Clearance and Fair and Just Reward

By Thomas Harris

BOOK I

CLEARANCE

Robert Hilliard, a fifteen year old boy, living with his American Father in Sumatra, found himself orphaned by the Japanese. With the help of a British pilot, some Australians on New Guinea and a cattle station family in Australia, he found his way to the States where he lived with an uncle.

He joined the Navy at the end of the war, and was called to duty for the Korean conflict. He chose to serve in the Air Force and found himself on a special assignment that took him to Viet Nam, during the French occupation.

Hilliard fell from a plane over northern Vietnam and was captured by the Vietminh. This book is about his special assignment and escape from capture.

BOOK II

FAIR AND JUST REWARD

Hilliard completes his military commitment and joins Fitzharris and other colleagues in Industrial Enterprises, a private security firm.

At Industrial Enterprises the entire staff of investigators are involved in an assignment for the US Attorney General.

An anonymous caller has contacted the Attorney General with information about a

Fraternity of lawyers, and politicians, two, at high positions in congress. The Fraternity has violent criminals who fall through the court system assassinated.

A preliminary investigation by the Attorney General comes to focus on a large law firm, Prager, Bartholomew and Howell, in San Francisco.

Hilliard meets Ann Carter, Director of Administration at the law firm, who turns out to be marked for assassination by the Fraternity in their rush to go more deeply underground during the Attorney General's investigation. She is helpful to Industrial Enterprises in their mission.

One by one the leadership of the Fraternity is tracked down and it is effectively closed.

A love relationship develops between Hilliard and Ann Carter during their last days together but due to their diverse interests, she decides to remain in San Francisco and Hilliard continues his work with Industrial Enterprises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 13, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462832217

Thomas Harris

A native of Mississippi, Thomas Harris began his writing career covering crime in the United States and Mexico, and was a reporter and editor for the Associated Press in New York City. His first novel, Black Sunday, was published in 1975, followed by Red Dragon in 1981 and The Silence of the Lambs in 1988. Hannibal, Harris' third book featuring Hannibal Lecter was an international bestseller.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Papua, New Guinea, January 1942

Robert Hilliard came awake when a door opened, but he didn’t move. He lay in the fetal position facing the room. His arm lay across his face, shielding his eyes. Under his arm he could see two small desks. A man in a light tan uniform came to attention behind one desk. Another man, in uniform, came into sight. At ease, Sergeant Major, he said to the man behind the desk. Sir. You’ve had a long day. Care for some tea?

Yes, by all means. He walked to a table covered with maps and looked down.

Robert could make out the names on the two desks: Major David MacVee and Sergeant Major G. Cagney. He remained quiet trying to remember how he’d gotten there.

We won’t be able to put up much of a delaying action. The Japs are moving down the Malay and the Prince of Wales and Repulse are down. It doesn’t look good, Sergeant Major.

Sergeant Major Cagney sighed, gave the Major his tea and returned to the teletype.

Robert could see him sip the tea and shuffle through the maps. He’d recognized the Australian accent from visitors to their home in Sumatra and felt safe, so he continued to feign sleep.

The Major walked toward the cot and stopped. Who’s the lad, Sargent Major?

A Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Farquar left him here this morning with dispatches from Singapore. Mr. Farquar flew a float plane off HMS Repulse, sir. As you say, the Japs sunk it two days ago with the Prince of Wales. He just found out, and left for the docks to contact HMS Bristol. It’s docking now from Subic Bay in the Philippines. There’s a note about the boy, sir.

Read it to me.

Sergeant Cagney shuffled through papers on his desk, found the message and read:

Sir:

The boy’s name is Robert Hilliard. I picked him up on the docks at Rantauprapat Sumatra, from a catholic priest. The priest said he’d found him hidden on a boat with the bodies of boatmen who’d been shot. He had nothing with him by way of identification. The priest had heard of a boy, the son of an American, living on a rubber plantation. Perhaps the boy can be turned over to the Americans who are setting up at Darwin. I must return to Singapore with my plane as soon as possible. I’m sure it is desperately needed.

