Anatoly Fyodorovich Dobrynin, awoke at 0300 bright [ok..it was still dark, but not in the Rodina!] and early as was his custom, primarily to deal with telegraphs and phone calls from Moscow.
After a brisk cold shower, shave a [#$%^], he donned a tailor made medium grey super fine Merino Wool suit from Brooks Brothers. Quickly he matched a patterned tie and crisp blue shirt then rode the elevator 15 floors to the waiting armoured limo. Another glorious day in the Imperialist land of the free. Say what you will about Americans he thought, but they live like kings.
The same routine everyday as was his protocol, and every day he thanked something bigger than himself for his good fortune to be posted in the USA, the land of abundant provision. Every day he consumed with gay abandon, knowing that this evil of riches must one day end.
Inside the Embassy, past security, in a secure room he sat down with a tray of fresh roasted coffee from Costa Rica, combined with rich American cream and white toast with just plain butter. American butter. So yellow. So smooth. He loved the texture of the butter combining with the massive nicotine hit from his American cigarettes rich flavor. Ohh America…
The secure room’s harsh fluorescent lights reflected off his head and spectacles making the seeing the decrypted messages difficult unless he held them just so. The tired metal chair chaffed his suit. The table was bolted to the floor.
One message was direct to him alone to decrypt. A difficult and time consuming task. After these calls and messages he would leave the office for a breakfast replete with bacon, eggs, and waffles. His anticipation caused saliva to form in his mouth!
He finished decoding the message and began constructing its words. Suddenly he stopped. Mouth instantly dry, his cigarette hand shook….NO!.. This was not possible. The time had come.
Picking up a red line he called Kremlin to confirm his worst fear. His greatest hope. Elations and desperation.
At the calls conclusion he shredded everything, and asked to be driven directly to the White House. There would be no more breakfasts with fine eggs and thick cut bacon. In less than 18 hours Warsaw Pact tanks would storm across the East German border and he must quickly deliver the declaration of war to the duplicitous and spineless sniffle Carter.
Anatoly was worried that he had not been called about this directly on a secure line The Americans will be shocked. He was shocked! Would Carter breakdown? The bastard was happy to send special forces and weapons to Africa and spies to Poland and other stalwarts of the Warsaw Pact. But….did he have the balls to fight us? Why had this news been delivered to him so slowly? Was it part of the plan? Should he turn around and return to the Embassy? He would need to hold a press conference also….These would be trying days. He instructed the driver to pull over at the Avenue Grill. A fabulous breakfast would steady his nerves. Then who knows what will happen next?