Carol D. Leonnig and Jim VandeHei of the Washington Post ask an obvious question. Why would Scooter Libby make false statements to the FBI and the Grand Jury if he knew his testimony would be contradicted by his own notes and the testimony of others?

Libby, according to Fitzgerald’s indictment, gave a false story to agents and, later, to a grand jury, even though he knew investigators had his notes, and presumably knew that several of his White House colleagues had already provided testimony and documentary evidence that would undercut his own story. And his interviews with the FBI in October and two appearances before the grand jury in March 2004 came at a time when there were increasingly clear signs that some of the reporters with whom Libby discussed Plame could soon be freed to testify — and provide starkly different and damning accounts to the prosecutor.

To critics, the timing suggests an attempt to obscure Cheney’s role, and possibly his legal culpability.

There is another possibility. When Libby talked to the FBI, in October 2003, John Ashcroft was still in charge of the Justice Department and still in control of the investigation. Libby may have felt comfortable lying to the FBI because he felt confident that Ashcroft would quash the investigation. When Ashcroft was forced to recuse himself and appoint Fitzgerald, Libby was stuck with his original false statements.

But, it is also possible that Libby made the ultimate sacrifice. In the interest of delaying and obstructing the investigation so that it would not have a decisive influence on the 2004 election, he may have made statements that he knew would lead to his indictment.

Is there a third possibility?

But to Libby’s defenders, the timing of Libby’s alleged lies supports his claims of innocence. They say it would be supremely illogical for an intelligent and highly experienced lawyer to mislead the FBI or grand jury if he knew the jurors had evidence that would expose his falsehoods. Libby, they say, is guilty of nothing more than a foggy memory and recollections that differ, however dramatically, from those of several witnesses in the nearly two-year-old investigation.

“People have different memories,” said lawyer Victoria Toensing, a Justice Department official in the Reagan administration.

The forgetfulness defense doesn’t pass the smell test.

Fitzgerald pressed Libby — and not so subtly raised the specter of a coverup. “And let me ask you this directly,” Fitzgerald said. “Did the fact that you knew that the law could . . . turn on where you learned the information from affect your account for the FBI — when you told them that you were telling reporters Wilson’s wife worked at the CIA but your source was a reporter rather than the vice president?” Libby denied it: “No, it’s a fact. It was a fact, that’s what I told the reporters.”

Fitzgerald isn’t buying the forgetfulness defense and we shouldn’t either. Either Scooter thought he could rely on a corrupt Ashcroft or he deliberately exposed himself to near certain prosecution in the interest of protecting the administration’s reelection prospects. If it is the latter, he may already have assurances of a pardon.