War and Rumors of War

By Walter A. Carmona

War and Rumors of War begins with the death of Carter Lungs wife Samantha, a close friend Marty and Carters lawyer Greg Simon. A year after the death of his wife and friends he is asked to go on a special mission to eradicate a drug and weapons camp in Brazil led by the Russians and Cubans. Bill Eizen, the leader of the special operations group puts together a team of Carters former Army Ranger buddies. Their mission succeeds but it also inadvertently causes a major nuclear confrontation among the worlds super powers. A confrontation that no one wants, and one that all the nations try their utmost to prevent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 13, 2004
• ISBN: 9781469109862

Walter A. Carmona

Born in 1953 to Cuban and Italian immigrants, Walter Carmona grew up poor and surrounded by political refugees. After high school he joined the army and did a stint with the Rangers during the Viet Nam war. He later earned degrees in political and social science, then taught those subjects in high school. He married in 1992 and continued to teach and write. His love of writing and the world’s political and military situations inspired him to use his knowledge of the military and of the world’s ongoing socio-political scenarios to weave a tale of international intrigue and war.

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Copyright © 2005 by Walter A. Carmona.

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Contents

San Francisco

Seul, South Korea

San Francisco

Carter’s Estate

Fern cliff Cemetery Greenburg, NY

San Francisco One year later

Los Angeles

San Francisco

Los Angeles

San Francisco

Los Angeles

San Francisco

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Moscow, The Kremlin

Sao Paolo

SNS Novikov Off the coast of Brazil

Lawrence Air Base California

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Lawrence Air Base California

Moscow, Russia The Kremlin

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Polk Air Force Base North Carolina

Los Angeles, California

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Moscow, The Soviet Union

CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

Moscow, Russia The Council of Ministers Building

Polk Air Force Base, North Carolina

Fort Benning, Georgia

Miami, Florida

NYU Bronx, New York

Washington, D.C.

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Miami, Florida

Havana, Cuba

Arlington, VA, The Pentagon

Isle of Pines, Cuba

Arlington, VA, The Pentagon

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Moscow, the Soviet Union

The Sinai Peninsula, Zone B

SNS Novikov Isle of Pines, Cuba

Johnson Space Center, NASA Headquarters Houston, Texas

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Moscow, The Soviet Union

Tel Aviv, Israel

Cairo, Egypt

Moscow to Washington

Washington, D.C. The Oval Office

Israel to Washington

Washington, D.C.

The Caribbean, SNS Novikov

Washington, D.C.

SNS Novikov

Kiev, Soviet Union

Washington, D.C.

The Pentagon Arlington, Virginia

Los Angeles, California

Managua, Nicaragua

SNS Novikov

Moscow, The Soviet Union

The Mediterranean Sea

Washington, D.C.

Sao Paolo, Brazil

West Berlin,Federal Republic of Germany

East Berlin, German Democratic Republic

Tel Aviv, Israel

West Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Tel Aviv, Israel

West Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany

Tel Aviv, Israel

West Berlin, Federal Republic of Germany

Moscow, The Soviet Union

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Langley, Virginia

Managua, Nicaragua

Washington, D.C.

Managua, Nicaragua

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Arlington, Virginia The Pentagon

San Paolo, Brazil

The Indian Ocean

USS Nixon

Washington, D.C.

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Washington, D.C.

Paris, France

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Moscow, The Soviet Union

Sao Paolo, Brazil

Paris, France

Guantanamo Base, Cuba

Miami, Florida

Moscow, The Soviet Union

Aboard Airforce One

Arlington, VA., The Pentagon

Aboard Airforce One, Over Greenland

Arlington, VA. The Pentagon

New York City

The Atlantic Ocean, Off the Coast of Brazil

Moscow, The Soviet Union

The South China Sea

Around the World

Washington, D.C.

The Aftermath

Greenland, Whitefield Beach

Managua, Nicaragua

Greenland, One Month After The War

Washington, D.C.

Washington D.C. Five Days Later

Washington, D.C. The Next Day

New York The Same Day.

Washington, D.C.

New York City

Washington, D.C.

One Month Later

New York The United Nations Plaza

Washington, DC.

