Scientology and the Nation of Islam: America’s two weirdest sects join forces.

On a cool, clear evening in mid-September, the Church of Scientology held a grand opening for its new national affairs office in Washington, D.C. Located in a handsome, 122-year-old mansion in Dupont Circle—a genteel neighborhood populated with embassies and well-appointed homes—the office had been established to lobby on various Scientology pet causes, such as religious freedom, prisoner rehabilitation, and the evils of psychiatric drugs. Three members of Congress showed up to deliver words of welcome, as did a FEMA official, who praised the Church’s volunteer efforts after national disasters like September 11. Finally, Scientology’s leader, David Miscavige, addressed the several hundred people in the crowd. Miscavige is 52 but looks at least a decade younger. Dressed in an expertly tailored suit, his slicked hair parted to one side, he spoke excitedly of Scientology’s goal to have a presence in every city in America.

The message of the event couldn’t have been clearer: The Church of Scientology was directing the full force of its persuasive powers at the Washington establishment. But who the Church courts and who the Church converts is a very different matter. And when Mike Rinder, Scientology’s former chief spokesman, visited the Washington church last year, he noticed something strange. “Half the damn people there were Nation of Islam,” he told me. “[It’s] the weirdest, weirdest thing.”

For a long time, the Church of Scientology has had the reputation of an impenetrable, invincible cult. Recently, though, it’s been a little touch and go. Tom Cruise, once the Church’s star asset, became its biggest liability following a cascade of truly bizarre behavior: the couch jumping on “Oprah,” the in-home sonogram machine, the leaked motivational video scored to the Mission: Impossible theme during which he talks of Scientologists’ obligation to “create the new reality.” High-profile exposés, such as Janet Reitman’s Inside Scientology, have revealed a highly paranoid, authoritarian organization in which families are broken apart and disobedient members are held at a remote Scientology outpost in Hemet, California. Scientology has denied these allegations, but as defectors and hackers have flooded the Internet with secret documents and videos, it has become increasingly difficult for the Church to control its message.

All of this has taken a toll. According to the American Religious Identification Survey, Scientology is shrinking; between 2001 and 2008 it estimates that the number of Scientologists in the United States fell from 55,000 to as low as 25,000. (A spokesperson for the Church dismissed this survey, claiming steady growth and millions of members worldwide.) Scientology has created the appearance of growth by opening expensive new facilities, but, “on the inside, it’s dead,” says Tom Felts, a former Washington staffer. And as the Church loses members, it has been grateful for new recruits wherever it can find them.