New Book Shows How DNA Drug made from deceased people can become alive again

The Grave Diggers by Cole Figene
http://www.amazon.com/The-Grave-Diggers-ebook/dp/B00E3SMA2G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374617824&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Grave+Diggers


http://www.amazon.com/The-Grave-Diggers-ebook/dp/B00E3SMA2G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374617824&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Grave+Diggershttp://www.amazon.com/The-Grave-Diggers-ebook/dp/B00E3SMA2G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374617824&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Grave+Diggers


If you want a book which makes you feel like you are re-living the life a famous person, The Grave Diggers ebook is for you.
If you enjoy female heroines who are passionate, bold, and sexy, again this book will stimulate you.
If you liked the Bourne Identity, Crash, or James Bond films, this book you will not put down.
This story revolves around Larissa Puskin from Moscow and Jim Below from Kansas. It is set in Paris, Vienna, and Moscow during the year 2016.
Larissa Puskin creates a drug called 'Figene.' This drug she forms from the bones of Cleopatra, Caesar, Napoleon and Beethoven.
She sells these pills to celebrities, CEOs, and athletes in Europe. The Cleopatra's Venom pill makes men swoon over her.. Her boyfriend Jim Below takes the drug "Napoleon's Ghost" He finds himself quoting Napoleon, craving French wine and women. Yet he too is locked away, and dies like Napoleon at 52.
As Larissa's group of diggers make their way across Europe, the Russian Mafia chases them. Of course, in Paris a French Detective Rene Perlot tries to lock away the GOD (Genetics of the Deceased) team.
Here is an excerpt. Thank you for reading.

Chapter One

“There is no immortality except what is left in the minds of men” (Napoleon Bonaparte)

1.                   Running With Napoleon’s Femur

Napoleon’s Tomb

It’s 2:22 A.M. in Paris at the tomb of Napoleon. I, Jim Below, go alone to do what I know can change other’s lives forever. By taking a bone away from this charismatic, fortunate Emperor, I can re-live his footsteps, his glory, even if only for a day.  As I look upon this tomb, I remember reading Napoleons’ last note requesting a full autopsy of his body, six days before his death. He died at the age of 52. Some believe he died because of stomach cancer. Others believe as I do, he was poisoned over time.

Yet I could market this drug because no one would care about his age at death. They would want his energy, his laser like eyes which could conquer even before sending me to their deaths. They would want to take the World over. They would receive untold sums of power, glory, and wealth. With this drug they could have any woman they so desired.

After months of living in Paris, I know the routines of the guards. I know all the exits. I even have drinks with the security camera manager of the tomb once a week. Nothing can be left for chance. It is July 3. I knew in a week this dig would be too much of a risk because of Bastille Day.

The tomb rests over six different coffins. This job required me to acquire a rail gun, laser guns, and a special diamond drill with laser sighting. The first lined coffin consists of tinned sheet iron, the second one of mahogany, and then came two layers of lead sheathing, then another coffin of ebony, and finally one of oak. I took a Diamond Anvil Cell Drill, and began to add the intense pressure to crack into the tomb.

After three hours, my drill fried dead, and caught on fire. As I threw the drill down, the guard shift began to change. I paid the first shift off because I thought the job took two hours. The guards even provided me with a loop on the surveillance network which feeds to the Parisian Metro Police. Yet I did not have time to take care of the second shift.

The smell of the tomb is of almonds and of death.  I am coughing, trying to wipe the sweat away from my goggles’. I pull up my knee pads to avoid knelling on the marble floor. There is a spell of calm upon me as I saw away his left femur bone. I try to avoid damaging his uniform trousers but time is against my efforts. It is now 5:30 am, and I hear janitors making their way through the long corridors above me.

I packaged the bone in my backpack. I realize now I am going to have to leave my tools here. I tip toe up the stairs and notice down the hallway a janitor leaving a door open. A few men are cleaning the floors about 100 feet away. From statue behind statue I make my way into the Janitor’s room. I see a cleaner’s Grey uniform.  I lock the door and place my bag down on the floor.

It’s too small for me but I take my pants off to squeeze into it. I look in the mirror, put on shades. My cell phone begins to ring. It is my alarm reminding me my time is up.  As I silence the phone, I hear a banging on the door.  “Ouvrir, Ouvrir (French for Open)!” What am I going to do now? I decide to bolt open the door. As I do two janitors fall on the slippery marble check board floor.  “Stop appeler la police!” I hear while I am running out the door.

The plan calls for me to meet my team at Claude Monet’s Tomb in Giverny France. I await Tony to pick me up for our next job.