New York City U.N.Plaza

Aboard Searcher One New York City

New York City U.N.Plaza

San Francisco

APRIL 21, 2003

It was raining when Carter walked out of his office into the empty streets, which shined like black gold from the reflection of the streetlights on the water slick asphalt. Carter Lung was Associate District Attorney of San Francisco, a position he had aspired to since his early college days. His long, graceful stride took him past I. Magnin’s to Marty’s Pub, the nightly gathering place of many of the city’s legal and professional elite.

Marty’s was not usually closed, even at three in the morning, he mused, tugging lightly on the locked double doors of the pub. Carter put his nose on the small, square, red and black stained glass window and peered inside, his breath vaporizing on the glass in the damp, chilled air. He wiped it off with his left sleeve and decided that home might be a better place to go over the files Greg Simon had given him. Carter turned to cross the street where his pride and joy was parked. He had always wanted a Porsche and now he had one. Amazing, he thought, we do so much for such trifling bits of pleasure in life. Study, work, ambition, success and failure, all for a sleek, fast, expensive little toy. How absurd, but . . . what a thrill!

Carter smiled broadly as he slid into the drivers seat.

The road to Carter’s success had not been a smooth one. He grew up in a penniless household with his father, stepmother, two sisters and two half brothers. His father was from Fukien Province, China, and being a staunch anticommunist, he fled during the revolution. His mother, a Cuban immigrant, died when she was young, and the Old General as she affectionately called him, remarried shortly after arriving in the states.

It was still raining when Carter reached the gate of his estate. Nice to be home, he thought, pushing the remote button for the gate to open just enough for the Porsche to slip through. The house was a quarter of a mile up the winding drive, which was lined with imported royal palms from Cuba. They, at least, liked the rain, he thought as he slipped out of the car and headed for the steps leading to the front door. Those he leaped up in one graceful cat-like bound. Carter didn’t like taking one step at a time. It took too long.

She was very beautiful standing at the door waiting for him, like a flower. A flower blossoming in the desert was how Carter often described her. Carter and Samantha had been married five years now, and they were very much in love.

Hi honey, she said, locking her arms around his neck and kissing him softly on the chin.

How’s my lawyer monk?

Wet and hungry, he replied, widening his eyes. I’ll settle for some dessert first, he said, sliding his hands around her waist.

Sounds good to me, Mr.Lung, but I know that when you come on this strong, it’s a pump fake followed by a quarter back sneak into the library.

He grunted a laugh.I can never fool you, can I blossom? He asked rhetorically, picking her up and carrying her into the kitchen. It’s this never ending China Town case, Sam. I can’t seem to put it all together. When I think I’ve got it, the defense comes up with a new angle. Now I’ve got this! He said, throwing a file on the table. In the upper right hand corner, printed in red there was a code. T-SEC, 501C1C.

No time for dessert then, I guess, Samantha said, with an impish grin on her face.

For you, my flower, I’d stop the world, you know that.

Sure, love, but you and I know that anything with a red T-SEC code on the cover has top priority around here, she said wryly.

You actually believe that, Carter said, moving slowly towards her. He stalked her cat-like around the oak table as she coyly backed away. Suddenly, his right hand darted out like a snake striking its prey and coiled gently around her wrist. He pushed the file off the table and gently lifted her onto it. You know what kitchens do to me Blossom, now about that dessert.

Rain still fell silently outside as Carter pushed aside the gray verticals in the library to let in the misty, morning light. The sun seemed to want to push through the drizzle as he began to open the seal on the T-SEC file. He took out some documents and three, ten by twelve color photographs. He eyed the first one intently. I’ll put this one away forever. The photograph was of Qwan Sung Po, founder and organizer of one of San Francisco’s most powerful crime syndicates.

These guys don’t play games, he thought as he leafed through Qwan’s dossier. They had met briefly once at Marty’s. Qwan Po was an excellent lawyer, but the slime he defended, and more often than not, got off the hook, were the members of his own syndicate. Until now, no one had anything concrete on him, and Carter was hoping that with what he had just been given he would be able to nab Qwan once and for all.

Next, he began to scan the dossier and photographs of the number two man in the organization. His name was Eric Li. He was well known for his wit, as well as his expertise in Chinese Southern Shaolin boxing systems and weapons techniques. It was said that he could kill a man simply by touching him. Carter knew about this technique, and had been practicing it for some time now. It was called Dim Mak. The technique was not merely a touch, but an actual strike at high speed to an opponent’s specific pressure point. Executed correctly, it could kill.

