The main door was broken. They peered in, entered and snooped around. The place was a mess but the plumbing was intact and the walls were sound. The ground floor was a single room with a twenty foot ceiling and few pillars; it would do for "worship."

"I think it will do," Jeff decided. A rat jumped out of a pile of rubbish heaped against one wall. Almost absentmindedly he trained his staff on it; the animal leaped high and dropped dead. "How do we go about buying it?"

"Americans can't own real estate. We'll have to find out what official holds the squeeze on it."

"That oughtn't to . be hard." They went outside; their police chaperone waited across the street. He looked the other way.

The streets were fairly well filled by now, even in this neighborhood. Thomas reached out and snagged a passing boy -- a child of not more than twelve but with the bitter, knowing eyes of a cynical man. "Peace be unto you, son. Who rents this building?"

"Hey, you let go of me!"

"I mean you no harm." He handed the boy one of Scheer's best five dollar gold pieces.

The boy looked at it, let his eyes slide past them to the Asiatic guard across the street. The PanAsian did not seem to be watching; the lad caused the coin to disappear. "Better see Konsky. He has all the angles on things like that."

"Who is Konsky?"

"Everybody knows Konsky. Say, grandpa, what's the idea of the funny clothes? The slanties'll make trouble for you."

"I am a priest of the great god Mota. The Lord Mota takes care of his own. Take us to this Konsky."

"Nothing doing. I don't want to tangle with the slanties." The boy tried to wriggle away; Jeff held his arm firmly and produced another coin. He did not hand it over.

"Fear not. The Lord Mota will protect you, too."

The youngster looked at it, glanced around, and said, "Okay. Come along."

He led them around a corner and to a walk-up office building located over a saloon. "He's up there if he's in." Jeff gave the boy the second coin and told him to come see him again, at the warehouse, as the Lord Mota had gifts for him. Alec questioned the wisdom of this as they climbed the stairs.

"The kid's all right," said Jeff. "Sure, the things that have happened to him have turned him into a guttersnipe. But he's on our side. He'll advertise us -- and not to the PanAsians."

Konsky turned out to be a blandly suspicious man. It was soon evident that he "had connections," but he was slow to talk until he saw the red gold color of money. After that he was not in the least put off by the odd dress and odd manners of his clients (Thomas gave him the full treatment, with benedictions thrown in, aware that Konsky would discount it but for the purpose of staying in character). He made sure of the building Thomas meant, dickered over the rental and the bribe -- he called it "charges for special services" -- and left them.

Thomas and Howe were glad to be left alone. Being a "holy man" had disadvantages; they had had nothing to eat since leaving the Citadel. Jeff dug sandwiches out from under his robes; they munched them. Best of all, there was a washroom adjoining Konsky's office.

Three hours later they were in possession of a document, the English translation of which stated that the Heavenly Emperor was graciously pleased to grant to his faithful subjects etc., etc., -- a lease paid up on the warehouse. In exchange for another unreasonable amount of money Konsky agreed to stir up enough labor to clean the place at once, that very day, and to provide certain repairs and materials. Jeff thanked him and with a straight face invited him to attend the first services to be held in the new temple.

They trudged back to the warehouse. Once out of Konsky's earshot Jeff said, "Y' know, Alec, we're going to make lots of use of that character -- but when the day comes, well, I've got a little list and he's at the top of it. I mean to take care of him myself."

"Split him with me," was Howe's only comment.

The street urchin popped up from nowhere when they reached the warehouse. "Any more errands, grandpa?"

"Bless you, son. Yes, several." After another financial transaction the boy left to find cots and bedding for them. Jeff watched his departure and said, " I think I'll make an altar boy out of that lid. He can go places and do things that we can't -- and the cops aren't so likely to stop a person that age."

"I don't think you should trust him."

"I won't. So far as he will ever know we are a couple of crackpots, firmly convinced that we are priests of the

great god Mota. We can't afford to trust anybody, Alec, until we are sure of them. Come on let's kill ail the rats in

this place before the cleaners get here. Want me to check the setting on your staff?"

By nightfall the First Temple of Denver of the Lord Mota was a going concern, even though it still looked like a warehouse and had no congregation. The place reeked of disinfectant, the rubbish was gone, and the front door would lock. There were two beds of sorts and groceries enough to last two men a fortnight.

Their chaperone from the police force was still across the street.

The police guard stayed with them for four days. Twice squads of police came and searched through the place. Thomas let them; as yet there was nothing to hide. Their staffs were still their only source of power and the only Ledbetter communicator they had with them gave Howe a slightly hunch-backed appearance in the day time; he wore it while Thomas wore the money belt.

In the meantime through Konsky they acquired a fast and powerful ground car -- and permission to drive it, or have it driven, anywhere in the jurisdiction of the Hand. The "charge for special services" was quite high. The driver they hired for it was root acquired through Konsky, but indirectly through Peewee Jenkins, the boy who had helped them on the first day.

The watch was withdrawn from them around noon on the fourth day. That afternoon Jeff left Howe to hold the place and went back to the Citadel by car. He returned with Scheer, who looked vastly uncomfortable and out of character in priestly vestments and beard but who bore with him a cubical chest enameled in the six sacred colors of Mota. Once inside the warehouse with the door locked Scheer opened the chest with great care and in a particular fashion which prevented it from exploding and taking them and the building with it. He got very busy on the newly constructed "altar." He finished shortly after midnight; there was more work to do outside, with Thomas and Howe standing guard, ready to stun or kill if necessary to prevent the sergeant being interrupted.

The morning sun fell on a front wall of emerald green, the other walls were red and golden and deep sky blue. The temple of Mota was ready for converts -- and for others.

Most important, none but a Caucasian could now pass through its door with impunity.

An hour before daylight Jeff posted himself at the door and waited nervously. The sudden transformation was sure to stir up another search squad; if necessary he must stop them, stun, or even kill -- but no search could be permitted. He hoped to dissuade; the temple must be established as an enclave used only by the slave race. But a slight excess of zeal on the part of an underling could force him to violent means, and thereby destroy the hope of peaceful penetration.

Howe came up behind him and made him jump. "Uh? Oh, Alec! Don't do that. I'm nervous as a cat already. "

"Sorry. Major Ardmore is on the circuit. He wants to know how you are making out."

"You'll have to talk to him. I can't leave the door."

"He wants to know when Scheer will be back, too."

"Tell him I'll send him back just as soon as I know it's safe to step outside this door and not a minute sooner."