Belzec extermination camp. Eichmann was constantly on their minds, but they had run into dead end after dead end in pursuit of him. He seemed to have vanished like a ghost, and their wish for a clue on where he was hiding remained unfulfilled at the end of every day.
One gloomy wintry afternoon, as 1947 drew to a close, Wiesenthal sat in his office, surrounded by the reports of murders, tortures, and other horrors that filled his filing cabinets and teetered in piles on his desk. On the wall opposite him was a large map of the world, with a few lines drawn in pencil representing the routes he had heard war criminals had taken to reach the Middle East and South America. The previous month, Wiesenthal had met a former Nazi intelligence officer who had told him about a secret organization created by SS officers to smuggle Nazis out of Europe. Staring at the map, Wiesenthal could not help but think that if Eichmann had already taken one of those routes, he would never be found.
In Altensalzkoth, a village in the Lüneburg Heath, Eichmann sat at his desk and penned a farewell letter to Nellie Krawietz dated April 1950. He thanked her for her help and companionship and explained that he was leaving for Soviet territory with the hope that the Russians would recruit him. "If you don't hear from me within the next four weeks," he wrote, "you can put a cross through my name."
The morning of his departure, Eichmann put on a suit and tie for the first time in a long while. For the past two years, he had rented a room in the house of Anna Lindhorst, a war widow who lived with her teenage son. After the lumber company had gone under and he had lost his job, he had leased a parcel of land from her and had started a chicken farm. Because of price controls, he sold his eggs on the black market, mostly to the Jewish community in nearby Belsen, the site of the former concentration camp. Eichmann found it ironic. He often passed by British soldiers in the area and occasionally even sold them eggs, but he wasn't worried. Nobody suspected that he was anything other than a chicken farmer. Eichmann saved his money and waited.
The time had come to make his escape. The previous year, the British had announced a halt in their efforts to try war criminals, and the Americans were preoccupied with the Russians, especially with the divided Berlin. Eichmann's identificat ion card, issued in June 1948, would expire in six weeks. He had obtained it after connecting with some former SS officers in Celle who were involved with an underground network to smuggle fugitives out of Europe.
Before leaving, Eichmann sat down with his landlady, giving her a different story from the one he had written to Nellie in order to confuse anyone who might attempt to follow him. He explained that he was leaving for Scandinavia, where his mechanical engineering experience would help him secure a job. He told her that the forest ranger Feiersleben would come by the next day to look after his chickens. Since their first meeting, Anna Lindhorst had never suspected anything amiss with her tenant, who was always pleasant with her son and paid his rent exactly on time. She believed his story.
Then Eichmann picked up his suitcase and walked away from the heath. After his usual uniform of faded blue overalls, his new clothes made him feel as though he stood out. Under the name Otto Heninger, he traveled by train to Munich, nervous that he might be exposed at any moment now that he had stepped out of the relative safety of the forest. From Munich he journeyed to a town near the Bavarian border. The challenge would be getting across to Austria, then to Italy. Eichmann had memorized every stopping point and contact on the route that the underground network's agent—a man he had contacted through coded advertisements in the newspaper and knew only as "Günther"—had given him. Eichmann had paid Günther 300 marks, one-fifth of his savings, for his help.
The town was swarming
One gloomy wintry afternoon, as 1947 drew to a close, Wiesenthal sat in his office, surrounded by the reports of murders, tortures, and other horrors that filled his filing cabinets and teetered in piles on his desk. On the wall opposite him was a large map of the world, with a few lines drawn in pencil representing the routes he had heard war criminals had taken to reach the Middle East and South America. The previous month, Wiesenthal had met a former Nazi intelligence officer who had told him about a secret organization created by SS officers to smuggle Nazis out of Europe. Staring at the map, Wiesenthal could not help but think that if Eichmann had already taken one of those routes, he would never be found.
In Altensalzkoth, a village in the Lüneburg Heath, Eichmann sat at his desk and penned a farewell letter to Nellie Krawietz dated April 1950. He thanked her for her help and companionship and explained that he was leaving for Soviet territory with the hope that the Russians would recruit him. "If you don't hear from me within the next four weeks," he wrote, "you can put a cross through my name."
The morning of his departure, Eichmann put on a suit and tie for the first time in a long while. For the past two years, he had rented a room in the house of Anna Lindhorst, a war widow who lived with her teenage son. After the lumber company had gone under and he had lost his job, he had leased a parcel of land from her and had started a chicken farm. Because of price controls, he sold his eggs on the black market, mostly to the Jewish community in nearby Belsen, the site of the former concentration camp. Eichmann found it ironic. He often passed by British soldiers in the area and occasionally even sold them eggs, but he wasn't worried. Nobody suspected that he was anything other than a chicken farmer. Eichmann saved his money and waited.
The time had come to make his escape. The previous year, the British had announced a halt in their efforts to try war criminals, and the Americans were preoccupied with the Russians, especially with the divided Berlin. Eichmann's identificat ion card, issued in June 1948, would expire in six weeks. He had obtained it after connecting with some former SS officers in Celle who were involved with an underground network to smuggle fugitives out of Europe.
Before leaving, Eichmann sat down with his landlady, giving her a different story from the one he had written to Nellie in order to confuse anyone who might attempt to follow him. He explained that he was leaving for Scandinavia, where his mechanical engineering experience would help him secure a job. He told her that the forest ranger Feiersleben would come by the next day to look after his chickens. Since their first meeting, Anna Lindhorst had never suspected anything amiss with her tenant, who was always pleasant with her son and paid his rent exactly on time. She believed his story.
Then Eichmann picked up his suitcase and walked away from the heath. After his usual uniform of faded blue overalls, his new clothes made him feel as though he stood out. Under the name Otto Heninger, he traveled by train to Munich, nervous that he might be exposed at any moment now that he had stepped out of the relative safety of the forest. From Munich he journeyed to a town near the Bavarian border. The challenge would be getting across to Austria, then to Italy. Eichmann had memorized every stopping point and contact on the route that the underground network's agent—a man he had contacted through coded advertisements in the newspaper and knew only as "Günther"—had given him. Eichmann had paid Günther 300 marks, one-fifth of his savings, for his help.
The town was swarming
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