I’ve got breakfast for us Cart, Samantha called over the intercom. Carter depressed the button on his desk receiver and answered.

I could use some real food come to think of it. After all, dessert is never really enough to fill me up. I’ll be right there.

Carter took another sip of the darjeeling tea he had made earlier and leaped effortlessly over his desk. With the cup of tea still in his hand, he landed almost noiselessly on the Spanish Terracotta tile floor of the library. A drop of tea landed on his right sneaker. A bit sluggish perhaps, he thought to himself as he walked out of the library and towards the kitchen.

Morning Blossom. You as hungry as I am? He asked, seeing the stack of pancakes surrounded by thick hot strips of bacon and four eggs. I’m always hungry after a good work out, she replied, pulling her chair out from under the table.

Samantha came from a fairly well to do family. She had a

B.A. in political science and a Masters in international relations, both from Radcliff. She and Carter met skiing during a Christmas vacation while waiting for the last semester of their studies to begin. Carter was on his last leg of the race in law school at Harvard. In the ski lodge they talked over doughnuts and hot chocolate, and fell instantly in deep like.

I’ve got to get back to my files, Sam, he said with a smile. You can join me if you like. Besides, you know I always value your opinion on these things.

I’ll join you after I tidy up a bit, Cart.

Fine, I’m only going over this stuff for another hour or so, just to let these pancakes settle down, he said, rising into a stretch. Then I’ll go for a morning run.

Sounds great. I’ll join you for that run, it’s just what I need to take off the extra inch I put on this week, she said, pinching the flesh on her shapely, slender waist.

Samantha, you don’t need to take the inch off, you’re perfect, said Carter as he reached the top of the stairs, and disappeared into the bedroom.

Good morning sir. A nod in acknowledgement was the only reply.

Coffee, Greg? Asked Gail Tomlin, his personal secretary, knowing full well that he would have at least three cups before the office looked like New York’s Grand Central Station.

Please, he answered, turning his head slightly as he continued towards his office. He was Greg Simon, Head Counsel and Bureau Chief of Simon & Altman, one of the largest law firms on the West Coast. Always elegant in his dress and manner, he went about the business of law with equal elegance. It was Greg Simon who had worked closely with District Attorney Edward Sayers, on compiling the dossier Carter was now perusing quietly in his library. It was Greg who had opened the doors for Carter’s career in law. It would be great to have Carter in the firm, he thought to himself as he reached for the phone.

What’s up doc? A familiar voice on the other end of the line asked . . .

You son of a bitch Carter, you always do that to me.

Do what? Carter asked snidely.

I was about to call you, that’s what. But you have this uncanny way of knowing. Teach me that sometime.

You know I’ve tried Greg, but to no avail, Carter answered, 1aughing.

I called to let you know that I’ve gone over the file you gave me yesterday Greg. I was on my way over but thought I’d give you a buzz first so that I wouldn’t waste the rubber on my new Dunlops.

You and that Porsche. Carter, I swear, one day I’m going to blow that toy of yours sky-high.

That’s okay Greg. I want a Jag now anyway, and the insurance money would give me an extra edge on the down payment.

Always the witty one when it counts, aren’t we Cart? Listen; get here as soon as you can. There’s something I need to see you about besides this Qwan thing. I’ve got new developments on the North files.

"I’ll see you for lunch then Greg, and we can iron out what ever it is.

Fine, lunch in my office then.

Your office? Have you lost your appetite for one of Marty’s steakburgers? There was a pause, then silence for a few moments.

You still there, Greg?

Oh, yes, Carter. Sorry, you don’t know. Do you?

What don’t I know?

That Marty is dead. He died last night. I’ll give you the details when you arrive.

Fine, fine, Carter answered, his voice soft. I’m very sorry, Greg. I’ll be over right away, he said, pushing the off button on his desk receiver.

What is it Carter? Samantha asked as she walked into the library.

Carter’s voice was almost a whisper. I just find it hard to believe that a man in such perfect health, in such good condition as Marty was, could just die . . . just like that . . . all of a sudden, no warning! How could a healthy man die?

Oh my gosh, Carter. When? Samantha asked, slumping into the chair in front of Carter’s desk.

Greg said it happened last night. I didn’t get any details. We’ll find out when we get to his office, Carter said, getting out of his chair.

