 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. Therefore, it was with a mingled sense of excitement and satisfaction that he greeted the tall, dark, smooth-faced figure that came up the stairs and into the office shortly before noon. 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. 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. 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. And yet he greatly envied those staunch patriots and lovers who could find it in themselves to elevate the glory and safety of others above that of themselves. The wallet in his pocket contained exactly what it should, approximately three hundred dollars. 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 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. "Perfect," Pembroke told him. "All cargo ships, I'll bet. The topic of the conversation turned out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted. "Just be yourself, gal," Spencer drawled, jabbing her intimately with a fat elbow, "and you'll qualify." "Your bet's as good as mine," said Pembroke. Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but saw with amazement that it was exactly this that Valencia was seeking.
 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.