Eichmann remained calm and forthcoming, at least about his own life. Eventually, Aharoni felt there was a comfortable enough exchange between them that he asked, "Are you prepared to come and stand trial in Israel?"

"No. Definitely not. Number one: I did nothing wrong," Eichmann said forcefully, as if he had been waiting for the question. "All I did was follow orders. You could never prove that I did, that I committed a crime. Number two: What, what do I have to do with Israel? I'm a German. You can put me—if, at all, if I did commit any crime, I should be judged in Germany. Or in Argentina, I am a citizen here. But not in Israel."

"You must be joking," Aharoni scoffed. Haim Cohen had advised him that it would be better if Eichmann came willingly to Israel and wanted, if possible, a signed statement to that effect. "You know that nobody will put you on trial except the Israelis. So, it's Israel or nowhere. Don't worry. It won't be a kangaroo trial. It will be a proper trial. You will have a lawyer."

"I will think about it," Eichmann eventually said.

Aharoni ended the interrogation; Eichmann would recognize soon enough that he had no other option. For now, Aharoni needed to report back to Harel on the most pressing issue: what the Eichmann family would do when he did not come home.

Nick Eichmann was installing a control box for an elevator shaft in the city when his younger brother Dieter appeared suddenly. Short of breath and panicked, Dieter blurted out, "The old man is gone!"

The screwdriver in Nick's hand clattered to the floor.

Dieter hurriedly recounted how their father had not come home the night before. The two sons had been bothered by the repeated reports in the press announcing a fresh search for their father. Their fears had been heightened by that strange encounter in April with the two men who had claimed to be looking to buy property in the area. The incident with the limousine driver asking for directions two nights before had further aroused their suspicions. Now that he had vanished, they immediately thought that he must have fallen victim to an assault, probably by Jews, maybe even by Israelis.

Together they rushed from the construction site. Their middle brother, Horst, was away in the merchant marine, which meant it was up to the two of them to find their father. They traveled across Buenos Aires to see Carlos Fuldner, the man who had helped their father get into Argentina, who had provided him with employment over the years, and who remained one of the leading figures within the expatriate German community. Dieter and Nick did not know where else to turn. At this point, they were also scared that whoever had gone after their father might also want to abduct their mother and younger brother as hostages.

Fuldner was calm and more reasoning. He told Eichmann's sons that there were three plausible reasons why their father had not returned to Garibaldi Street. First, the police could have arrested him and kept him overnight in jail for drunkenness or some other infraction. Second, he could have been involved in an accident and been taken to the hospital—or even the mortuary. Third, his pursuers could have found him, as his sons suspected, and these individuals, whether vigilantes or state sponsored, had kidnapped or already killed him. These were the options, plain and simple, and a search needed to be launched, starting with the hospitals and police stations around San Fernando. The area around the house also should be searched for any signs of a struggle and, potentially, a body. They should also visit the Mercedes-Benz plant to see whether Eichmann had shown up for work the day before.

Nick and Dieter left to start the hunt, hoping that Fuldner and the other members of the German community would rally to help. They also planned to visit Willem Sassen, who was a friend of their father's and had many contacts in the city.

Their inquiries at the San Fernando police station and nearby hospitals came up empty. Vera Eichmann went straight to Mercedes-Benz, where she learned that Ricardo Klement had worked the entire day before and had then stayed late for the union meeting. He had not shown up for work that day, and the supervisor informed Vera that Eichmann would lose his job and benefits if he did not return to work soon.

A search around Garibaldi Street uncovered Eichmann's broken glasses, pressed into the mud in the ditch. There was no question now. He had been taken.

The day after the capture, Isser Harel returned to his string of city cafés. His every attention had shifted to getting Eichmann out of Argentina before the operation was exposed.

Yosef Klein joined the Mossad chief at one of his cafés. News of the capture did not have as much of an impact on the El Al station chief as Harel's warning that the potential risks of their activities had just escalated, particularly since they were unsure as to what the Eichmann family would do. The conversation turned to the flight, specifically to how they would move their prisoner onto the Britannia now that they had finalized the plans for parking the plane in the maintenance area of Aerolineas Argentinas.

They ran through the range of possibilities, some originated by Harel, others suggested by Klein. "Let's do it this way," Klein would suggest. "Okay," Harel typically responded. "I'll consider that, but how about doing it in another way ... And a third way ... And how about...?" The flow of ideas—including one that involved a harness and a set of ropes and hooks to lift Eichmann onto the plane—evolved into three possibilities.

