The thing that got me was that they did not want to hear. Two of them were reading newspapers.
There were only two questions from the floor. One senator said to me, “Mr. Nivens—your name is Nivens?”
I agreed that it was. “Mr. Nivens,” he went on, “you say that you are an investigator?”
“Yes.”
“F.B.I., no doubt?”
“No, my chief reports directly to the President.”
The senator smiled. “Just as I thought. Now Mr. Nivens, you say you are an investigator—but as a matter of fact you are an actor, are you not?” He seemed to be consulting notes.
I tried to tell too much truth. I wanted to say that I had once acted one season of summer stock but that I was, nevertheless, a real, live, sure-enough investigator. I got no chance. “That will do, Mr. Nivens. Thank you.”
The other question was put to me by an elderly senator whose name I should have known. He wanted to know my views on using tax money to arm other countries—and he used the question to express his own views. My views on that subject are cloudy but it did not matter, as I did not get to express them. The next thing I knew the clerk was saying, “Stand down, Mr. Nivens.”
I sat tight. “Look here,” I said, “all of you. It’s evident that you don’t believe me and think this is a put-up job. Well, for the love of heaven, bring in a lie detector! Or use the sleep test. This hearing is a joke.”
The chairman banged his gavel. “Stand down, Mr. Nivens.”
I stood.
The Old Man had told me that the purpose of the meeting was to report out a joint resolution declaring total emergency and vesting war powers in the President. The chairman asked if they were ready to consider the resolution. One of the newspaper readers looked up long enough to say, “Mr. Chairman, I call for clearing the committee room.”
So we were ejected. I said to the Old Man, “It looks bad to this boy.”
“Forget it,” he said. “The President knew this gambit had failed when he heard the names of the committee.”
“Where does that leave us? Do we wait for the slugs to take over Congress, too?”
“The President goes right ahead with a message to Congress and a request for full powers.”
“Will he get them?”
The Old Man screwed up his face. “Frankly, I don’t think he stands a chance.”
The joint session was secret, of course, but we were present—direct orders of the President, probably. The Old Man and I were on that little balcony business back of the Speaker’s rostrum. They opened it with full rigamarole and then went through the ceremony of appointing two members from each house to notify the President.
I suppose he was right outside for he came in at once, escorted by the delegation. His guards were with him—but they were all our men.
Mary was with him, too. Somebody set up a folding chair for her, right by the President. She fiddled with a notebook and handed papers to him, pretending to be a secretary. But the disguise ended there; she had it turned on full blast and looked like Cleopatra on a warm night—and as out of place as a bed in church. I could feel them stir; she got as much attention as the President did.
Even the President noticed it. You could see that he wished that he had left her at home, but it was too late to do anything about it without greater embarrassment.
You can bet I noticed her. I caught her eye—and she gave me a long, slow, sweet smile. I grinned like a collie pup until the Old Man dug me in the ribs. Then I settled back and tried to behave but I was happy.
The President made a reasoned explanation of the situation, why we knew it to be so and what had to be done. It was as straightforward and rational as an engineering report, and about as moving. He simply stated facts. He put aside his notes at the end. “This is such a strange and terrible emergency, so totally beyond any previous experience, that I must ask very broad powers to cope with it. In some areas, martial law must be declared. Grave invasions of civil guarantees will be necessary, for a time. The right of free movement must be abridged. The right to be secure from arbitrary search and seizure must give way to the right of safety for everyone. Because any citizen, no matter how respected or how loyal, may be the unwilling servant of these secret enemies, all citizens must face some loss of civil rights and personal dignities until this plague is killed.