Chapter Text
"Absolutely not."
"Four. Each."
"Zero."
"You are going to one of the largest cities in the Western Hemisphere, to a conference where controversial aspects of foreign policy will be discussed that affect the lives of billions. You will have bodyguards, Kenobi." Mace Windu glares intensely at Obi-Wan from his seat at the head of the table in the council chamber. The large, elegant conference room with its long central table at which Obi-Wan Kenobi and his fellow Ministers of State is usually consoling for Obi-Wan, but today he just feels somewhat cornered.
"I can take care of myself. And so can Anakin. We go on diplomatic assignments without a security detail all the time."
"Yes, and that always turns out so well!" Mace retorts sarcastically, and looks to the other ministers for support.
"Secretary Windu is right. Protection, you will have."
"Siding with The Right Honorable Windu, Yoda? You wound me." Only Kenobi, Mace thinks, could make his honorific as Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs sound like a roast.
"Two guards each for you and your protégé," Mace concedes. Obi-Wan holds his gaze for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shaak Ti smile encouragingly at him. Obi-Wan knows when to stop pushing his luck.
"Fine."
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"So, uh, what are we doing, exactly?" Anakin Skywalker catches up to Obi-Wan after his hasty retreat from the council chamber. They are striding down the ornate hallway of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London, towards the grand staircase. The red carpet muffles their footsteps, making it eerily quiet despite the number of people going about their business.
"Weren't you listening?"
"Yeah. But I got distracted by Minister Fisto's new goatee."
"You must learn to listen, Anakin. Most of working in foreign affairs, especially in this country is listening—no matter what facial hair is involved." Obi-Wan admonishes, but smiles despite himself at his lanky, incorrigible assistant. He's worked with Anakin a long time, and known him even longer. He considers the boy his protégé, and hopes that one day he will earn an office like Obi-Wan's—despite his attitude, he is a hard worker, and talented as well. Anakin rolls his eyes.
"If you say so, Obi-Wan. But that goatee..."
"We are travelling to New York City to attend a conference of foreign ministers—mostly from countries that are members of NATO, though sometimes people just show up—to participate in discussions and the formation of foreign policy and panels on global issues. These debates could set the status quo for global politics for years," Obi-Wan explains.
"So basically we're gonna go listen to a bunch of stuffy diplomats complain about their governments for several days. Great."
"Basically." Obi-Wan is about as excited about this assignment as Anakin seems to be, if he's honest with himself. While Obi-Wan holds great respect for his associates in diplomacy around the world, he doesn't fancy sitting in chilly conference rooms day after day. He'd much rather be doing something more hands-on, and this sort of event was about as far removed from hands-on work as they could get. Hence his indignation regarding his co-workers' insistence that he and Anakin have a security detail. Unsavory and corrupt though some politicians could be, Obi-Wan doubts any of them want the dirt of the assassination of the Minister for the European Neighborhood and the Americas on their hands. He's not exactly famous, but saying his death would be a diplomatic incident would be somewhat of an understatement.
He tells Anakin to meet him back at Whitehall early on Tuesday morning to be briefed on the details of their itinerary, and then heads off to prepare for the trip to New York.
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Cody Fett's alarm pierces the silence at five o'clock on Monday morning, and it takes all of his battle-hardened willpower to keep him from stuffing his face back into the soft navy pillow and going back to sleep. His brothers had kept him up until late into the night, hollering and playing basketball with the neighbors. But he had to get up if he was going to make it to the gym before he was due at the agency at nine.
He silences his alarm on his phone with a sigh and quickly scans his email. There was a message from his boss sent late last night informing him that he has a new assignment, and that he better be on time, or else.
Like Cody isn't on time every day. One doesn't get to be a United States naval commander without at least a little discipline. His boss knows him better than that.
He puts on his gym clothes, grabs his gym bag, and makes his was down the hall, passing the rooms of his brothers, Rex, Gregor, Waxer, and Boil. He knows Rex will meet him at work, but the day his twin gets up before the sun will undoubtedly be the day hell freezes over. It's just as well, despite Cody's distaste for an early morning he does enjoy his solitary workout before having to deal with people all day.
A snack, phone, wallet, and keys are tossed into his bag and then he's off into the brisk Brooklyn air. It's April, but the weather hasn't quite decided to catch up with the date yet, and Cody zips up his hoodie before marching off towards the Flatbush Avenue subway station to catch the 2 train towards Manhattan.
