The Domino Factor

By Alexander Kross

Two worlds collide! It is 1941, eighteen-year-old Katerina documents her harrowing flight from Ukraine and the Nazi occupation in her personnel journal.

81 years later, her grandson Ivan Kross and long-time friend Nikolas, meet after five long years. During a friendly game of chess, discussions turn to Ivan’s preoccupation with the invasion of Ukraine by Russia, triggering a chain of events irrevocably changing his life.

 

Ivan and his family are drawn into a thrilling vortex of political intrigue, cyber-attacks, AI drone surveillance and covert infiltration. From Geneva to London to Moscow, his path crosses, retired British special forces Lieutenant Colonel Roger Aitkens and his SAS Black OPS team, as well as, outlawed, independent Russian journalist, Arianna Nekraslova, who’s audacity and resources will prove invaluable in navigating through the back alleys of Moscow.

 

The riveting chronicle unfolds into a shattering domino effect, shaking the foundations of the Kremlin and setting in motion ramifications threatening the rule of a Russian Federation on the brink of nuclear armageddon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035816613

Alexander Kross

Alexander Kross is a Canadian author living in Montreal. For the past thirty years, he has been working in the advertising industry, owning and operating a design firm in Montreal. His interests include WWII history and Japanese historical culture. He holds a black belt in Shorin Ryu Karate and is an accomplished Iaido practitioner. His greatest passion is meeting new people and learning about different cultures around the world. His guiding principle in life is: The only way to find yourself is to lose yourself.

Book preview

Prologue

North Atlantic Ocean

Kateryna’s journal: 15 October 1941

Am I a fool or a coward? To leave my home, my prekrasna Ukrayina,¹ when she needs me the most! But what can I do? I’ve lost everything…everyone I love! I can still hear the bombing in my dreams. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces! I haven’t slept well in four days. This crowded, rocking ship is making me sick. What was I thinking! I’ve never been more than 100 kilometres outside of Kiev. I have no idea where I’m going…what to do…all I know is…I am gone. I miss them so much, but I can’t bring them back. I am so alone!

Kateryna shut the small green leather-bound book and slipped it under the pillow. It held everything most precious, her thoughts, tears, hopes and memories. Kiev was in ruins; she had tried to stay…to survive…to be courageous in the face of death and destruction, but what can an eighteen-year-old girl do against Nazi Panzers?

They we’re supposed to be safe in the basement but everything came crashing down around her…and then silence. Nowhere was safe now in Ukraine or Europe for that matter.

She put the pen down on the small night table but it rolled to the floor and scurried like a mouse hiding under the bed. The storm was picking up. The ship had left Southampton four days ago on a cold and foggy evening. She could hardly remember how she got there.

The past week was a dizzy, numbing fog. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had to move forward, always forward and not look back. She would never return to Kiev…not in this life.

Rain trickled like tears down the small porthole of her cabin, the wind howled…or was that a baby crying? The small cabin was dank and stuffy, she was feeling nauseous and needed air. Kateryna draped a raincoat onto her shoulders and tied a yellow sunflower printed scarf over her blond matted hair. She closed the door behind her, locking the memories under her pillow and slipped the small silver key into her pocket.

The ship rocked drunkenly from port to starboard. Kateryna made her way three floors up the iron staircase to the main deck level.

A low rumbling pulse echoed through the belly of the huge metal beast. Kateryna pushed the leaver on the door leading to the outer deck but it was heavy or stuck. She pushed down with all her weight, the wind was relentless, shrieking, shutting her in. Finally, the latch opened, the door swung outward and she was sucked out onto the lubricious deck.

Slipping precariously, she regained her footing after executing as graceful a pirouette as a classical ballerina could manage in rubber boots. Grabbing the hand rail, she looked out over the side of the Northern Star. Waves were beating the starboard hull as the huge vessel waltzed to the gales of the North Sea.

The brisk salty wind and the rain on her face felt invigorating after the stuffy, claustrophobic six by eight foot cabin. The front deck heaved upwards, climbing then pausing before crashing down into the grey torrent. Lightning flashed off the port side, illuminating a slim silhouette towards the front deck, desperately trying to manoeuvre an umbrella against the wind while holding a small bundle firmly against her chest.

