by Isser Harel
We cleared up the problem of what to do if Klement, on seeing the car, were to try running home across the field instead of taking his usual route. My instructions were that if they felt Klement was not making just a chance departure from his routine but was actually frightened, they must at all costs catch him in the field, even if it meant attracting the attention of passers-by. I was sure that if Klement were alarmed by the waiting car, he would give us no further opportunity to take him quietly. And so, I said, only if they were sure that his detour was unconnected with their presence were they to leave him alone, but if it was obvious to them that we had terrified him then they must go into action, come what may. In any event, it must be clearly understood that once they started chasing him across the field they must under no circumstances let him go, even if it meant dragging him out of his house.
Another question we discussed was how to act if the car the captive was in was chased. If that happened, we decided, every effort must be made to get rid of the pursuers by turning suddenly off the road, transferring the prisoner to the second car, and then driving the first car back on to the road to mislead them. This car must then be abandoned at the first opportunity, while the second car drove on to the nearest safe house.
Lunch was over at two. We parted with handshakes and good-luck wishes. The men were in good spirits. I felt sure that nothing human could frustrate our high hopes.
After we left the restaurant, the team went to collect the first operational car, which they had parked in the city. When they tried starting the engine they were dismayed to find that the battery was very weak, though they had charged it. They quickly drove to a garage and had it charged again. At three-thirty the car was in order and ready for use.
At four-thirty a final briefing session took place at Tira. Then the men changed their clothes and took their new papers and the instruments they would need for the operation.
At six-thirty the two cars set out for Tira. The occupants of the first, the capture car, were Rafi as commander of the action, Kenet at the wheel, Zev beside the driver, and Eli next to Rafi on the back seat.
Avrum was driving the second, the escort and reserve car, with Ezra beside him and the doctor in the back. The doctor was carrying an ordinary medical bag, but inside there were special instruments for use in the operation.
The cars drove to the target area by two different routes and met at a prearranged point, on Route 197. Their object in traveling apart was to check out the two routes, since they would have to choose one for the return journey to Tira. On neither route was there any change since their last surveillance. There were no searches or inspections, and no military or police roadblocks had been set up. When they joined up again they decided that after the operation they would take the withdrawal route first proposed.
The two cars stopped for a while in the area between Routes 197 and 202 to assemble their special equipment. Then they moved off toward the target area – each car to its predetermined position.
May is a wintry month in Argentina, something like a European November. It was cold and stormy at the time, and just a couple of days earlier I had caught a heavy cold. I was running a fever, but I didn’t want to worry or distract my companions so I didn’t tell them about it. On the day of the operation I couldn’t see a doctor, or even get away from my routine meetings to change into warmer clothes or buy medicines. Instead of my usual coffee I ordered hot tea with brandy, which made me feel headachy and nauseated. But that wasn’t what was worrying me: I was afraid the liquor would make me sleepy, so I went back to strong coffee. As the hours went by, however, I gradually felt better – my temperature went down and I was as wide awake as before.
The operation was planned for seven-forty, and I could expect the first news any time after eight-forty. By nine o’clock there was still no sign of our men. Having nothing else to do, I began going over the schedules in my mind and working out the various possibilities. I told myself that if the operation had been canceled, either because Klement had changed his habits or because he had come home that evening in the company of other people, someone should have been here by now to let me know about it. It can only be, I said to myself, that Klement arrived late and they had to wait for him.
Another hour went by. The hands of the clock were approaching ten, and still nobody came. In an effort to conquer my anxiety, I started analyzing the situation. If a mishap had really occurred and our men were caught, it was hard to believe that every last one had been taken; at least one of them would certainly have found some way of escaping and informing me of their failure. And if they weren’t caught but had to make a getaway, it was simply impossible that they would neglect to send someone to tell me about it. Which meant that there had been no hitch of that sort.
As time went by and still nobody turned up, I became more and more convinced that the operation was a success but our men had so much on their hands that they just didn’t have a spare second to let me know how things had gone. As it got later and later, and there was still no sign of anybody, I told myself that of course they were busy at the safe house confirming Eichmann’s identity. I sat waiting and wondering, drinking tea and coffee at rendezvous after rendezvous until it was nearly midnight and the café I was sitting in started to close.
I had paid and was getting ready to move on to the next when Avrum and Kenet appeared in the doorway. They were tired and their clothes were rumpled, but one look at their faces was enough. Before they could open their mouths, I knew that not only was the operation a success but that Klement had been identified as Eichmann.
They sat with me for a few minutes and told me that everything had gone just about as planned. We then went over to the next meeting place, and there they gave me the full story of the capture of Adolf Eichmann.
The cars had reached the target area at seven thirty-five – a little later than planned – two or three minutes before the arrival of bus number 203 at the kiosk, but those few minutes were enough for them to get themselves organized and ready to welcome Klement. And then the bus came – but no Klement.
