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

of Jesus Christ, not the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and that the six inscribed ossuaries belonged to Jesus and various members of his family. Hence Mary Magdalene was his wife, and Judah, their son. I wasn’t going to hint at the idea of a Jesus family tree, I would prove it.
    The revelation would rock the Christian world to its core.
    And the novel, I hoped, would be a smash hit, topping best-seller lists for months. I would be catapulted to a new level of fame for having the audacity to upend the very heart of Christianity. I would be revered by some, hated by others, but the experience would cement me as a literary force to be reckoned with. It would be my ticket to a new life, a happier life.
    It didn’t matter if the tomb or the ossuaries were really those of Jesus and his family; I just had to make it believable. Have enough evidence to erase doubt. I was hoping that Professor Uri Nevon could give me the evidence I needed. I was hoping the tomb hid secrets that only he could reveal.  
    The professor promised to tell me everything he knew about the tomb. But why? Why was he suddenly willing to share his knowledge with me? Wasn’t he worried about the possible consequences?
    Mostly, though, I wondered how he’d done it, gained access to the tomb that is covered up by a large slab of rock welded in place. And how had he avoided detection?
    Perhaps he hadn’t gone undetected. Maybe he’d been caught and arrested, and was pardoned in exchange for his silence. Maybe he was tired of being silent and wanted to reveal what he knew. Maybe his secret was that the Talpiot tomb really was the resting place of Jesus Christ!
    Hopefully I would discover all the answers in a few short hours during my lunch meeting with him. At the moment, though, I had to be patient, stay focused, and stop looking at my watch every ten minutes.
    I had a thought to call Lisa and Jenny, since I hadn’t checked in with them since arriving in Jerusalem, but decided to e-mail them instead. Lisa would still be at work and probably unable to talk. And Jenny, well, I didn’t feel like dealing with the tongue lashing she would inevitably give me for my rash decision to fly off to Jerusalem.
    I fired off a quick e-mail to Lisa first--the easier of the two--and was just about ready to start an apologetic e-mail to Jenny when my cell phone rang.
    I went over to the double bed, where my cell phone laid on top of a pile of clothes.
    “Hello?” I said, sitting back down at the desk. 
    “Is this Mara Beltane?” a slightly accented, raspy female voice asked.
    “Yes, speaking.”
    “This is Abigail Greenberg, archeologist with Bar Ilan University. You e-mailed me about a story you were writing?”
    “Oh, yes!” I said, excited that someone had finally responded to my request for interviews. “Thank you for calling me back.”
    “Are you really with TIME magazine?” Abigail asked. “They’ve become too left-leaning for my taste over the years, politically speaking, but you sounded sincere in your e-mail.”
    “Actually, I’m, um, not working for TIME,” I said, suddenly remembering I’d told everyone I emailed that I was a writer for the magazine. I had hoped the credibility of the publication would prompt people to respond. But now, my plan from here on out was to tell the truth. “I’m working…independently on this story.”
    “What’s the story about?” Abigail asked, seemingly unfazed by the shift in my story. “The security barrier being built along the West Bank to keep the Arabs out? The continuing land dispute? Keep in mind I’m just an archeologist, so if you’re looking for the science behind the quest for peace…”
    Abigail sounded old enough to remember the violent birth of Israel in 1948 and bitter enough to discuss it with everyone she encountered.
    “No, nothing like that,” I said. “I’m actually writing about the Talpiot tomb.”
    “The Talpiot tomb,” Abigail said, familiarity ringing in her voice.
    “Are