9Petrograd, Russia
September 1916
Stephen Morrison stepped down from the train platform, his muscles slightly sore from the long train ride. Walking into Moskovsky Railroad Station, it occurred to him that the last time he had set foot in this city, it was called St. Petersburg, and that was eleven years ago. Now a free man for the first time in over ten years, he wanted to savor every minute of it. Walking into the men’s room, he passed a mirror and stopped to look at his reflection. At age forty-six, his lined face reflected a difficult life. Gray flecks lined his hair and beard stubble. Where to go from here? That would be the next issue to address. At the moment, he didn’t have a clue.
Several days before, he had left the Solovetsky Monastery that had been his prison home for over a
