the Israeli leader moved to the bleachers while Barack Obama stepped behind the podium.
With a swift move, he moved some papers from his right breast pocket and started speaking.
Yousef panicked! What happened? Maybe the wall blocked the signal? He took the detonator out and on top of the stones, pushed again . . . and again . . . and again.

“Mr. Prime Minister, Mrs. Netanyahu, distinguished guests. We stand here today, to commemorate the many valiant victims of the 9/11 attack, just nine years ago, but also to honor all the men and women, who have died since then, protecting our land from terrorism.
As we speak, thousands of courageous Soldiers, Marines, Sailors and Airmen are protecting us on far away soil, so we can stand here in peace and safety . . .”

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” He shouted as Secret Service men swarmed all over him and his entourage and hustled them into nearby cars with bulletproof walls and glass.

On the roof, a frustrated Yousef considered trying to shoot him from up there, but a soft voice behind interrupted him, “Josef Saban, Il y a-t-il des problemes?”
He swung around . . . “LAVANA?” and instinctively reached for his pistol. He was too late. She shot him through his hand, into his chest.

“THROW HIM OFF THE ROOF!” She ordered. “Grab that table, stand it against the wall. Up, up, two of you. Here we go.”
Five Israeli agents, including Lavana, lifted Yousef onto the table and pitched him over the fence.