I still drive the van sometimes. Still pick up strange packages. And every time someone asks how long I’ve got, I smile and say: "Machs mit. Bis sechs."

Till always said the same thing when he handed you the keys to the delivery van. "Machs mit, bis 6." Make it work, till 6.

I placed the ticking package gently on the table. Ran. Two blocks away, a soft, muffled thump—not an explosion. More like a door slamming shut somewhere deep underground.