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Cody arrives at the private security agency he works for, Kamino Security Solutions, at eight forty-five. Kamino is housed on the 21st floor of a nondescript, but clean-looking building in a sea of other nondescript, clean-looking buildings in the Financial District. He pushes through the glass doors and nods curtly at the receptionist, Lin Su, who waves, not looking up from his computer. The lobby is nearly empty, but the morning rush is imminent. Cody takes the elevator up, tosses his bag in the locker room used by him and the other security officers, and is knocking on Wullf Yularen's door by eight fifty. He supposes it would have been more polite to wait in the meeting room until nine exactly, but he didn't appreciate the jab at his punctuality in last night's email, so here he is.
His boss opens the door to his palatial, sunlit office before Cody's hand can fall back to his side. Must have been pacing, then. Despite their professionalism, Cody and Yularen have known each other for quite some time. They had served together in the Navy, along with some of Cody's brothers as well as many of the other security officers employed by Kamino Security Solutions. When Admiral Wullf Yularen had retired and Cody and the others had been honorably discharged, Yularen had entered the security business and hired Cody and his fellow soldiers. It had been a good deal for both of them. Yularen had gotten employees he knew and trusted, and Cody and his troops had gotten a stable job right out of the military. Cody knew may soldiers weren't so lucky.
"Oh, good. You're here. Have a seat. I'll make this brief, you have a few errands to run today before your assignment begins tomorrow." Is it Cody's imagination, or does his usually-unflappable boss seem a bit more flustered than usual? Reputable though Kamino Security may be, its clients were mostly celebrities with fans that got just a little too enthusiastic, or bratty rich kids who needed someone to make sure they didn't end up on the subway tracks after a night of clubbing and drugs while their snobby parents sat around drinking wine and comparing tax returns. Annoying, perhaps, but not especially intimidating.
"Yes, sir. What's the job?" Cody sits, posture straight, hands resting on his knees at the chair in front on Yularen's stately wood desk, which faces away from the window. Cody's always wondered why, if you have a giant window overlooking the most famous city in the world, you would choose to have your desk face away from the view. Yularen walks around his desk and settles in the leather chair across from Cody.
"A security detail, consisting of you, your brother Rex, and two of your best officers, has been hired to protect a Minister of State and his assistant, visiting from London. I believe the idea is to split the four of them between them. You are to accompany them to several meetings and events where their presence is required, escort them between locations, and ensure that no one who hasn't been vetted comes into contact with them." Yularen is staring intensely at Cody as he says this. Cody just looks back.
"Are they expecting an issue?" Cody finally asks. He's not absolutely sure what a Minister of State is, but he thinks it must be some kind of government official. He thinks he can safely assume his boss doesn't mean a member of the clergy, which was what Cody's mind had first jumped to when he heard the word "minister."
"Not precisely. But one can never be too sure. This is not an assignment that can be mishandled, Cody. It would be detrimental to this agency."
"Understood, sir."
"You are to do anything they ask."
"Yes, sir." Anything? Cody wonders.
"And you are to operate with the utmost discretion."
"Is there anything else I need to know, boss?" Cody thinks this is getting a bit old. The way Yularen is talking to him, you'd think Cody had bungled half the assignments he was given.
"You'll be picking your charges up from the airport tomorrow. Take them directly to where they're staying. You are to wash your formal uniform and wear that. Make sure your coworkers do the same, and take the SUV to get thoroughly cleaned. I will be sending you further instructions shortly."
"Yes, sir."
"You are dismissed."
Cody stands and heads out of the room, bemused. He can't wait to brief the boys about this one. Rex always appreciates a bit of intrigue in his assignments.
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Cody finds Rex in the lounge area of the office, chatting with Tup and Bly. They're all in their basic uniforms, black slacks and black short-sleeved T-shirts. His brother looks up at him and grins broadly. They are nearly identical—Cody, Rex, and their brother Gregor are triplets, with Waxer and Boil being younger twins—but Rex can be identified by his shaved blond hair, which is unique to him out of all their black-haired brothers. Cody and Gregor would be indistinguishable if not for the scar over Cody's eye.
"Hey, Codes! What's Yularen got you doin'?"
"What's he got us doing would be a more appropriate question," Cody replies. "Come on, let's go get some food."
Rex looks thrilled. Despite working for the same agency, he and his brother hardly ever get to work together on an assignment. He springs up from the couch he and Cody head down and out of Kamino's building, to a diner across the street. Over a spread of eggs, meats, and bread, Cody tells Rex what Yularen told him, and of their boss's general anxiety.
"Must be someone pretty important then. Usually he doesn't bother to remind us to be on our best behavior," Rex muses.
"Guess so. If they put the fear of God into Yularen, though, I can't imagine they'll be fun to work with."
"Ah, well. Did he say how long the assignment was gonna last?"