Mallcolm Farquar, Lt. Commander

Fit. Officer HMS Repulse

Major MacVee placed his hat and stick at the foot of the cot and went to his desk. I’ll have some more tea, Sergeant Major, then I’ll get some sleep if I can use your cot for a while.

Of course, sir. I have more messages to send, and it will be more quiet there.

Would you check around? See if there’s a way we can get the boy to the mainland? I’ll send a note along with him to that Yank General who was here looking over our defenses. He’ll still be in Darwin.

Robert realized he was still in the islands, then remembered Mr. Farquar mentioning New Guinea.

Yes, sir, there’s a Dutch ship headed to Darwin from Java. It’s awaiting orders from company headquarters. It’s full of refugees, but surely we can get the lad on. I’ll get right on it.

My tea first, Sergeant Major.

Right, sir. Does the Major think we’ll pull back to Darwin or make a stand here?

The American thought we’d be pulled back. Because there aren’t enough ships available to reinforce us, and we don’t have equipment to fight an effective delaying action.

You don’t think they can hold them at Singapore, sir?

"I was posted in Singapore in ‘38. All of the big guns are set to defend against an attack from the sea. You saw the dispatches. The Japs are coming down both sides of Malay. They took the railroad on December 29. They’re expected to take the airport at Kuantan, on the east side, any minute.

They could be in Singapore by the first week in February."

All the conversation seemed confusing to Robert. They must be at war with the Japanese, he thought.

Major MacVee looked toward him. The Yanks have P-40s at Darwin. They’re leaving them there, so we can’t expect to be reinforced. This is going to be a long war, Sergeant Major. I’m thinking that’s a lucky lad there. Can’t you just imagine the women and children out here who’ll be in Jap prison camps? The Sergeant Major shook his head.

So it is war, Hilliard thought.

Yes, sir, or bayoneted, like in China. We’re not clear yet, sir. We might be in there with them.

We’ll turn those little bastards around. Don’t you think otherwise. I’m disappointed in you, Sergeant Major. You wouldn’t have enjoyed that retirement.

Sorry, sir. Guess I’m tired, an’ all my mates going under up in the Malay. He returned to his desk and the teletype.

Hilliard felt the warm bed and smelled the cleanliness of the mattress cover and the pillow.

CHAPTER 2

Baltimore, Maryland, November 6, 1952

At 0705, in the defense department liaison office at Adams University, the teletype came awake. Chief Petty Officer Fitzharris casually rolled his chair closer to the clacking machine to watch the message develop. He stiffened and read aloud: Major Terry’s plane exploded on takeoff from Chanute Air Force Base at 0450 today.

He turned toward Captain Wright who looked up astonished from his Washington Post. The machine continued to clatter.

After paying the cabby, Robert Hilliard hoisted his B-4 bag to his shoulder and sloshed off toward the broad-stepped approach to the red brick University administration building.

The phone rang on Chief Fitzharris’ desk. Chief, Corporal Crosno. There’s something going on out here I think you should know about.

Where’s out here, Corporal?

I’m at the guard shack waiting for my car pool ride. This guy asked where he could find you. Fitzharris didn’t comment. His mind was still focused on the plane accident. He said you’re in some kind of Annex. Still silence. You there, Chief? Yes, Corporal. What does he look like? Six foot, 180 pounds, brown hair, blue suit, long overcoat. He’s got a B-4 bag on his shoulder. Fitzharris sank into his chair with a look of despair on his hawkish face. You want me to escort him over there?

That won’t be necessary. Just point him in the right direction. He’s probably checking our security. And, Corporal, thanks. You do good work.

Who was that, Chief, more news? Captain Wright asked.

Lance Corporal Crosno. Someone is asking for me at the Administration Building.

That’s all we need right now. Someone checking security.

Who else was on the plane? Fitzharris jerked the message free of the machine, handed it to Captain Wright and stood, hands on hips, looking down from his six-feet-six height, and waited. The Captain held it in both hands and read. Without moving it, he stared at the closed door, then dropped the message on the desk and began to pace, staring at the floor

Call Chanute OSI, Chief, and get information about the plane’s manifest before we report to Colonels Brice and Clevinger. They need to be warned to stay clear of the press until we have more details.

