Across the French border, a stocky, handsome Catalonian, his head wound in a woolen balaclava against the biting Pyrenees winds, led a small band through a high mountain pass into Spain. Francisco Sabater had made the trip a hundred times before, and as always, he expected to arrive unannounced. But someone in France had talked, and Spanish policemen from Barcelona to the border—the "state troopers" of the Guardia Civil, city detectives, even village watchmen—were on the alert for him. For 20 years, Sabater had defied capture; for ten years he had ranked...
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