Easy to trust Bernard Cornwell for a good read after all the Sharpe novels. (Which reminds me, I should return to those…)
Wildtrack (1988) reads like a Dick Francis book with sailboats instead of horses, reminiscent of Sam Llewellyn’s thrillers. (I’ve read several, all before I started keeping track on this blog.)
The only false notes in Wildtrack are Nick Sandman’s quickly changing feelings for the two leading women in the novel. His decisions don’t feel true to the character, distracting from the rising tide of the story.