As Kateryna observed, the scene played before her like a moving picture in slow motion. The umbrella flipped into a large black bat, flapping deliriously in a desperate attempt to escape into the night.

As the woman fought to gain control, a huge wave rose ominously behind her. Kateryna moved to warn her, shouting but the heavy winds drowned out her cries. The wave crashed down onto the unsuspecting woman, the fluttering gamp took wing out to sea as the bundle washed out of the woman’s hands, caught by the swell rushing over the deck. Kateryna suddenly realised in shock, it was a baby, perhaps a year old.

She could see its face as it floated, eyes shut, open mouthed, its cries fusing with the wind. The wave carried its prize racing towards Kateryna’s side of the ship, straight for the haws pipe, the large opening at the bow of the ship where the anchor cables pass and water drains from the deck.

Oh no you don’t! Kateryna cried.

She dove into the swirling flotsam, timing her trajectory in a desperate effort to connect with the infant. The water rushed towards the haws pipe, the baby and Kateryna sucked along with it. The salt water burned her eyes as she grabbed blindly at the screaming infant.

Gottcha! You’re going nowhere…not like the others!

Her fingers dug into the soft wet bundle. Kateryna clung desperately onto the screaming child as the freezing water spiralled on the edge of the opening, then began flushing out into the North Atlantic.

Holy mother of God!

She could see straight overboard into the squall. Squeezing the bundle as she coursed through the opening, over the edge, out of nowhere, something grabbed her ankle, pulling her back from the gapping orifice and the churning sea below. The young mother seized her from behind with an iron grip! One hand on Kateryna’s ankle, the other clamped onto the anchor cable, dragging her back with granite determination.

Weeping and coughing the two women grappled each other in a fierce embrace, surrounding the howling child, womb to womb, face to face, on their knees, clawing for survival in the maelstrom. This life would not get washed away! Not here! Not today!

---

Beautiful Ukraine↩︎

Part 1

Eighty-One Years Later

Chapter 1

Montreal, 4 March 2022

My deepest condolences, Ivan. I’m going to miss her. Did I ever tell you the story of how your grandmother saved my life? Kateryna was a second mother to me. When my mother died, she and your father were the only family I had left.

Olek Haverlouk was one year old when he, his mother, Olena, and my grandmother, Kateryna, crossed over from Ukraine. I knew the story about the storm on the ship and how my babusya² saved Olek.

I owe her my life! He would say.

It was a family legend that kept getting bigger with every shot of vodka Olek swallowed. It was still hard for me to imagine my tiny frail grandmother pulling this six foot two, 320-pound walrus from the jaws of death. I guess I just couldn’t picture him as a twenty-pound toddler. Olek had always been bigger than life, everything about him echoed strength.

You couldn’t help but respect the guy. Everyone in the community looked up to him and if they needed anything from advice to work, anything…Olek was the man to see.

Even at the age of eighty, he was still a powerful man. He was completely bald and his head was directly attached to his wide shoulders, without the apparent need for a neck.

He walked with a swagger because of his weight but his arms were still as tough as Oak. At the age of forty-six now, with a black belt in kickboxing, I was in pretty good shape but I wouldn’t want to scrap with Olek. I once saw a huge tattooed guy get cocky with him on a construction site.

Hey! Old man! Get the fuck out of my way!

Olek just turned slowly and stared at him with those steel grey eyes and that look he had, halfway between a sneer and a smile. He responded with his horse raspy voice and heavy accent.

"You need to learn povoha.³ I’m not in your way! YOU are in YOUR way!" He croaked while emphasising his words with his thick kobasa⁴ like finger poking at the man’s chest.

The workers nearby all had a good laugh. The guy just walked off with his tail between his legs. You couldn’t argue with that. That was the power of Olek, he didn’t need to use muscle, the eyes did all the talking. One couldn’t help but believe that some of that glacial North Sea had seeped into those eyes on that stormy night back in forty-one.

Our families we’re always close. My father, Carol, and Olek ran a construction business together for forty-five years. His son, Nikolas, and I grew up together, we were blood brothers. When we were fourteen, we decided to slit our palms with a sharp kitchen knife and mix our blood. One of many great ideas we had after watching too many movies.

