Free Rotten Gods by Greg Barron

temperament and manners were permitted to breed. Prized specimens were stabled inside the family tent, and interacted with their owners like few other species. Such horses are easy to love.
    In his teens, Abdullah discovered endurance horse riding — the sport of a million steps, as it was called, conducted over desert courses of one or even two hundred kilometres, in the most forbidding terrain. These were dirty, difficult affairs where riders and horses were fortunate to finish, and even more fortunate to do so without injury.
    Sheikh Mohammed, meanwhile, planned to inspire Dubai’s growth via massive investment in infrastructure. An ambitious new port and airport went from drawing board to mortar and steel. Both facilities, however, remained lightly used until the strategic thinker Ahmed bin Sulayem suggested to Sheikh Mohammed that they should set up a free-trade zone, where international companies could trade without income tax, tariffs, or duties to trouble them.
    This was the spark that would ignite the phenomenon of Dubai.
    Abdullah, at twenty-three, returned from London with a degree in economics, placed it in his bottom drawer and went straight to the stables, disinterested in work as many young men can be.
    A few weeks later, however, competing in a Djibouti endurance race, he saw Ahmed bin Sulayem, who had been a few years above him at school, and was now the official in charge of the free trade zone. Ahmed rode a beautiful stallion, fifteen hands high, with all the hallmarks of the best Arabian breeding: wide nostrils, a slight jibbah-bulge between large, inquisitive eyes, and a broad, strong back. The horse carried his tail high, almost arrogantly.
    In the closing stages of the race, Mulham, then eighteen years of age, lost his wind and Abdullah was forced to walk. He was surprised when Ahmed slid off his own mount and walked with him.
    â€˜What are you going to do with your life, Abdullah?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜You have a degree in economics.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Would you like to work in that field?’
    Abdullah moved his eyes from Mulham to his companion, then lowered them. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ In truth, a life of ledgers and profit statements left him cold. That career path had been his father’s idea, a way of making him useful to the family business.
    Ahmed went on, ‘There are many foreigners here now, and you are a man of action, not of numbers and account books. Sheikh Mohammed is struggling to put together a police force able to cope. You have spent time overseas. You understand the challenges. I could suggest you to him?’
    Abdullah shrugged, scarcely listening. ‘Thank you, I would like that.’
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    A strange and unexpected thing happened. Abdullah found that he cared about police work. He discovered a belief in the importance of the values he had grown up with. That people should feel safe to enjoy the burgeoning night life of the city. That within a few minutes of a crime being committed, a patrol car cruised out to investigate.
    When Abdullah was twenty-six, still living at home, his father divorced his mother with the traditional, I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee . Being past the age of ten, Abdullah had entered the male realm of his father, but their relationship had soured since he refused the career path chosen for him, and entered the police force. He accepted his mother’s pleas for him to go with her. Life for a divorcee is difficult without a male relative close athand for escort duties and dealing with the outside world. Even calling a tradesman for a lone Muslim woman is difficult.
    Mother and son went to live in one of the new apartments above the sands of Jumeirah Beach, just a short walk from the mosque. They had always been close, but now they became closer still. In the evenings after work he would buy her a flower, or some Swiss chocolate. Perhaps a small gift of