We?

Yes, come on, I need you on this one.

It was a twenty-minute drive to Greg Simon’s office, but it turned into an hour due to an unexpected tire change.

Here’s our culprit, Carter said, sliding into the driver’s seat and handing Samantha a one-inch nail. Must have picked it up on South Drive where that new house is going up. I wonder who’s building it? Carter asked half rhetorically and smiling. Carter already knew. He was having it built for himself, and had kept it secret from Samantha for as 1ong as he could. So he thought. Samantha interrupted his thought waves abruptly.

Wouldn’t that make a nice birthday present for someone’s wife, Cart?

See what I mean, Blossom? I can never fool you. Greg is financing it for me, don’t worry, he said, glancing at her."

I never worry about what you do Carter. You have my vote of confidence, she said, sliding her left hand onto his leg. Carter turned his head and smiled broadly at her.

Happy birthday, desert flower.

It will be Carter, but only because you’re here. You don’t have to . . .

No need, he interrupted, your toys are my toys. Besides, it will give you the chance to use your interior design skills, and you could set up a private office for your diplomatic work.

Samantha’s father was among the foremost designers on the East Coast, so she was no stranger to the world of design. Her international contacts had produced cliental for her father in Europe, South America and Japan.

Seul, South Korea

APRIL 21,2003

Jack Stevens stood rigid under the cold, rushing waterfall with his arms outstretched in a semi-arch over his head. The water was near freezing, even in April, but his mind didn’t register it. An hour later he was running along side his long time friend and teacher, Jong Sung. Their faces were emotionless, their minds only on the path ahead. Jack was on vacation from his work at NASA headquarters in Houston, Texas. He was in charge of coordinating telecommunications from orbiting satellites among the branches of service. He was the best in the field, and held an honorary rank of major; only the pay was a great deal more. His latest assignment included putting up a new COMSAT for the Navy, which could monitor incoming data from Soviet RORSAT systems. RORSAT was the acronym for Russian Ocean Reconnaissance Satellite. Unfortunately, the Challenger never made orbit due to an O-ring malfunction. That particular O-ring connected the rocket booster to the satellite’s main operation equipment. The leaking fuel caused an explosion and the shuttle had fire-balled at 72,000 feet. Jack pondered this as he ran through the cool, smooth grass of the open meadow. Sure glad I’m not Russian, he thought, I may well have been arrested, or perhaps shot. Thank God for the good old

U.S. of A. and a mild chewing out.

Jong Sung sensed Jack’s tension as they slowed to a moderately paced walk. You are somewhat troubled, Jack Stevens, he said in broken, yet precise English.

It is nothing that will not pass after a good pounding from my most honorable and favorite teacher, Jack said, taking a classical back stance to invite an attack from Sung.

So, you believe that if you are physically punished the shuttle will suddenly reappear and make, as well as maintain its plotted orbit, then flawlessly complete it’s planned mission? Sung asked, gesturing towards the sky with an open palm, his eyes open wide in a questioning gaze.

Precisely Master, Jack answered, attacking Sung at the same instant with a jump side-kick, thinking that by eliciting conversation, he might by some remote possibility, catch Sung off guard. When Jack landed he struck only air.

I am here, little master, Sung said from behind him. Come. Jack smiled wryly at Sung and began another attack. This time he scored on Sung’s left shoulder with a reverse punch, but not without receiving a counter strike to the midsection with an elbow. As Jack turned to catch his balance, he found himself floating through the air. Sung had lifted him off the ground, seemingly without effort. Jack landed lightly on his right foot and rolled smoothly out of the throw."

That is what is known, little master, as working without working, Sung said, smiling elfishly at Jack.

San Francisco

APRIL 21,2003

Greg Simon never had a chance to finish his second cup of coffee, nor did he hear the explosion in his office. All he felt was agony, and then, only briefly, as he was blown through the wall of his office. What was left of him landed in the main reception area. His torso was a mass of torn flesh from which protruded wood, wall and shattered glass. Gail Tomlin didn’t have time to dive for cover. All she saw was a yellow and red flash, followed by what seemed like distant thunder. She felt pain for a fleeting instant, and then, there was only empty blackness. She had been opening Greg’s office door when she felt the blast. Now she was a part of the splintered door. Several members of Greg’s staff were arriving in the lobby when they heard and felt the explosion.

