One nurse checked his tubes and bandages while the other stepped back near Odessa. “He’s doing okay,” she said, the tone of her voice indicating that he was not well. “He had a breathing scare overnight, but his lungs are clear. He thought he had some visitors, also, but he was alone.” She laid her hand upon his foot beneath the sheet. “Right, Mr. Solomon?”

Solomon looked her way when his name was called, but said nothing, drily licking his lips.

The other nurse finished, and they each pumped sanitizer into their palms at the door. “He knows where the buzzer is if he needs anything.”

“Thank you,” said Odessa, turning back to Solomon, fearing he had declined further. He looked at her but he said nothing. “Mind if I raise you up?” she asked.

She raised the head of the bed, his face still turned toward her, away from the window and Hugo Blackwood.

“Are you too tired for a visit?” she asked. “There’s someone here you wanted to see.”

Solomon’s eyes rolled around in his sockets, seeing no one. Slowly, he turned his head so that his face was looking at the television…then further around until he saw Blackwood.

Blackwood cocked his head, looking at him. Odessa could only see half of Solomon’s expression from her side of the bed. This was the reunion the dying agent had asked her to facilitate.

Blackwood said, “Hello, Solomon.”

Solomon’s voice was raspy, his jaw stiff. “There you are,” he said. “You son of a bitch.”

Blackwood glanced past him at Odessa, then back to Solomon. “I was told that you asked to see me.”

Solomon pointed at him, his hand connected by tape and tubes to the infusion pump behind his bed. “Damn right,” he said. “One last look at the man who put me through hell.”

The awkwardness of Solomon’s confrontation made Odessa’s skin crawl, but Blackwood seemed unperturbed. “We’ve seen a lot together,” he said.

“Together.” Odessa started slowly around the foot of Solomon’s bed, toward Blackwood—enough so that she could see the sneer on Solomon’s face.

“It was important work,” said Blackwood.

Odessa moved into Solomon’s line of sight. “You asked me to bring him here, remember? I thought you wanted to say goodbye.”

Solomon looked at her with eyebrows raised, as though trying to remember who she was. “That’s right,” he said, looking back at Blackwood. “‘Goodbye.’ The irony is pretty sweet. I don’t want to die. You do.”

Odessa looked back and forth between them. This was nothing like what she had expected. Bringing Blackwood here was a mistake.