As the helicopter raced above the ocean, Smith looked at Fats drooped over the pontoon. “Why, I think he fainted!” He tried to steady the bloated man, making sure he wouldn’t get hurt.
But Fats suddenly convulsed and fought against him in terror, slapping at Smith so violently that he slipped and fell off the pontoon. Smith tried to catch him, but Fats plummeted into the sea far below. “I hope he can swim,” Smith said with a frown. “I think they teach that at Quantico.” Then he stood upright on the pontoon and worked his way to the cockpit door with tiny steps in his big-flippered feet.
“Throw out your guns!” he shouted.
“Don’t provoke him!” the FBI director said, cringing back into his seat. “You don’t know all the terrible things this man has done!”
“I just saw him throw our agent ov
