The Emmanuel Project

by Ronald Brueckmann

  The approaches to the city were literally swarming with humanity, pilgrims and priests and merchants and shepherds and soldiers. The rich and the poor, the exalted and the lowly streaming through the gates, flooding the streets of the Lower City, the Upper City, and the Temple Mount. Many rushing to find accommodations before the start of Shabbat, purchasing sacrificial offerings, changing money, preparing for the Seder. Others seeking profit in the churning press of people. Some keeping watch for signs of trouble. Others conspiring to make trouble. The bustling energy, the noise, the smoke, the aromas, the fluttering banners and colorful tents; from where he stood on the Mount of Olives, Viktor could see it all. It was hectic and it was joyous and it was somehow tragic, all at the same time. The word biblical came to mind, and he had to smile to himself. He had finally made it. Jerusalem!

  Slipping down into the Kidron Valley, he moved along with the thick flow of traffic. As he got closer, the massive eastern wall of the Temple Mount filled his vision. He could hardly believe his eyes. It was indeed a mountain, a man-made mountain of colossal stones, fitted together with astonishing precision. The scale of the architecture was dizzying. He had prayed at the remains of the Western Wall many times, but never fully appreciated the power of the immense proportions, never fully appreciated the statement that Herod had made with this monumental edifice. Up above, he caught glimpses of the golden parapet of the Sanctuary, floating like a halo over the upper plaza. Immediately to the right stood the imposing towers of the Antonia Fortress, an unseemly accompaniment to the Holy of Holies. He wanted to stop and drink in the spectacle of it all, but the jostling stream of humanity swept him along the dusty concourse toward the crowded gate. Viktor could feel his energy growing with every step closer to the city. He had finally made it. Jerusalem!

  CHAPTER 54

  Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)

  The procession slowed before coming to a complete standstill. Within minutes the approach to the city was jammed with travelers. In the jostling press of bodies, all eyes were turned toward the gate ahead, where the entrance appeared to be blocked. The Temple guards were shouting, waving their arms. Viktor couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was angry. As more and more people backed up along the road in the hot sunshine, they, too, became angry. They, too, began shouting. Wanting nothing to do with a confrontation, Viktor worked his way back through the throng, away from the rising din. Moving down into the valley again, he followed the city wall toward the Antonia Fortress. There on the north end of the Temple Mount, the Sheep Gate was open and unobstructed. A few Roman soldiers milled about, but people were moving freely through the arched opening. At this lesser-used entrance, the path narrowed considerably, looping past two ritual baths before rising sharply at the gate. Housing a Neolithic spring-fed cistern, the Pools of Bethesda were dwarfed by the massive city walls. Beyond the baths, the Antonia Fortress cast a dark shadow across the length of the courtyard. Home to the Roman garrison, its hulking crenellated towers presented a brutish image of oppression and power. Viktor hurried on.

  As he moved along the low wall that encircled the baths, admiring the design of even such utilitarian structures, the ground beneath his feet convulsed, nearly spilling him to the cobblestones. The movement was so unexpected and so violent that he instinctively looked to the sky, searching for the telltale signs of an attack—the vapor trails or spiraling smoke plume that always heralded an assault on the innocent, the rocket or car bomb that always brought the shaking, the sirens, the flashing lights, and the carnage—those terrible sights and sounds that called his commando unit to action. But there were no sirens, no flashing lights, no rockets. Yet the shaking persisted, eventually morphing into a sickening rolling motion that set the heavy city walls to swaying. Across the valley, the hills seemed to heave and fall like swells on a leafy green ocean. The immense magnitude of the cataclysm seemed to slow time itself, the seconds dragging frightfully as a powerful seismic tremor swept through the ancient rift valley.