Phil Larson was Greg’s Senior Associate Counsel in the criminal division, and was the first on the scene. He quickly grabbed a small fire extinguisher and began to douse the flames in the reception, area.

Damn! He yelled, coughing as he ran through the smoke filled room.Call the fire department, and get some ambulances! Phil knew it wouldn’t do any good, but he felt he had to try. Ten minutes later the building was crawling with firefighters, police and reporters, who were already heading up the stairs toward the lobby of what was once Simon & Altman, Attorneys at Law.

There was no place to park, as Carter turned left onto Division Street.

What the hell could all the commotion be about Sam? His eyes darted left and right, scanning the police and fire trucks. He caught sight of the bomb squad van, then the smoke drifting out the window of Greg Simon’s office.

No! He yelled, pounding hard on the steering wheel with the side of his hand. Take it Sam, he said firmly, sliding out of the car door as it moved. Samantha moved quickly over and stopped the Porsche.

Carter was now at the police line, ten feet from the entrance of the Simon & Altman building.

Hold it there, mister. Where . . . ? The officer didn’t have time to say anything else as Carter sped past him. The thought that everyone might be dead suddenly occurred to him as he approached the entrance. He slowed as he began to climb the steps to the lobby, staring at a stretcher going by him with a small lump on it. For a split second he wanted to disbelieve what was happening.

Carter! Carter! Get the hell up here!

The voice seemed distant, yet familiar. He looked up slowly, taking the rest of the steps almost in slow motion. He opened his mouth as if to say something, pointing at the stretcher going down the steps past him. Then he pointed back towards the lobby. Carter’s eyes came to rest on Lieutenant Charlie Evans;

S.F.P.D. Carter’s voice was low and cracking. Charlie, don’t . . . don’t tell me what I . . . see is . . . Evans closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he nodded. I can’t believe it myself. I mean, he was my friend too, you know. He took Carter by the arm as he reached the last step. The lobby was a disaster, and filled with the ubiquitous clicks and flashes of cameras.

Mr. Lung, we . . .

Not now! Carter said angrily, waving off the inquiring, young reporter.

The reporter persisted. Do you know anyth . . .

I said not now, slime ball! Carter yelled, clenching his fist as he continued moving through the debris towards the remains of Greg’s office.

Easy Cart, take it easy man. Sit down for a moment, urged Evans in a consoling tone.

Sit you say. Where in the hell do I sit? Where? Then he yelled again. Who? Why? Who the hell would do it?

The reporters turned their attention to him, but his glare gave them second thoughts about approaching him. Carter thought for a moment and then remembered the file Greg had given him last night. He knew he couldn’t mention it now. He might blow what little he did have on the gang of three. In the mean time, Evans was trying to control the chaos in the building.

Okay, people, out! Everybody out right now, and that’s a police order! Evans coughed as smoke wafted around his head. Amazing what a good yell can accomplish when you need one, he said to Carter through the handkerchief he was holding over his mouth.

Yea, thanks Charlie, Carter replied, watching the reporters file out and down the steps. He put his hands in his jacket pocket and turned slowly to his left, and then to his right. He didn’t know where to go first.

Greg’s office was a huge, splintered hole. Damn, they’ll all die for this, Carter thought, squinting his eyes and stepping over what used to be a desk, but now was just a pile of kindling wood. Then a glimmer caught his eye, and he squatted to see what it was. It was Greg’s West Point ring. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.

You damned ring knocker, not even the decency to say good-bye, he said in a low whisper. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it for you, my friend. Even if I have to die.

