 What is Puerto Pacifico?
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. Loyalty to person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never recognized in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. 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. 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. "Well, they've got a point," said Pembroke. "Incidentally, just where are we, anyway? "Puerto Pacifico," she told him. It means peaceful port. 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." "Not enough slang, huh? "Perfect," Pembroke told him. "All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke. "Mister, you've been doing some thinkin', I can see," said Spencer, peering at him suspiciously. "Your bet's as good as mine," said Pembroke. "It's not Wellington, and it's not Brisbane, and it's not Long Beach, and it's not Tahiti. Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but saw with amazement that it was exactly this that Valencia was seeking.
 The city on a planet used as part of an attack plan by a group of aliens
 A small city on the coast of California full of odd people  A city on a faraway planet where humans can travel for vacation  A coastal American city where aliens work on a plan of attack  The city on a planet used as part of an attack plan by a group of aliens