Nikolas moved a lot from Paris to Berlin to Zürich now. I’m not sure where he lived exactly. He ran some kind of computer security operation in Europe, protecting banks from data breaches and malicious threats. We hadn’t seen each other in five years, when he last came to Montreal for his grandmother’s funeral. Olek told me he would be here.

Nik’s private company jet had landed this morning. Apparently, business was booming. I guess banks must be having more problems than we think or at least worried enough to warrant those big bucks for private jets.

There was a steady flow of people lined up to offer condolences. Everyone wore masks to be on the safe side. Corona Virus cases were going down. It seemed that after two years of vaccines and mask mandates, we were finally starting to see the light of day…for now.

I could see my dad was getting tired of standing and the emotional strain of the evening was starting to take its toll.

All week he kept himself busy with the funeral preparations, taking everything upon himself in an effort not to stop and think about the loss. I took the week off to be with him.

We didn’t talk much but I could feel the warmth and appreciation from him at having me by his side; sim’ya tse vse, family is everything.

I got a chair for my dad and as I turned back, there was Nikolas out of nowhere, grinning at me. He looked a little jet lagged but good, maybe ten pounds heavier than the last time I saw him, but then so was I. He had his mother’s hazel eyes and his father’s smile, broad shouldered, strong build with long light brown hair dashed with a little grey.

Ivan, you look like you haven’t slept in days.

"Yeah, I know, at my age if I don’t get my beauty sleep, I look like layno⁵!"

He gave me a warm bear hug and held it for what seemed like minutes. I hadn’t realised till now how exhausted I was.

My blood brother, it’s been too long. How is your dad holding up?

He’s ok, tired I guess. He’s been through a lot in the past week. Listen, Nik, it’s really great to see you! Give me twenty minutes, the place is closing soon. Where are you staying?

I don’t know? With my dad I guess. My plane landed two hours ago. I wanted to get here sooner but…

That’s ok, come and see Mum and Dad, they’ll be thrilled to see you. Claire has something special planned for supper, after that we can catch-up and maybe I can beat you at chess before you go back to that posh life of yours in Paris, or where ever it is your bunking now.

We drove Mum and Dad straight home, they were exhausted, refusing to join us for supper. I saw them safely in, promising to drop by tomorrow.

The meal was amazing as usual; this time Claire went all out Ukrainian in honour of Kateryna and for our special guest. She served her special Borscht recipe that Kateryna had taught her. Then came an appetiser of Pirohy fried in garlic butter, served with sour cream. The main course, Chicken Kiev and Deruni, was Kateryna’s specialty and Claire knew how much I loved it.

I wasn’t alone. The smile and pure ecstasy on Nik’s face grew with every morsel. For a while, no words passed between us. Among true friends, the unspoken speaks volumes.

Nikolas brought something very special. Somewhat of a wine connoisseur, he uncorked a bottle of Massandra Red Stone, white Muscat, vintage 1987 – priceless and rare. Massandra was a wine producing region in Ukraine, specifically in Crimea. This region, viciously and unlawfully claimed by Russia since its invasion in 2014, is known for its rich and rare Muscat wines, second to none in the whole of Europe, the bouquet, rich with a flowery aroma and hints of honey. The first sip filled the senses with a fruity, flowery array, ranging from orange blossom, mango, lychee and beach rose in the rear pallet.

Nik, this wine is incredible! Where did you get a bottle of Massandra, not in Paris, that’s for sure!

Nope! Part of my secret stash, I was saving this for a special occasion.

Here’s to Kateryna and Olena, back together for eternity. They sacrificed everything for their children and for us, Nik toasted. We raised the crystal stemware and meeting each other’s eyes, struck our glasses, the chime resonating of happy memories long past.

After a light dessert of Paska, this sweet traditional egg and raisin bread was Olena’s recipe, we retired to the living room. Claire insisted on clearing the dishes herself. I appreciated the special effort she was making in order for Nik and I to catch-up on the last five years and maybe even play a little game of chess. We retired to the living room and I poured us each a glass of Nemiroff – the best Ukrainian vodka available here.

