They burst through the stairwell door into a scene of horror. “Now, isn’t this cozy,” McCaughlin said, finding four naked officers standing around a tied and spread-eagled teenage girl. They had been taking turns raping her and pushing their pistols into her sex, which was bleeding and ripped apart. Her breasts and thighs were covered with dark, charred cigarette burns. Tears ran down her young cheeks. “Please,” one of the Reds choked out as the others stood frozen in place, their tools suddenly hanging limp between their pale legs. “Please, you don’t understand, she—” “What’s to understand?” McCaughlin sneered and squeezed the trigger. Three-round bursts caught first one, then another Red torturer, slamming them backward, their arms whipping wildly. The two other KGB officers dove toward the pool. McCaughlin hit one with a neat line of shots up the backbone, severing the Red’s spine so that he fell to the pool walkway at an odd angle, his body broken like a rag doll.
