Brazil: Criminal Empire - Chapter 108: Cassiano, Almost Blinded by Wealth (Patreon)

“Death No. 5, that rifle of yours looks incredible.”

Kaká’s voice came over the radio.

He was lying prone on a rooftop diagonally across from the car wash, keeping watch after the battle. From that position, his fire had completely suppressed the enemy’s firing points during the fight.

What had caught his attention was the M24 in Death No. 5’s hands.

The SVD had the advantage when it came to rapid follow-up shots, but its single-shot accuracy could not match the M24.

More importantly, the black M24 Death No. 5 was carrying simply looked too damn good.

So good, in fact, that Kaká felt a little jealous.

Shouldn’t a rifle that cool belong in the hands of a super sniper like me?

“Haha, the boss captured it in the last fight.”

Death No. 5 replied cheerfully over the radio, even raising the M24 to show it off.

“Death No. 5, find some high ground nearby and keep watch over the area.”

Rivaldo’s voice came over the radio.

Death No. 5’s face fell when he heard the order, but he did not dare complain.

After surveying the surroundings, he carried his prized M24 toward the building diagonally across from the car wash.

From there, he and Kaká could cover the entire surrounding block from opposite angles.

Death No. 6, meanwhile, was thinking that if they picked up more good equipment in the next battle, surely it would finally be his turn for an upgrade.

After getting off the motorcycle, Rock and several Death Squad assault troopers carried the P90s and their matching ammunition inside.

As they entered through the car wash’s main gate, they found bodies scattered all around the entrance.

Quite a few had been shot through the head.

There was no need to ask who had done that.

It was obviously Kaká’s handiwork.

Farther inside were bodies riddled with assault-rifle rounds.

Ghost Squad was made up of paratrooper special forces veterans and former BOPE members.

Under Cassiano’s command, they had fully demonstrated the ferocity of special operations troops.

Their highly accurate fire had completely suppressed Jairo’s men.

The bodies strewn along the way were proof enough.

Rock led his men all the way down into a basement beneath the car wash.

The stocky Jairo was tied to a chair.

He was not as heavily built as Correa, but he still had the short, solid build of a very sturdy man.

A Ghost Squad member who had come from BOPE was interrogating him.

In a workroom beside them, about the size of a conference room, the counters were piled high with white powder.

Plastic scoops of various sizes were stuck into the piles. Judging from the setup, the drugs had been in the middle of being divided into smaller packages.

Nearby cardboard boxes were filled with products already separated into five-gram packets.

Cassiano excitedly led Rock into the room.

“Boss, there’s almost fifty kilograms of product here.”

Once Rock stepped inside, he realized that Cassiano and the others must have gone out of their way to avoid damaging the work area during the assault.

Aside from some blood on the surrounding walls, the packaging tables had been left completely untouched.

This was probably the largest shipment Rock had seen since entering the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.

It was no exaggeration to say that the drugs were worth several million dollars.

Rock saw the faintly feverish look in Cassiano’s eyes and knew the sheer amount of money had nearly overwhelmed his judgment.

He patted Cassiano on the shoulder and told him plainly,

“Cassiano, this stuff leads straight to hell. If we keep it, then everything you stood for back home will become meaningless.”

Some situations called for blunt words, and Rock knew there was no point dancing around the issue here.

Cassiano froze for a moment, then suddenly broke into a broad smile.

“Boss Locke, you’re right.”

Earlier, when everyone had been discussing tactics for the attack on the Stone River favela, they had also talked about their backgrounds and beliefs so they could understand one another better.

Cassiano had openly admitted that after leaving the military, quite a few drug traffickers had approached him and tried to recruit him.

He had refused every single one.

Part of the reason was the influence of his younger brother Fabio, and part of it was Cassiano’s long-standing hatred of drug traffickers.

Their own uncle had gone down a path of no return because of drugs.

Cassiano and Fabio had personally seen their uncle brutally murdered by drug traffickers inside an apartment.

After that, Fabio dedicated himself to fighting drug traffickers. He was later selected for BOPE and passed its trials.

Cassiano had only joined the Special Battalion of the Parachute Brigade.

But because of Brazil’s circumstances, his unit had frequently entered the Amazon rainforest near the Colombian border to combat drug trafficking.

Their training had also included plenty of documentaries about the drug trade, reinforcing the hostility those soldiers already felt toward traffickers.

So after leaving the military, even when drug trafficking organizations offered him work, Cassiano had preferred to struggle financially rather than join them.

But everyone wanted a better life.

Just because Cassiano could endure living modestly in his hometown did not mean he enjoyed it.

He and his younger brother had simply lacked any better opportunities at the time.

Then Fabio told him about a high-paying offer from a Rio de Janeiro gang.

More importantly, the invitation had come from Fabio’s former instructor, and the gang had made it clear that it refused to deal in drugs.

That was why Cassiano and Fabio had joined the Battle Angels.

Yet in Cassiano’s very first battle with them, he had suddenly captured an astonishing fortune.

For a moment, greed had gotten the better of him.

But Rock’s blunt reminder brought him back to his senses.

If they took these drugs and sold them, what difference would there be between them and the traffickers they had just killed?

Rock patted Cassiano on the shoulder again.

“There are plenty of ways for us to make serious money. And we’re not walking away empty-handed from this either.”

“But first, we need to create an environment where we can develop in peace.”

“Yes, Boss. Your will is where my gun points.”

Cassiano solemnly reaffirmed his loyalty to Rock.

“Come on. Let’s go look at the P90s we brought for you. They’re pretty comfortable to use.”

Because the motorcycles had limited carrying capacity, Rock and the others had only brought enough equipment to replace the weapons of four assault troopers.

Each man received a P90 along with ten 50-round magazines.

Kaká and the machine gunner would have to keep their current secondary weapons for the time being.

By the time Rock and Cassiano came back out, the other three assault troopers had already switched to the streamlined P90s.

They were repeatedly disassembling and reassembling the futuristic-looking submachine guns on a table.

With their extensive combat experience, it would not take them long to master such an easy-to-handle weapon.

The P90’s stable and accurate firing characteristics would also improve their shooting performance.

After Cassiano replaced his M4 carbine with a P90 as well, he and Rock entered another room nearby that served as an armory.

Crazy Train clearly had a strong preference for American AR-series weapons.

Then again, that might simply have been because guns from that family were among the easiest to obtain in Brazil.

Jairo’s armory was filled with fully automatic M4s and AR-15s.

There was nothing particularly surprising among them.

Even so, Rock caught a faint look of relief in Cassiano’s eyes.