One long, shadowy afternoon, when the light was more smoke than light, a young American of Russian descent wandered along a canal in Leningrad, searching for the Palace of Prince Yarosof, where the monk Rasputin had been killed. Leningrad in winter is not a cheery place. The sun rises late in the morning and sets about 4 p.m. Daylight, always weak and wintry, never rises above a sinister haze. In that light Alex sought his narrow door.

He didn't realize quite what he was seeking. Only when he found it did he know why he had wandered most of the day in that sinister, smoky light. He thought he was looking for the murderous palace where the princes had poisoned, shot, and finally drowned Rasputin, so immune to their murderous ways. But God had a new discovery in store for him. God was leadi…