AN: This story depicts a continuation of the Alcatraz story. I have chosen to start now in honor of the first anniversary of the Alcatraz premiere.

I am not Dan Brown, so I have no problem saying, any and all errors made in the story are my own.

Enjoy.

Episode 1 - Enrico Pellesanti

San Francisco General Hospital - March 27, 2012

The dark-haired, burly orderly pushed the bed down the hall and into the elevator. As soon as he was inside, he glanced down at the person on the bed, now covered up with respect to her recently deceased condition. He pulled the cover off her face, saw her deathly pallor, framed by close-cropped blond hair. Ain't this a shame, he thought to himself. Such a pretty woman, and she had to squander it in a lethal profession.

The elevator door opened with a soft bell-tone, prompting the orderly to re-cover the woman's face as he wheeled her out the door and into the basement. Inside, the guard sat in his booth by the delivery door, eyes glued to the TV as it continued to cover the huge car chase that had just torn up the streets of downtown San Francisco that very morning. "How about that, eh?" remarked the orderly, with a slight New York accent, as he passed by and helped load the woman into a van bound for the medical examiner's lab.

"Bunch of fools, if you ask me," the guard answered. "But you gotta admit, there's no better way to make the four o'clock news than aping Bullitt."

The orderly shrugged and turned away, only to get called back as the van driver asked for his signature on the form. He signed it and the driver took it back, squinting at the signature. He snorted and said, "It's not exactly illegible, but I just can't read this. Can't even begin to pronounce this name."

"Oh, it's easy, actually," said the orderly. "Enrico. Enrico Pellesanti." He turned back and disappeared into the elevator once more.

Alcatraz Island - January 31, 1961

Dr. Lucy Sengupta, who would later be known under the surname Banerjee, dined with the Warden as they looked at the case file of Alcatraz Prison's latest permanent resident - a strapping twenty-nine-year-old man from Hell's Kitchen on Manhattan Island, transported across the country to serve his life sentence for the murder of seven rival mafiosi - one of which was actually an undercover FBI agent.

The Warden sneered down at the picture in the file - a picture of a man so criminal and youthful-looking, he'd been very appropriately nicknamed the Devil's Cherub. "I'm sure you're aware of the circumstances that brought him here," said the Warden. Lucy nodded silently. "Yes, terrible circumstances they were. But they are a fact of life where he comes from. I remember what it was like, growing up in Boston during Prohibition. Dreadful times."

Lucy took back the file and focused on a small line of print right at the bottom of the page. "It says here you specifically requested his transfer to this prison," she commented. "Why here, sir? Why not someplace closer to home for him, like Rikers Island or Sing Sing?"

The Warden smiled. "You know our prize prisoner, I assume? Well, this man has just as impressive a record - albeit a criminal one. He will prove most useful, just you wait and see."

"I'm sure he will," Lucy said. "From what I hear, he's a most unusual mafioso. He's more...shall we say, charismatic, than most."

A snort from the Warden came in response. "And what will charisma get you in this world?" he asked dryly. "Unless you are an actor or a dishonest politician - as redundant as that phrase typically is - the answer is nothing, Dr. Sengupta. Nothing." He wiped his mouth and stood up from the table. "Now, I am sure Mr. Pellesanti is sufficiently well-rested from his journey by now. Perhaps you may go and see him in your office." He left without another word.

Office of the San Francisco City and County Medical Examiner - March 28, 2012

Well after dark, the door to the medical examiner's lab was jimmied open to admit a woman who had been alive much longer than one would think upon looking at her. She crossed over to the rows of little metal doors behind which corpses were stored. Choosing carefully, she put down a large satchel, opened one such door, and pulled out the tray, on which the blond woman lay.

Lucy Banerjee reached down into her satchel and removed a syringe full of a hazy, grayish solution. Pulling the cover aside, she injected the contents of the syringe into the woman's carotid artery. She stood back and gave it a couple of seconds to take effect.

Rebecca Madsen gasped loudly, like so many other dead bodies do when they have re-awakened. She gazed around and took in her current surroundings. "Lucy?" she asked, finally. "Where am I?"

"Well, considering you've been dead for all of ten hours, where do you think?" Lucy was not in a mood to dawdle, as evidenced by her hurried motions as she dumped a set of clothes onto Rebecca. "Quick, put these on. We've got one more 63 left in the city."

"Tommy Madsen, right?" asked Rebecca, after putting on her clothes and following Lucy towards the back door.

"No," said Lucy. "But don't worry, Emerson is hunting for him as we speak. No, we believe this one is working in the hospital. If I'm not mistaken, he actually oversaw the transfer of your body to the medical examiner."

"And then what?" asked Rebecca, as they snuck out the back door and made their way towards the street. "Just wait for another one to turn up in town?"

Lucy sighed. "Not really. We've had some, er, new developments in the last 24 hours. I'll fill you in on the way back." She hailed a taxi and ushered Rebecca into the backseat. "Hyde Street Pier, please," she requested, raising her voice over the loud, jangly percussion of the old Genesis instrumental, "The Brazilian," emanating from the driver's stereo. "And could you please put up the divider? We have urgent business to discuss, and we'd like to keep it private, thank you very much."

Good story so far? R&R please!