The first car was standing in Garibaldi Street, about ten yards from the corner of Route 202, its nose facing Klement’s house. The hood was raised and Zev was tinkering with the engine, standing where Klement wouldn’t notice him as he came along. Eli stationed himself at the left side of the car and also bent over the engine. Kenet, wearing glasses for the occasion, sat behind the wheel, while Rafi slid from the back seat to the floor and, leaning his head against the window, looked around to see what was going on. After a minute or two a man on a bicycle stopped next to them and offered to help fix the car. Never had people ‘in trouble’ been so keen to be left alone with their troubles. They refused the cyclist’s help politely but firmly. The man probably thought they were very ungrateful and went away without saying another word.
The second car was parked at the side of the road on Route 202, between the bridge over the river and the corner of Garibaldi Street, about thirty yards from the first car. The passengers lifted the hood and pretended to be repairing a mechanical fault. About a dozen yards behind the car a truck was parked, its driver sitting in the cab eating and drinking. This man remained there throughout the operation and never noticed what was going on under his nose.
The men in the second car were to switch their headlights on full and blind Klement so that he wouldn’t see the first car until he was right at it. Seven pairs of eyes were glued to the bus stop in suspense.
Two busses arrived, but Klement didn’t alight from either of them. The men lying in wait began to get a little worried. Could it be that he had come back early that day and was home already? Perhaps he wasn’t coming at all? After all, four days had elapsed since their last surveillance; wasn’t it possible that in the meantime he had changed his routine?
Yet another bus went by, and Klement didn’t appear. Doubt began to gnaw at their minds, but nobody said anything. None of them wanted to discourage the others.
T
hey had agreed that if Klement didn’t come at his usual time they would wait until eight o’clock. When eight o’clock came Kenet asked Rafi if they shouldn’t drive off, because if they stayed there much longer it would begin to look suspicious and they couldn’t risk spoiling their chances of putting their plan into action another day. Rafi said they would go on waiting. He didn’t tell the others, but he had made up his mind to wait until eight-thirty, even though it was quite clear to him that a subsequent ambush would be made much more difficult by their prolonged presence on the scene.
Avrum, in charge of the second car, felt the same way as Rafi. Neither of them gave the other the slightest hint of what was going on in his mind, but Avrum had also decided to wait. Just before eight o’clock he got out of his car to take a good look around. He was standing a few yards away from the car, very near the corner of Garibaldi Street. When he saw a bus draw up at the kiosk he turned back and began walking slowly to the car. Then suddenly, in the darkness, he caught sight of Klement. It was five minutes after eight. Avrum broke into a run. Ezra saw him running and quickly slammed the hood shut. In a flash Avrum jumped into the car and switched on the headlights. Klement was already at the corner of Garibaldi Street by the time Avrum started the car.
The men in the first car had almost given up hope. They saw the bus stopping but didn’t think anything would happen. All of a sudden Kenet noticed someone walking at the side of the road. It was too dark to make out who it was.
‘Someone’s coming,’ he said to Rafi, ‘but I can’t see who it is.’
A few seconds later, in a whisper that sounded to him like a shout, he exclaimed, ‘It’s him!’
Rafi’s heart leapt with excitement. He threw a hurried glance at his men to check that they were all in position. Eli picked out the approaching figure immediately, but it took Rafi another fifteen seconds. Meanwhile, Klement was turning the corner into Garibaldi Street.
Kenet hissed in Rafi’s ear, ‘He’s got one hand in his pocket – he may have a revolver. Do I tell Eli?’
‘Tell him,’ Rafi answered.
‘Eli,’ Kenet whispered, ‘watch out for a gun. He’s got his hand in his pocket.’
Klement was standing right in front of the car.
‘Momentito,’ Eli said and sprang at him.
Panic-stricken, Klement stepped back.
In their practice exercises Eli had used the method called sentry tackle, seizing the man from behind and dragging him backward, but Kenet’s warning about the gun forced him to change his tactics. He pounced on Klement to bring him down, but because Klement had stepped back Eli’s leap brought them both crashing to the ground. As he fell, Klement let out a terrible yell, like a wild beast caught in a trap. Zev darted around the car and grabbed his legs. Klement lay as if paralyzed.
Rafi also had to change his tactics on the spur of the moment. He burst out of the car, seized Klement’s hand and started pulling him inside, with Eli and Zev pushing from the other side. Within a few seconds the four of them – Rafi, Eli, Zev, and Klement – were jumbled in a heap in the back of the car. Zev climbed over the back of the seat into the front. Kenet slammed down the hood, jumped inside, and started the engine. The whole action had taken less than a minute.
Avrum couldn’t see what was happening in the dark, but when he saw the first car move off he drove rapidly past Klement’s house, followed the first car to the street where the kiosk was, and caught up with it at the intersection with Route 197. It was only when they passed the kiosk and Avrum saw Kenet at the wheel that he knew everything was all right. He accelerated, overtook the car in front of him, and took the lead along the prearranged route. The two cars stopped for a moment at the spot where they had met before the operation, the dirt road between the two highways. There they confirmed operational plans for the next stage of the action – the journey to the safe house – then set off again.