The first centered on secreting Eichmann onto the plane in a crate stamped as diplomatic cargo. In the second, they would hide him in one of the caterer's carts that were forklifted on board before departure. The third plan involved dressing Eichmann in an El Al uniform and passing him through inspection with the crew. All three had their strengths and weaknesses, depending on the intensity of the police presence, roadblocks, passport control, and whether or not the operation had been compromised. Since Harel had only forty-five minutes with Klein before needing to move on to his next café, they postponed making a decision to further investigate the pros and cons of each plan.

Later that day, the Mossad chief sat down with Avraham Shalom. Since Eitan was overseeing the safe house, Harel needed someone to spearhead the escape. "You are in charge of getting Eichmann out," Harel informed his deputy head. "Make a plan."

The El Al flight was to be Shalom's chief focus. He needed to consult with Klein on airport procedures and to acquaint himself with the place and its people. He also needed to map out safe routes and arrange documents and disguises for the day they transported Eichmann to the airport. Most important, he had to finalize the most advantageous method to get Eichmann on the plane, using either one of the three plans discussed with Klein or his own scheme.

Shalom was instructed to survey the port of Buenos Aires: was there a way to smuggle Eichmann out of the country by ship? Over the past few days, Harel had been plagued by the concern that someone might connect Eichmann's disappearance with the arrival of the first-ever El Al flight to Argentina. If the two events were linked—and this was certainly conceivable—government forces or vigilantes could easily stop the plane before it had a chance to take off. A contingency plan was essential.

Meanwhile in Tel Aviv, the pilots, navigators, flight engineers, radio operators, pursers, aircraft maintenance technicians, and flight attendants whom El Al had selected and the Mossad had cleared were receiving phone calls or notices in their mail slots that they had been chosen for a flight carrying a special diplomatic mission to Buenos Aires for the 150th anniversary of Argentina. Except for Zvi Tohar, the chief pilot, none of them knew the flight's true purpose.

For those locked down at Tira guarding Eichmann, the Britannia could not arrive soon enough. Only twenty-four hours had passed since they had captured the man, and they already felt oppressed by their duty in ways they had not anticipated. They had mentally prepared themselves for the risks of holing up at the house, possibly having to face an assault from the police or from Eichmann's sons and associates if they were located. Every time a car braked on the street outside, they were unnerved. But not one of the team had foreseen the soul-hollowing effect of inhabiting the same space as Adolf Eichmann.

Their prisoner had already proved to be no threat. He was obedient to the point of subservience. When they had brought him to the bathroom for the first time, he had asked permission before having a bowel movement. When finished, he had asked if he could have some toilet paper. Tabor was reminded of German prisoners after the war who would polish the heads of nails when ordered to do so without so much as a mutter of protest.

Eichmann was also clearly too scared to attempt any resistance. When told to stand, he would obey but would tremble uncontrollably. Earlier that afternoon, when they had brought him out for some exercise, he had asked if they were taking him outside to kill him. Their assurances to the contrary did little to relax him.

Now that it was clear that Eichmann was no threat either to them personally or as an escape risk, they were overwhelmed with disgust at having to be so close to him. This was the man who had driven many in their own families to their deaths. They had to feed him, to dress him, to shave him, to accompany him to the bathroom, and to tend to his every discomfort. It would have been easier had they felt only hatred toward him, but unexpectedly, he looked and acted too pathetic and sheepish to inspire that emotion. They were contemptuous of his presence, especially when they considered those they had lost because of his actions. But most of all, they were burdened by other unsettling emotions, namely their frustrating inability to reconcile the pitiful nature of their prisoner with the fact that he had been responsible for the deaths of so many Jews. This conflict cast a pall over the house.

That evening after dinner, they were looking forward to the arrival of Judith Nesiahu, an operative whom Harel had summoned to Buenos Aires to play the part of Yaakov Medad's wife at the safe house. Nesiahu was an orthodox Jew who had emigrated from Holland in 1940 before most of her family was wiped out in the Holocaust. She had served in the army during the War of Independence and had worked undercover for the Mossad on several operations, including one in Morocco, coordinating the passage of Jews to Israel. When required, she would pose as a Gentile, violating her strict religious practices whenever in public. With her thick glasses and stocky figure, Nesiahu would never play the honey pot to lure spies, but she was unflappable, multilingual, bold, and completely devoted to serving Israel. When one of Harel's lieutenants had informed her five days before that Harel wanted her to leave for an overseas mission, she had simply replied, "Very well." The bemused lieutenant had asked her whether she was interested in knowing the purpose of the assignment or its location, and her answer had been that she expected he would tell her when it was necessary.