"Nope. Hell, I don't even have the names of our charges yet. All I know is that we're picking them up at nine in the morning tomorrow."
As if on queue, Cody's phone pings. It's an email, detailing the instructions for pickup—they are meeting their charges at a private airstrip on the grounds of JFK tomorrow morning, and taking them to an unfamiliar location—not a hotel, as Cody had thought—in the Upper East Side. There's no time frame for the job, but there are two names listed—Sir Obi-Wan Kenobi Minister for European Neighborhood & the Americas, and Mr. Anakin Skywalker. Cody balks a little at the title. He forwards the email to Rex.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi? That rings a bell. Hang on..." there are a few moments of silence as Cody and Rex do some quick Google recon.
Between the two of them, the brothers dredge up an impressive number of references, across many news articles and Wikipedia pages, to a Sir Obi-Wan Kenobi and a few to a Mr. Skywalker. It isn't hard, the Minister has a Wikipedia page all to himself. Cody and Rex learn that their clients are essentially a very high-ranking diplomat and his assistant, in charge of foreign affairs with Europe, as well as government policy with the Americas, European defense and security, migration, as well as many other responsibilities. The Minister was knighted back in 2015 by the Queen of England for some unspecified humanitarian work.
One article tells them that Sir Kenobi and Skywalker were present at a deadly terrorist attack in Geneva a few years back, but not many details are given—only that Kenobi had sustained minor injuries, Skywalker had been sent to the hospital, and that the bomber had been apprehended almost immediately by local authorities. At the top of the article, there is a picture of a large courthouse-like building burning spectacularly, with emergency vehicles and first responders swarming the scene, and another quite grainy image of the Minister and Skywalker. They looked younger than Cody would have thought, given their extensive resume, especially Skywalker, who looked like he could be a teenager.
"That's weird," says Rex. "You'd think there'd be more information available about something that high profile." Cody hums in agreement.
On Sir Kenobi's personal Wikipedia page, Cody and Rex find very little personal information, aside from the fact that he's a Baron, unmarried, born on November 2nd, and thirty-three years old—only a couple years older than Cody and his brothers. He studied English and International Relations at Oxford and went straight into the British government, where he was a diplomat, and then an ambassador, before being promoted to his current office. There are notes on his involvement in humanitarian relief efforts, human rights activism, and numerous diplomatic incidents where he managed to negotiate peaceful resolutions to conflicts—it's no wonder he was promoted. There's a strangely washed-out official portrait of him at the top of the page. He looks tense, Cody thinks, but there's something soft in his pale grey-blue eyes. His auburn hair is slightly floppy, but immaculately arranged on his head, and he has a neatly trimmed beard that strikes Cody as very un-politician-like.
"Well," Rex says, "if their lives are anywhere near as exciting as the internet would have us believe, we won't be bored."
"That'll be a nice change, though politicians are usually pretty insufferable." Cody doesn't want to get his hopes up. Odds are, nothing will happen and he and his coworkers will mostly be ignored, like usual.
"This Kenobi can't be that bad, if he's such a good negotiator." Rex muses. Cody just shrugs.
"We should get going, if we're gonna run all of the boss's errands. We really have to go get our uniforms dry-cleaned? I don't think I've ever even been to a dry cleaner."
"I guess he's just worried about making a good impression," Cody considers. "His attitude does make a little more sense now. We don't get a lot of political clients."
Cody and Rex pay and exit the diner, discussing which of the other otherwise-unoccupied security officers would be best suited to join in the assignment. They eventually agree that Rex will take Wolffe and focus on Skywalker; Cody and Fives will primarily work with Kenobi. The four of them have always worked together well, in the navy and now in the private sector as well.
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Tuesday morning sees a groggy Anakin and a tranquil Obi-Wan one hour into their eight hour flight to New York City.
"How are you so normal? It's six in the morning." Anakin is spread out across three squishy chairs in the government-owned private jet, no less than four paper coffee cups resting on little table between him and Obi-Wan, along with a little potted jade plant that Obi-Wan hadn't been able to bear leaving home alone for over a week. Its glossy green leaves seemed to sparkle happily at him in the sun, and he was glad he brought it along.
"I go to sleep before midnight, Anakin, it's not hard," Obi-Wan quips.
"I'm gonna take a nap."
"What, you don't want to read through the guest list and conference schedule with me?"
"Absolutely not. Anyway, I skimmed them last night." Obi-Wan snorts, rifling through some paper files. He has most of this information on his laptop, but he prefers to read from paper when he can—he's already earned himself reading glasses before forty by studying late into the night at Oxford. He doesn't need any more eye strain.