Chief Fitzharris rubbed his chin. Yeah, we have no idea what the Major had in his brief case, and Hilliard may have been on the plane with him.

Captain Wright frowned. We don’t even know what Hilliard looks like. I’ll call Colonel Clevinger’s office and tell him I want to see Hilliard’s personnel files when we get there.

Captain, we have to convince them we need to keep files on our people.

I’ll try again, but the President directed that all six files be under control of Colonel Clevinger in the Pentagon.

Fitzharris turned toward the door. I committed to relieve the security man for breakfast, sir. I don’t have to be at the Pentagon ceremony until 1100 hours. May I suggest you go without me and brief the Colonels on the crash? I’ll be in Colonel Brice’s office before 1000 hours. Captain Wright gave him the okay sign and picked up the phone as Fitzharris exited.

Later, in the reception area Fitzharris answered the phone as he buttoned his jacket. Chief, did we keep the files on the other two candidates for Annex? Just in case we have to select a replacement for Hilliard.

Yes, sir. I’ll get them as soon as the Marine Corps relieves me. Sir, I’m not clear on the details of your selection of Hilliard. Where exactly did you find him?

Captain Wright sat at his desk and shifted the phone while he pulled a file from his center drawer. This summer, Naval Intelligence got concerned about their planes being given false directional signals on instrument landings in the Puget Sound area. I requested someone in the Tacoma, Washington area with a clearance and boat experience. His card popped out.

Fitzharris moved to the mirror, adjusted his tie, and poured a cup of coffee. I remember that. So Hilliard’s ex-Navy?

His record showed a clearance on the A-Bomb project in 1944, and he drove a landing craft in the Amphibs.

Fitzharris inspected his shave in the mirror. Now I remember. You used him again on the countermeasures aircraft crash.

He has an aeronautical engineering technology degree.

We’re lucky to find an engineer for the technical stuff here at the university, but what about the spook things we’re anticipating with this new program the President wants us to handle?

He’s applied for a direct commission on the basis of his degree. We can expedite that, and with some training we may be able to use him in that program too.

Fitzharris adjusted the shoulders of his jacket and turned in response to a knock on the door. There’s someone at the door, sir. I’ll meet you in Colonel Brice’s office before 1000.

Robert Hilliard, the man Lance Corporal Crosno had called about, entered the door designated Department of Defense University Liaison, dropped his B-4 bag, and rubbed his shoulder. He looked at the tall, hawk-faced Navy Chief who stood in dress blues, coffee in hand. The ambivalent feeling of caution and respect established with Navy service in World War II came over Hilliard. Inside he was still Navy.

Morning, Chief. I’m Sergeant Robert Hilliard. These orders say I should report to Building 10-Annex at 0800, but—

Say what? Coffee from the sip just taken flooded down the Chief’s chin. He leaned forward to keep it off his uniform, and snapped the paper out of Hilliard’s hand as he set his coffee on the desk. ID—ID. As he read the orders, the Chief’s hand reached out and his fingers wiggled impatiently.

They say—

I heard you. Ceeerist, come through here—no, leave your bag and wait inside this door. I’m glad I was here when you showed up. The Chief held the door, letting it shut behind Hilliard as he reached for the phone. The lock-bolt cracked into place, and Hilliard found himself in a long hallway. His adrenalin level stirred.

He made a futile attempt to hear the phone conversation through the door. In three minutes, two civilians came down the hall toward him. Immediately behind them a Marine in dress blues stepped into the hall and stood at attention, an M-1 at present-arms. The big civilian looked like a professional wrestler. His black name tag read J. Trag. The other, a double for Mickey Rooney, wore a blue tag with the name R. Fleming.

A giant hand extended; Hilliard shook it before realizing the hand wanted his orders.

ID. The hand loosened and the fingers wiggled impatiently. What is it with the fingers around here? The Chief has my ID and orders.

Trag knocked on the door, and the Chief’s face appeared in the small window, a phone on his ear. The door opened and a hand delivered a sealed envelope, along with the ID card, to Trag; he handed the ID to Fleming.

