She carefully picked her words. “I don’t believe or disbelieve him. He doesn’t know about my working relationship with Matt, so what reason would he have to lie? I did consider that there are two sides to every story, and maybe Hart is bitter about the whole thing. Still...” her voice trailed off. When she said it out loud, it made her seem shallow. “Essentially, if I’m going to commit myself to working undercover for you, I need to believe that there is enough evidence to warrant the risk. I fear that this might just be a fishing expedition.”
Hooper said, “I see your concern. We have a tenuous connection between Hart and Rykov. Rykov has legitimate businesses, but the set up is typical of organized crime because it makes it extremely easy to launder money. I don’t know how Hart operates, but I know Rykov. He would not give any money to a politician unless he benefited in some way. The amounts in question are substantial, but within legal parameters. I don’t have enough to go to the AUSA and make my case, but I’ve worked white collar crime my entire FBI career. I would not have opened this investigation if I didn’t believe Hart was corrupt.”
“So you didn’t open it simply on Matt’s say-so.”
Hooper didn’t say anything for a moment. “Matt brought me the information three years ago after his election. I hadn’t made the connection between Hart and Rykov, but it’s there. Matt didn’t make it up. I’ve known Matt for some time, and I’ve never found him to be less than honest and honorable. Obviously, Hart said something that bothered you.”
“I guess it did.”
“And you’re certain he doesn’t know that you’re friends with Matt?”
“Yes. But, my father endorsed Matt over Travis, and because I was a cop for so long, it’s natural that our paths have crossed in court. I didn’t lie about knowing him. But you think Travis is trying to taint my opinion. Or fish for information.”
“It’s possible. We’ll meet tomorrow, with Matt, and get to the bottom of this. I don’t want you walking into Hart’s office if he has any clue what you’re really doing there.”
“Shit, I just remembered. Hart commented that Eric Huang, his legislative director, has some troublesome friends. Said Huang came from a good family, is a good employee, but made bad choices with friends. Have you looked into him? Sac PD thinks he’s clean.”
“I ran through your theory with our SWAT commander that Huang may have been the intended target. We went through Sac PD’s report on the shooting—there was no mention of your theory, but the crime scene techs prepared an accurate trajectory based on video from the television and security cameras as well as eyewitness reports. There’s no way we can conclude that who was the target, but my people believe it could have been—or that Huang and Hart were both targets. The first bullet hit the glass behind Huang and Hart, but they were only standing about eighteen inches apart when they entered the hotel. The bullet went between them. You’d already identified the gunman and people were moving seconds before the first shot was fired. The second bullet went through your arm, and had you not been there it’s hard to say whether it was intended for Hart or for Huang if he had continued walking along his projected trajectory.”
“That’s more information than Sac PD gave me.”
“I have a few ideas about what might have made Huang a target.”
“Do you care to share them with me?”
He hesitated. “Tomorrow. I’m bringing Huang in for questioning first thing in the morning. Everything depends on what he tells me. At this point, I’m just speculating.”
“But the shooter was Russian.”
“Matt told me that you ID’d him. I have his photo from your file, but we still don’t have a name to go with it. We can’t even prove he’s attached to Rykov. In fact, your photo of the shooter with Cordell is the only photo we have of the guy.”
“He’s young. Could he have recently come up the ranks?”
“Anything’s possible. It’s clear from the crime scene that he’s not a trained assassin. No shooter with experience would have picked that venue.”
Alex was relieved that Hooper was taking her theory seriously. “What time do you want me at your office?”
“I should be done with Huang by noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
***
Travis Hart lived in Fair Oaks, in a comfortable home overlooking the American River and the city beyond. In the evening, it didn’t take long to drive there, and he was eager to get to his computer and see if Sergei Rykov had made good on his promise. He dismissed his driver and went inside.