Previously at 24 College Avenue: On his first trip as tour guide for ‘’Europe In A Backpack,’’ Josh Williams has his bus stolen in Prague by his tour group, which he suspects is actually a terrorist cell. Searching for help, he meets Magdalena and her smuggler friend, Marcus, who find out that the thieves have taken the bus to Berlin for the World Cup final. Through his contacts in the underworld, Marcus learns that a terrorist group is planning a major attack during the World Cup and Josh is certain it is his group . . .

Josh had never seen any place both so opulent and yet so decadent. A broad marble staircase led into a spacious ballroom filled with gilt-edged mirrors, plush velvet draping and an enticing mix of beaux arts statuary and rich art deco furnishings. A champagne fountain flowed at the center of one round buffet table, a chocolate fountain flowed from another. Polished bronze statues of Frederick the Great and Nietzche flanked a low stage, upon which preened naked women in high black leather boots. Several kissed, fondled and licked each other near the stage edge, a few did more than that in the dark shadows at the rear. A dozen or more additional women in black lingerie served drink orders to rich customers seated at dimly lit tables. Josh noticed one man take a champagne flute from his server, gulp it in one swallow and stuff a wad of bills into his server’s lace panties, then swat her on the behind.

And was that a bear on a unicycle?

“Sweet Jesus,’’ Josh said. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to NBA heaven.’’

“Wilkommen to the Brandenburg Cellar, the most notorious cabaret in all Berlin,’’ Marcus told him. “We are directly beneath the Hotel Brandenburg, the most exclusive hotel in the city. Sex, drugs and booze – you name it, you’ll see it here tonight. Actually, It’s where I met Magdalena.’’ He nudged Josh. “She was a pole dancer shortly after the Wall fell. Third one from the left. Had an amazing routine with a trombone.’’

“Marcus!’’ Magdalena shouted in disgust and punched her friend. “Never have I been here in my life. And I’m only nine when Wall fell.’’

“And your youth is why the police insisted I take you far away from here,’’ Marcus said, grinning. He wink at Josh. “If I were you, my brother, I’d ask her to give you some trombone lessons.’’

It had taken a fair amount of arm-twisting but Josh and Magdalena had finally convinced Marcus to track down his tour group, the ones Josh was certain were planning a deadly attack. Marcus repeatedly warned Josh he should simply take his bus and drive out of Berlin as fast as possible but eventually gave up. Insisting they would all regret it, Marcus made a few calls then led them through a secret tunnel in the Berlin S-bahn station. After a short walk, the tunnel opened into a storage closet tucked under the staircase of the Brandenburg Cellar. Josh, Marcus and Magdalena now stood in the darkness at the back of the Cellar as the evening’s entertainment began.

A band in the orchestra pit played an erotic beat while strobe lights flashed and the clouds from a fog machine filled the stage. A woman strutted to center stage, wearing only a Germany soccer jersey just long enough to cover the bottom of her crotch.

“Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome!’’ the woman shouted. “I am Eva, your host! Leave your troubles outside. So, Germany didn’t make the World Cup final? Forget it! There are no losers here. Inside the fabulous Brandenburg Cellar, Germany has others World Cups! See for yourself!’’ With that, she ripped off her jersey to expose two breasts so large and round Josh was surprised they didn’t have adidas logos. She cupped them in her hands. “Are these not a greater prize than France and Italy will play for?’’ she asked as the audience roared its approval.

Under different circumstances, Josh probably would have appreciated the show – what the hell was the woman planning to do with all those ping-pong balls anyway? – but he was not in the mood. Nicollette Mayle, his housemate and the love of his life (even if she didn’t reciprocate the feeling) was in Berlin for a track meet and if terrorists were planning an attack, he had to stop them.

“I don’t know, Marcus, but this doesn’t exactly seem like the sort of place you would find fundamentalist Muslim terrorists.’’

“My sources say the lads who stole your bus will be here tonight. And my sources are rarely wrong, my brother.’’

As if to corroborate this, the band stopped playing and a hush fell across the Cellar. An Arab sultan dressed in a flowing ivory robe strode down the staircase, flanked by six beefy security guards in sunglasses. He waved his hand slightly and a crowd of diners were whisked from a booth in front of the stage. He took his seat and gestured to a young man to join him. Josh recognized immediately.

“That’s him,’’ Josh said. “It’s Taliq. The guy who stole my bus.’’

“Bingo,’’ Marcus whispered into Josh’s ear. “Never doubt your old friend Marcus, my brother.’’

But Josh wasn’t listening. He was too busy focusing on three other people just sitting down next to the sultan.

“What the hell?!?’’ he said. “It’s not possible.’’

Next: The Blue Angel