The City of Lost Secrets: A Mara Beltane Mystery by Katie McVay

used as a burial ground since the third millennium B.C. More importantly, this area of Jerusalem was associated with the last days of Jesus. It was the area I was headed to on the day I met Lev, but I never made it.
    “That is where my people are buried,” Uri said, continuing to point. “They have been resting there for centuries. And it’s the place where I, too, will be buried one day.”
    As I stared up at the mountain, dotted with churches and Jewish graves, I marveled at how spectacular the Old City, and New City beyond, must look from up there. 
    “I never tire of this view,” Uri said. “Mara, have you visited the Mount of Olives yet?”
    I returned my gaze to Uri. As I stared at his profile and admired his handsome features, I realized the professor was not going to answer my question. He wasn’t ready to reveal himself.
    “No, I haven’t,” I said. “But I’ve been meaning to…”
    “Excellent,” he said, looking me deep in the eyes. “You must allow me to take you there.”
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    We stood atop the Mount of Olives, the walls of the Old City down to our right, and the Valley of Jehoshaphat below us. Rows of sand-colored stone tombs spread out in front of us, numbering in the thousands, evidence that millennia of Jews believed this to be the place where the dead would be resurrected on the Day of Judgment. Christians and Muslims hold this same belief, so the valley is dotted with the cemeteries of three major faiths.
    Yesterday I sat at the outdoor café with Uri, looking up at the Mount of Olives from within the walls of the Old City and wondered how spectacular the view must be from up there. Now I knew. From atop the Mount of Olives, just outside the Mosque of the Ascension where I stood with Uri at my side, I could see it all: the whole Kidron Valley, or Valley of Jehoshaphat; Mount Zion across the valley, the hill synonymous with biblical times and the final days of Jesus; and the Dome of the Rock off in the distance, its gold dome a shining beacon proclaiming the glory of Jerusalem.
    Uri broke the silence that had existed between us for several minutes as I took in the vastness and grandeur of Jerusalem.
    “Would you believe that after the birth of Israel—-a time that was supposed to be happy and prosperous—-the Palestinians desecrated our sacred sites and destroyed much of Jerusalem,” he said. He pointed down to the Jewish cemeteries below us in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. “During the years of Palestinian occupation, many tombstones just like those were used as paving stones for roads. Many of the cemeteries were converted into parking lots.”
    “How awful,” I said.
    “The birth of Israel was a violent one,” he continued. “Especially in Jerusalem.” Uri turned to me. “Jerusalem has always been the heart of the conflict. If you are to know Jerusalem, this is the first thing you must understand.” 
    “Do you remember much of the conflict?” I asked, trying to discern how old Uri was.
    “My parents lived during the British Mandate, a time of relative peace in Israel and in Jerusalem. There was not a lot of violence, but not much happened in the way of making Israel its own governing state. After the birth of Israel, my family survived many years of war and occupation by various Arab nations wanting to proclaim Jerusalem as their own. Many friends and family members were forced from their land; some were killed. Still others emigrated to America.”
    “Did your parents stay?” I asked.
    “They refused to leave. Jerusalem was their home. They are resting now, down there,” Uri said, pointing to the dozens of rows of tombs below us.
    Uri paused, his eyes again scanning the landscape.
    “By the time I was born the War of 1967 had just ended and Israel had regained control of the West Bank and East Jerusalem.”
    “Things didn’t stay peaceful for long, though…” I said.
    “No, they did not,” Uri said. “Israel would not give up any