The Emmanuel Project

by Ronald Brueckmann

  CHAPTER 63

  Present-Day Israel

  Dr. Robert Jankowski immediately intensified efforts at every one of his excavations. If Viktor had been successful, if he had achieved his Primary Objective, the message would already be there waiting. And Robert was determined to find it as quickly as possible. Out at the digs, he met with every site director and set about revising strategies and reassigning staff. He didn’t alter any of the established archeological objectives. To him, that would have been unethical. He just plotted a slightly different path to those objectives, paths more conducive to uncovering Viktor’s message. His reasoning was flawless and his enthusiasm was contagious and his associates eagerly implemented his recommendations. He then proposed opening new digs at three of the alternate sites, locations he and Viktor had chosen as contingencies for the trans-millennial communication. Tel-Aviv University offered no objections to the increased activity. In fact they encouraged his burst of energy. The program was well funded and the professor’s work always provided good publicity for the school, which in turn garnered even more funding. Down in Jerusalem, the Israel Antiquities Authority was positively delighted with his initiative. Palestinian activism had quieted down considerably and they were anxious to make progress while things were still relatively peaceful. Though oblivious to the professor’s personal agenda, everyone was firmly on board.

  The semester was in full swing and Robert took advantage of the substantial workforce at his disposal. Associate professors and graduate assistants and undergraduate students provided a prodigious pool of both highly skilled and enthusiastically unskilled field-workers. And even though their efforts would lack monetary compensation, they jumped at the opportunity to participate in an archeological dig under the direction of such a world-renowned scholar. He simply posted a notice and they signed up in droves. It appeared the university was entering a new golden age in archeology and they wanted to be a part of it.

  Despite the expanded staff, progress was still painfully slow. It was the nature of the beast. Some things just could not be rushed. Uncovering architecture and artifacts and human remains, concealed beneath millennia of detritus, was exacting work. All the proper procedures had to be maintained. Rigorous standards had to be enforced, extreme caution exercised. The work was meticulous and maddeningly slow. Robert had always savored the pace of an excavation, the deliberate and precise uncovering of the strata, the fastidious documentation, the compulsive attention to detail, the obsessive commitment to preservation. That was no longer the case. The plodding tempo no longer soothed him. It tortured him. But he could not do otherwise.

  For the first few weeks, the Team kept in close contact, requiring Robert to provide daily progress reports. His work was producing an archeological windfall. He was the talk of academia. But that wasn’t what the Team was interested in. They wanted the TMC, plain and simple. If it was down there in one of his pits, they expected him to dig it out. He now realized that the scientists hadn’t fully appreciated the pace of the archeological process when his proposal had been approved. In retrospect, Robert realized he should have expected it. After all, physicists dealt in the speed of light and particles that measured their entire existence in nanoseconds. To them, his progress must have seemed positively glacial. And if the wait was tough on him, he knew it must be totally exasperating for them. He saw it in their faces when they visited the Tel-Megiddo dig—the entire delegation watching in apparent horror as two grad-students armed with paintbrushes swiped delicately at a shapeless mound of pottery shards. They begged him to speed up the process. They suggested backhoes and bulldozers. And though he wanted to oblige them, he couldn’t. Any inscription buried for two thousand years could easily be overlooked or damaged or destroyed if proper procedures and precautions were not employed. He wasn’t searching a digital database. Archeology took time…a lot of time. Besides, every site was unique and precious. He would not give in to his personal desires at the expense of priceless, irreplaceable history. The effort his staff had undertaken was herculean, the workforce huge, the strategies sound. He had done everything he could to move the search along. And now, both he and the Team would just have to bide their time. He told them so. They were not happy.

  Months later, when progress at the excavations finally approached the zones he had designated for placement of the TMC, Robert decided it was time to address his field crews. Inviting the site teams for a meeting at Tel-Aviv University, he gathered them all together in the David Ben-Gurion Memorial Auditorium. Intended to be equal parts seminar and celebration, staff participation was nearly one hundred percent.

  First thanking the group for their efforts, he then presented a current report of their combined findings, which due to the magnitude of the work, was quite impressive. Site directors were invited onstage to outline their progress and future strategies, and a loss-prevention engineer presented the university’s new safety regulations. The remainder of the day consisted of a series of lectures on both high tech and traditional archeological practices, the speakers covering such topics as the proper use of ground-penetrating radar and LIDAR imaging, along with conventional brush and trowel techniques and specimen stabilization procedures.

  At the conclusion of the symposium, Dr. Robert Jankowski took the podium and directed every field associate to pay strict attention to any inscriptions they might uncover. In particular, he requested that they notify him immediately if they uncovered any chamber, vault, or ossuary with the name Jankowski inscribed on it. That got a huge laugh from the audience. After a full day of scholarship, they all appreciated a bit of humor from their director. After the laughter had faded, Robert once again thanked the crews for their dedication and their exemplary work, and invited them all to the cafeteria for refreshments. Then taking the microphone in hand, he walked to the very edge of the stage, intently scanned the sea of faces, and again reminded them to keep an eye out for the name Jankowski. Stressing that it was imperative they report the find immediately, and that they inform him personally. This time, no one laughed.

