Justin began moving toward the doorway, and Claude was fast on his heels. Mae moved swiftly after them, just in case the priest surprised her.
“Then give us a chance to rectify the situation! We’ll appraise the statue and pay whatever back taxes are necessary—and any penalties.” Claude wrung his hands. “Please, Dr. March. Our goddess is the center of my life and the lives of many others. Please don’t take this away.”
“I don’t have a choice,” said Justin. “Our government has very strict laws for groups like yours, and I have to follow them, no matter how much I hate to see it happen.” The cheery attitude was gone.
“Please,” begged Claude. “Please. There must be something.”
They emerged outside. Justin stopped by the door and took a moment to enter something on his ego. He scanned it over the licensing screen. Immediately, the square turned red, and the date and signature vanished. Justin’s signature appeared instead, along with a new date one year from that day.
Justin turned to face Claude and put on a formal expression. “Mr. Diaz, the Republic of United North America is suspending your license to worship. All practices will cease immediately. You have twenty-four hours to remove any belongings from this facility, after which it will be shut down and abandoned. Your organization’s financial assets will be seized and held in a federal account. You may not assemble with more than three members of your former congregation in any other place. You may communicate with them via written message, but all correspondence must be copied to the Division of Sect and Cult Investigation. In one year, you may apply for a new license. Failure to comply with any of these edicts will result in your arrest and that of any other accomplices. Do you understand?”
Claude’s jaw was on the ground. “Dr. March…this can’t be possible.”
Justin handed over his reader. “Sign here, please.”
Mae tensed, wondering if Claude would comply. This, no doubt, was the point at which zealots reacted badly. But as she studied the sad man further, she knew he wasn’t going to break out any stones or torches. Mostly, he looked like he was on the verge of tears. With great resignation, he signed the order.
And with that, the job was done, and Justin and Mae left for the day’s real attraction. She would’ve expected him to be pleased with himself, but as the car ride progressed, it became obvious his mood had plummeted.
“A tax technicality,” he muttered. “A goddamned tax technicality.”
“It’s ingenious,” she admitted, hating to praise him out of principle and especially for manipulating someone. “A way to shut them down without making yourself personally responsible.”
Justin didn’t seem convinced. “He was a nice guy. They’re harmless right now.”
“Right now,” she repeated. “But would they stay that way? Their numbers are growing. They have a reasonable message. You said those were the most dangerous kind.”
On their plane ride here, Justin had given her a lesson on what warning signs servitors looked for. Groups who were disorganized and touted nonsensical messages were the ideal candidates for licensing. They made themselves (and religion in general) look bad. The really outlandish and dangerous ones were easy too because they were instant shutdowns. Quiet, friendly ones like Claude’s were trickier because they could initially attract followers with reasonable messages, and then eventually blow up in the RUNA’s face as dissent among themselves and against authority grew.
He looked over at her with a smile. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention.”
“I’ve got to stay tuned for anything dangerous,” she explained.
His smile faded. “Yes. They could be dangerous someday. It’s better to stop them now.”
“Then why do you sound so unsure?” His behavior made no sense.
“It’s just sad, that’s all.” Justin stared out the window. “His beliefs mean a lot to him.”
“Beliefs in a fictitious entity,” she reminded him, drawing his attention back.
His eyes searched hers. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course,” she said, puzzled that a servitor of all people would ask her about one of their country’s founding principles. And yet, as she spoke, she remembered her vision by the statue. No, not a vision. A hallucination. She really did need to own up and see a psychiatrist. But am I crazy if he saw it too? “Don’t you?”
“Of course,” Justin said, echoing her. His face still looked troubled as he turned away. “We did them a favor.”
CHAPTER 12
MIRACLES
“Welcome to the Church of Apollo and Artemis,” said Justin when they reached their next stop. The church was a small white building that had been built up to make it resemble a Greek temple. Faux pillars surrounded the doorway, and a Greek inscription was painted in gold about the door. “Know anything about them?”