Carter stood at the entrance of the lobby, rubbing his hand along the nape of his neck. Drops of perspiration were beading up on his forehead, which he wiped off with his sleeve. It left a long grayish-brown streak of moist ash on his off-white, English Tweed sports coat. Charcoal and drywall had settled on everything in the building, and the odor of burning wood, drywall and flesh permeated the air. Carter felt a heave in the pit of his stomach as he gulped for air. He had always felt he could maintain his emotional content, even through the most catastrophic and seemingly unendurable circumstances. He thought that his training as an officer, and the various special forces schools, as well as his life-long practice of many martial arts, had prepared him for life’s most challenging moments, and this was one of those moments. He thought of the many good years he had with his friend Greg Simon, the times they had together at family outings in Greg’s back yard grilling steaks, discussing important cases, and talking about the seriousness of the crime problems world-wide; the ineffectiveness of local and even federal agencies in handling the dilemma. His mind was like a CD running backwards through time. He felt deep loss and regret as he turned to leave. Glancing back, a tear again formed and slid down his smudged, perspiring face . . . then another. His two very good friends, Greg and Marty, were now a part of his past. Only memories. Why? Why? He asked himself, breathing the words through gritting teeth as he walked away. He felt alone even in the midst of the clamor around him. The steps seemed a mile long as he descended them, his left hand in his jacket pocket holding Greg’s ring, his right still rubbing the nape of his neck, and his head held low. His eyes were glued to the steps as though looking through them. As though looking into the depths of an abyss into which only he could peer.

The fresh, damp, morning air was a surprise to his smoke filled lungs. A gentle breeze was blowing and a lock of his jet-black hair whisked onto his forehead. As he took a breath of the fresh air, Carter coughed, and a small puff of light gray smoke escaped his lungs. Carter didn’t notice Samantha approaching him from his right. She moved quickly and gracefully, touching his right arm with her left hand. He bolted slightly and drew back as if to strike an imaginary foe. Then he saw her. A knowing look of sorrow was in her pale green eyes as she managed a small, forced smile.

Carter, I . . .

He’s dead, Sam, Carter said softly, not allowing her to continue. She bowed her head slightly, and without speaking took his arm and led him across the street. The shock and grief were much to bear. Carter cried within himself as Samantha drove back to the estate.

Carter’s Estate

APRIL 21,2003

Carter thought the ride up the drive to the house was rather long and slow. Samantha had planned it that way, hoping Carter would mellow by seeing the familiar royal palms and elegantly sculptured statues in the expanse of the estate’s lawn. She was right. She knew him well. The statues were among Carter’s most prized possessions. He had received them as a gift from his beloved teacher and friend.

He was a slight and small man, but one who possessed great hidden strength. He was a modern warrior of the ancient school. His name was Li Siu Lung, which means, Little Dragon in Mandarin Chinese. Carter trained with him for many years in his kwoon off Canal Street in New York City’s Bowery. Although Carter had studied many martial arts with various teachers, his favorite teacher was Li Siu Lung, a master of the rare and little known system of Bak Mei Pai, or the White Eyebrow system. Few Chinese if any, still practice it in its true form, and Carter was among the small number of non-Chinese to have heard of the system and been allowed to study it.

Bak Mei Pai was created by a renegade, Shaolin monk in the early 1850’s in the remote forest north of Nanking, China. The monk who developed it was Pai Mei, who was known as the White Eyebrow Monk—having brandished thick, white eyebrows in his later years—and became quite famous for having killed many of the monks in Shaolin’s bitter war with the Ching government. Pai Mei had been paid well as a spy for the Chings while a monk at Shaolin. Few escaped him while trying to escape the fiery furnaces of the temples he helped burn down. Those who did escape formed small bands of patriots who hoped one day to restore the old Ming order. Many were later hunted down and killed by other monks in need of money, and who had given up their patriotic ideals for a small reward, only to end up dead at the hands of Pai Mei as he wandered from village to village seeking out traitors to the Ching cause.

Finally, he was killed by a mere boy of sixteen, who had studied Northern Crane from his mother and Southern Tiger from his father—who had been killed by Pai Mei—and by combining the techniques of the two systems, he was able to defeat him. Li Siu Lung was a direct descendant of Pai Mei on his father’s side, but there was no renegade blood in his veins. At first glance one might think he was a starving anemic, but after seeing him perform his boxing forms, his grace, strength and stamina were quite evident. He was a true pugilist.

Each of the five statues was carved from exquisite pale, blue and white marble. They were replicas of the famous five Shaolin masters who had escaped the Monastery of The White Cloud, and Pai Mei. Each had become a master in one of the five major animal forms on which Shaolin Kung Fu is based. Lin Piao was a master of the White Crane form, Sing Ma Hsi, master of the Snake form, Kung Li Ping, master of the Dragon form, Hung Fei, master of the Praying Mantis form and Kwan Li, son of Hung Hsi Kwan, who had killed the Pai Mei monk, was a master of the Tiger/Crane system, generally known as Hung