  Not designed to withstand the dynamic forces of the earthquake, the top of the city wall began to fail, fist-size chunks of the parapet raining down. Dust and shouts filled the air as a panic-stricken mob rushed out of the Sheep Gate and into the courtyard, heading for the relative safety of the valley. Viktor watched in horror as the wall directly above the gate began to disintegrate, the huge stone cornice breaking free and tumbling down onto the fleeing crowd. Now came the screams. He moved to help them, but the stampede charged down the ramp, pushing him back against the wall that surrounded the baths. Managing to fight his way free, a second surge drove him backwards over a low stone wall. He hit the ground hard, rapping his head painfully on the cobblestones. Lying on his back, looking up into the dull afternoon sunshine, he shook his head, attempting to clear his vision. His head ached terribly and he wondered if he had sustained a concussion. Rubbing the heel of his palms against his eyes didn’t help. The day seemed to be growing dimmer by the second. Staggering to his feet, he looked back toward the hills. It wasn’t his vision. Though the day was clear, the sunlight continued to fade as though the earthquake was sucking the light from the sky. The bright afternoon turned to dusk, and then to night. If the crowd had been merely panicked by the temblor, they now degenerated into abject terror. Viktor hunkered down behind the low wall as the mob around him raged and thrashed and wailed.

  Trying not to look directly into the growing sliver of light, he could make out the edge of the moon’s disk passing across the face of the sun, and the day slowly began to brighten. But the terrified crowd refused to calm down. Huddled beside him, a young woman whimpered pitifully, eyes wide in fear. His heart went out to her.

  “You are not in danger,” Viktor told her. “It is only a solar eclipse.”

  Shrinking away as if confronting a madman, she leapt to her feet, scrambled over the wall, and was gone. Pushing himself off the ground, Viktor observed the pandemonium that continued to churn around him. Poor ignorant fools, he thought. Still, it was a frightening coincidence for the two natural phenomena to occur simultaneously. It was strange and unsettling. It was…like a bolt out of the blue desert sky, he remembered the passages. The earth shook and the rocks were split apart…a darkness fell over the land. If the Christian scriptures were to be taken literally, those two signs had accompanied Yeshua’s death. And for all his efforts, he might be too late.

  “Oh no,” he cried. “Not yet. Please, not yet.”

  Throwing himself into the terrified crush of humanity, Viktor pushed and shoved and pawed his way through the Sheep Gate. Inside the walls, the city was in chaos. More than just a fear of collapsing buildings, people seemed to be teetering on the edge of madness as if the tremor and the unnatural darkness had spawned mass hysteria. And like a drowning man in a swift current, Viktor was swept along by the tumult. Stumbling through the Court of the Gentiles, past the Sanctuary, and down into the Lower City, he bore witness to an impossibly profound and furious passion. Gaping in awe as good clashed with evil in every street, plaza, and alleyway. The righteous and the wicked, the corrupt and the incorruptible, the invader and the defender, all locked in a transcendent battle like some unending Hieronymus Bosch painting. Down every narrow passageway, around every corner, in every quarter, darkness and light struggled for supremacy, exposing the very soul of humanity. It was overwhelming, but Viktor dared not look away. He soaked it in, his mind reeling. It couldn’t be just another ordinary day, not even for Jerusalem, not even at Passover, not even in such a turbulent epoch. What was happening had to be something more. Something momentous. Some kind of spiritual watershed for the holy city…for the people of Judea…for all of humanity. It had to be. He could feel it.

  CHAPTER 55

  Present-Day Israel

  Victor’s mission was to provide proof that he had survived the Jump, and to document the date of his arrival as accurately as possible. That was the Primary Objective. And that was all the Team required of him. The scientists simply needed to know if the
Device worked and how accurate the time placement had been, nothing more. In the daily briefings, the project leaders continually reiterated that goal. Emphasizing that he must not do anything to jeopardize the successful completion of the Primary Objective. Stressing that time was of the essence, and upon reaching his destination, he must accomplish the Primary Objective without unnecessary delay. Impressing upon him that he must not attempt to send any communication that might somehow endanger the successful completion of his Primary Objective. Though it was the greatest adventure of all time, ironically, the briefings became quite monotonous. Viktor wanted to scream, “Enough already, I get the point.” But he kept quiet.

  Sending a human being into the unknown was a grave responsibility for the scientists, and they did not take it lightly. If the sacrifice had to be made, they wanted to be sure that something good would come of it. They wanted the data. They needed the data. And if they didn’t receive the data, it would mean that a life had been thrown away for nothing. So they incessantly stressed the importance of achieving the Primary Objective. It was imperative that all the sub-teams succeed in their missions, for the good of mankind and for the Team’s own peace of mind. They were scientists, not military officers. To them, no life was expendable.