Come on, Hilliard, I’ll take you to the old man. Fleming looked at the ID and led the way down the 25-yard hall. Glancing at Hilliard he mumbled out loud as he read: Height six feet, weight 185, hair brown, eyes blue, date of birth, 4-28-27.

At the end of the hall where the Marine stood, a sign pointed left. NO UNESCORTED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT.

Immediately after they turned the corner, they were stopped by a metal door with bars over its foot-square glass window. Trag stepped from behind Hilliard and took a plastic card from his dog-tag chain and stuck it in a slot. Fleming dialed some numbers on a phone-like dial. The door buzzed and he pushed it open. As soon as the door clicked shut, Trag guided Hilliard to a small office, turned him to face the wall, placed his palms flat above his head, and frisked him. He gave Hilliard’s wallet and dog tags to Fleming.

Hilliard’s adrenalin reached a new level. What he had considered over-zealousness appeared to be more serious. Have a seat until the Captain sends for you, Fleming offered over his shoulder, and followed Trag out.

We’re on the same side, Hilliard mumbled to the closing door. Tired and unamused, he sat, looked at the Marine who’d taken up post inside the door and shook his head. A half hour went by. It seemed like two as he remembered when it all began.

July 1950

Hilliard switched from the Navy Reserve to the Air Force and was ordered to report to McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington, where he found he would be further assigned to the Air Training Command. For the next two years he traveled out of McChord, visiting factories and teaching at numerous bases in the United States, Europe, Japan, and Korea. He was involved in aircraft accident investigation for the OSI at McChord when the university assignment came down.

He remembered arriving at Chanute Air Force Base in Illinois in late September 1952, assigned to the newly formed Field Training Organization.

The day after he arrived, a Major Terry briefed him on details of his further assignment and its high level of classification. He would be told more on a need-to-know basis. For now, you’ll tell no one, including your family, where you are. Your mail will be forwarded from here, and letters you write will be couriered to us and postmarked here.

Major Terry assigned Hilliard to Advanced Instructors training at the University of Illinois Base Annex for seven weeks.

He felt the excitement and suspense of his secret assignment as he boarded the train out of Rantoul, Illinois, for Baltimore, via Chicago and New York.

In the University cafeteria, Chief Fitzharris approached Captain Wright’s private table. The problem with our man being on the plane is solved. He’s waiting in the office. Captain Wright let out a small sigh.

Ask Lieutenant Donelli to take him for some breakfast. I’ll go to our office and call Brice and Clevinger.

Hilliard checked his watch again. Someone had screwed up. It seemed obvious these people weren’t expecting him.

The door opened and a smell of food flowed in from the hall with J. Donelli, the black name tag said. Donelli looked like Doris Day, with black hair and round brown eyes. Why didn’t they send her to welcome me?

I’m here to see that you get breakfast. She held the door open for him. The dining area is just down the hall.

His hormones lifted him from exhausted to tired. Is this my last meal before they blindfold and shoot me? She had a puzzled look on her face but didn’t respond, as she proceeded to a table. Hilliard reached to help her with her chair. Her short black hair bounced naturally into place when it moved. He glanced at her short stocky build. Her pants emphasized a tiny waist. About five foot three. Bet she’s a gymnast. He felt seedy in her presence after riding coach for two days.

What’s the J for, J. Donelli?

Janice, but for the time being call me Lieutenant. She smiled.

He wasn’t embarrassed by being put in his place. It was the smile. They can hurry with that commission.

Is every one here Navy?

No. Lieutenant Trag and I are Air Force.

I knew you were too young to be Navy Lieutenants, but I had to ask. The Captain I’m waiting for—is he Navy?

He is Navy, and from the Academy.

Thanks. That’ll help. Will I be working in this building?

I don’t know. The Chief said you’d arrived unannounced. Chief Fitzharris is receiving a decoration in the Department of Defense this morning and has finished with breakfast. So I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.

Mind? Not at all. So that’s why the Chief had on the dress uniform with all the ribbons.

She nodded. He’s usually in civvies like everyone here. The real civilians are the ones with the blue badges.