Winding the clock back twenty years, to when we were both students sharing an apartment together. Nik began setting up the pieces on the chess board. Back then, we would play almost every night after supper.

Nik was a formidable chess player. I wasn’t too bad either. The slightest error or lack of concentration on either side was often fatal. My secret strategy lied in keeping Nik’s vodka glass full, in the hope of gaining that slight advantage. All is fair in love and war…and chess.

Really, Ivan? I’m pretty jet lagged for chess right now and it is getting late, Nik yawned.

Oh no you don’t! You’re not getting out of this one, anyway, relax; you’re sleeping here tonight. Claire has the guest room ready and tomorrow is Saturday, so you can sleep in for as long as you want.

Ok, you win, but no time clock on the moves and I get the white pieces.

You always were a fine negotiator, Nik…your move.

He opened with his pawn to e4. He was going for one of his favourites, the Ruy Lopez opening. It was great to see him again. It was as if barely a week had passed since our last game. I raised my shot glass.

"Svobodu Ukrayini! Freedom to Ukraine!"

He echoed my toast as I countered his move with my pawn to e5.

Yeah, I saw your Facebook page, Ivan. This invasion of Ukraine has really gotten under your skin. You were never really politically inclined as I remember. I was always the one on the war horse, remember?

I moved my knight to f3.

You’re right but this is different, Nik…now it’s personal! That bastard President Varkov is blowing up mother Ukraine! In a few months the population won’t even have a country anymore. Kids are dying in the streets, taking up arms and to top it all off, he threatens the world with nuclear holocaust! Last night I dreamed my two boys, David and William, were running through bombed out streets with automatic assault rifles. It got me thinking, it could soon be us! Our kids! My grandmother and yours went through this in forty-one. It’s why they came here, to be free, to live in peace!

I know, I know, Ivan, you’re right.

Of course I’m right, someone should do the whole world a favour and shoot him in the head!

Nik moved his queen.

There goes your knight, kido; you better relax and concentrate on the game.

I poured him another shot of Nemiroff, it was my best counter move for the moment. He was right, I was freaking out. This war in Ukraine was really getting to me. The game went on for over an hour. It was really special to share this moment with my old friend after so many years. Chess had always been our way of relaxing, picking one another’s brain, keeping our minds sharp and of course solving the world’s greatest problems.

I read yesterday that exiled Russian Oligarch Alexi Konackhin has put up a million dollars for Varkov’s head.

"Ha! It’s going to take a lot more than a million to even get close to this son of a bitch, Ivan! Do you have any idea what the security is like at the Kremlin, even on a good day. Varkov is probably the most protected world leader on the planet. It would take a dozen Ethan Hunts⁶ and as many black-hat hackers and it has to look like it’s from his entourage."

Any outside country with, say, a drone strike, could start WWIII. Konackhin better empty his pockets or better yet, start a GoFundMe account. He’s going to need more millions, much more! Check mate!

Kateryna’s journal: Kiev, 26 September 1941

The bombing is getting much closer. It started in the early morning. Papa says it’s 10 kilometres away now. He says we need to sleep in the basement of a neighbourhood public building, if we are to be safe from the shelling.

Volodymyr left three days ago to join the resistance. They are putting up barricades around Kiev and blowing up bridges to stop the tanks from advancing into the city. Every man between sixteen and sixty is going to fight. Last week, they started giving out rifles to the men. Volodymyr has never fired a gun in his life. He’s a dancer with the Kiev National Ballet.

I miss the Opera house, the music…will we ever dance together again? This war is just insane! How can one crazy man believe he has the right to take away our freedom, our lives. Can’t anyone just shoot him and do us all a favour.

---

babusya: Ukrainian for ‘grandmother’↩︎

povoha: Ukrainian for ‘respect’↩︎

kobasa: Ukrainian sausage↩︎

layno: Ukrainian for ‘shit’↩︎

Ethan Hunt: A fictional character from the series, Mission Impossible↩︎

Chapter 2

Montreal, 16 March 2022, 8:45 am

That night, Ivan’s dreams are filled with images of death and destruction but this time, he’s the one running in the streets. Explosions, fire and smoke fill the air around him while Ivan searches for Claire and his two sons. He hears cries coming from a smouldering building.

