The Nazi Hunters: Chapters 7–9

In February 1945, Argentina’s Vice President and Secretary of War, Juan Perón, brought together the leading lights of the country’s influential German community, most of them fervent supporters of the Third Reich.

Perón, a Machiavellian opportunist, announced to the group that since it looked likely that the Axis would lose to the Allies, Argentina was ending its neutrality and declaring war on Germany.

The network’s agents financed operations, bribed local officials, and orchestrated safe houses and transportation.

An elated Eichmann walked out of the office feeling like a real person again.

He boarded the passenger ship Giovanna C and deposited his bag in his third-class berth.

He secured Eichmann a job in a metal shop and facilitated the approval of his Argentine ID card by the Buenos Aires police.

Eichmann first wrote to her at Christmas 1950, saying that “the uncle of your children, whom everybody presumed dead, is alive and well—Ricardo Klement.”

When Vera and the boys arrived in Buenos Aires on July 28, 1952, Eichmann had them met at the port and brought to a nondescript hotel—a precaution in case they had been followed.

Tabor was not only a strongman—he stood at 6 feet 2, and his hands were the size of baseball mitts—but also a technical master who could create suitcases with false bottoms, overhaul a car engine, fix a submachine gun, pick any lock, and build a safe room that would never, ever, be found.

Dr. Yonah Elian, a civilian anesthesiologist, would keep Eichmann in good health and, if necessary, under sedation.

Most significantly, he had the kind of unassuming, innocent looks that won a stranger’s trust in an instant.

Mossad and Shin Bet staff were sent to Paris to undergo inoculations and medical examinations so that their stamped forms could then be altered and pasted into the forged passports.

With all of these preparations, the Mossad headquarters became a veritable travel agency, and staff filled a book the size of a telephone directory with the matrix of identities, flights, and scheduled meeting points.

With all of these preparations, the Mossad headquarters became a veritable travel agency, and staff filled a book the size of a telephone directory with the matrix of identities, flights, and scheduled meeting points.

Any equipment that could not be bought in Argentina without raising suspicion had to be transported in advance using “diplomatic pouch”—a term for any marked container that had immunity from search or seizure because it was sent as part of a country’s diplomatic mission.

If they were both Eichmann, Malkin was shocked at how haggard and aged the Nazi had become since the end of the war.

Most of their time was spent planning how and where they would seize Eichmann. They settled on three possible methods. The first was snatching him while he was away from home. The second was a commando raid at night, taking him from his bed. The third involved grabbing him on the street near his house—a possibility given the desolate neighborhood.

His expressive, youthful face switched easily from a pensive scowl to almost clownish mirth.

His expressive, youthful face switched easily from a pensive scowl to almost clownish mirth.

He focused his every waking moment on the mission ahead and spent hours crafting different disguises and practicing the exact moves needed to overpower his quarry.

His secretary stubbed out her cigarette, leaving one last trail of smoke to dissipate into the air, and placed a stenographer’s pad on her lap.

His secretary stubbed out her cigarette, leaving one last trail of smoke to dissipate into the air, and placed a stenographer’s pad on her lap.

"There might well be difficult repercussions. We know this. We have not only the right but also the moral duty to bring this man to trial. You must remember this throughout the weeks ahead. You are guardian angels of justice, the emissaries of the Jewish people.”

They knew that he had dedicated his life to Israel and that everything he did was a matter of principle, but on this day he was particularly fervent and eloquent, and his words stirred his team.

Dressed in an immaculately cut suit, his suitcase in hand, Gat smoothly managed passport control despite his lack of Spanish.

Usually he used some kind of mnemonic device to remember his cover names, linking syllables or letters of the first name with the last, but this time his mind was struck blank.

“What do you want to do, Avrum?” Aharoni asked, deferring to Shalom as the Shin Bet deputy director.

The flight crew would need to be ready to take off quickly from Buenos Aires and, potentially, to make evasive maneuvers if they were pursued by Argentine fighter planes.

Avraham Shalom had been struck by Eichmann’s impoverished existence. He lived in a shabby neighborhood, without electricity or running water, and dressed in the threadbare clothes of a simple factory worker.

They had dubbed the place Maoz, which means "stronghold” in Hebrew.

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.”

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 Brasilia, about to be inaugurated as Brazil’s capital.

“What your job entails,” Harel told him, “is to make all the arrangements for the flight.”

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.

As they drove north, a light rain fell and a cold, blustery wind picked up.

Suddenly, on a street parallel to Garibaldi, two young soldiers materialized, one on either side of the vehicle.

In his pidgin Spanish he explained to one of the soldiers that they were tourists looking for their hotel.

As he boarded the old green and yellow bus, which was thronged with factory workers and secretaries, he saw Eichmann sitting halfway down.

He slid into the seat, barely noticing the steel springs that jutted through the worn leather.