  As the assembly filed out of the auditorium, there was much speculation as to what Professor Jankowski was up to. Was it just a joke? Was it some kind of game to keep them motivated? Did the professor somehow manage to plant an inscription at the sites in order to test their archeological skills? Or was the preeminent authority on Middle Eastern antiquities simply going mad?

  CHAPTER 64

  Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)

  Yehuda’s small militia made its way along the western shore of the Dead Sea. The horses were fresh, yet they covered the distance slowly, mindful of the condition of their ransomed patriot. Riding mostly in the cool of the evening, they endured the sweltering afternoons in the shelter of their tents. At the entrance to the lower Jordan River Valley, the party turned north, reaching the green oasis of Jericho at sunrise on the third day. Viktor barely remembered the journey. It was like a waking dream. But he would never forget the moment he first recognized Yehuda Ben-Ephraim standing proud and defiant atop that low hill. And how the old man had run roughshod over the Roman guard, denying their authority, disregarding their objections, demanding his release. And he would never forget Eliana’s touch and her gentle, reassuring words. He would never forget how he had given himself up for dead and been reborn in her tender embrace.

  Back in the safety and comfort of Yehuda’s household, the young man mended. But this time it was a long road back from the brink of the abyss. He regained his wits and his physical strength followed, but his spirit lagged. After a few weeks, Yehuda began to worry. The boy spent far too many quiet hours alone in the orchard, staring idly across the valley. And he took too many solitary walks down along the river. For what purpose? Who knew? And every evening, perched precariously on the parapet for hours on end, the boy’s eyes dreamily plumbed the depths of the night sky. He seemed adrift…lost somewhere within himself. From personal experience, Yehuda knew it was not good for a man to become overly shrouded in introspect
ion. That path led to sloth and despair. Yet he gave Viktor the time and the space to work things out for himself. The boy had been through much. He deserved it.

  The countryside had calmed down considerably with the conclusion of the feast days. Roman patrols moved about unmolested and the road to Jerusalem was quiet. What remained of the Zealot army had melted back into the countryside. Still, the boy continued to stand a somber watch, as if waiting for something. Yehuda feared he was just biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to rejoin his comrades. He hoped that wasn’t the case. The past weeks had proved that the Zealot’s goal was unattainable, at least for the present. The Roman legion had brushed aside the massive rebel offensive the way a horse brushes away a gnat. It was a terrible waste of Hebrew blood. Surely the boy was intelligent enough to realize that now. He had followed his conscience and had paid the price for his loyalties. He admitted it himself. And he was a lucky one. So many of his comrades had been slaughtered, their blood soaking the dry soil of Qumran. Such a waste. Still, Yehuda could not quite bring himself to condemn the Zealots, to malign them the way so many of his friends did. Who knows? Under different circumstances he himself might have joined their cause and taken up the sword. He gave daily thanks to the Almighty that he had been blessed with a much different life, a stable and righteous life, a safe and comfortable life. Yet in a way he envied the boy. So he gave Viktor the time to work things out for himself.

  Stepping through the gate that separated the courtyard from the orchards, Yehuda Ben-Ephraim strolled along the path, carefully inspecting the saplings he had recently planted to replace some of the older trees. He was greatly pleased to see they were doing well. The old man was a farmer at heart and he loved the fruitful tranquility of his grove. Peace seemed to settle in soothing pools under the protective boughs overhead. He could understand why Viktor spent so much time there. He could see the boy right now, sitting beside the well in the shade of a huge date palm. As he drew closer, he could see that the boy was not alone. Someone was sitting beside him. It was Eliana. That was a good thing. They appeared to be in serious conversation. Again…a good thing. Suddenly Eliana was on her feet, running along the path back toward the house, hurrying past without greeting, tears streaming down her cheeks. Now that was not such a good thing.

  As Yehuda approached, Viktor grabbed a fallen palm frond and swept a slab of rock, then laid out his cloak so his host could sit comfortably.

  “Shalom, Yehuda Ben-Ephraim,” he said.

  “Shalom,” Yehuda replied.

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to upset Eliana. I was only trying to explain why—”

  The old man silenced him with a wave of his hand. “That is none of my business. What is said between you young people is for your ears alone. I know you are not the kind of man to be purposely hurtful. And if you have done so unintentionally, then I am not the one who should be hearing your apology. Now let us speak of different things. When I brought you back here to my home, you were not in such good shape. So I took the liberty of sending word to your father in Caesarea. I thought he should know that you are alive. He deserves to know. I received a reply from him this morning. It was addressed to me.” Yehuda pulled the letter from his robe, his eyes scanning the text. “He asks me to tell you that he is overjoyed to know you are safe. He says that he is well and you should not worry about him. He says the children miss you terribly. But you should come home only when you are ready. He knows that you have some destiny to fulfill and he will not stand in your way.” Yehuda brought the letter closer to his face, eyes squinting in concentration, his index finger tracing the lines of script. “He says he will keep a lamp burning in the window for you…and he will pray for the gods to protect you until you return to him.” Yehuda folded the parchment and returned it to the pocket of his robe.