  Viktor appreciated the Team’s concerns. They might be sending him to his death. Maybe to a fate worse than death. It was not an easy thing to do. He knew what it was like to order soldiers into battle. But this was entirely different. They were sending him into the unknown. And that uncertainty was the one cloud floating over his parade. Mostly, he was able to put it out of his mind. In the military he had faced many dangerous situations. He had been trained for it. He knew what was expected of him. And he was not afraid of death. It was the powerlessness of this mission that was hard to deal with, the act of putting himself at the mercy of an unproven machine, unsubstantiated theories, and mathematical equations. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes a feeling of dread would settle over him like a wet blanket. He recalled a nightmare where the Device had disassembled his body, cell by excruciating cell, and seeded them across an alien landscape where a crop of miniature Viktor Jankowskis were grown on vines as food for a race of giant crocodiles. And somehow, his consciousness inhabited every squirming sprout of the harvest. So he suffered the ordeal of being devoured again and again by giant crocodiles. It was a silly dream, for sure. But one he couldn’t seem to forget, as hard as he tried. Still, he didn’t see the benefit of discussing it with the flock of snooping psychologists…or his father…or even Allison. It was best to just lock it away and move forward. He would not give in to fear. He never had, and he wasn’t about to start now. There was nothing to be gained by talking about it. Besides, reality was daunting enough. At best, he would be on foreign ground, at a foreign time, with no allies, and no possibility of rescue. Not exactly a walk in the park. Yet he still saw it all as a grand adventure, a challenge he was born to take on. Once there, he would be living a dream come true. Once there, he would be in control of his own destiny. It was the getting there that worried him.

  Somewhere in the complex, other sub-teams were working on similar assignments, but they were kept apart. The Team had assembled a group of highly educated and highly motivated specialists for the missions, and expected to reap the greatest benefit by encouraging their completely autonomous and unadulterated contribution. Every sub-team had to think for themselves, had to think outside the box. Because there was no box. It was untrodden ground. Robert and Victor were left alone to plan their mission as they saw fit. They understood the importance of the Primary Objective. And allowing for the likely inaccuracy of the Device, they also recognized the need for contingency plans. First compiling an extensive catalogue of active archeological excavations across Israel, they prioritized the sites based on construction date and probable accessibility. Then they cross-referenced each location with a compendium of the appropriate language, burial custom, and epitaph convention. Regardless of when or where Viktor ended up, they felt confident that they had identified a feasible vehicle for their trans-millennial communication. For whatever reason, if Viktor was unable to deliver the TMC to the Tel Megiddo necropolis, he had the option to complete the mission using one of several alternate archeological sites. And his father vowed to keep searching the sites until he found it.

  Confident that they had performed the due diligence required to achieve their Primary Objective, they got down to the fun stuff. Having spent a large part of their lives in the study of antiquity, both men felt a personal obligation to investigate at least one ambiguity in the historical record. Robert knew he could never go public with such evidence without compromising the confidentiality of the Project or appearing to be a complete crackpot. Still, it was something they both felt compelled to pursue and they set about identifying a directory of unresolved historical events that could easily be communicated with a few words. This exercise turned out to be more difficult than they had anticipated. It was wholly dependent on when Viktor arrived in the past, how well he could assimilate, and how likely he could access a specific locale to gather the intelligence. Then he had to be able to communicate that information in a short message. And of course, he had to accomplish this without jeopardizing the Primary Objective. They did manage to come up with a few ideas. One of which was for Viktor to verify, with his own two eyes, the physical existence of a young Jewish rabbi known as Jesus of Nazareth. Based on the New Testament, there was a thirty-year window of opportunity, well within the Jump parameters. It would require no special contacts or associations, as the subject was a common man and reasonably accessible. And the location, the Galilee, was a fairly safe place for a Jew to travel at that time. It seemed feasible. As they discussed this option, Robert tried to hide his excitement. He did not want to unduly influence his son, who surely was more interested in Jewish history. Anyway, his Christian faith was based on faith. He didn’t need a positive ID to believe. Still, it was an incredible opportunity.

