The doors of the centuries-old monastery in Kiev swung open, admitted a burly figure. In the dim chapel, flickering flames from the candles revealed him to be a Cheka guard. He leaned his gun against a statue, walked to a wall and snatched up a little gold lamp that had burned in front of a miracle-working ikon for 200 years.
A slender black-robed figure hurled himself upon the vandal. There was a slight scuffle, a slight thud and the cloaked figure of a priest lay face down on the stone floor . . . motionless....
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