Crossing the rubble, Ivan enters the crumbling structure. He sees a woman crying, bent over a broken body lying face down – It’s Claire! He knows what this means, he can’t look! Ivan tries to scream but no sound comes out! He awakes in a cold sweat, heart pounding like a jackhammer.

After a late breakfast, Nik kissed Claire and thanked her for the wonderful meal and hospitality.

How did you meet such a beautiful and intelligent woman, Ivan?

Hey! I’m not so bad! Get in the car, wise guy!

On the road to Olek’s, Ivan’s thoughts are swimming between last night’s dreams and the downtown traffic. A slight headache had taken refuge in his skull following last night’s chess match doused with wine and vodka.

How are your boys doing?

Ivan shut his mind from the nightmare haunting his thoughts.

The boys are good. William is teaching at the Polytechnique and working in robotics. David is working as a biologist in Québec city, applying AI and drone technology to his research.

Fantastic! Ivan, you must be very proud. Robotics, biology, drones, the boys are following in your footsteps.

"Well, the biology DNA comes from Claire and as for drones, my company Dragonfly, although based on drone and AI applications, operates mostly on commercial and government contracts, but to be candid, the boys do collaborate in Dragonfly’s development. Right now, both of them are integrating and testing some impressive new upgrades to our NV360 model. Remember, I’m no engineer. I bought into the company at the start-up level four years ago, put a large portion of capital into the business and basically mapped out the marketing and development strategy."

So you’re doing well, Ivan…that’s terrific!

Well, the company is growing fast but we’re not flying in any private jets yet; just tiny little drones.

Listen, Ivan, if you and Claire have some time, I’m flying to Zürich in about two weeks. You’re both welcome to join me. I have an apartment there. You’re more than welcome, kido. Your chance to finally beat me at chess, I’ll even let you have the white pieces this time.

Thanks, Nik. I’ll have to talk to Claire, but work is hectic right now and with Mum and Dad alone, I’m not sure we can swing this, but thanks for the invite! Let me get back to you.

Ivan let him off in front of Olek’s house and drove off to check on his mum and dad, just a few blocks away, with a dish of last night’s Pirohy Claire had wrapped up for them.

Back at home, Claire was correcting student exams.

She taught Biology at a college down town and even though this was spring break for students, she had a pile of exam papers to go through; no rest for the weary. Ivan was thinking about Nik’s invitation. They hadn’t travelled since the start of the pandemic, two years ago.

‘Claire sure deserves to get away, so do I,’ he thought.

The problem with biologist’s is not only do they follow the science, they know a hell of a lot on how viruses evolve and mutate. In another life, Claire was a research biologist in a bio-molecular lab.

You’re not going to get me on a flying death trap with two hundred people when statistics show that one in four people are infected with the latest strain of COVID! That’s a potential of fifty actively infected hosts. Which brings the count down to about ten possible undetected carriers after testing, in a closed area; for what? Six hours…eight hours…and I won’t even get into recent cases of idiots circumventing testing protocols to get on planes! So, forget it, Ivan!

You guessed it! That’s the sound of Claire’s beautiful and intelligent voice of reason, after Ivan’s recent suggestion of flying off to Paris for a couple of weeks.

But this was different right? Private jet, champagne, luxury apartment in Zürich what’s the worst that could happen?

Ivan decided to wait before springing the idea on Claire. Besides, it was no use talking to her when she was reading exam papers. All she seemed to hear in those moments was that bizarre wapwapwa sound, the adults make in a Charlie Brown cartoon special; ok, maybe I’m projecting here.

He strolled into his home office and checked his e-mails. A lot of condolence messages from clients and other acquaintances.

‘God! When will people learn that e-mails are for impersonal or work-related messaging?’ he thought.

Ivan checked Facebook; someone had just posted a video of President Zolevsky’s appeal to NATO and the US Congress for a no-fly zone over Ukrainian air space with a very heart wrenching video, showing beautiful scenes of Ukraine before and after the bombing. Tears blurred his vision as members of Congress gave Zolevsky a standing ovation, but applause will not protect civilians from missiles.