Lieutenant Donelli held up her hand and caught the eye of a waiter who came immediately. I’ll have my usual—scrambled egg and dark toast with a dish of fruit.

Hilliard raised his eyebrow and looked at the menu. It doesn’t look as though this is my last meal, so I’ll just have orange juice, coffee, and wheat toast. Lieutenant, is there some place I could wash up while we wait for breakfast?

Let me get Lieutenant Trag to escort you.

She stood and walked to a wall phone and talked briefly. Trag came through the door before she reached the table again.

Hilliard had the feeling Trag could do without him.

Nobody expecting me, right? They were each at a urinal.

Trag stared at the wall.

We got you ID’d, but maybe you’re a spook from OSI checking our security.

Hilliard hadn’t heard the word spook before, but it didn’t need to be defined for him.

But no sweat, Trag continued. You can’t even spit without me knowing it until I get some different orders.

Or piss—right?

Trag grinned. I hate people with a sense of humor early in the morning.

He returned Hilliard to the table.

Thank you, Lieutenant.

She waited for me. A genuine officer and gentlewoman.

Hope your food’s not cold, Hilliard said.

No, it just arrived. We have to eat quickly, though. Word just came that Captain Wright is waiting for you.

What’s your work here all about, Lieutenant?

"You’ll find if you stay here that no one ever talks about their work, and no one asks anyone what they do. It’s awkward at first, but you get used to it. Everything is need to know."

Where’d you go to school?

Cal-Tech. She smiled. Engineering. And you?

Northrop. Aeronautical Engineering. Have any problems being a woman in Engineering?

I had my problems at first, but it worked out fine. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. With college, why aren’t you commissioned?

I applied for a direct commission in August.

Mr. Fleming approached. I have to take you to the Captain now. Lieutenant Donelli stood with him.

Perhaps I’ll see you again, Sergeant. She offered her hand. Hilliard took it and held it too long.

Thank you for breakfast, Lieutenant.

Captain Wright stood at his desk in his black uniform with four stripes on his sleeves and four rows of ribbons on his left chest. Be at ease, Hilliard. You’ve caused quite a stir around here this morning.

Hilliard saw his ID card, dog tags, and wallet on the Captain’s desk.

Captain Wright looked at him. You’ve a right to be confused about your treatment on arrival. We had to get you out of circulation without telling our people details about you. I figured they would just think you were checking our security. Chief Fitzharris and I are the only ones here who know about the existence of 10-Annex.

It’s not a building then?

It’s an organization. For now, just don’t say the name outside this room.

I understand, sir.

"We’re all fortunate that Chief Fitzharris took the reception desk to spell the regular night sentry for breakfast. Major Terry was familiar with 10-Annex, but he died the day you departed Chanute. Plane crashed on takeoff."

Damn! That plane? I heard about the crash on the cab radio, but didn’t make the connection, sir.

We were expecting Major Terry to brief us about your arrival. When we heard of his crash we started a search for you. You arrived just in time to keep us from looking more foolish. You’ll have to stay in this area until Chief Fitzharris and I return later this afternoon. Any questions so far?

No questions, sir. Hilliard had a rush of anxiety as he remembered asking the Marine at the bus stop about 10-Annex.

If you’ll remain here a few minutes, we’ll have a temporary ID. Then you can wait for us in the library.

Sir, I have to tell you I asked for directions of a Marine in front of Administration. I asked for Building 10-Annex.

Captain Wright sighed. Yes, I know. It’ll complicate the damage control, as the boys over at Pentagon call it. Major Terry expected to be here to pick you up at the train station. The Sergeant who cut your orders thought 10-Annex was a building.

Fleming entered with a heavy manila envelope. The Captain took it and signed.

"Mr. Fleming, would you take the sergeant to the library and return here?

Today’s events weren’t helping Hilliard’s anxiety about the lack of information about this assignment. Be patient, Hilliard. He took a Washington Post and found a chair.

At 1430 the librarian brought Hilliard a briefcase. She told him to take the elevator to the basement, where a car would be waiting.

My baggage?

It’ll be in your quarters. She led him to the elevator and inserted a key. The driver is Nelson. He’ll have a blue badge with the number 22 on it. The elevator door opened and Hilliard stepped in, tired and anxious to get settled.

