 How did Pembroke get to Puerto Pacifico?
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. 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. Bound for Sydney, two days out of Valparaiso, the Colombian tramp steamer Elena Mia had encountered a dense greenish fog which seemed vaguely redolent of citrus trees. Standing on the forward deck, Pembroke was one of the first to perceive the peculiar odor and to spot the immense gray hulk wallowing in the murky distance. Then the explosion had come, from far below the waterline, and the decks were awash with frantic crewmen, officers, and the handful of passengers. Only two lifeboats were launched before the Elena Mia went down. Pembroke came as close to being a professional adventurer as one can in these days of regimented travel, organized peril, and political restriction. Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke adapted quickly to the situation in which he found himself when he regained consciousness. His situation could have been any small western American seacoast city. In his full-gaited walk, he was soon approaching the beach. One in particular, an attractive woman of about thirty, tossed back her long, chestnut locks and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. "You're not casual enough, for one thing," said Pembroke, deciding to play along with her for the moment. Pembroke proposed. Pembroke left the beach and walked through several small specialty shops. Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre statuette underneath the counter. "Don't try to go so fast and you won't fall down," suggested Pembroke. "Well, they've got a point," said Pembroke. "Puerto Pacifico," she told him. But as he left the shop he began checking off every west coast state, city, town, and inlet. None, to the best of his knowledge, was called Puerto Pacifico. "Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke. "This is Puerto Pacifico." Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having been given the runaround. "Right," said Pembroke wearily. "Perfect," Pembroke told him. "All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke. Pembroke returned to the hotel. The topic of the conversation turned out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted.
 The aliens placed Pembroke in Puerto Pacifico after destroying his ship.
 Pembroke traveled to Puerto Pacifico on a ship called the Elena Mia.  Pembroke traveled to Puerto Pacifico on a Colombian ship called The Valparaiso.  Pembroke arrived in Puerto Pacifico on the lifeboat he used to escape the sinking ship.  The aliens placed Pembroke in Puerto Pacifico after destroying his ship.