Last night’s chess game with Nik kept running through Ivan’s mind.

What was that Nik said about needing more millions to get rid of Varkov? Go…FFFF…GoFunk…GoFundMe! That’s it!

Out of curiosity, he began checking out the site.

Ivan remembered hearing about this app being used just last month to fund a trucker protest of pseudo-freedom activists, under the delusion that their rights were being violated because of mask mandates.

What a joke! he huffed. "Try living in Russia for one day, where just pronouncing the word WAR will get you jail time."

Apparently, these truckers had managed to GoFund themselves with something in the area of ten million, financing what was basically a loud, obnoxious, three-week Bar-B-Q.

I wonder, let’s see here…Google…gofundme.com. Here we go, looks simple enough.

1 – Start your fundraiser

What the fuck do I call this thing? Shooting…no wait…Killing Varkov…No, no! That’s not going to fly. There has to be some kind of law…or at least a filter. How about the U.A.F.W.V…Ukrainian Action to Free the World of Varkov. There you go! Sounds about right.

2 – Set your fundraiser goal

That’s easy…liberating Ukraine and the free world from the clutches of a despotic, corrupt and murderous leader, threatening the planet with nuclear mass destruction. Not your everyday noble cause but…we live in trying times! Ok, what else?

3 – Add a picture or video

"Wow! Video of course…CNN: Zolevsky gets standing ovation after speech to US Congress (graphic content), upload video, done…ok. Manage donations…yup…share on social media…yesss! I guess now, I just have to wait for the cash to roll in or the dingbat catcher to throw a net over me."

Seriously though, whatever funds I do manage to raise, if any, I’ll add to what Claire and I have already donated to help the people of Ukraine. These people are desperate! They need food, medicine…Jesus! They need F-16 fighters or at least ground to air missile defence systems but mostly, they need for this to stop!

Kateryna’s journal: Kiev, 29 September 1941

The air bombing has stopped…for now. The Nazis are occupying the city. There is still some fighting in the streets. My dear, courageous Volodymyr is out there now, is he still alive? Mama wanted to get food yesterday but it’s not safe and anyway there is nothing left on the shelves. We have some black bread left, a bit of goat cheese and water, but only for a day maybe two.

Our only contact with the outside now is the radio.

We sit around it in the darkness as if it were some kind of safety buoy but our hopes keep sinking.

They say the Nazi’s are killing civilians, apparently targeting Jews, just a few streets from here in a ravine. They are calling it the battle of Babyn Yar, but it’s sounding more and more like a massacre. We can’t stay here for long, some of us want to leave…others say it’s safer to stay and hide. Papa thinks we should go tonight, under cover of darkness and leave Kiev…but where will we go?

Chapter 3

Quebec, 20 March 2022, 10:22 am

Hi, Will!

Hey, David! What’s up, we missed you at the funeral. You should have called at least.

I know, sorry! I was out in the wild again for the last two weeks, doing terrain work. Our cell phones had no connection. We were supposed to get sat-phones but the new equipment is late; they should arrive today, you know…government efficiency. We’re following a heard of caribou, about 900 heads, moving back north with a pack of grey wolves not far behind.

How is your research going?

I’m almost finished gathering data and images. The new drones are really cool! In a few days, we should start testing the AI image recognition programming and night vision features. Tell me, Will, how’s Dad?

He’s fine. Uncle Nik flew in and you know how much he misses Nik.

Yes but…I mean, what’s going on with this Ukraine deal on his Facebook page? I just climbed out of the woods and back into civilisation to pick up the phones. I check Facebook and Dad has a GoFundMe page up with some kind of Ukraine action fund he started?

"You’re kidding! Sacré papa! You know how this war in Ukraine affects him, David…frankly it affects us all. I know he and Mum made donations to the Red Cross last week, but lately things have been getting really bad there and with his grandmother’s funeral, she being from Kiev. I think he feels a need to do something I guess. So, how much money has he collected?"

Thirty-two million!

What! Say again! I thought you said thirty-two million!

You heard me, David reiterated.

You’re pulling my leg! William exclaimed.

"I’m not kidding, he’s gotten over thirty-two