In the parking area he headed for the only available door. An ordinary maroon Plymouth with a dent by the right front parking light waited.

Nelson held the door. Your bag’s been delivered, sir. Directions are in the briefcase. A clipboard had an ID card and a note that said: Direct the driver to take you to a hotel at 18825 North Holiday. Take the lobby elevator to the seventh floor, then take the elevator on your right to the basement. Chief Fitzharris will meet you at 1530.

At 1525, Fitzharris stopped in an identical, but different, maroon Plymouth. They drove in silence for a few minutes. It’ll seem farther than a mile because I have to play little games in case we have a tail. All the spooks in two states and D.C. are watching each other.

Hilliard let that puzzling information play through his tired mind. Why would our spooks be watching each other?

The wet streets reflected lights from everywhere. He could still see the bare winter trees and the little brick houses with the white stoops. Too tired to watch, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

He came awake a few minutes later as Fitzharris drove into a basement parking lot and stopped by an elevator.

Here’s the key and the code for turning the alarm off. Go to four. We have the whole floor. You have to start dialing the code within thirty seconds after the key is inserted. I have to go back to the university for a while.

In the flat, Hilliard drank a can of beer. It gave him enough energy to get through the shave and shower. Relaxed, he stretched out on the bed and drifted off to sleep thinking about this strange turn in his life. A turn he both resented and that gripped him with anticipation.

The sound of dishes and the smell of coffee brought Hilliard’s attention to the bedside clock. Surely the Chief didn’t get up at 0400 every morning. He vaguely remembered crawling under the covers.

He put on the robe from the foot of his bed and walked to the kitchen.

This the way it is every day, Chief?

Not on your life. Don’t get used to this. Fitzharris reached for the platter of scrambled eggs. Get the toast. I have to be at the office before 0600. We’ll talk as we eat.

The Chief advised Hilliard that living arrangements were confidential.

He described the forming of Annex by Captain Wright, Colonels Brice, Clevinger and Major Terry. Captain Wright is Navy, as you know. Colonel Brice is Air Force and Colonel Clevinger is Army.

What does Annex do?

We’ll be doing select assignments that fall outside the scope of the military intelligence charters. You’re here because of your knowledge of electronics and your clearance history. Right now you’ll be working on psychological warfare research.

What clearance?

Less than ten people, including you, are aware of this group. Security is tight.

What about the clearance?

"I’m coming to that. Your records show you were checked out for a high level clearance when you were at Shoemaker, California,

in 1944."

Chief, I haven’t the slightest idea how that could be.

In 1944, you were at Camp Shoemaker, California awaiting shipment to the Pacific as an landing craft Coxswain. Remember?

Of course.

Remember being offered any other assignment?

Yes. Lieutenant Jones didn’t want me to go. Too young, I think. He made several attempts to get me to volunteer for another assignment. Hilliard chuckled. He found a job for me herding sheep or something. I’d just left a job on the farm and wanted no part of it. One night the guard shook me awake to go to Treasure Island. By the time it got light we were moving under the Golden Gate bridge, headed west.

That was it.

That was what?

The sheep—the clearance.

A top secret clearance for herding sheep?

The animals were for radiation testing at Los Alamos. The Navy completed the clearance while you were at Okinawa.

Okinawa. That was a hell of an April Fools’ Day trick, wasn’t it?

I was there. I know what you mean.

Shortly after you reported to McChord Air Force Base, do you remember going out in Puget Sound from Tacoma to place a transponder on top of a large rock? It stood out of the water about 150 feet.

Sure I do. We shot a grappling hook up. I had to climb the distance without much footing, then haul everything up with a line. We went out at 0500. The worst part was they didn’t bring food for us.

You did the job for Captain Wright.

Our Captain Wright? The Chief nodded and explained how Hilliard’s name had come up again in October when a counter-measures aircraft crashed at McChord. You were picked for the accident investigation because of your clearance and the degree in engineering.

That clears a few puzzles for me. But, specifically, what am I going to do on this assignment?

"Mainly You’ll