Victor remained silent, his expression grim.

It wasn't until Casare mentioned "Rio" that he lifted his eyelids.

"The worst is Rio."

Casare's voice finally carried a hint of tension. He flipped to the last few pages of the report, where a few blurry photos were affixed, showing the densely packed slum houses and several spots with traces of black smoke, "The slums of Rio have always been the domain of the drug traffickers, armed better than the gangs in Northern Guatemala. They have anti-tank missiles from the Black Market, and previously when we blocked the channel to Central and South America, their cocaine piled up in warehouses unsellable, and those drug traffickers were already simmering with anger. Last Thursday, the Brazilian military and police jointly conducted a sweep of the Rosina Slum to try to regain some initiative, but then..."

He swallowed hard, as if suppressing the bitterness in his throat: "Two hundred people went in, only twenty-seven ran out. The rest were either shot dead in the alleys or taken hostage. Marcus's people set up an ambush on the rooftops of the slums, shot down two military helicopters with anti-tank missiles, the wreckage still stuck on the church spire, they even dragged the police corpses to the slum entrance, stripped off their uniforms, poured red paint on them, posing them in 'surrender' positions for the media to photograph. Now, no one in Rio dares to go outside, stores are all closed, and even ambulances don't dare to go near the slums."

"And the crazier part is yet to come."

Casare handed the report forward, a transcript of a radio recording was clipped inside it, "The local drug traffickers issued a statement through the local underground radio yesterday, saying they have taken control of three main highways in Rio, two public hospitals in the city center, five schools, and even occupied three Five-star hotels near Copacabana Beach, with thousands of tourists inside, all of whom have become hostages."

"They say that Rio is now a free zone for drug traffickers, with more than two million residents in the city as his hostages, giving the Brazilian government two conditions: Either they withdraw all anti-drug military and police and reopen the drug channels to Europe; or he will kill ten people every day, starting with the foreign tourists in the hotels, and once they are done with the tourists, he will move on to the patients in the hospitals."

The office fell silent, only the faint sound of traffic from the square outside, and the "thud, thud" of Victor's fingers tapping on the armrest was heard.

He stared at the photograph in the report, the Rosinha Slum like a black patch on the map of Rio, but now it had become a new powder keg igniting the chaos of drugs in South America.

"The Brazilian government is already in chaos."

Casare added, "The President held an emergency meeting yesterday. The military wants to send Special Forces to storm in, the police fear for the hostages, not wanting to anger Marcus, both sides are at each other's throats. Now the global media is focused on Rio, with such a big incident in Rio, many people have started to waver."

Victor, however, suddenly laughed, "It's just the voice of the surrender faction."

"Boss, at a time like this, you can still laugh? Those Brazilian politicians are a bunch of wimps! The Presidential Palace has been arguing for two days with no conclusion, the military calls for a strong attack yet hasn't even figured out the deployment of firepower in the slums. The police, on the other hand, cry to the media every day saying they need to prioritize the safety of the hostages, safety my ass! If this drags on, those madmen really dare to kill ten people a day, by then global public opinion could swallow the Brazilian government, and the efforts we've put into Latin America would go down the drain too!"

He grew more agitated as he spoke, slamming his palm heavily on the edge of the desk: "If you ask me, the Brazilian military are just cowards! Holding tanks and helicopters, yet not having the guts to charge into the slums. They're not even as good as a border camp from the Mexican Army! If it were us, we would've already sent in the Omo Group with heavy firepower to take out the drug traffickers' command post first, then rescue the hostages in sequence. No way would we be threatened like this by a single drug trafficker!"

"Do you think the Brazilian military doesn't want to act? They don't dare to act, who knows how many arms depots belonging to drug traffickers are hidden in the Rosinha Slum? If the anti-tank missiles can shoot down helicopters, there might be weapons to deal with armored vehicles too, more than two million hostages scattered across the city, highways, hospitals, and schools all controlled. If a single hostage incident occurs during a strong attack, the Brazilian government would collapse."

He pulled the report from Casare's hands, "Look here, Copacabana Beach's three hotels, each has plastic explosives buried within the floors by drug traffickers, remote land mines under the hotel entrance flowerbeds. Our informant in Rio sent back the news yesterday, the drug traffickers mixed C4 explosives bought on the Black Market into the cement, painted it to match the walls, even detectors might not find them all."

"More troublesome is that he has thousands of foreign tourists in his hands, a distant relative of the British Royal Family among them, if the Brazilian government dares to attack, not to mention the casualties of the hostages, the mere pressure could force the President to resign overnight."

Victor's voice lowered, "Moreover, Brazil isn't dealing with ordinary drug traffickers, many of them are former military, familiar with military tactical deployments. The tactics used in ambushing the military convoy this time already show that."

Casare's anger gradually subsided, "So are we just going to watch? If drug traffickers really start killing hostages, other drug traffickers in Latin America will follow suit, by then the anti-drug points we have in Colombia and Peru might also be besieged by them."

"Everything would have to be torn down and redone."

Victor leaned back in his chair, "Of course we can't just watch, send our several Special Forces teams over, and use our intelligence to relay some of the information inside, we need to have a comprehensive plan."

"But on the side of the Brazilian government..." Casare wanted to say something, but was interrupted by Victor raising his hand.

"The Brazilian government will agree."

Victor squinted, "There's no coaxing the drug traffickers nicely!"

...

Rio de Janeiro.

The screen originally broadcasting the morning news suddenly turned to static, a few seconds later, Marcus Silva, the spokesman for the Red Command (Comando Vermelho), his scarred face filled the screen. He wore an oil-stained camouflage uniform, with two drug traffickers holding AK-47s standing behind him.

"Good morning, Rio dearies!" Marcus's voice came through a low-quality microphone, accompanied by a piercing electric current noise, "Do you see the hotel behind me? Copacabana Palace Hotel, now it's our happy base, the tourists inside are sipping champagne under the sun, of course, as long as the Brazilian government doesn't interfere."

The camera suddenly panned to behind him, a few drug traffickers holding submachine guns pushed a British tourist to the camera.

The tourist's face was pale, hands tied behind his back, a thick hemp rope around his neck, the other end clenched in a trafficker's hand. Marcus reached out and patted the tourist's cheek, with enough force to make him stagger, yet Marcus smiled, showing yellow teeth: "Did you hear that? Police, military, don't think about stepping across the line I drew! Rio de Janeiro is Happy City, the highways are happy passages, even those two public hospitals are now our happy clinics. Anyone who dares to tear down my venue, I'll turn this place into a slaughterhouse!"

He suddenly pointed the muzzle of an AK-47 at the camera, the dark gun barrel seemed to pierce through the screen: "Yesterday a witless patrol cop tried to get close, you know where he is now?"

The camera abruptly switched, showing a crooked electric pole with the patrol cop's uniform torn into pieces hanging on it, with "Happy City does not welcome dogs" written in red paint underneath.

Marcus's voice came again, bringing a cruel taunt: "Starting today, I will greet everyone at noon, if one day I don't see a government troop withdrawal announcement—"

He grabbed a little girl holding a teddy bear beside him, "Then let these 'happy kids' pay the price for the government, remember, Rio is my city now, it only needs happiness, not police!"

...