Jean forced a polite smile as he leaned toward Fabio and Lena, his voice deliberately calm while they gathered their scattered luggage from the overhead compartments."Please, remember—stay composed, avoid drawing too much attention," he whispered, tone reassuring though his eyes flickered quickly toward the men in uniform patrolling the hall. "It's natural to feel a little nervous on your first visit, but…" His gaze lingered for half a second more. "…let's ensure our arrival is smooth and uneventful."
Fabio nodded faintly, his stomach tight with tension, each muscle in his body aware of the invisible scrutiny surrounding them. Beside him, Lena squeezed his hand with a reassuring firmness, her other hand clasping Stefan's smaller one. The boy's eyes darted everywhere—restless, curious, absorbing every movement, every sound. Behind them, the bodyguards moved with professional silence, their posture calm yet alert, a quiet signal that they too felt the charge in the atmosphere.
Stefan blinked slowly, and old memories began to stir.I remember coming here as a tourist years later… in my other life. Madrid–Barajas had been a different world then—gleaming glass walls reflecting the sun, endless moving walkways, announcements in English, Spanish, French, German, all flowing together in seamless clarity. The air smelled of coffee chains and sterile cleaning agents. It was efficient, orderly, sterile…
Now? Everything felt different. The walls carried exposed beams, the floors scuffed from countless steps. The speakers overhead crackled like an old transistor radio, announcements half-swallowed by static. The warm air smelled faintly of gasoline from the nearby runway and tobacco from countless passengers lighting cigarettes even here. There was no glass bubble separating them from reality. Everything was imperfect, human, alive.
Jean's spine straightened slightly as he noticed a group waiting ahead. His voice lowered, almost reflexive."There, by the barrier—our official contacts. Two civilians, two officers. Protocol. Security."
Fabio's pulse jumped as his eyes followed Jean's subtle motion. Two men in dark, perfectly cut suits walked forward with measured dignity, accompanied by two grey-uniformed officers of the Policía Armada. Their black leather belts gleamed, pistols holstered firmly at their sides, their peaked caps polished to perfection under the harsh fluorescent lights. Their boots struck the ground in perfect unison, the echo reverberating with authority.
Jean inhaled quietly before adding, "Courtesy and calm. That is the tone we must set."
Fabio swallowed hard. Spain was still under Franco's iron rule, and though the trip was officially presented as cultural and economic outreach, he knew full well how closely foreigners were observed. Lena's hand tensed in his. Even the bodyguards, usually stoic, showed subtle hints of vigilance—one scanning the hall discreetly, the other shifting his weight slightly to stay poised for reaction.
But Stefan's perspective was entirely different.In my previous life, Spain's police barely carried moral authority anymore. Decades of conflict, protests, political scandals, bureaucracy—respect for the badge had thinned, replaced by cynicism. But here… here these men walk differently. Their boots strike the ground like punctuation. They don't need to raise their voices, or even move quickly. Their presence is enough. Authority still commands respect in this world. It is fragile, but it is whole. Strange… to see what was lost.
The delegation halted before them. The elder of the two suited men, with dark hair slicked neatly back, stepped forward and extended his hand with a courteous formality.
"Bienvenidos a España. Welcome to Spain. I am Don Ignacio Herrera, from the Ministry of Information and Tourism," he declared, voice firm yet not unfriendly.
Beside him, the younger man inclined his head."Antonio Villalba, protocol officer. We trust your flight was pleasant."
Jean translated swiftly, his voice smooth, his practiced diplomatic smile softening the formality of the exchange. The faintest hint of relief touched his features as he detected no hostility in the words.
Fabio summoned his composure and shook Ignacio's hand firmly, returning the gesture with respectful gravity."The flight was excellent, thank you. And allow me to present my family—my wife, Lena, and my son, Stefan."
Lena offered a gentle smile, nodding politely. Stefan peeked out from behind her, his expression shy but attentive, his gaze flitting between Ignacio's composed expression and the gleaming badges of the officers nearby.
Antonio's expression warmed unexpectedly."A very bright little boy," he remarked in Spanish, his tone softening as his eyes lingered kindly on Stefan.
Jean translated, a small amused glint in his eyes at the subtle shift in mood. Fabio inclined his head gratefully, placing a reassuring hand on Stefan's shoulder.
The Policía Armada officers remained slightly apart, statuesque, watchful, saying nothing. Their silence was not hostile, but it carried weight—like the shadow of the state itself, never absent, always vigilant.
To ease the atmosphere, Jean slipped naturally into conversation, engaging Ignacio in French. He spoke of cultural exchanges within Europe, of growing mutual interest in Spain's markets and opportunities. Ignacio responded in measured tones, outlining the regime's commitment to stability, its eagerness to present Spain as a reliable partner for trade, agriculture, and tourism. His language was precise, formal, yet laced with a careful pride.
As the group moved toward the exit, the rhythm of the meeting relaxed. Fabio began to breathe easier. Jean translated logistical details about their accommodations, while Ignacio and Antonio confirmed that every detail of their itinerary had been carefully prepared. Step by step, the rigid tension softened, replaced by cautious curiosity and professional decorum.
Stefan's eyes wandered constantly.Madrid is not the Madrid I once knew. The cars are fewer, boxier. So many Seat 600s line the curbs, black taxis with their red diagonal stripes darting past in waves. No towers of glass, no highways filled with endless lanes of traffic. Instead, narrow streets, hand-painted signs, colors slightly faded but alive. It is humbler, yet hungrier. This city wants to grow, even if rules still bind it.
Outside the terminal, the sun hung lower in the sky, washing the forecourt in a golden hue. A black official car waited for them, polished and imposing, with another vehicle trailing discreetly behind.
Once inside the car, as the convoy pulled into the streets of Madrid, Fabio stole a glance at his family. Lena, though weary, watched the scenery with quiet fascination. Stefan pressed his forehead to the glass, eyes bright as trams clattered noisily past—ancient machines that would one day vanish, replaced by sleek underground systems and buses.
Jean, seated opposite, leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice."In the coming days, most of our meetings will focus on agricultural trade and modernization opportunities. The Commission wants to observe Spain's market carefully. But we will need to tread cautiously. Appear respectful, avoid giving the impression of intrusion. Every gesture matters here."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Stefan and softened when he saw the boy's rapt attention.
Fabio chuckled quietly, ruffling his son's hair."He listens more than he lets on."
Jean smiled knowingly."That is no bad thing. These are times that shape futures. Not everyone gets to witness history so close."
Outside, Madrid revealed itself piece by piece—low-rise apartments with laundry flapping from balconies, hand-painted billboards advertising soap, beer, and films, clusters of cafés with wicker chairs spilling onto sidewalks. The late-afternoon light bathed everything in a warm glow, softening the harder edges of the city.
Fabio exhaled slowly, sensing in his bones that this trip would carry more weight than the official papers suggested. Beside him, Stefan's dreamy smile reflected in the window glass as the convoy threaded deeper into the city. For him, this was more than travel. It was déjà vu wrapped in discovery, the past alive again.
The atmosphere inside the car remained solemn, yet beneath it ran an unmistakable current of anticipation. Spain awaited them—its rules strict, its people restless, its future uncertain. But the De Angelis family, together, was ready to face whatever it held.