Everything was fine in the first car. Klement showed no sign of resistance. When the car moved off his head was pressed against Rafi’s knees. Rafi and Eli, with the help of Zev leaning over from the front, gagged him, trussed his hands and feet, put a pair of opaque goggles on him, lowered him to the floor, and covered him with a blanket. During the whole procedure Eichmann didn’t utter a sound. Kenet spoke one sentence to him in German, using terms which were undoubtedly familiar to the captive: ‘If you don’t keep still, you’ll be shot.’
As soon as Rafi’s hands were free, he shook hands with Eli, who had in the meantime removed the gloves he was wearing for the operation. Rafi took something heavy out of his pocket, something, he’d forgotten he had but which was pressing uncomfortably against him – a pair of handcuffs he had brought in case they needed to shackle Eichmann’s hands. He looked behind him and couldn’t see the second car, but half a minute later, to his relief, there it was; it overtook them and drove on in front of them. During the brief stop on the dirt road he had managed to convey to the occupants of the second car that everything had gone off as planned.
They continued traveling along the chosen withdrawal route. At the railway crossing the barriers were down and they had to stop. Two long lines of cars were standing and waiting for the booms to be raised. Strains of music wafted through the open windows of the car in which Eichmann was lying on the floor. The two cars waited in line for ten minutes, but if anybody had glanced inside he would have seen nothing out of the ordinary; the passengers appeared to be no different from those in the other waiting cars.
Eichmann lay on the floor, absolutely still, breathing heavily. They had originally intended drugging him as soon as they caught him, to prevent him from causing any trouble on the way to the safe house. However, the doctor explained that if the man had had alcohol or a heavy meal prior to his capture, an anesthetic could endanger his life.
They stopped as planned about five minutes before reaching Tira and put on new license plates. They arrived at their destination at eight fifty-five, fifty minutes after Eichmann got off bus number 203 - for the last time.
The official tenant of Tira was waiting. The perfect host, he opened wide the gate of the villa and let the two cars through. The first was driven into the garage, from which a passage led to the house. The doors of the garage were closed behind it and Eichmann taken out. Supported at either side, he walked from the garage to the room prepared for him. The car was taken out of the garage right away, to make room for the second one. They drove the first car to the city; if the incident at the corner of Garibaldi Street and Route 202 had been observed, it was the first car that would have been noticed, so it had to be removed from the safe house immediately. The second car also had to be hidden from view, as none of the neighboring tenants had seen it before in the vicinity of Tira; at the first hint of danger it would have to be used to transport Eichmann somewhere else in a hurry, so it was better to take no chances that anybody could point it out as the car they had seen parked in the yard at Tira.
Meanwhile, Eichmann had been put down on an iron bed, with one leg shackled to the bed frame. He was still wearing the opaque goggles and couldn’t see the room or his captors. They had taken his clothes off and dressed him in pajamas bought to fit his measurements. When someone began peering and prodding around in his mouth, he said that after so many years, they needn’t expect him to still be on the alert and to have poison hidden in his teeth. In spite of his protest, his false teeth were removed and a thorough search made of his clothes and shoes.
Rafi, Eli, Avrum and Kenet were in the room with him. They examined his body for identifying marks and checked them with Kenet’s data. Acting on their knowledge that SS officers had their blood type tattooed under the armpit, they looked there first, but in place of the tattoo there was now just a small scar.
With the list of Eichmann’s personal characteristics in front of him, Kenet asked the prisoner a series of questions:
‘What’s your hat size?’
‘Six and seven-eighths,’ the prisoner said.
‘And your clo
thes?’
‘Forty-four.’
‘What size shoes do you wear?’
‘Nine.’
‘And what was the number of your membership card in the National Socialist Party?’
‘889895,’ was his unhesitating reply.
There was actually enough in this answer, along with the measurements, to identify Klement as Eichmann with virtual certainty. No other person could know Eichmann’s number in the Nazi Party so automatically. Nevertheless, Kenet wanted confirmation from Eichmann’s own mouth, so he carried on:
‘When did you come to Argentina?’
‘1950.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Ricardo Klement.’
‘Are the scars on your chest from an accident that occurred during the war?’
‘Yes,’ he replied and started to shake all over. Perhaps it had just struck him that he gave himself away when he told his party number.
‘So what’s your real name?’
‘Otto Heninger,’ he said reluctantly.
Kenet said nothing for a few minutes but looked at his list in silence, giving the prisoner’s nerves time to calm down. Then he asked:
‘Were your SS numbers 45326 and 63752?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then tell me your name!’ Kenet ordered.
‘My name is Adolf Eichmann.’
A convulsive shiver shook the captive’s body. Deep silence reigned in the room. The four Israelis were incapable of putting their feelings into words. They could only exchange mute glances. But Eichmann knew how to express the tumult going on in his mind.
‘You can quite easily understand,’ he said, ‘that I am agitated at the moment. I would like to ask for a little wine, if it’s possible, red wine, to help me control my emotions.’ When he was told he would get what he wanted, he added, ‘As soon as you told me to keep quiet, there in the car, I knew I was in the hands of Israelis. I know Hebrew; I learned it from Rabbi Leo Baeck: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth ... Shma Yisrael...”’