  It was a curious letter, yet Yehuda understood exactly what Septimus was saying. Viktor surely was a strange young man, a puzzle. A special young man, he seemed not quite of this world. He was a Jew, yet an uncommon sort of Jew. He was extremely intelligent, yet naive. Barely more than a boy, he was wise beyond his years, yet impulsive as a child. A battle-hardened warrior who could be nearly as gentle and considerate as a woman. And he seemed to be on a quest, pursuing some secret destiny. Septimus Salvo was no fool. The man had traveled the world, had built a vast trading empire. And he realized he had to give the boy room to roam. Otherwise he might lose him forever. In other parts of the letter—parts not addressed to Viktor—the old Roman had acknowledged his deep affection for the boy, had begged Yehuda to help him protect the boy, to provide the spiritual guidance that he was unable to offer. These words gave Yehuda hope for the future. Here was a pagan Roman and a Jewish slave, veritable opposites from completely different worlds who had found mutual love and respect. The old man had plucked the boy from the clutches of death, had sheltered him, and made him his son. It was a strange story indeed. Yet I, too, would be proud to call Viktor my son, Yehuda thought. If only he would settle down. Settle down and marry a good girl. A good girl like Eliana. That would surely be a good thing. A very good thing.

  CHAPTER 65

  Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)

  Viktor sat quietly beside the well, watching the fronds of an ancient date palm sway hypnotically in the breeze. It was his favorite tree. Like him, it had witnessed the passage of time, had seen many changes. And like him, the old tree could never share those experiences. It stood alone. Lowering his gaze, he looked directly into the olive-green eyes of the girl who sat beside him.

  “You must stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Eliana told him. “I truly do not understand why you say such things. How can you say that you are alone? You have so many people who care for you. When you deny that, it hurts me deeply.”

  “Eliana, I do not mean to hurt you. But I am not who you think I am. I come from a distant place. I have seen things and done things you could never even conceive of.”

  “I know you are different. Your ideas and your dreams are grander than anything I have ever heard. I know I am only a simple country girl. Give me time and I will understand. I am smart. I can learn.”

  “My dear one, I must also tell you that I have known other women. Women from faraway places.”

  “I do not care where you come from or what you have done. It matters nothing to me. I may not have traveled the world, but I am not dull-witted. I know what I know. And I know what kind of man you are. Maybe better than you do. And I know what kind of husband you will be. And I know we would be good for each other. No woman will ever love you the way I do. I am not a scholar, but I know that much.”

  “I believe you, Eliana. But why? I am nothing. I am a stranger in a strange land. A person out of time. I am alone here. More alone than you could ever imagine.”

  “How can you say such a thing? Do you not see how we all feel about you? Your father and my father and…and me. And all those people in Caesarea. Even the centurion. When you were being taken to the salt pits, did he not try to save you? Did you not tell me that yourself?”

  “Yes. But I would never accept aid from my enemy.”

  “Viktor, that man is not your enemy. He knew what terrible trouble you were in. And when he saw you were too proud to accept his help, he sent a runner to your father in Caesarea. Are those the actions of an enemy? Then without a thought for himself, your father gathered up his gold and sent it under guard to my father. Does that man not care for you?”

  “Eliana…Septimus is a wealthy man. A bag of gold means nothing to him.”

  “Viktor, stop such talk. Septimus Salvo loves you as if you were his own son. I have spoken with him myself. While you were away, my father and I met him in Jerusalem. He was worried sick. Searching the whole of Judea for you. Since you left, his whole household has been in mourning. He told us the little girl Anthea weeps for you every night. Do not sit before me and tell me that no one cares for you. That is foolishness.”

  “Anthea is just a child.”

  �
�And my father…when he received word from Septimus Salvo, he took off out of here like a soldier going into battle. He had Septimus’s guards and the servants packed and ready to ride before Mother even knew what was happening. My father is a kind and thoughtful man. I hardly recognized him. Mother was frightened. She begged him not to go. She told him to send an envoy. He would not listen. He left immediately, in the dead of night. He did not even realize I was following him until it was too late to send me back. I truly believe…if Septimus Salvo’s gold would not have purchased your freedom, my father and his men would have fought to free you. He would have fought and died there on that barren rock. He would have died for you, Viktor. Out of love for you.”

  Viktor sat silently, watching the play of light and shadow beneath the trees.

  “So please, do not tell me that you are alone…that no one cares for you…for you are wrong.”

  “You may be right, Eliana. But I do not understand why you all trouble yourself over me. Who am I? Why am I worthy of your affection? I do not know what I am doing here anymore. I do not understand why I am even alive. I do not understand what you all expect from me. I do not know what I am supposed to do. I am not even sure of who I am.”

  “Viktor, wake up from your self-imposed slumber. If you do not know these things, it is because you do not want to know. You listen, but you do not hear. You look, but you do not see. You say you do not know who you are? Well, I know who you are. I stand here before you, but you look right through me. Look at me now. You once told my father that you would return to sign a declaration of betrothal to me. Here I am. I am still waiting. Were those just idle words? If you do not want me, just say it aloud and I will trouble you no more.”