  Viktor could see his father’s eyes light up when they spoke about Jesus. He knew his father was a devout Christian. It had been one of the things that had helped to drive a wedge between them. In school, he had been ashamed to admit to his friends that his father was a Gentile, and an American to boot. As time passed, that imbroglio had lost its significance. Now it didn’t matter at all. His grandparents had raised him as a Jew. He didn’t believe in the tenets of the New Testament. But he was no longer quite as brazenly judgmental as he had been in his younger days. In the IDF he had trained and fought alongside many American Jews who had returned to Israel to fulfill their military service. He had even participated in operations with American Gentiles. Those acquaintances, along with the passing years, and the bloodshed, and the sorrow, had greatly tempered his youthful arrogance. In fact he was ashamed of his narrow-minded adolescent chauvinism, especially toward a man who had always loved and supported him. In a final act of reconciliation for the relationship he sought to restore, Viktor proposed making the search for Jesus his personal objective. Robert enthusiastically approved.

  As they spent more time together, the two men grew closer. Discovering, to their surprise, just how much alike they really were. They shared so much more than a love of history and a love of Israel. They reminisced and they opened their hearts. And at the windswept cemetery of Ma’agan Michael, for the first time together they grieved for Rachel. In that one act of shared heartache they truly became father and son again. It was painful, and it was good.

  They were as ready as they were ever going to be, yet they continued to prepare for the mission. Except now their studies were mixed with visits to art museums and concerts and even a soccer game. They had reached a comfortable place in their relationship. They were also at ease with their responsibility to the Project. And growing tired of the generic confidentiality of the Team and the Project and the Device, and the Primary Objective, they decided to commemorate their mission with a suitable name. They didn’t know if the other sub-teams
had chosen titles, or if the Team would even encourage such things. So just between themselves, they decided to call their mission the Emmanuel Project.

  CHAPTER 56

  Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)

  Viktor struggled to make his way back to the Temple Mount, hoping to rise above the commotion and get a clear view across the city. He desperately needed some space, some air, some perspective. Where he stood, deep in the impoverished warren of the Lower City, the cramped passageways were clogged with townsfolk and pilgrims, hucksters and beggars and sneak thieves everywhere. He couldn’t think straight. The press of bodies was suffocating, the constant clamor disorienting. Keeping the towering Sanctuary in view as a point of reference, he wandered the labyrinth of narrow streets, favoring the path of least resistance. Turning right and left and right again, he ended up back where he had started from. Choosing another street at random, he pushed through a chattering knot of women and hurried on. Reaching a dead end, he doubled back and selected a more promising avenue, one lined with market stalls. But he soon realized that the street was curving downslope, away from the Temple Mount, so he turned around. Suddenly the crowd around him was in motion, all headed in the opposite direction. Pressing himself against a sunbaked wall, he let them stream past. As the dust settled, he could see the reason for their flight. Up ahead, a detachment of Roman soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the narrow street. And with javelins leveled, they were marching straight toward him, callously trampling a beggar who did not move fast enough to suit them. Spinning around, Viktor followed on the heels of the fleeing crowd. But he didn’t get far. The street was jammed and the soldiers were quickly closing the gap. Ducking into a narrow passageway on his right, he was immediately stopped by a noisy group of men clustered around a busy market stall. Voices were loud and irritable as they quarreled with the merchant over the price of sacrificial pigeons. Others complained vehemently about the exchange rate for Tyrian coins. All seemed oblivious to the grim-faced legionnaires heading their way. Weaving his way through the mob, Viktor moved deeper into the maze of stone hovels, relieved to be putting some space between himself and the legionnaires. Finally a glimpse of the Temple reoriented him and he turned left, darting into yet another passageway. But after just a few steps he stopped in his tracks, his instincts reacting before his brain could even register that something was amiss. The street was empty. Empty and quiet. The vibe felt completely wrong. Yet the route appeared to be curving uphill, straight toward the Temple Mount. So against his better judgment, he continued, moving cautiously, eyes scanning the crumbling shacks. Up ahead, a husky voice whispered to him from an open doorway.