To make the terminal bean
To make it cruel and mean
The things you will need
Are puppy dog tails and dandelion weed
The tongue of a quail
And the slime from a snail
The tears of a crone
Or maybe just acetone?
Mash until sleek
Then leave it a week
Be careful not to touch
As it doesn’t take much
Because you know there’s no vaccine
Once you’ve had the terminal bean
He reread the first and eighth lines. ‘Everybody out!’ he ordered. ‘Now!’
‘One moment, ma’am,’ Flynn said into her mobile. ‘What is it, Poe?’
‘We need specialists, boss.’
‘Why?’
‘The poem’s about a poison bean.’
‘So?’
‘It also mentions acetone.’
‘Shit,’ Flynn said. She began urgently whispering into her mobile.
‘What is it?’ Karen Royal-Cross said. ‘You’re scaring me. Why’s acetone important? It’s just the stuff they use in nail-polish remover.’
‘Ricin,’ Poe said. ‘Acetone is used to make ricin.’