'So you beaconed in on me, hooked him out and beamed him over to Carnage for re-sleeving, right?' I felt in my pockets and found Ortega's cigarettes. In the grim twilight of the basilica, the familiar packet was like a postcard from another place. 'No wonder the Panama Rose didn't have his second fighter decanted when we got there. He'd probably only just finished sleeving Kadmin. That motherfucker walked out of there in a Right Hand of God martyr.'