The woman in the jail cell was proving to be a problem. It was November and she arrived in San Juan de las Avede Sauce the day before. She was discovered at the train station with three strange men. When the Spanish officers demanded to see their passports, none of them could produce one. The woman was separated from the group and thrown into a cold, isolated cell. The notes in her arrest file only deepen the mystery of her identity.
Her Spanish was formal, her accent sounded French to their ears, and her request singular, I want to speak to the American consul in Barcelona. The response was also singular. Among other notes in the woman's arrest report were her dirty clothes and a general appearance that made it seem like she hadn't slept or eaten well in days, and notably,
she couldn't move without displaying a bad limp. Whoever this woman was, she certainly didn't belong in San Juan de las abidesas a small mountain town in the far northeast of Spain just over the border with France. With her formal Spanish and slight French accent, the woman was obviously not a Spanish citizen, so she was transferred to Miranda del Ebro prison, some forty miles away outside the town of Pagaris, where her only comfort was a blanket as
dingy and tattered as her dress. Though they didn't know it at the time, the Spanish Guard had managed to achieve with the Nazis had not. Despite years of intensive searching, they had captured Virginia Hall, a woman who would go down in the annals of history as the greatest spy of World War Two. On October, run for your life.