By Stanley I. Kutler I. Lewis Libby's conviction for obstruction of justice and perjury has left a wake of unresolved questions. For one, we have Prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald's curious refusal to move against Richard Armitage, who acknowledged he was the original leaker in the case. Armitage, of course, is that invaluable Washington commodity--he leaks. More in question are Fitzgerald's unwillingness to secure an indictment of Karl Rove, and his failure to call Vice President Richard Cheney as a witness. The prosecutor himself told the jury: "There is a cloud over the vice president." Fitzgerald's reluctance to further discuss Rove or Cheney, or to dissipate that "cloud," is in the best un-Kenneth Starr tradition: Prosecutors should not comment on witnesses that a Grand Jury chose not to indict. But his tantalizing remark about Cheney came in open court, and maybe he should explain himself. Cheney was not on trial, but it would be interesting to know why Fitzgerald did not summon the vice president as a witness. Had Cheney appeared, perhaps Libby's lawyers might have had no choice but to press Cheney on his actions, thus saving their client. As it is, they, too, chose not to have him testify. Taken together, the prosecution and the defense sealed Libby's willingness to remain silent and fall on his sword. The trial had great promise of revealing so much more than Fitzgerald's carefully bounded case. Theodore Wells, Libby's chief attorney, in his opening statement offered an "I-will-not-be-the-fall-guy" defense. He claimed Libby had warned Cheney that "they [without identifying "they"] were trying to set me up," and added, "I will not be sacrificed so Karl Rove can be protected." But after the drama of an opening statement, Libby's defense drifted into a languid torpor, pursuing (as been repeatedly said) shades of grey in contrast to the prosecution's black-and-whites. One trial exhibit particularly seemed intriguing and quite promising. Cheney expressed concern that his chief of staff was being sacrificed--obviously for Rove--and promised vigorous action: "Not going to protect one staffer and sacrifice the guy that was asked to stick his neck in the meat grinder," Cheney's note read. Wells never again mentioned his own exhibit. The media speculates on assessing Cheney's damages. They ultimately may prove greater than Libby's, who, in all probability, has his presidential pardon all but signed and sealed. It is difficult to imagine Cheney dropping lower in public approval; he may have surpassed Harry Truman's and Richard Nixon's historical gold standards. The trial will do him little good, revealing as it has Libby's and Cheney's tactics of piling-on its critics with leaked attacks, calculated to serve their policies and save their own political hides. Cheney's ever-predicable shill, Mary Matalin, insists her former boss acted to protect the nation from terrorists; the verdict was "sickening," and she noted that the "the system is broken." She might have added that the vice president and his chief of staff had to protect the policies they had advocated and put in place. John Bolton, our former UN Ambassador, also lamented a broken system: "That is just not the way justice should be followed." We don't have to speculate what he thought about William J. Clinton's lying to a grand jury. Kenneth Adelman, Cheney and Libby's neo-con soul mate, and once close to both men, has his own right-deviationist splinter group. He openly supports Libby--against his now former friend, Dick Cheney. "It was clear from Dick's notes on the [Joseph Wilson] Op-Ed piece that he wanted to get Wilson. And Scooter's not that type. He's not a vindictive person." Maybe not; but that leaves us the other fellow.