NNL February 6

Donovan watched the big screen TV intently, trying to follow the basketball game. In his jeans and ragged t-shirt, the army officer looked like any other sports fan on a Tuesday night.

“Seriously, what's this Seaborg got that I don't?” Frank crushed a beer can between his knees and burped loudly. Donovan looked over at Frank, one dark eye brow raised, disbelief evident in his expression.

“Manners, college degrees, a higher security clearance, money.” Donovan answered his sulky friend. Frank let out a particularly odoriferous burp as he stole Donovan's pop corn from the bowl in his lap. The reek of onions, green peppers, pepperoni and pickled eggs permeated the room. For his trouble Frank got a rib jab.

“This guy is too smart, Donovan, what could Olga see in him?” The drunk chrononaut whined.

“He's probably just a passing fancy, Frank, don't worry, Olga will be back to ignoring you in a week.” Two years and the tune hadn't changed, Olga this and Olga that. It was just as bad listening to her.

“You're probably right, I save the world every week it seems like, avert nuclear disasters, prevent assassination attempts. What's better than that, I'm a hero.” Frank put his feet up on Donovan's coffee table with a self-satisfied grin. Donovan just agreed.

“What I should do is go find Olga and tell her what I think of this new Einstein she's so infatuated with. I should bust him in the nose, an upper cut maybe or a jab to the ribs.” Frank stood up and began to punch an imaginary opponent, dancing as if he were in the ring with Jarod.

“What you better do is sit down before you land on your ass, Frank.” The mostly sober Donovan set his pop corn on the coffee table. Still fighting his imaginary friend, Frank led with a right hook, his weight on his right foot. Gravity and beer conspired to be his undoing. Off balance, the chrononaut tripped over the coffee table and landed in the middle of it. The pop corn went everywhere like a layer of fluffy snow. Beer and pizza landed on the carpet.

“Frank, now you've done it, and I just had this carpet cleaned last week.” Craig Donovan helped his inebriated buddy off the broken coffee table.

“Guess I didn't anticipate that low blow.” Frank rolled over, laughing as he brushed half a pizza off his t-shirt.

“No, but you'd better anticipate a cleaning bill come payday, Frank, or I'll take it out of your hide.” Donovan grumbled.

Scene Break

Outside Las Vegas, Nevada February 7

“That is the funniest thing I have heard in a very long time, Dr. Seaborg.” Olga leaned back against the wrought iron chair. Other guests sat around them on the Spanish style veranda, eating and drinking wine. Waiters in black pants and white shirts moved gracefully among the small, outdoor tables.

“And if that wasn't bad enough, no one could tell him who the man in the yellow hat was.” Jarod laughed. A bowl of vanilla ice cream sat half eaten in front of the congenial genius. Olga hadn't laughed so hard in months. She'd been too busy trying to reform Frank. He wanted to please her, but went about it all wrong. “You've barely told me anything about yourself. How long have you worked on Project Backstep?” Jarod tried to steer the conversation back to the team, back to Mentnor.

“I've been working on it my whole career basically, forever practically.” Olga toyed with her watch as she looked into Jarod's hazel eyes.

“Not very long then.” Jarod joked easily.

“A few minutes perhaps.” The lady waved it off and rolled her eyes.

“Have you known Dr. Mentnor and the rest of the team long?” Jarod persisted.

“Isaac, he's the eldest one on the team, he began working on Backstep in the mid-1960's. I am actually one of the most recent additions to the American project, Frank Parker and myself.” She smiled and gave an exasperated growl.

“Lt. Frank Parker, the chrononaut?” The most interesting dossier to read Jarod remembered. His file read like an old west, dime novel, full of daring escapes and foiled plots.

“Yes, the chrononaut, the hinge on which Project Backstep hangs.” She sighed, he could be both noble and annoying at the same time. Jarod recalled why Frank was such a crucial part of the team; his exceptionally high pain tolerance. The Pretender knew something of the worth of pain tolerance.

“I sense that the two of you have a history.” Jarod sat back and watched Olga's reaction. She blushed a bit and looked away.

“Yes, Frank and I have a unique history, sort of like Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner; Frank chases and I run.” The Russian scientist shook her head, leaning it over on her hand.

“So I should watch my back then?” Jarod asked with a bright smile.

“Most definitely, Jarod, Frank is quite protective.” Olga wasn't telling him the half of it. With a sigh she sat up straight and gathered her slender, navy handbag. “I have a million things to do tomorrow, as I'm sure you do too, we should go.” Olga called for the waiter to bring the check before getting up. Jarod hadn't learned anything he didn't already know, but an evening out with a beautiful woman wasn't a waste of time.

NNL lay dormant by the time Jarod and Olga checked in at the base. They said good-bye and went their separate ways. No one suspected the good doctor Seaborg to be a fraud. They also didn't suspect Jarod of being the real genius behind the technology powering Backstep. If anyone did it was Mentnor. He knew far more than anyone could ever guess.

Scene Break