"Shall I wake you up if the steward brings by snacks?" Obi-Wan offers with a grin.
Anakin ignores him, crosses his arms over his dark button-up shirt, and is fast asleep within moments.
Obi-Wan peruses the extensive guest list, seeing who he recognizes. His name is near the top of the list, as one of the only representatives from a major world power, along with the British Ambassador to the United States, Plo Koon, who was travelling to New York from his usual residence in the British embassy in Washington for the conference. Ambassador Koon was an old friend—he and Obi-Wan had gone to Oxford together, and shared many classes together as students both on a political track and an interest in literature. Plo had a beautiful apartment (he said apartment, it was really a whole floor of apartments) in the Upper East Side that he shared with his adopted daughter Ahsoka Tano, who was studying engineering at NYU. His friend had graciously offered to host them during the conference so as to save them the discomfort of a crowded New York hotel, and Obi-Wan had jumped at the opportunity to visit his friend in a non-work-related setting and to see little Ahsoka again, who'd been in high school the last time he'd seen her. Ahsoka would be excited to see Anakin again too—the two got on like a house on fire. If nothing else, that aspect of the trip redeemed the insipidity of the conference.
Obi-Wan continued down the list. United States Senator Padmé Amidala would also be there—Anakin must not have noticed yet, or Obi-Wan would have heard about it. The boy had been smitten with the young senator since she visited London last year on diplomatic business. Anakin had taken it upon himself to show her around London, and Obi-Wan was pretty sure they had stayed in touch after she'd returned to the states. Obi-Wan greatly respected her as a leader, she'd won her election by a landslide and was always willing to stand up for what she thought was right. Unfortunately, those are rare character traits in a politician.
He recognized several other names on the list, some he'd met before, some he hadn't, some he liked, some he definitely did not. He shudders slightly as he reads the name Maul Opress—the French Ambassador had always given him the creeps. Nothing specific had ever happened between them, but their politics were quite different and Obi-Wan had always gotten the vague sense that Opress hated him. Perhaps he was overthinking it. He did have a tendency to do that.
Looking through the panel discussions, he saw many he would be expected to attend. There were several debates and more informal meetings as well. About a third of the way though the conference, on Saturday, there was a large gala at the Museum of Modern Art. Maybe he'd be able to sneak his way into the galleries for a private viewing when he inevitably got tired of networking. He wondered if the Van Gogh portrait Anakin had mocked him for resembling when he'd first grown out his beard was still there.
They are about three hours outside New York when Anakin begins to stir. Obi-Wan's assistant has been contorted into a strange sleeping position for quite a while now.
"Sleep well?" Obi-Wan asks innocently.
"Nrrgghh," Anakin grumbles, sitting up and rubbing his shoulders with a pained expression.
Obi-Wan smirks and puts the documents aside, before spotting another folder that had fallen out of the stack and onto the floor. He picks it up and opens it to find four information sheets, each with a mugshot-like image of the individual in question. These must be their bodyguards, Obi-Wan thinks. He scans each page. All four ex-military, which is pretty standard for a security detail. He does a double take, however, when he takes a closer look at two of the images—they're the same person! He holds them up next to each other. Twins. Cody Fett and Rex Fett, their info sheets tell him. Now, he sees that the latter Fett's hair is lighter, though shaved closely, and his twin's hair is slightly longer and black. Cody Fett has an oddly-shaped scar over his eye. Otherwise, their faces are nearly identical, with their olive complexions and dark irises. Looking over their sheets, he sees nearly identical military records, with the exception that Cody was promoted to Commander and his brother only made it to the rank of Lieutenant before they were discharged. The other two security officers have slightly shorter resumes, but seem just as competent. There's Wolffe Rau, an ebony-skinned man with a wide face and shoulder-length black hair, and Fives Vizsla, a pale, stern-looking woman with straight brown hair in a tidy bob. She has a tiny tattoo on the left side of her forehead, almost at her hairline, of a number five. Obi-Wan can't imagine forgetting her name.
Obi-Wan takes several minutes to commit the names to memory and study the pictures. These officers are likely to be quite bored for the next few weeks, so he might as well learn their names and make it a pleasant experience for them. Then he passes the folder to Anakin.
"Those our babysitters?" Anakin grumbles. "Hey, twins! Cool!" Obi-Wan considers instructing Anakin not to make a big deal out of it, but surely his assistant will know to be polite to these relative strangers. Obi-Wan looks out the little window of the jet and watches little puffy clouds drift by. They should be landing soon, and it will still be morning in New York City, despite it being early afternoon back home. Obi-Wan thinks he will be needing no small amount of coffee to get him through the rest of this day.