 What was the goal of Frank's newspaper ad?
Frank Pembroke sat behind the desk of his shabby little office over Lemark's Liquors in downtown Los Angeles and waited for his first customer. Opening the desk drawer, which was almost empty, Pembroke removed an automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. Pointing it at the amazed customer, he fired four .22 caliber longs into the narrow chest. The series of events leading up to Pembroke's present occupation had commenced on a dismal, overcast evening in the South Pacific a year earlier. Pembroke came as close to being a professional adventurer as one can in these days of regimented travel, organized peril, and political restriction. He had made for himself a substantial fortune through speculation in a great variety of properties, real and otherwise. Life had given him much and demanded little, which was perhaps the reason for his restiveness. One in particular, an attractive woman of about thirty, tossed back her long, chestnut locks and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre statuette underneath the counter. "Incidentally, just where are we, anyway? But as he left the shop he began checking off every west coast state, city, town, and inlet. "Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke. Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having been given the runaround. "All cargo ships, I'll bet. The topic of the conversation turned out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted.
 To lure out people from Puerto Pacifico to use as evidence.
 To find clients for his new business.  To lure out people from Puerto Pacifico to use as evidence.  To carry out his orders in his mission on Earth.  To lure out people from Puerto Pacifico to connect with.